#February Challenge

[seventeenlovesthree]

@dutchforstrangers' DigiShipping Challenge for "Sora's Crest of L.O.V.E.": Initially I had planned to base my art on Bruno Mars' "Just The Way You Are" and the following lyrics: "When you smile, the whole world stops and stares for a while."

And in a sense, it still fits, as you can see Taichi and Sora smiling upon reconciling post-epilogue; but when I heard the song quoted below, Amelie Jat's "2028", the theme hit me even harder.

After reading John Strelecky's "Return to the Why Café", whose main protagonists FEEL a lot like these two dorks depicted above, I wanted them to rediscover themselves. Cutting their hair at the same time coincidentally, changing, remembering, growing into the people they needed to become to actually see each other again... It's what I feel when I listen to this song, remember this book, think about Taiora.

[improvewithtutorials]

Art Practice Road Map (Marc Brunet)

Last month, some of you started with me on a journey to improve based on Marc Brunets Road Map. Here is the second month: February.

How is everyone’s journey going? I have to admit that I did not fully complete month one (only around 15 gesture drawings), but damn I filled like three times the amount of sketchbook pages I normally fill in a month!

If you want the whole Road Map (for free), you can download it on cubebrush: Art Study Schedules.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Apple of my eye

This beautiful moodboard has been made by @sorisooyaa, my beloved baby...

In an attempt to break me out of my funk, here comes a little Ori story from the sweet sheet of the @fellowshipofthefics February Bingo.

Words: 1.5 k

Characters: Ori x reader

Prompt: Kissing in the rain

Your thoughts were flickering in and out of focus as you stared at the raindrops running down the opaque windowpane beside you despondently.

The weather had been rotten for days and you yearned for sunshine and blue skies with almost childlike fervency.

“What I wouldn’t give for a sweet, golden apple,” you sighed, well-aware of how whimsical and random that thought was, and leaned your head against the cool glass.

Rainstorms always made you feel profoundly lonely; they were meant for lazy cuddling by the fire and self-indulgent poetry readings. Unfortunately for you, the one who insidiously crept into all of your daydreams of sweet, innocent togetherness seemed stubbornly oblivious to your affections and so, you were doomed to petulant moping instead.

The slamming of a door interrupted your morose thoughts suddenly, and you looked up in surprise; surely, nobody would dare brave the vicious downpour when nightfall was so close at hand. You were, after all, well supplied and there was no good reason to venture forth at this hour.

“Lassie,” Dwalin grumbled reproachfully, “take a care what you wish for!”

Startled, you scanned the room and soon realised that it was indeed Ori, the very person you had been musing about so miserably, who had left the shelter of the small hut you were perched-up in together until the storm had abated.

“What is he thinking?” you exclaimed in dismay, springing to your numb feet in alarm.

“You’ve asked for some fruit, so he went to get you what your heart desires.”

“Nonsense!” you opined vehemently. “Why would he do something so recklessly thoughtless? He’ll get mired down in the mud or lose his way in the blinding rain! What my heart desires…and he leaves, really!”

Kíli gave you a long, dumbfounded stare, his unwavering disbelief starkly evident in every single line of his face.

“Ori would try to unhook the moon and pick stars like flowers for you,” he eventually said and shook his head regretfully. “Not that it has done him much good thus far.”

The heat of indignation and of disappointed love rose into your cheeks as you strode towards the door without sparing a thought or word for the unduly forward prince.

“Bloody fool,” you cursed. “Thrice confounded idiot!” Without paying any further heed to the astonished faces turning towards you in your passionate outburst either, you threw open the door and rushed out into the onslaught of icy water fearlessly.

Immediately, rivulets of stunning cold made their way down your spine and permeated your clothes as you advanced, tottering, towards the nearby line of fruit trees on unsteady feet.

This might well have been a mistake, you conceded, but you were too proud and decided to turn back now like a beaten cur.

Soon, you could make out the beloved silhouette of a small, dainty being – leaning forward to defy the vengeful violence of the sheets of rain driving him back – moving resolutely under the shadow of the dark trees.

“Ori!”

He turned around, wiping one hand over his eyes to clear his vision.

“What are you doing? Come in! It’s raining too much for you to go trudging off alone; it’s not safe.”

With a small, slightly quivering smile, he let his other hand shoot forward and – as his stiff fingers unravelled – you could discern a beautiful, golden apple lying like an unlooked-for treasure in his palm.

“I just…you said..” Ori grimaced and took a step towards you, his offering still stretched out reverently in front of his drenched and wretchedly trembling body.

Before you could either chide or thank him, he slipped on a treacherous spot of deep mud and fell hard.

“Ori!” You hastened forward, instantly losing your balance as your foot caught on a stone that had been obscured by the churned-up earth, and slithered into him on your hands and knees. “Are you okay? Oh, you shouldn’t have!”

Overcome by worry and love, you started patting his legs and arms – checking your hands for blood every other second – in a public display of attachment you would have been deeply ashamed of if anyone else had witnessed it.

“I just wanted to make you feel better,” Ori finished his previous thought quietly. “You looked so very sad because of the rain.”

“The rain?” It was true that you were not overly fond of overcast weather, but it had not really been the storm that had soured your mood. Maybe, you thought, it was time to tell him the truth; for once, you were perfectly alone and – surrounded by a veil of water – you truly felt as if you were the only people left alive in a world made of fury and darkness.

“I have tried to make you understand how much you mean to me for weeks now,” you confessed, crawling up over his prone body and staring longingly into his wide eyes. “It was the lack of a favourable reaction from you that has dampened my joy.”

Ori blinked in confusion. “That is highly irregular,” he finally said. “I might be slow, but I am steady; thus, I have dutifully studied your glances and smiles and I’ve memorised every one of them to make sure that I was not deluding myself.”

Proffering his apple once more, he blushed furiously. “I would have fulfilled your every wish, proving myself to be caring and reliable and then, a few months hence, I might have gathered the courage to present you with a token of my undying affection, made by my own hands and accompanied by a long letter of confession.”

He looked positively distraught now, wiping at his wet hair falling into his beautiful face periodically and gazing up at you with imploring intensity. “Never would I have guessed that my reticence would cause you pain. You must believe me when I swear that this was never my intention!”

You wanted everything he had described, of course, but you desired him more; you were restless and wet, and consequently good manners and wise precaution were not foremost in your troubled mind at that moment.

“Tell me true, Ori dearest, do you reciprocate my helpless infatuation then?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed, obviously scandalised by the minute flicker of doubt in your expression. “How could I not? Take this apple as a proof of my devotion; you yearned for sweetness and sunshine, and I’d stop the very rain from falling if only the depth of my love could tear the heavenly veils.”

“Sweetness,” you mused with a smirk and leaned forward to press your lips onto his brow. “I accept what you are offering, my darling.”

That face you had been dreaming about for so many days and nights was tilted up ever so slightly and your heart understood the cautious invitation before your mind could even make sense of everything that was happening; your lips wandered across his freckled cheeks and along his soft, bearded jaw to land softly on that expressive mouth you so admired.

It was still raining hard and, every so often, you tossed your head back to draw a deep breath to avoid drowning in your greed and the abundance of water battering your back unforgivingly, but – now that you had Ori to yourself – you couldn’t stop kissing him until you were light-headed with giddy triumph.

“You’re soaked,” you finally laughed, leaning your forehead against his, “and so am I. Let’s go in and dry off; I am more than willing to share my bedroll with you until we’re warmed up again.”

His golden eyes flashed with hints of amber and onyx as he realised that you were the only one allotted a separate chamber for privacy reasons; he had never set foot in that forbidden room and the thought of being secluded with you in so intimate a manner made his blush deepen and his fingers tremble.

“Highly…” he started.

“Irregular? Indecent? Tempting?” you supplied with a wink and scrambled to your feet cautiously, grabbing his hand and pulling him up alongside you.

“Yes!”

“Well, you’ve risked your health and happiness to get me an apple,” you grinned. “I would be remiss indeed if I didn’t risk my reputation and integrity to show myself appropriately grateful.”

Once more, he looked highly bewildered by your forwardness, but he followed you back to the cabin without saying another word.

“Ah, you’re alive!” The members of his company – friends and kin – seemed both relieved and amused by the muddy, drenched, pathetic sight of your victorious return.

“Indeed,” you said, still dragging Ori by the hand and presenting your apple proudly. “We shall now retire to clean up and to celebrate the successful foray of our dearest Ori.”

You disappeared into the small room at the end of the hall under a hail of hooting and hollering; someone wisely prophesied that Ori would end up marrying you and someone else – Kíli if your ears did not betray you – predicted an outcome of a much lewder variety.

If you had any say in the matter, as you hoped you would, you’d prove each and every one of them right before long.

So, special thanks to my darling baby for this beautiful edit...

And thanks to @fellowshipofthefics for the lovely prompts and the support.

Lots of love from a very sad little me!

[2soulscollide]

(FREE) CHALLENGE: February, write every day

Hello, hello! It's me!

This time I'm here to announce *drums*

A CHALLENGE! yay, another one :D

I've been struggling with college, personal life, and writing, and just realized that what I'm actually needing is a nice challenge to motivate me to write every single day! and, since January is coming to an end and February is a short month, I thought it'd be a cool idea to do a simple challenge for this upcoming month, don't you agree?

What will we be writing in February, you ask...

Well, I've collected some nice prompts, and each day of the month we will have to follow the prompt! it will come with different levels of difficulty, and you'll earn points (we love a little competition!) through the challenge. By the end of the month, we will share our results with the community!! (Also, as soon as you enter the challenge, there's an excel sheet to help you with the point system).

How will this work?

You will receive a daily prompt by e-mail. then, all you have to do is to write!! you can keep it to yourself or post it on Tumblr (feel free to tag me / use the tag #feb2soulscollide)

Click here to access the challenge!!

I really hope you like this, and that it somehow motivates you :) I'll try to participate as well since I haven't been writing lately...

Note: This is my first time creating an e-mail challenge, so I hope there are no mistakes haha :')

[choicesmonthlychallenge]

Who is hosting the February event this year?

The lovely @jerzwriter is hosting February this year!

You can find out more about the February challenge here: @choicesfebruary2024

[balinezik]

2021 challenge:D

[leightvblogs]

Thasmin at Mardi Gras

21th February- Mardi Gras

Prompts - Mardi Gras | Sticky Bun | The Middle (Jimmy Eat World)

The Doctor and Yasmin Khan celebrate Mardi Gras.

Hi, you can imagine where they were. It’s your choice.

BarkerWhoDwarfer2

“Welcome to Mardi Gras Yasmin Khan,�� the Doctor announced as they walked into the streets of the USA.

Yaz was excited as she wanted to do something different but wanted the party atmosphere.

The Doctor thought a Mardi Gras would be the effect axe thee when it was two of them. She thought of calling it a date but went against it as she was unsure. What was ruining her judgement.

“What are we going to do,” asks Yaz

“We are going to join a parade,” she said.

Yaz cheered with excitement.

The Doctor and Yaz walked through the city in the parade and enjoyed it. It felt like a fiesta and they fit right in with the crowd and partied hard. Yaz felt so happy and the Doctor was glad she gave her the opportunity,

The were covered in paint being thrown into the streets, they danced to upbeat carnival music and ate a variety of food.

The Doctor looked at Yaz, she felt she looked beautiful. Her Yasmin Khan. She was struggling with her feelings. Should she ask her out or just leave to as it was without hurting Yaz. She new her long life and previous experience would be a reason why she couldn’t do it. She didn’t know but Yaz’s smile made it harder.

They returned to the TARDIS at night and were tired. The partying had finally got to them

“I am partied out,” said Yaz.

Me too Yaz,” the Doctor said, “Let’s get to bed. Want to join me Miss Khan?”

“Is it a date?”

“It might be!”

Yaz smiled as the Doctor led to her bedroom.

The Doctor felt happy she had asked Yaz. All she had to do was not let her past feelings ruin it and just be herself. She’s the Doctor.

[sheerfreesia007]

February Writing Challenge

I'm going to be doing a February Writing Challenge to try and keep my creative juices flowing. So there's going to be a little fic for each day of February full of fluff for each of these guys:

[jannekebooister]

De Beukenbuurt - illustratie / The Beech District - illustration by Janneke Booister Via Flickr: Warercolour paint and pencils on Gerstaecker No3 paper 200 g/m2. 

Colours used are Hooker's Green Light, Hooker's Green Dark, Ivory Black, Burnt Umber, Cadmium Red Light; all Winsor&Newton Cotman and Permanent Sap Green; Winsor&Newton Professional and 0.3 Sepia, 0.2 Black; all Derwent Graphik Line Markers and Grey, Black; Line marker (brand unknown) and Rose Pink, Deep Vermillion, Sap Green, May Green, Turquoise Green, Primrose Yellow, Dark Violet, Light Blue, French Grey, Brown Ochre, Burnt Sienna, Sepia; all Derwent Watercolour Pencils 

My own reference. 

For a challenge 

Paper size 30 x 40 cm; available (Contact me) 

Het verhaal van dit werk is beschreven in mijn blog / The story of this work is written in my blog jannekesatelier.blogspot.com/

[itsfirecat]

(text description in ALT and below the cut)

Based on some rumblings I heard, I ended up quickly throwing together a fun little WIP bingo sheet! I'll admit I largely wrote the prompts for writing, but I think a good number of them should also apply to art!

Ultimately, the goal is to have fun, and finish whatever WIPs you can (without burning yourself out or having a bad time). If you needed a sign to pick up that project you've been putting off, the time is now!

3x4 Bingo square titled "Finish your fucking fics february"

the top three across left to right read "Update your oldest WIP", "Finish a WIP that's been buried deep in your drafts", and "Finish a WIP that you haven't posted yet"

the second row reads "Finish a recent WIP", "Finish a WIP you're scared of" and "Finish a WIP that's been haunting you"

the third row reads "Update a partially posted WIP", "Finish any WIP/Free Space", and "Finish the next WIP in a series you've been avoiding"

the last row reads "Update your newest WIP", "Finish a WIP that's been ignored for at least 6 months", and "Finish the next chapter for a fic you've been meaning to for months"

[moradach5]

💯💯💯

[noctifernoctua]

It's a frog

[nedseii]

Sansaery?

sansaery indeed 🙏

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Crime of passion

So, to finish February...The pseudo-crime-story :D

Words: 2.3 k

Characters: Angbang (Melkor x Mairon)

Prompt: Meeting the family

The first thing Mairon noticed about Melkor was how cleverly he was cheating at cards.

No, that was a cowardly lie; the first thing he had ever noticed was how frighteningly and unconventionally handsome that man was, and it was only after being thoroughly mesmerised by his breath-taking deportment that Mairon–unable to detach his curious, intelligent gaze from the other patron–had caught on to the sleight-of-hand and the affable smile accompanying it.

In his trade, he had, of course, met his fair share of thieves and robbers of all classes and thus he was not overly fazed by the fact that even amongst the most notable peers of the realm one inevitably stumbled upon a few rotten apples.

Indeed, had Lord Melkor–renowned and fabled even in these halls of hushed excellence—been but a common crook, Mairon would have been able to deplore his unlucky taste in potential partners in silence and drown his temporary sorrow in a glass of first-class scotch.

Unfortunately for that discreet P.I., Melkor seemed to swindle his companions for the thrill of it rather than for any gain as he generously paid his plundered comrades’ drinks with as much glee and enthusiasm as he exhibited while defrauding them.

“I have noticed your particular and pointed interest in my dealings tonight,” a low, rumbling voice resounded behind Mairon’s armchair just as he was about to open a letter he had received earlier that day and which he had stowed away in his waistcoat pocket for later perusal. “May I ask if I can be of any assistance?”

Mairon’s bright, shrewd eyes flew up but his hands did not still on the paper he was in the process of meticulously tearing open.

“I should not think so,” he gave back in his sharp, impatient tone; no matter how fascinated he had been with the stately and yet lithe demeanour of the other man, he would not be goaded into a dangerous fling with one of the most powerful men in the land.

“Let me buy you another drink,” Melkor drawled, already waving an indolent but authoritative hand at a passing waiter. “I have seen you here before, but I’ve never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

“Being part of the same gentlemen’s club does not necessarily mean that one frequents the same social circles,” Mairon replied not without a hint of bitterness; he had been born for great things, he was sure of it, but hitherto, he had clawed himself up the steep, slippery ladder of society by the skin of his teeth.

“So you know who I am, good,” Melkor grinned, grabbing the letter in Mairon’s hand quickly and inspecting it. “A private investigator? How charming…and tempting. Tell me, good man, do you enjoy a proper mystery?”

Cocking one eyebrow, Mairon waited in dignified silence while his senses and his impossibly quick mind took stock of the gentleman sitting in the armchair facing him.

Melkor was a tall man of an undeterminable age with long, dark hair and bright, sparkling eyes that almost seemed violet in the dim light of the fireplace in the corner of the room; far from being insipidly “pretty”, he possessed a wild, intimidating, rough beauty that commanded respect and inspired awe, and–judging by the cocky, lopsided smile he flashed Mairon now–he was more than aware of that.

“Why don’t you come up to the House this weekend?” Melkor purred under his breath, leaning closer and batting his lashes at Mairon invitingly. “There is always a mystery or two to solve there. Something is lost. Something is stolen. Something is destroyed. It bores me to death, but–if you were to come and play–it might even be fun.”

Long training and an almost feline disposition for calm observation helped Mairon in keeping his face expressionless with the exception of a tiny twitch of the corners of his mouth.

“Indeed,” he then muttered and, retrieving his letter, returned the missive to his pocket unopened. “I am most intrigued. Are you inviting me to solve a crime you are sure will happen? Are you the perpetrator then?”

“Sometimes,” Melkor admitted good-humouredly, “even though I will say that the others do not need my aid to make a proper mess of things. You’ll see. Do come up and enliven the mausoleum of my father’s fossilised dreams, yes?”

When he extended his hand to Mairon, a sleek, black card had materialised between his strong, broad fingers.

“I’ll think about it,” Mairon conceded and tucked the card away alongside his letter without so much as looking at it once.

“I can’t wait to see you there,” Melkor smirked, radiating with confidence and good cheer. “So long, old chap, so long.”

Having risen through the ranks at a dizzying speed, Mairon felt just a shiver of apprehension travel down his spine as he stood at the foot of the broad marble steps leading up to the main entrance of the sprawling estate he had been invited to.

Even now as he made his way to the heavy door and closed his long, sensitive fingers around the ponderous brass knocker, he was not entirely sure why he had come. Usually, he was not one for social games; he preferred to be regarded–and feared–for his ruthless competence and his uncanny ability to wrestle even the most chaotic of facts into a neat arrangement that revealed the hidden meaning of the whole picture.

Failing to restore order, Mairon had been known to threaten, bully, and manipulate people into betraying themselves in their flustered state of nervous upheaval; he was not a saint, but he was exceptionally good at his job which made his superiors turn a blind eye to his less orthodox habits and techniques.

“Ah,” Melkor gently pushed the pale young woman opening the door out of the way and took Mairon by the elbow to steer him into the bowels of the house. “I am delighted that you have come. Meet the dramatis personae!”

With a flourish, he threw open the heavy double doors at the end of a long corridor containing some of the most exquisite paintings Mairon had ever seen.

“What is it now?” A woman stepped forward but stopped, one hand pressed to her chest as if to clutch her very heart, as she saw Mairon. “Melkor! What is the meaning of this?”

With the singsong voice of a circus ringmaster, Melkor started to introduce everyone within the room as well as a few persons clearly visible through the large French windows in rapid succession.

Thankfully, Mairon had no trouble memorising names and faces and so, he let his polite mask slip and focused solely on filing away the information Melkor so zealously heaped upon him; his eyes were bright and cold over a grimly set mouth as he greedily absorbed his surroundings.

Something about the house or its mood made him think of Melkor’s prediction; at that very moment, as he stood in the middle of a large sitting room, Mairon was intimately convinced that his host would be proven right before long. The air was brimming with just the right kind of tension to breed festering resentment, explosive passion, and–of course–crime.

“Welcome, make yourself at home,” a tall, well-built man with hair as startlingly pale as Melkor’s was dark said in a slightly despondent tone; Manwë, Mairon remembered instantly, the brother and co-heir of his charming host who, meanwhile, was leaning against the wall in a corner like a sleek, lethal, black panther.

“A drink?” His wife–of course, a man like Manwë would have a wife who looked as if someone had cut her out of a magazine–said in a tone that was nowhere near interrogative. She was tall and slender with a frightening intensity in both the rigidity of her gaze and the severe set of her generous mouth.

A dangerous vixen, Mairon decided within a single heartbeat, and steeled himself in anticipation.

“A whiskey, neat,” he then replied suavely, his own blazing eyes locked onto her cold beauty with something midway between admiration and disgust; the smile she gave him as she floated over to the small wooden counter was perfunctory and as cutting as a shard of ice.

“Have a seat, my man,” Manwë invited and waved a vague hand towards the sofas strewn around haphazardly in an otherwise perfectly laid out room.

“No doubt our guest wants to freshen up before dinner,” Melkor interjected so suddenly that everyone turned to him. “I’ll see him to his room.”

The barely held-back energy in his movements and the undeniable authority in his voice brooked no resistance and so, Mairon was ushered out as soon as he had accepted the glass the lady of the house extended with perfect politeness and very little amiability.

As they passed into the corridor, Melkor had the audacity to wink at him as if they were sharing an exquisite joke. “What do you think of our little ménage? Just wait until you meet the Big Man; everything becomes clearer after you make the acquaintance of my esteemed pater.”

Mairon swirled the golden liquid in the thick-walled glass slowly as he recalled all the people he had met to the forefront of his mind as one summoned the actors of a play to the centre of a stage; it was an interesting group, even he couldn’t deny that, and he in fact had to admit that he was almost looking forward to the evening meal.

“I’ll come to pick you up later?” Melkor purred, leaning against the doorframe and interrupting Mairon’s distracted musings by the sheer presence of his massive body filling the space between them. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost in these long, dark hallways.”

“That would be ever so appreciated, thank you,” Mairon replied politely and–struggling against the insane impulse to invite, for reasons he could not yet fathom, that sharply smiling quasi-stranger into the room allotted to him–he resolutely shut the door.

Melkor, he enumerated in his head as soon as he was alone, brother to Manwë who–according to the former–was a dunce and a dangerous disgrace. Manwë was married to Varda–cold, distant, and mesmerising as the night sky bespangled with diamonds–and that matrimonial bond gave him an edge over his bachelor brother for Varda was an accomplished hostess and a paragon of propriety and thus held considerable sway in the community.

The young woman who had first let Mairon in had been Nienna. She and her two brothers were counted amongst the oddities of the manor and–if Melkor was to be believed–his father had built them a gloomy lodge within the sprawling park where her brothers resided with their respective spouses.

Mairon could only surmise that they fulfilled some function and were deemed useful or beneficial to the family in a less self-evident way because, otherwise, it would hardly have been sensible to sustain two couples and a maiden out of pure philanthropy.

Somehow, Mairon doubted that either one of the men of this house would easily be seduced into doing anything for less than perfectly valid, rational, and self-serving reasons; he could respect that for he valued a sound mind over a bleeding heart.

The sweet, effaced Nienna was a spinster though and as such, she was apparently considered the gentle minder and caretaker of all the needs of the other inhabitants of the household.

Hovering around the core group like a benevolent ghost, she probably lived within the manor itself to make sure that she’d always be at the beck and call of whatever whimsy or mood befell the young lords or their prestigious guests.

She was pretty enough in her slightly vague, translucent way and she certainly seemed agreeable and pleasant to the highest degree; maybe, Mairon thought with a smirk as he finally drained his tumbler, that was the very reason why Melkor had elbowed her out of the way so quickly.

He had not yet seen Irmo, the youngest of the three, but he had noticed Námo, Nienna’s oldest brother and the undisputed head of their little family unit.

A morose, somewhat judgemental silhouette in the background of an oddly domestic scene, Námo had thus far done nothing to endear himself to Mairon or win any favours in the young detective’s eyes.

Setting his glass down on a beautifully varnished and dutifully polished dresser, Mairon let his thoughts wander on.

To these colourful characters were added Aulë and Yavanna, groundskeepers and friends of the house more than actual servants; Mairon had caught but a momentary glimpse of them, entertaining a gaggle of dishevelled local kids with their expertise.

By the time Melkor came to fetch Mairon for dinner, the elusive investigator–known and dreaded for his shrewd ability to see right through people’s façades down into their most intimate core–had a pretty good overview of the inhabitants and dependents of the manor.

The ruggedly handsome face of his mysterious benefactor was drawn and pale, and Mairon instinctively knew that something had gone awry while he had been changing into his perfectly tailored evening garb.

“You are in for a treat,” Melkor said with a smile that might have fooled a less perspicacious onlooker. “The hunting party has returned a day early.”

“Hunting party?” Mairon’s gaze fell onto a pile of hunting and fishing gear–messily thrown into a corner of the foyer–as he strode down the broad staircase confidently by Melkor’s side.

“As I said, we had not expected them yet,” Melkor explained sombrely; from the salon, raucous voices–raised in excitement and anger–boomed in a rapid exchange of profanities that were interrupted periodically by the pacifying interjections of the female onlookers.

“Moreover,” the tall, stern man continued, “my father has disappeared. He’s not been seen since before your arrival and he’s nowhere to be found on the grounds.”

“Disappeared?” Mairon echoed, all his senses alight with the thrill of finding a precious and unlooked-for gift addressed to him.

Melkor merely nodded and pushed open the door with a forceful flourish in a grotesque déjà-vu.

“Here are your suspects,” he whispered in a strained voice, “happy hunting.”

I've slightly dropped the ball on this, but (if I get time later today), I might drop another Angbang to at least get Bingo on both sheets.

@fellowshipofthefics here is my (potentially) last entry for this year's February Bingo.

Thank you so much for this amazing event!!!

Lots of love

[nataszaluiz]

Day 10: Hercules

PS: I would have a heart attack. 😨

[dr3adlady]

February 2024 Romance Drawing Challenge

Day 14: Robb Stark and Jeyne Westerling