#celegorome

[curufiin]

someone give curufin attention now or he will literally die

[nighttimepatrons]

Celegorome for day three of @feanorianweek

pose based on Auguste Rodin's The Kiss

im so stupid for Celegorm/Orome it's actually stupid

[glorf1ndel]

RULES: Post descriptions of your WIPs in a poll. For whichever one wins, write 8 sentences.

Okay here we go, pals! 😄

[swanmaids]

celegorm and orome 7!

7. to shut them up

this got away from me a little :') warning for some tame implied sex

~

Tyelkormo stretched out against the base of the tree, shucked his boots off and dug his toes in the loamy soil. He took a deep, deliberate breath of green forest air, let it fill up his lungs, and smiled. By his side, his mare snuffled at the ground. Ah, yes - it had been several days of hard riding to make it here, and she probably deserved a reward. He held out a hand to the air, and a perfectly round, red apple dropped into his palm. Tyelkormo said a silent thanks to Vána and offered the treat to his horse, her hot tongue licking over his hand as she gratefully accepted, before wandering off to graze elsewhere.

After such a short time back in the Woods of Oromë, Tyelkormo was already feeling more like himself than he ever did at Formenos. Yes - he was pleased with himself. This little excursion had been an excellent idea.

Well, perhaps excursion was putting it a bit delicately. But he'd been climbing the walls cooped up in Formenos. Tyelkormo was not meant to be caged - he needed the Woods. He needed him. So he'd taken matters into his own hands.

Tyelkormo could imagine his father's reaction when he'd inevitably discovered that the elf-shaped pile of pillows underneath Tyelkormo’s blankets was not, in fact, his third son, but right now that wasn't his problem. It had been an easy enough task to bribe Curufinwë to tell father that he'd snuck out to visit Angaráto and his family for the week - father was not going to be pleased to hear it, but it was far and away a better story for him to believe than the reality, and besides, he wasn't the one banned from Tirion. Then he'd waited until the keep was asleep, before swinging himself out of his bedroom window with the aid of a few tied-together spare bedsheets like a maiden in a romance novel and jumping the last metre or so to reach the ground. A short jog under darkness to the stables was the final step, and then it was goodbye, Formenos.

For now, anyway. He'd followed his father into exile in the first place for a reason, after all. But in this moment, he had no reason to dwell on the future, because he was finally here.

Oromë stood before him in the little clearing as though he'd always been there. The form he wore was a little different to those which Tyelkormo had seen before - his hair long and in beaded locs, his horns an unfamiliar shape - but the Power that Oromë carried was unmistakable, as was the little flip that Tyelkormo's stomach did at the sight of him. The trees almost seemed to bend in reverance to their lord, and the air itself was still.

"My hasty one," the great Hunter said, "how did you come to be here?"

Tyelkormo simply grinned up at him in response - Oromë's voice said that he knew exactly how, and approved.

They embraced deliberately, coming together in the way of those who have endured a long seperation and are soon to be parted once more. Some of Tyelkormo's brothers talked of the Valar as wispy, insubstantial creatures, but little did they know of Oromë. Entwined with Tyelkormo in the Woods, he was all strength and flesh and muscle. He was the scent of sweat and leather in Tyelkormo's nose and the taste of salt on his tongue, the rub of the earth against his back and the pleasant soreness throughout his body. He was inside him, underneath him, and all around him.

Afterwards, Oromë was uncharacteristically pensive.

"Will you be leaving again?"

"Soon, I suppose. My father needs us all close - these times are uncertain."

"That they are." Oromë's face was grave. "My youngest brother seeks Melkor throughout the valleys and trees of this land, but he has found no trace. And it may well be too late - the discord that he sought to sow has already taken root. Does the light of the Trees not seem dimmer to you, too?"

An icy trickle ran down Tyelkormo's spine - he could hardly deny that he had thought the same. It was not something that he wished to dwell on.

"I did not come to you for talk of doom and portents," he said, putting a little smile into his voice. "I can get plenty of that at home with my father. Surely there is something else we could be doing instead?"

Oromë clearly saw the clumsy avoidance of the subject for what it was, but allowed it; and allowed Tyelkormo to press their mouths together for another kiss, and another, and another after that. Tyelkormo closed his eyes, melted into it, and did not think about the future.

[lordgrimwing]

or maybe it's because he's a little coward

maybe the reason why celegorm likes being the dom in most of his relationships is because no elven cock will ever compare to oromë’s vala rauka

[lace-noncompliance]

idc if it goes against everything we learned from the Gale/Mystra storyline, I need Halsin to get fucked by Silvanus himself. the ultimate form of worship

[nightie-after-midnight]

going to try to doodle some celegorome tonight

[piyo13sdoodles]

another explicit pic over on pillowfort, once again celegorm/orome because... why not....,.

[glorf1ndel]

Strange Beings (T, Celegorm/ Oromë, 2k)

They are strange beings, the Eldar, and Oromë loves them so.

Hi all! The first part of my Silmarillion sci-fi AU, People of the Stars, is up on Ao3 here! ☆

About the series: Do you love the Silmarillion? Do you love sci-fi? I have an AU for you. People of the Stars is about culture clashes and bridging cultural divides. It's about the interplay between good, evil, and moral shades of gray. It's about questioning: is everything one knows about the universe true? What kind of quest is worth undertaking? And what, in the end, is life for? But most of all, it's a love letter to the Silm and a chance for me to write about Elves... In space.

In this installment: Oromë, a lord of the Ayanūz, wonders how to show his affection to one of the Eldar. Not gonna lie; this is 2,000 words of Oromë being in love with Tyelko, with some explorations of culture and language thrown into the mix.

[glorf1ndel]

🍾?

Thank you! Instead of more Glorestor on my phone, you get Celegoromë on my computer. Cheers. XD

As hunting partners go, Celegorm and Oromë are different. Where Oromë is deliberate, Celegorm can be rash. He will take after the first rabbit he sees, with little heed to Oromë’s suggestions that a better target lies around the next tree. But when Celegorm throws his head back and laughs, soothing Oromë with a playful quip, the Vala forgets his frustrations. Celegorm himself is a wild thing, and Oromë delights in the hunt.

[curufiin]

so close yet so far

[nighttimepatrons]

i just want orome to go with the noldor to middle earth. they are his elves whom he loves.

[swanmaids]

Nobody wants to hear about my deeply silly Celegorome modern au and yet. I want to post about it

[swanmaids]

I'll talk with you about celegorm/cruel servants! 😎

Nsft thots ahead

Umm ok so I think pre Doriath Celegorm is like regularly having unsafe insane and barely consensual bitter violent sex with his craziest most unhinged devoted followers. C is a true sadomasochist so it’s like 50/50 if he’s the “victim” or the aggressor in these scenarios but if he’s getting topped he’s So mean the whole time like goading Nameless Cruel Servant to go harder and make it more painful by mocking him the whole time saying he can’t even fuck properly and such… C is half the time basically just using sex as self harm , he doesn’t even like his devoted servants in fact he finds them pathetic so he’s literally just doing this to feel something. And ofc this is taking place in celegorome world so sometimes (esp if he’s drunk) he’ll close his eyes and pretend he’s back with Oromë… does it work? No

[curufiin]

9 10 fandom people to get to know better

3 Ships I Like: curufinrod / curufin x sauron / curufin x eol. <3 (three non curufin related ships: celegorome, morgoth/feanor, and celegorm/beleg shoutout 2 heather)

First Ship Ever: uh…. Good Question. probably some au gaster selfcest whilst i was rping with friends

Last Song I Heard: Mantis Lords - Hollow Knight OST

Favorite Childhood Book: the little prince i still cry when i read it

Currently Reading: A Topical Approach to Lifespan Development aka my uni textbook….. non textbook would be the ask and the answer by patrick ness

Currently Watching: nothing LOL. probably gonna watch TierZoo

Currently Consuming: nothing yet. might get grapes

Currently Craving: graep…

thanks for tagging me @deathicus-sling <33

tag: @elevenelvenswords @herinke9 @maironsbigboobs @nighttimepatrons @kanskje-kaffe @kitwilsonsass @ismeneee (i don’t remember your main sorry) @beleriandy @cilil @shrikeseams

[curufiin]

Favourites

After confronting Finrod about his indecency, Curufin finds himself seeking the comfort of Celegorm. However, he struggles to find the pity he is chasing.

gen / 1.6k / referenced celegorome and finrod/beör / curufin is a little racist lol just a headsup

Based on this fic. Also on AO3

In the dim halls, lit with crystal lamps and candle flames, Curufin’s footsteps echoed and built to an uncomfortable volume. Each tap of his soles against the stone floor were like the slamming of doors, and every breath he drew felt heavy, his lungs constricted by the cage that was his own ribs.

His chest ached. He wandered with no real aim, other than to ignore how desperately he wanted to rip open his own flesh, pull out his heart, and cast it to the ground.

Someone who was once dear to my heart. And who no longer counts among the living.

His mind repeated that line, over and over and over, and Curufin was almost convinced that it has been permanently etched into the very folds of his brain. Who did that filthy Secondborn think they were, to think they were even worthy of Finrod’s approval? Why would Findaráto Ingoldo, most fair and wise of their lineage, even think such profane union to be appropriate? Was his own decency truly worth this little?

Curufin swallowed a mouthful of self pity. A Secondborn, who Finrod held dearer to his heart than a prince of the Noldor. A Secondborn, who could better please Finrod than he, who Finrod loved more than he. For everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed for Finrod, none of it mattered.

As he stumbled towards Celegorm’s door, Curufin found himself gasping for breath.

The door swung open, and the sight of Celegorm lazing on his bed with not a care in the world no longer roused even annoyance from Curufin. In fact, he envied him to some extent— even if it was an utter embarrassment for the once third prince of the Noldor, Curufin would still give a lot to not be troubled by petty jealousies and outdoing competitors that were long since dead.

“I thought I asked you to knock,” Celegorm complained.

Curufin ignored him. He kicked off his shoes, and threw himself onto the bed with little more than a grunt.

For all the effort his brother put into keeping up his pristine image of an unfaltering will, endless devotion to their late father, and a tenacity that would scare most commoners, Celegorm found his little brother pitifully easy to read. He always had obvious tells, even if he was quick to deny them: furrowed brows, the subtle twitch of his eyes, how his frown was ever so slightly more pronounced than usual. And whereas Curufin loved to boast about his achievements, he had an unusual loathing for speaking of his troubles.

Celegorm sighed, and tried again. “What’s the matter now? Love trouble again? Or has Celebrimbor questioned the Oath and-“

“Have you taken anyone else to bed beside me?”

Stunned silence grew between them, and Celegorm found himself filled with a strange sense of unease. Curufin was never the direct type, no. He preferred to prod away with vague questions, slowly easing the conversation in the direction he wanted until whatever answer he chased could be gathered without ever needing to reveal what he wanted to ask or why.

Still, he was not keen to reveal his concern, real as it was. Since their father’s passing, each time he would try to comfort his brother, Curufin would push back, whether it be needless hostility or bottling up his emotions. No matter how he tried to approach, directly or indirectly, with sympathy or irritation, it always ended the same: Curufin would become more upset, and Celegorm would end up almost snapping at him.

“Yeah,” Celegorm replied with feigned nonchalance. He had never been one to hide his various affairs, and it was not as if his brother did not know that; Curufin made it painfully clear on several occasions, with harsh reprimands and even multiple accounts of ignoring or chastising his advances, that he disapproved. “And you know that I have. Why are you asking?”

“Because,” his brother said, curling beneath the blanket. Celegorm raised his eyebrows.

In his mind, he ran through the list of things that his brother often got upset about. Finrod not giving him the attention he so often demanded, him not giving his brother the attention he equally often demanded, him feeling inadequate due to some new nonsensical thing that his mind had decided about himself, or some combination of the three. Seeing that lately, Curufin had decided he would rather leave him to his own vicious mind in pursuit of Finrod’s oh-so-glorious hole, Celegorm decided the most likely options were the first and the third.

“Because?” He prodded further, and was again met with silence from the other.

Long had he grown used to their little game now. Curufin would make it much too obvious that he was upset, Celegorm would investigate, and Curufin would evade. But as with all games, they would eventually end, and he had no doubt that eventually, Curufin would tire and reveal his intentions. All he needed was patience.

“Hold me,” his brother commanded, and Celegorm wordlessly obeyed. He pulled Curufin into an embrace, from behind as he always preferred, hands wrapping around his waist and his chin nestling between Curufin’s neck and shoulders. Naught was spoken between them for a long while, and with Curufin’s motionless form, he had almost thought that his brother had fallen asleep.

“Felagund laid with a Secondcomer,” Curufin said abruptly.

This cannot be what Curufin is upset about, Celegorm thought. It was the Secondcomers’ nature to be but a fleeting presence upon Arda, forgotten as quickly as they had come. And Finrod had his fair share of past lovers as well: a dalliance here, a tryst there. A doomed romance with Amarië, rumors of some intrigue with Turgon, and now the new lapdog of his brother. Adding a Man to the mix did not seem that strange. “Oh?”

“It’s strange. Improper.” In his arms, Curufin squirmed, sighing forcefully. “He is a lord, the first heir of his father’s house. He should not be indulging in such irreverent relationships, especially not with one not of his kind.”

Discomfort gripped Celegorm’s chest, his heart contorting within his chest as he pondered his brother’s strange declarations. It was painfully obvious, with Curufin’s similar remarks towards his own past relationships, that this was about more than simply what is appropriate for a relationship. His brother’s reactions were uncannily alike when he first discovered the night he and Oromë shared— the waspish attitude, his irritatingly pious words, his sulking. Even a fool could smell the foul odor of jealousy that reeked from Curufin’s mouth.

Celegorm hummed. “You seem strangely concerned with relationships that don’t involve you.”

“Tyelkormo.” Curufin’s tone darkened, but it did nothing to deter him.

“Is it truly as improper as you claim, brother?” He held back a chuckle. “I’ve laid with Lord Oromë, as you know. He seemed to take no issue with our dissimilarities. If the High Powers deem no inappropriateness between the relation of Vala and Elf, then what issue do you see with our dear cousin and his Man pet?”

Silence filled the room, and Celegorm was certain if he could see his brother’s face, he would find a storm brewing in those dark eyes. Even at a young age, Curufin oft complained of the hours he spent by his lonesome, not due to a lack of friendships, reluctant as he was to form new connections. Instead, he spoke of not being prioritized, of being chosen because there were no better options. He lamented days gone by where Finrod would not spend agonizingly long hours with Turgon, bemoaned the crafting of the Silmarils in private despite the prideful mask he wore.

Reflexively, Curufin tore himself away from Celegorm’s arms, sitting up in the bed with his back still turned against the other.

“Where are you going?” Celegorm asked.

“To bed.”

Despite all efforts to seem indifferent, his brother’s snappy response betrayed his true feelings. And really, Celegorm had to commend him for trying this hard to pretend he did not care. “Because you don’t like the answer I gave you?” He smirked, even if Curufin would not see it.

Curufin scowled, and remained silent.

“Oh, lighten up, brother,” with a sigh, Celegorm rolled onto his back. “It’s not as if being Findaráto’s secomd favorite darling is really an issue. The Man’s dead, you’re not. I don’t see what you’re griping about.”

“No, of course you don’t.” The other’s voice had dropped to barely above a sorrowful murmur as he stood, gazing intently at the door. “How can you understand, when you are the object of a Vala’s affection? When he showers gifts upon you, lathers praise upon you like honey, when in his eyes, you are more perfect than the very world he’s built?”

Celegorm, for what felt like the first time in his life, was left grasping for words, opening his mouth to protest before closing it again. “No I’m not-“

“Don’t you deny it.” Every word that shot out of his mouth was like an accusation, and as Curufin finally turned to face him, he could finally see the tempest that had brewed in the other’s eyes. “You’re Oromë’s special little plaything, aren’t you? I’ve seen how he looks at you, I’ve seen how his hands linger too long at your sides, Tyelkormo. He loved you. He loved you like you were Arda itself.” As he spoke, he blinked angrily, trying to will away the growing dampness in his eyes and ignore the ache that gripped his chest, how his throat threatened to close up with every second that passed.

“I wish I had it as good as you do,” he continued, barely able to choke down a sob that rattled his whole body. “I wish I was something. Anything.”

Before he could continue, he broke into tears, overwhelmed by the torrent of rage and despair that consumed him like an avalanche. “Forget it,” he said, turning then and rushing to the door without another word, and ran, leaving Celegorm to only the echoes of his sobs.

Curufin collapsed onto his bed, and he wept.