lets fuck in an art gallery
i mean you deserve to be pinned up against a wall
you are a masterpiece
Elves aren’t meant to sleep. Rest comes in thinking beautiful thoughts, in open-eyed dreams of sorts…
Maedhros dreams of him often, afterwards.
He dreams of his rooms in Tirion, colored by the blending light of the trees. He dreams of warmth, of his balcony green with flowering vines, overlooking the peaceful streets of the city.
(He dreams he has a right hand.)
Sometimes his father is there. Fëanor smiles to see Maedhros, tells him he’s sorry, tells him he loves him-
Those dreams are short. A child’s fantasy: too much of a lie to sustain, even at his mind’s most quiet.
But most of the time, Maedhros dreams of him.