it is better to ask this publicly ahahaha, okay so, headcanon time, silm tickliest characters and silm least tickly characters?

crocordile:

squirrelwrangler:

I had to think seriously about this. From analysis of notes about the Eldar having greater control over their bodies (LaCE and hroa versus fea and all that) it is obvious that comparatively all humans are by nature more ticklish than elves (and Ainur only ticklish if they choose – Tulkas constantly a victim of Nessa and Irmo ambush tickling him for fun). Tuor is amazed that tickling Idril’s feet never works; and Idril delights in tickling him, easiest way to make him laugh and distract from bad memories.
Now I can’t judge overall, but if I was to focus on a tiny group, let’s say the children of Finarfin. Orodreth and Finrod are more ticklish than Angrod and Aegnor. If Galadriel is ticklish, only Celeborn knows for sure, and he ain’t sharing details.

i laughed more than if you had just gave me names omfg elves are so fucking aarrghh AGHSGVA haahahaahahahahahahahaaha OH MY GOD

Can I assume Lord Elmo is also more prone to being ticklish than his friends and family??

#THAT THING ABOUT TUOR AND IDRIL WAS CUTE TOO DAMNN UUU#elvish tickling#my god look at this tag idk man omg

much better topic than if elves poop

Oh, if we were to take our sample selection over to the three kingly Lindar sons, Elu is definitely not ticklish, nor Olwë (though he loves to tickle his grandchildren and great-grandchildren) and sure, Elmo is ticklish, for an elf, but he doesn’t have that annoying giggle.

it is better to ask this publicly ahahaha, okay so, headcanon time, silm tickliest characters and silm least tickly characters?

I had to think seriously about this. From analysis of notes about the Eldar having greater control over their bodies (LaCE and hroa versus fea and all that) it is obvious that comparatively all humans are by nature more ticklish than elves (and Ainur only ticklish if they choose – Tulkas constantly a victim of Nessa and Irmo ambush tickling him for fun). Tuor is amazed that tickling Idril’s feet never works; and Idril delights in tickling him, easiest way to make him laugh and distract from bad memories.
Now I can’t judge overall, but if I was to focus on a tiny group, let’s say the children of Finarfin. Orodreth and Finrod are more ticklish than Angrod and Aegnor. If Galadriel is ticklish, only Celeborn knows for sure, and he ain’t sharing details.

(meme) Nerdanel and/or Indis: ♥ ☮ ♦ ☯ ☼

Combining everything into the quasi-fic, think I mentioned all five things. sorry it got really shippy.

Nerdenal was shorter than her sibling, with the stocky square-shouldered look that her father had passed down to all his family, though she was annoyed that the copper hair that made her father stand out in the crowd of Noldor was something that her sibling inherited, and which was passed down to both nieces and nephew and most of her elder niece’s children. Her hair was only brown, and not even the dark glossy brown of her mother Istarnië, though when the light hit just right there almost looked to be a hint of fire. Nerdanel liked to wear colors and jewelry she hoped would offset the bits of copper and make it more alluring and exotic than brown. Anything to draw attention away from her red face. She liked the amber shade of brown of her eyes; that at least was striking, though a blue would have been even more. Nerdanel grew and matured and set aside her resentment of her relatives’ greater beauty.

 Queen Indis was beautiful, well-regarded by almost all of Tirion as the most beautiful woman even by her political detractors, with golden skin and hair that seemed to glow like a flower of Laurelin, her eyes a deep blue that shaded almost purple, and tall without awkwardness. Nerdanel watched as Indis moved, plotting how to sculpt that sense of grace and assurance that High King Ingwë’s sister had. Several works were inspired by the queen of the Noldor, even when they did not have Indis’s likeness in the face, though Nerdanel did not admit this. 

When Indis removed her sandals to race barefoot through the water gardens, as light-foot as Nessa’s deer, as joyful as Tulkas’s laughter, Nerdanel knew that was the pose to sculpt, that moment before Indis sprinted, where the Queen of the Noldor removed a piece of confining finery, however small a shoe was, so that she could embrace freedom and delight. Nerdanel wondered if she projected her desire to be free from anxieties onto Indis, for the queen never showed envy or resentment, was gracious even when those around her were not. 

And how Nerdanel had blushed in shame the day her husband’s compatriots had insulted Indis to the queen’s face, and Nerdanel had been powerless to restrain them no matter how much she had argued with her husband beforehand. He used to listen to her advice, her husband and sons, used to give some heed to her consul, treated her as if she was a person with opinions worth something. But Indis was her dearest friend, especially after her separation from her husband, when all those compatriots and political allies and anyone who wished to avoid the displeasure of the King’s heir and favorite began to mock and sneer at Nerdanel herself. Golden and graceful, Indis held out her arms and embraced the much shorter woman, unmindful of how the marble dust that coated the sculptress now smudged the queen’s velvet gown and golden arms. Indis would stand with Nerdanel through the turmoil and after, the two live together in a wing of the palace filled with music and art, content in friendship and company. Nerdanel was her beloved no matter what official ties between them, said Indis gravely, for she feared not the displeasure of that faction in Tirion, and would trade them gleefully for Nerdanel’s smiles and company. 

“Yours is a beauty I could never fully capture in song,” said Indis, “though I have spent hours trying to compose. The best I can do is write music for your statutes, the lifelike ones admired by the court and the strange ones that bring my soul beauty even if I do not understand them.” Indis blushed, and Nerdanel laughed at the familiar problem. 

Findis would find the two stretched out in the gardens playing card games of their own creation, laughing with their hair unbound and full of twigs and crumpled flowers, a half-undone braid in Nerdanel’s brown hair that Indis tugged as she admonished the younger woman for cheating. Findis would sit primly on the ground and join the card game, utterly befuddled by the rules, but smiling all the same. “What stakes are we playing for?” Findis would ask.

“If I shall sculpt something, and your mother sing to me as I work, or if your mother shall dance and I sketch her as I watch,” replied Nerdanel, “or if we should be both very lazy and take a long vacation to our nieces and nephews outside Tirion.”

“That river cruise does appeal more and more,” murmured Indis, crossing her ankles and digging her bare toes into the soft dirt. “To lounge around, few servants, many pillows, watch the scenery as we slowly drift along, and when we are bored take a swim in the river.”

“We do need to practice our swimming,” mused Nerdanel.

“Then it’s settled." 

And Findis was invited along, though she was the only one that did any fishing, and the one that picked up after the pair, as Indis and Nerdanel weren’t what one would call the neatest of elves. 

▼ Ingwe

(everything outlined here)

The child of Alakô and Maktâmê was the eighth born to the small tribe of the Minyar, an auspicious number. That the new generation of the tribe were not evenly split yet among genders, that the Kwendî had not a readily apparent sign of which was another’s life-mate because they did not awake in pairs beside one another, was a source of much anxiety for that first generation of parents (and it wouldn’t be until the Eldar meet the Valar and with the example of unmarried Ulmo and Nienna that this societal hetero-normative pressure to pair and beget children, coupled with the assurance that the elves are immortal and in the safety of Aman there’s no danger of the tribe’s extinction, eases off). Ingwë’s mother shared nursing duties with another hunter who gave birth a few months before her, freeing both women to join the hunting parties. This ‘milk brother’ of Ingwë was a friend and companion until his parents’ maiming, after which he shunned them like everyone in the tribe. He grew to be a typical hunter of the Minyar, gregarious smile but swift to snark at those that annoyed him. In time the relationship would be repaired, and the hunter was one of new king Ingwë’s strongest supporters (and the one to guard and keep a watchful eye on Ravennë’s older brother least the former prince try to cause trouble.)

No one remembers of speaks of Ingwë’s first name, the one before ‘Ukwendô’, not even Mahtamë, but then the Vanyar collectively haze their memories that Ingwë was known as anything but Ingwë.

Even before the accident, Ingwë was a solemn and serious little boy, wishing to make things with a gravitas that brought Alakô to tears of laughter. Ingwë thought his father too silly, too often smiling even when there didn’t seem a reason to be. The lonely boy taunted by his tribe as Ukwendô regretted any negative thoughts he once had about his father’s smiles.

Before, Ingwë wanted to be a hunter in the parties with his friend, eventually marry another Minyar hunter, as that was what one was supposed to do. His favorite part of the hunts was the painting of hunters before they left, the ceremony complete with speeches from Imin Ingweron. Young Ingwë liked to pretend to be the chieftain, sticking stray feathers in his hair and making proclamations to his follow toddlers. They would all giggle, and their mothers picked them and tickle them, Maktâmê kissing her son’s cheek and pulling out the feathers with her teeth. Imin and Iminyë would watch with bemused patronizing fondness, and Maktâmê recalled with pride how her chieftain praised her son’s powerful voice. “You are made for greatness, my son,” she told Ingwë, and she never stopped telling him this, even in the blackest despair of their lives.

kazaera said: 

yesssss. on the other hand imagine olenna observing all these goings-on carefully because she’s vowing to herself that if she ever tries to poison someone she won’t make such a hash of it!

Her and Lysa at the side table with plates of lemocakes and cheese, smirking into their wine-cups at the gross incompetence of it all.

kazaera said: sorry, wasn’t clear – I thought it sounded like she belonged somewhere in here because more poisoner women! the more medeas the better! although I guess she hasn’t poisoned anyone at this point in time. (maybe she’s noting down ideas?)

Oh, I bet she’d be pricking her thorns sooner or later. 😀 as semi-cracky as the premise is, let’s say Selyse’s how-to manual she consults as she plots the first seven or eight times to kill Robert come from a well-thumbed and bookmarked copy of “The Secret Diary of Olenna Redwyne-Tyrell: I Was Very Good”

kazaera said: my ASOIAF knowledge isn’t good but shouldn’t Olenna Redwyne/Tyrell be involved in this somehow?

Sort of- the time period would be several years before the books, early into the reign of King Robert (Selyse and Stannis marry a year after Joffery’s birth). So chronologically this would be before (and during?) the Greyjoy Rebellion, Selyse is a Florent, very resentful of the Tyrells for that family’s High Lordship over the Reach, so there’s a mutual rivalry and distrust between the families- but I am using Olenna as a guide and inspiration for AU Selyse (scheming Reach matriarchs). The Tyrells aren’t actively jousting their way into King’s Landing politics yet, I don’t think, but they could become a factor.

(I can’t write this because me + asoiaf is also actually pretty limited- but man am I tempted to either draw or ask for drawings of rival merry murderesses Selyse and Cersei – and the idea of all of Stannis’s household on Dragonstone and in King’s Landing plotting to crown him while keeping him in the dark – including Maester Cressen! – is hilarious)

My mom still has it in her kitchen cabinet somewhere, but I grew up on Mickey Mouse waffles – pancakes were on the frying pan or Grandma’s griddle and always made using a can of cheap beer – but every single waffle was in the shape of Mickey Mouse’s face and I rarely have had a regular looking waffle in my life. (Nowadays they look like Texas)

The waffle iron in this picture looks like the one we had (again it’s a old model).

The ritual was you always ate the ears first, cut the rest into quarters or sixths, and the most syrup was always in the nose. Syrup of course a lingonberry or boysenberry or blackberry.

yavieriel:

squirrelwrangler:

yavieriel said: how dare you insult the glories of Krispy Kreme. How dare you. (no but I do not understand these heavy cake doughnuts what is that even)

image

Brain twin, we have lost Drift-compatibility!

UGH NO~~~

Chocolate Bismarks and long johns and Boston cremes if one wants a fried yeast dough doughnut, but those cake doughnuts are the best thing ever!

(Also grew up on Dunkin’ Doughnuts, so it would be once a week a sweet from there, and three of the remaining mornings was an Entenmann)

BUT UGH, my co-workers will bring in a box of Krispy Kremes and they are so unappealing and ugly looking, not even pretty fried glazed. I live in doughnut hell.

(Yeah, I know I’m a Yankee/No True Texan; I hate Whataburger too)

Noooooo not our drift compatibility, quick, where’s some Vanyar meta

No but I don’t even know what Bismarks and long johns are, and if you’re going to fill a doughnut with something it should be custard not creme.  But yeah, not a fan of most yeast or cake doughnuts, and don’t Entenmann’s come in a box at the grocery store?  That’s just wrong.  

My family’s from Savannah, the only way to eat doughtnuts is to go to Krispy Kreme and watch the doughnuts fry right there and eat them while they’re still hot and fresh off the press.  Definitely a rare and special occasion treat, for breakfast sugary stuff was generally not allowed.  

picture of a long john

Bismarks are just another American term for Berliners.

But yes, nostalgia and where (plural) I grew up has a key element of it- Krispy Kremes are something I only encountered when I moved to Texas, and they are completely the wrong type of fried food I’d ever want to stick in my mouth. (your basic fried and clear sugar glazed doughnut is the last thing I want to eat – well except something with a cherry or grape jelly eew) But our breakfasts growing up were usually sugary- if it wasn’t a sugary cereal it was Mickey Mouse shaped waffles with Boysenberry syrupy (maple was for boring days; you wanted Boysenberry or Lingonberry. omg you can tell the Swedish). And Breakfast Cheese Danishs and sweet rolls and orange sweet rolls and regular coffee cake… The only time breakfast was savory instead of sweet was the bacon/sasauge plus scrambled eggs, or when my mom made crust-less egg quiches (using the Knnor’s vegetable dip and soup mixes = a++ way to add flavoring)

But then those Southern comfort food style heavy country breakfasts make me cringe (not so much as the breakfast = chicken-fried steak with lots of gravy! Why, Texas, why?)

crocordile replied to your post: Okay wait, yes I want this really bad, the AU fic…

last paragraph especially ooooh my god ahahahahaha a+++ i would read the shit outta this!!

Exactly! Like, I love the concept, but it’s a million times better if it has Cersei and Selyse plotting tangled in the cross-hairs against Robert, their secret assassination methods and attempts cancelling each other out, Robert surviving only because in the tangle of poisoned wine and food dishes and both ladies cursing their luck in private. 😀