I'll bring the coffee if you bring the wine @herinke9 - Tumblr Blog

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talyris

for the requests obviously i ask for: curufin 🥺

Some sketches of Curufin for you ❤️

🗡️🗡️🗡️

#curufin #what a guy

elfinfen

Maglor's little star, tormented and longing for his family for jc-vanimia ✨

Elrond and Maglor

#maglor #Elrond #maglor has the vibes of an evil step mom here

106i0

#akatsuki no yona #op draws Zeno so cute

lyragoth

Today I bring two things I don’t usually write: Curufin completely losing his s*, and angst Tyelcurvo in the same fic lmao If anyone is interested in or enjoys my Tyelcurvo…

Celegorm crossed the chamber in three quick strides before stopping short at the sight before him. The chamber looked ravaged. All the mirrors had been smashed completely through the center. And in the middle of the wreckage stood Curufin. Barefoot. Blood marked his steps where broken shards had cut into his skin, though he seemed not to notice. His black curls clung damply to his flushed face, soaked through with spilled wine. He was breathing too fast, shoulders trembling violently beneath the loose folds of his silk robes.

Beautiful... Always so beautiful... even like this.

Not despite the decadence. Because of it. So much like their father in every possible way; it hurt to look. Celegorm’s chest tightened.

“Curufinwë—”

“Do not call me that!” Curufin snapped at once, stumbling backward another step, shards of crystal grinding beneath his bare feet. “Not now. Not when you are looking at me like that.” (...) Celegorm had understood it long before Curufin ever named it in himself. Only Celegorm could shape his guilt into devotion instead of shame. Only Celegorm could transform punishment into meaning rather than abuse... because Celegorm was his brother. It was the only way Curufin knew how to feel whole: by being shattered, piece by piece, by the only soul that mirrored his own." Complete version in AO3

ladysterndust

very delicate, tasteful, exquisite, and emotionally rich writing. I love Tyelcurvo, and I love Lyra Goth’s fics!

#fic rec #it’s so good guys #10/10 would read again

ladysterndust

Celegorm, Curufin and the shift in gravity

(It’s never over)

Young Curvo clings to Tyelkormo, demanding permission to read his books, stay in his room, sleep in his bed, and sit beside him in the dining hall. No matter where Tyelkormo goes, Curvo follows.

Adult Celegorm hopes that withdrawn and not particularly open-hearted Curufin will linger after discussions of military campaigns, will want to join him on a hunt, will settle beside him by any fire and in any hall. Whenever Curufin makes a decision, Celegorm stands with him.

Young Curvo strives to be brave, swift, and graceful like Tyelkormo. He dreams that his older brother will praise the way he rides or shoots a bow. He is always glancing back, searching for the hunter’s quick eyes. He wants Tyelkormo to look at him, not just after him.

Adult Celegorm, every now and then, doubts his own eloquence, his arguments, his charisma, his ability to win over the nobles of Nargothrond. Out of the corner of his eye, he searches for Curufin — for the faint curve of his brother’s smile, for his approving glance. He wants Curufin to see him as an equal ally, one who complements him in every way.

Little Curvo quarrels with his peers, prepares to present his first serious project to their father, frets over how to approach the maiden he fancies, and in every situation asks himself: what would Tyelko do?

Adult Celegorm hears jests about the color of his hair and his parentage, faces the distrust of Finrod’s people, schemes to gain support in Nargothrond, and asks himself: what would Curufin do?

Little Curvo is jealous of Tyelkormo’s hunter friends, of their other brothers, of Irissë. He longs for Tyelko to stay near him, to choose him above everyone else.

Adult Celegorm is jealous of their followers, of their other brothers, of the memory of Curufin’s wife. He wants to be the only one Curufin trusts; he wants to be the first person Curufin thinks of no matter what happens; he wants Curufin to notice his absence, to keep him close.

Little Curvo is always climbing into Tyelkormo’s lap, hugging him after not-that-long absences, slipping into his bed and curling up against his chest, purring contentedly beneath his flustered kisses.

Adult Celegorm, with a hunter’s attentiveness, calculates when Curufin is in a good enough mood to tolerate a touch. He pats Curufin’s shoulder during hunts, brushes his wrist in passing, presses their foreheads together after yet another quarrel between Curufin and his son. And when Curufin pours the wine in the evening, they sit shoulder to shoulder, until Celegorm gradually slumps against his brother and curls up at his side like a hound.

Little Curvo is delighted when Tyelkormo gifts him his first grown-up bow, or an amulet.

Adult Celegorm suppresses a smile whenever Curufin fastens a bracelet around his wrist, weaves gemstones into his hair, or presents him with a circlet exceptionally lavish and suspiciously kingly.

Little Curvo shyly buries his face against his older brother’s chest and demands reassurance that Tyelkormo loves him more than anyone else in the world.

Adult Celegorm pretends to have fallen asleep by the fire, but betrays himself with a smile when Curufin leans down to stroke his hair. They both know this is what he has been waiting for.

#tyelcurvo

ladysterndust

Is there a name for this thing?

Celegorm and Curufin are just being brothers. So, like they are with the other five sons of Fëanor? Well.

I like to think about characters who are neither romantically nor sexually involved — and yet who are absolutely not normal about each other. Characters whose relationships are entirely platonic, but also codependent, jealous, obsessive, and toxic. Characters who bring out the worst in each other.

So, Celegorm and Curufin.

I am fond of the headcanon that they are both aggressively (read: homophobically) heterosexual, and yet every woman who ever entered a relationship with either of them eventually came to realize that there would always be “three of us in the marriage.”

Perhaps young Curvo is one of the reasons Tyelkormo and Irissë never act on their feelings for one another. Of course, they become companions in all their escapades, hunts, and adventures — after all, Curvo is there as well. They build a friendship so strong that eventually even considering romance feels awkward.

Irissë dislikes the model of womanhood and marriage she sees in her mother. She wants to be free, equal, independent — a comrade-in-arms rather than a wife. She does not yet realize that marriage can be that too.

Tyelko is deeply invested in his family. The miniature Fëanáro perpetually trailing after him certainly reinforces that impression.

Perhaps Tyelkormo’s constant presence in Curufinwë’s household eventually makes Curufin’s wife realize that her husband still belongs to his father’s family. Shouldn’t he separate from it, draw boundaries, preserve some privacy for his new family?

But what privacy can there be when Turkafinwë is not exactly a guest in their home? He simply exists wherever Curvo does.

Curufinwë himself does not fully understand that, for spouses, their new family is supposed to come first. He loves his wife. He loves Tyelpë. Yet he remains in constant companionship with Tyelko, planning his daily life and leisure alongside him.

And when Curufinwë swears the Oath, his wife finally understands that he will always be driven first and foremost by loyalty to his father’s house.

Celegorm and Curufin were endearingly close in their youth. As losses, hardship, bitterness, and every imaginable form of trauma-bonding accumulate, they become disturbingly close.

Of course, on the surface this is merely the detached, ironic, poisonous communication of two hardened men united by common purpose rather than by any desire to be together. Men who are practical. Men who do not waste words — where “do not waste words” really means “do not communicate feelings.”

Perhaps because they have been trained on one another like hunting hounds.

They read each other through the tension in a shoulder, the arch of an eyebrow, the curve of a mouth. There is nothing between them that can be identified as abnormal, and yet something dangerous and unsettling hangs in the air around them.

That fierce bond occasionally emerges on the battlefield, when Celegorm searches his brother for wounds with wild eyes. It is visible when Curufin silently places a hand on an enraged Celegorm’s wrist. It becomes almost obvious when they exchange a glance while listening to Finrod — unmistakably thinking the same thing. It turns ominous when Curufin, casually and without comment, dresses and arms Celegorm according to his own judgement. It becomes morbidly intimate when they treat one another’s rooms, possessions, and personal space as shared.

And yet it remains endearing in those rare moments when they comfort one another — pressing their foreheads together, steadying each other by the elbow, sharing brief embraces.

#YES #being both homophobic but insane about each other!!!#also I’m obsessed with the whole “not outwardly weird but outside pov sure is something #tyelcurvo

Feeling bad today but I have a hangout with friends :(

innerchildabortionclinic

oooooo....let the liiight iiiiin.....

#Lana del Rey #I have this on repeat all the time

kibutsulove

after all why not. why shouldn’t i draw morgoth grisping the fuck out of sauron for a second time?

#morgoth #sauron

ladysterndust

Celegorm and Curufin are brutally honest with each other

When it comes to Lúthien, Curufin will not lie to his brother either.

CW: Curvo’s (unsurprisingly) nasty takes on Beren and Lúthien, and a hint of incest (blink and you’ll miss it).

“Do you think she could come to love me?” Celegorm asks it casually, almost in passing, with studied indifference.

At once, Curufin understands why his brother refuses to leave, why he continues sprawling across the coverlet of Curufin’s bed instead of allowing his younger brother to retire for the night.

Why, these past few days, he has been so strangely attentive, so subtly agitated.

Deep down, Curufin has known all along, of course. Celegorm’s desire to marry Lúthien was not born of political advantage alone.

“You? Her captor? The murderer of her kin?” Curufin arches a brow. He regards his brother with ruthless irony.

Honeyed words, sweet songs — those he reserved for their cousin Finrod and for the lords of Nargothrond. For anyone whose good opinion of him serves a purpose. Let them deceive themselves for as long as they remain useful. They may smash themselves to death against reality afterward, for all Curufin cares.

“Well,” Celegorm drawls, turning his face toward the light, “am I not fair, graceful, and quick-witted?”

He presents himself with mock elegance: the sharp line of his cheekbone, the boldly cut brows, the clear blue eyes, the dimples tugging at the corners of his smile, the vivid, finely shaped lips, the silver hair framing his face.

He is the fairest man now living.

“Quick-witted you are not,” Curufin pronounces. “As for your beauty and your grace — do you truly believe such virtues are anything Lúthien of Doriath has not seen a hundred times before?”

He leans over his brother until they are face to face. Yet even as his words remain severe, his gaze unwillingly caresses Celegorm’s chiseled features, that wild, haughty beauty. He cannot help it.

“The daughter of Thingol and Melian — that spoiled princess — has everything. She searched until she found the one thing she had been denied — denied because it was something unworthy of possessing. Now, all your beauty will not be enough to sway her.”

“Ah,” Celegorm says, smiling with effortless brilliance and satisfaction. “So you admit that I am beautiful?”

In the wavering candlelight, his eyes gleam, and his lips seem dark crimson. Curufin’s gaze catches upon their cruel curve and cannot quite free itself.

With an effort, he rolls his eyes. For a fleeting moment, his brother seems himself again — carefree and mischievous. But all too quickly, Celegorm turns away.

Curufin wants to believe he can wound his brother swiftly and honestly, all at once, and thereby spare him the slow, unending hurt Tyelko is so determined to inflict upon himself. He reaches toward Celegorm again, wishing to stroke his brother’s cheek in truth, with his own roughened fingers.

Instead, Curufin merely pats him on the shoulder.

You can find my other Tyelcurvo headcanons here and here.

#tyelcurvo #>:)#op you had me at incest