#good luck to all the competitors!

[hayscodejew]

Quarterfinals time!!!

Round three is live! I'm serious, some of these fights have been intense, but I wouldn't expect a debate about Judaism to go any differently. Check below for details on the results, and make sure you share the poll when you're done! Polls are open until 5pm EST November 3rd.

The Pines Twins stopped Ron Stoppable in his tracks, beating him with 71.2% of the vote (111).

This isn't what dreams are made of for Gordo, walking away with 36.5% (57) of the vote to Bucky's 63.5%.

"Four for Fran Fine, you go Fran, and none for Gretchen Weiners, bye." Or, more accurately, 64.1% (100) for Fran and 35.9% for Gretchen.

I guess Izzy's got the Frizzies, and our favorite teacher is walking away with 64.7% (101).

DC's fully out of the running, with Spiderman trapping Batman in his web -- 85.9% (134) to 14.1%.

Our most contentious race this round was that of the 60's icons, a fight consistently neck and neck between Spock and the Scooby Gang. Going into overtime and getting its' own Special Election(!!!), the Vulcan death grip has taken them out with 76.6% (49 out of 64). Well fought, meddling kids, well fought.

(and if y'all don't believe me, here's the final pie chart for the original matchup.)

A slightly less tied race, but another one that's still evenly matched, is that of the magic kids. Managing to be decided in the overtime, Steven's won against Willow with 51.3% (80). Neither Scooby Gang is winning this one, but if we combine both troops we've got a minyan!

Public access kid's television still has two contenders in the race, with Oscar the Grouch holding out in his sidewalk spot against the werewolf threat, getting two thirds of the vote (66.7%, 104).

[forever-yours-simdate]

Lycoris is just so babgirl, I just want him to sit in my lap and smooch him while his dogs try to dogpile on top. I'm ready to propose immediately

POV Lycoris sits in your lap

(bonus doodles under cut)

[uc-fan-polls]

Lathe Nightrym - The person inside the soulcoin Thavius is carrying.

Charles - Familiar to Annie Wintersummer. He's very adorable and loves you very much and will remind you. He often gets dispelled by Annie when he isn't being useful to her.

Bixlebong Borple - Artificer, friend of Aster (Mentioned in Episode 1)

Shi'elle - gnomish woman, a sky pirate that joins the festival for Snowdrop together with her Eirden (Seen in Episode 2)

Lee - Whimsical Body-Horror entrance: he’s first seen as a glowing hand (Seen in Episode 3)

Scenda - the consciousness inside the Ascendant Engine

[fairytale-poll]

I propose that fans of Cinderellas defeated by Once Upon a Time (in Space) vote for Into the Woods! If we band together, our faves will be avenged!!! C'mon Into the Woods, I know you can do it!

If this propaganda has convinced here, click here to vote for Cinderella (Into the Woods)!

[foone]

Have you heard about the Polish Train company, Newag, and the bullshit it turns out they got up to?

So, the regional rail operator Koleje Dolnośląskie bought some Newag Impuls back in 2016 . In late 2021, some of them need to have major maintenance done, as they've been in service a while. So the company SPS (Serwis Pojazdów Szynowych) gets the contract to fix them. They basically take the train apart, replace a bunch of it, following all the rules in the documentation Newag gave them, and... it won't move. The train says everything is fine, the brakes are off, there's plenty of power, but you push the throttle up and it won't move.

SPS spends a while trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong, with no luck. So they hire some hackers from the Polish security group Dragon Sector. Dragon Sector figures out how to get into the code of the computer system that runs the train, and OH MY GOD.

So it turns out there's a secret train-lock system. If it's on, the train won't move. This will be triggered in some situations you might think are normal: the clocks are wrong, the serial numbers of the various parts have changed, and a firmware mismatch between the main computer and the power system. Now, the fact that it makes sense to not run the train in these situations until someone can check it? that doesn't extend to the fact the train uses a SECRET lock system, rather than just popping up an error message telling you what's wrong. There's also the problem that while these are all potential error problems, they can't be cleared by anyone with the technical manuals, which are supposed to cover everything about how to run these trains. Only Newag themselves can reset this system.

Which, you know, keeps SPS from properly fixing them. Only Newag can fix them now, but not because SPS lacks any technical ability, but because Newag sabotaged their own trains. But don't worry: it gets worse.

So now that Dragon Sector knows what's happening, they get to look at other trains. It turns out the trains aren't all running the same software, and there are other tricks in there.

One of them is a "how long has the train been stopped?" check. If the train hasn't hit 60 km/h in 10 days, the train locks itself and won't move until Newag can clear it. So, like, if a train is ever out of service, like it's going to a repair place... it'll break itself. Unless the repair place is owned by Newag.

But two of the trains go further: See, these trains have GPS built in, right? You may be able to guess where this is going...

THEY JUST MAKE THE TRAIN CHECK IF IT IS PARKED AT THEIR COMPETITORS' REPAIR YARD AND BREAK ITSELF IF IT WAS.

The sheer audacity of this move. This is frighteningly bullshit anti-competition self-sabotage.

This has, obviously, made some parts of the Polish government to start investigating this. Newag may be (and hopefully will be) in a lot of trouble.

For more info, there's a great video of a presentation by the three people from Dragon Sector who did the hacking, which was presented at the 37th Chaos Communication Congress in Germany.

Ars Technica also has an article on it, but it predates the presentation so it doesn't have some of the later details.

Anyway, the good news is that in the end the hackers at Dragon Sector were able to unlock most of the trains: A few had additional trickery that they didn't want to hack around, because it might break the train's certification. For the others, they discovered undocumented "cheat codes" in the software that they could use to bypass the secret lockouts... presumably the same ones that Newag would have used when they "repaired" trains.

[biboomerangboi]

My friend was watching the show for the first time and they brought up a misconception that I think we see a lot in fandom. So I want to talk about The Gamblers Den and specifically this scene in particular:

My friend genuinely wondered what Hua Cheng would do and then when they heard his explanation they were even more confused:

They basically messaged me saying, wait Hua Cheng would have made the bet. He bets people’s lives and some how Xie Lian is okay with that. How???

And to anyone else who’s thinking the same thing or falling for the Demon King vibe Hua Cheng is trying to sell here I am here to tell you, you have all been duped.

What’s import to understand is that Ghost City actually came from making one of Xie Lian’s ideas work:

Xie Lian is talking about a specialised market here, a place where the common people couldn’t just stumble into without reason and that’s what Ghost City is and The Gambers Den is the foundation of it. While Xie Lian didn’t say hey go gamble, Hua Cheng is taking a risk and playing into his greatest strength and then showing of for his crush is the most dramatic way possible when talking about it.

For Hua Cheng the house always wins! Literally. Or at least what he wants the bet to be will always happen. His luck is just that good. If the gambler wins it’s genuinely because Hua Cheng let him.

In the Den he is acting as Judge and Jury with Xie Lian as his moral code but he can’t just turn down the deals. If he does then these people could go to less safe options (looking at you Qi Rong) to get what they desire which negates the reason he built Ghost City in the first place.

Hua Cheng has to let these people play by his rules if he wants to follow his Gods wishes. So he has to be creative and look at loop holes, phrasing and Xie Lians most important teaching finding the third path.

For this moment specifically giving the options I think Hua Cheng would have taken the 20 years of his daughter’s life. Why you may ask? Well the phrasing is easier to manipulate. While the eradication of his competitors is pretty well laid 20 years of his daughters life is pretty vague.

Option 1) Hua Cheng could take her away from her shit father and put her in an apprenticeship and marry a man of her choosing since her hand is now her own to decide since Hua Cheng doesn’t want it.

Option 2) She has to work in Ghost City for 20 years and is married to Yin Yu in name only (because Hua Cheng can’t have a wife at all or he won’t win Gege) then gets pleasantly divorced and giving a severance payment after 20 years.

Option 3) He could decide life is a vague term and after she dies she has to spend 20 years in Ghost City and matchmake a future marriage between her and another ghost.

Option 4) He could decide what she has to do with the next twenty years of her life which could include an actual good marriage and education. Where she has to worship his shrine and be only his devotee for 20 years.

Option 5) He can literally say I’ll collect when I decide and never cash in.

He can do anything because the wording is so fluent and for Hua Cheng debater and Civil God Killer it’s probably easy. He’s not a demon king, he’s a crafty trickster spirit basically a fae lord.

He’s playing the system and he’s winning that’s what Xie Lian figured out and why he supports it. He knows Hua Cheng well enough even back then to trust that he would make the right decision because he believes in Hua Cheng and he’s right too.

[sebscore]

Can you write something with Kimi in his Alfa Romeo seasons and driver!reader? I miss him so much :(

GIDDY GOODBYES 

pairings: raikkonen family x driver!reader

author's note: is this inspired by that cute antonio and kimi moment in abu dhabi '21? Yes. i miss him too :((

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''You want to swap helmets later?'' Kimi asked her, the sound of screaming and applauding fans surrounding them as they stood on the moving bus. 

Her eyes widened as the question left his lips, surprised that the Alfa Romeo driver would want to do the tradition with her. ''Uh, yeah, sure. I would love to.'' Her slightly open mouth turned into a bright smile. 

''Rianna has been asking for you the entire week so you can see her then as well.'' The Finn grinned. The female driver had been Kimi's daughter's favourite driver since the girl had started attending the F1 races. 

Y/N chuckled at his words. ''I'll bring some merch for her and Ace.'' 

''Really? That's very sweet, they'll like it a lot.'' Kimi appreciated all the time she would spend with his kids, knowing the joy it brought to them. 

''I love spoiling my fans,'' she smiled, ''as long as I get like a cool helmet from you, though! I'm very particular about my collection.'' 

The young woman was known for all the helmets of other drivers she had received over the years. She had proudly shown them off in a livestream after someone asked about the drivers she had swapped helmets with, even admitting she had to buy several extra shelves to store all of them. 

''I was told, I'll do my best.'' Kimi laughed, recalling someone from the Alfa Romeo team telling him about the driver's special collection as soon as he informed them about his desire to swap helmets with her. 

The Iceman didn't disappoint, gifting her one of his more unique helmet designs of the season with a short, but sentimental message written on the side: ''You've proven them wrong. Keep going. Stay smiling.'' His signature penned under it. 

Y/N had written a longer goodbye: ''Thank you for all the great races you have given us. It was an honour to share the track with you these last years. Good luck with your ice cubes, Iceman :)'' 

They mumbled a ''thank you'' towards each other as they handed one another their helmets, reading the messages with soft smiles on their faces. The pair posed for a picture together, their own respective team's photographers and Kimi's wife, Minttu, snapping a photo of them. 

''I'm gonna miss your silence.'' Y/N chuckled, causing others to do so as well. 

''I will miss your loudness.'' Kimi retorted, having everyone laugh even harder at his blunt and witty response. 

The Finn reached out to her with his free arm, initiating a hug with the young woman. She was caught off guard. The man had never offered her an embrace before- their physical interactions only going as far as a fistbump. 

She accepted, wrapping her own free arm briefly around him and resting her hand on his back. Kimi patted her own back a few times. 

The pair pulled back, satisfied smiles on both their faces. The Alfa Romeo driver crouched down next to his daughter. ''We will see her soon, okay?'' He reassured Rianna, who didn't take her eyes off the female driver as she absentmindedly nodded to what her father was saying. 

''You can visit me and we can eat a lot of food together.'' Y/N told the small girl. Rianna smiled brightly at her words, nodding her head. 

''Say bye bye to Y/N.'' Kimi whispered to her. 

Rianna stepped out of her father's arms. ''Bye bye, Y/N.'' The little girl skipped over to her, jumping into the older woman's embrace. ''Bye bye.'' Y/N kissed the side of Rianna's head, touched by the youngest Raikkonen's love. 

As the girls pulled apart, Kimi picked his daughter up- facing his, now, former competitor. ''Have a safe trip home, okay?'' 

Y/N nodded, appreciating his concern. ''You guys too.'' 

Minttu stepped forward, also offering the woman a hug. ''We wish you the best next season. We'll continue to root for you.'' She smiled, stating her support for the female driver. 

''Thank you so much, and have a nice Christmas together.'' Y/N said to her, appreciating that their family would continue rooting for her. She also high-fived a shy looking Robin who clinged to his mother. 

''We'll call, okay?'' Kimi mimicked a phone with his hand, looking at her. She nodded her head, delighted the man wanted to continue having contact with her. 

''We will.'' 

[lovesickry]

⎯ LET THE LIGHT IN ⁴

⎯ lando norris x rival femdriver!reader [2.3k] ✶ prologue! find all parts here!. contains: swearing  a/n: this is an enemies/rivals to lovers and I am so incredibly excited to write this so here's the prologue. :)

2022 season, driver for Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 team.

You hadn't had a problem with Lando Norris. You weren't friends by any means but you used to smile at him, give him a pat on the back when he did well on the weekend. You used to scoff at some of his sly jokes he made to reporters. You used to be polite acquaintances. That was until the moment you saw something in him you despised. Something that you saw as unforgivable.

-MIAMI GRAND PRIX 2022

You were on pole. 

You were actually on pole. 

For the first time in your career you had taken pole.

The feeling was something incomparable to just about anything you’d ever experienced. 

Stepping out of the car, having everyone congratulate you as you beamed, walking to the media pen for post-qualifying interviews smiling like an idiot. It was your first pole in your career and it warranted something to talk about. Though it had taken years for the interviewers to not comment on your gender, you relished in the fact that not a single interview today had asked about how it felt to have long hair or if it was uncomfortable wearing a racing suit and also having tits. Or how it felt that your competitors would always have a “biological advantage”. There was not one single comment made even similar to the quietly yet blatantly sexist comments you were so used to receiving and combatting. These interviews as pleasant as they were remained about the car, about the race and about the track. Things you loved to talk about when people actually listened. You look back at Carlos and Charles and they both whisper congratulations mid-interview. Miami definitely wasn't your favourite, the track was alright but what you hated the most (nevermind sounding stuck up) were the fans or atleast some of them. You'd already had too many shit experiences with middle aged white men telling you that Mercedes was a team purely for “show” or that they shouldn't make formula one a “political” sport. Are you fucking joking? 

On the other hand, all the women you met were lovely, telling you how proud they were, how amazing you were. But all the men, oh they would either compliment you or insult you, both were equally uncomfortable experiences. Nevertheless, it was something you’ve sadly gotten used to and something you refused to dwell on this weekend. Your pace was superb, you had got pole after all and the idea that a win was in the books was one that kept you awake that night. Although needing the sleep just as bad.

The morning brought a wave of heavily suspected nerves, your hands were shaking annoyingly and you kept having to hide the fact from the cameras, so as to not make a story out of it, something that you inwardly (and outwardly) despised journalists about. Their ability to stick their nose in things so clearly marked “Keep Out!” You'd already seen about seven articles this year, making up some bogus story about how you and charles were secretly dating or some weird romantic trope, getting all these photos of friendly interactions and marking it up to PR interactions and we were secretly dating. It was funny actually, the lengths people would go to just to somehow justify their hate for you. At Least if you were dating a driver they could say you were only in the sport because, oh how did Christian Horner put it. “The drivers are good looking.” Which is exactly why you’d made sure to stay strictly friends with every single one, dating completely and totally outside the Formula 1 fucked up family circle. 

As the media commitments finally wrapped up and you did the final interviews before being let go to prepare for the race you bumped into Alex, you admired him as a driver and he was always kind to you, he wished you good luck and congratulated you on your first pole before excusing himself to be escorted to the Williams garage. As you said, you were friendly with most of the drivers. You reach your drivers room and let out a sigh of relief seeing your physio standing there already. You do some quick warmups, stretches exercises before she asks if anything is hurting. You mention a point in your lower back in which she focuses on and does a few different methods on relieving some of the pain before you need to get in the car. You weigh in and settle into the car, brain fuzzed and hands though not shaking were sweaty and your heart was beating so loud you thought you might die, the sound feeling as though it was echoing around your helmet. Checking through the last thing with the engineers, suddenly you were alone on the track, open track ahead of you for the first time, you were starting alongside Max, who you knew was heavily tarnishing your chance of a win, but there was still the hope for a better start and better strategy. Maybe just maybe you could keep him behind? 

Formation lap, returning back to your places, you were doing what you were taught, think of nothing, think of nothing, close the door, close the door. Close the door. Breath, you dont dare to blink as you watch the lights one by one before they all go off. Zooming off into the first corner your mind is blank as you like it and you are focused. You’re aware of your jaw tensing as you keep max behind going into turn 8. Your engineer is giving you lap by lap updates but its not helping as you push and push to keep him barely 1.2 seconds behind. You managed the pace but you noticed going into lap 23 that the rear tires were sliding, feeling it through turn 14 and 15 as you glimpsed max in your mirrors just as you swerved slightly. You were still in the lead however and feeling confident enough that pitting know and losing places would just mean others pitting later. You mention on the radio about the rears and they tell you to watch the tire deg for a few more laps and then they’ll bring you in. you reply in a quick yes before racking your brain on how the fuck youre going to handle these for another “few” laps. Not surprisingly max overtakes you on the next lap at turn 10 and you immediately opt to pit. You exit the pit lane acutely aware of the position you will come out in. P10, great. The tires took what felt like years to finally heat up and for you to actually start gaining positions but once you gained one, it all fell into place. The undercut had worked as everyone stopped to pit for fresh tires you gained time and on the 38th lap you’d found yourself right back in p2, comfortably looking at the rear wing of max verstappen who was yet to pit as he started on the hard not the mediums. But, you figured he'd be feeling the rears go soon and you could just wait it out but also, as you were reminded by your race engineer: manage paceand defend behind. Going into the 39th lap you watched as verstappen pulled into the pit lane and your jaw for the first time in nearly 40 laps, relaxed. If you could just keep the tires until the end this was yours. Your engineer alerted you that max had come out in p11 and although he was on mediums, it would still take him what they estimated to be 12 laps to reach the top pack again. Currently you were driving steady, your gaze was forward and you remained ahead by 2.3 seconds, an honourable lead but you could always push. The straights seemed to test the car more as Charles gained 0.8 in the straight but lost that same time almost immediately in the corners. Going into lap 49 your engineer alerted of the gap between you and p2,3,4 and 5. It was only 3 seconds. fuck , fuck fuck. Verstappen was still climbing and you were still losing grip with 8 laps left could you seriously make these shitty tires last, your questioned was answered as you grazed the wall coming out of turn 2, your rear tires simply giving out as you righted the car. 

“Did you just see that?”

“Yes we did” “What can I do? I'm losing grip”

“Norris is .9 behind”

“Yeah alright thanks”

No help, cool. But now norris was behind, what happened to Charles. Aw what the fuck these tires were shit and the only hope was the brief 5 laps, however they seemed to be stretching out hopelessly as you locked up again and again. It was nearly undriveable approaching the 54th lap.

“Norris is .7 behind, he has been advised to overtake”

You don’t bother to respond, you’re trying to figure out how the fuck to still win this race, focusing all your will power into defense now as the McLaren inches dangerously closer to your rear wing. You’re cautious as you follow the racing line through turn 11, but your brain clocks out the minute that you glance in the mirror and see Lando Norris’ wheel impossibly close to yours as he attempts an overtake on the outside. You pray for no contact and it's futile, all the fucking effort you put in and the tire management was all fucking useless, because thanks to Lando Norris and his bullshit strategy and sheer fucking selfishness he hits your rear wheel sending you into straight into the barrier. What should’ve been your first win in formula one was made into a fucking joke as you watched the McLaren drive off unopposed. There were simply no words to describe the sheer anger you felt, your jaw tensed again, your teeth fucking shook and suddenly you wanted to cry. You knew you shouldn't.

Reminding yourself of where you were, you lifted your head up, being met with the red and yellow of the barrier.

“Are you okay?”

You have nothing to say, afraid your voice might break or you'll scream. You reach out and lift yourself out of the car.

Nothing could've prepared you for the red that filled your vision as you watched Lando Norris lift up that first place trophy that should've been yours.

Of course you were jealous but you weren't just that. You were fucking furious. Not only had he crashed into you, ruining your race. He had blamed it all on you, in a post race interview he said-

"yeah, no. I mean I don't think anyone is to blame but I also think she was in a position where she should have let me by and when she braked late she sent her wheel into mine."

A fucking lie. nobody is to blame? maybe the person who actually hit your fucking wheel maybe, the person trying to steal my fucking racing line maybe? There was no fucking consoling you as you made your way as quietly as you could to the McLaren garage, at least hoping for an apology. You spot him talking to Carlos and you go over, initially only facing Carlos, congratulating him on his points before turning to Lando, who is standing there with a smug look on your face. You want to punch him.

"I'm sorry about how your race ended Dylan, I really thought you had this one" Carlos sounded genuine and he rubbed your shoulder while he said it. It was a nice thing to say but you were acutely aware of Lando's presence.

"Thanks Carlos" I nod

"sorry but do you think I could speak to Lando alone please?"

he nods and walks off as Lando outwardly groans, you turn towards him and wait. For anything.

"Nothing? Really?"

he raises his eyebrows "What?"

Your nostrils flare and you swallow as you try to fathom this.

"No fucking apology Norris?" its not the most polite thing, but its the most polite things on a list of things to say to him.

he pouts his lips jokingly and then pops his lips.

"Nup."

That's it, something in your brain fizzles over, you're as angry as you can contain and you just stand there stoic looking at his smug fucking face as he holds what should've been your trophy. There is a bitter taste in your mouth as you smile out of sheer disbelief, an unnerving smile before leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

"I didn't brake late and you fucking know it"

You ignored the way his lips twitched into a kind of twisted smile or the way he went to respond before you walked away.

As you walk away from him your breathing is shallow and fast, he doesn’t try and argue with you and you are still fuming as you reach the hotel and try to sleep. Ending up on the treadmill, running until you couldn't be angry anymore but the minute you stopped it all came flooding back, blood on fire again and you were back in those fucking barriers. Your jaw tensed, you would never ever look in the direction of Lando fucking Norris again.

[mythicalviper-fr]

FR Skin Contests and You (and Me)

Let’s talk about festival skin contests.

This post will be 1) about win conditions 2) my breakdown on my wins/losses. Before we start, please know a lot of this is guesswork, and based on my own perspective. Still, I hope this will be useful for some people ^^

***August/888 and I (but August mostly as it’s his idea) will be hosting an event encouraging new artists to join festival contests on 8/8. It will have a lot of tips and references to help get you started, so please keep an eye out! 

-

When it comes to skin contests, people generally enter for one of three reasons: 1) for fun 2) because it’s seen as a milestone of skinmaking, or 3) out of a desire to push yourself to the limit knowing you’ll regret it like a Sunday hangover– but I hope that’s just me.

In my two years of participating in skin contests, I’ve seen a lot of artists join with a lot of excitement, only to give up or drop out because they aren’t winning. Some blame it on skill, others blame it on the staff, and some blame it on fellow competitors. 

Here’s what I will say: like any contest, winning the festival skin contest is based on a combination of luck, knowledge, and skill. Just like any contest, there is a strategy to it and there are win conditions that you have to fulfill if you want a chance at winning. Some artists find these win conditions quickly and are able to adapt and cultivate the skill needed to pull off a win. Some are aware of these win conditions but do not yet have the skill to pull off a win. And some aren’t aware at all. A loss is usually (but not always) a result of not fulfilling those win conditions, or not fulfilling them as much as another artist. 

So, let’s talk about these win conditions.

The Biggest Win Condition: Breed Variety

In my opinion, the biggest factor that makes or breaks an entry is breed variety. Over the past ten years, there's been a consistent trend of staff picking one winner per breed/pose, though there are occasional outliers (most recently, two Aether M for Brightshine, but previously also Undertide M and Spiral M). This means whenever you submit a skin, you’re competing against artists that also submitted the same breed/pose. 

For those who aren’t aware, breed variety has been dropping in contests, along with the number of submissions. The result is that there are very few submissions for less popular breeds. Take a look at Brightshine 2023 - the majority of the submissions were Aethers. But even if there ended up being three Aether wins, that meant none of the other Aether skins made it in. 

I want to explain this with numbers. Say Aethers (M&F) made up 60% of the Brightshine 2023 submissions but could only make it into 2 or 3/16 of the winning slots. That’s 60% of the submissions eliminated from making it into the remaining 13/16 slots. Where would the other 13/16 skins come from, if staff were to stick to their trend of 1 breed/pose skin per festival? The flight breeds - Imp and PC might take up 4 more slots. But that’s still 9/16 slots that need winners and only 30% of the submissions to pick from. Additionally, ancients will generally make up at least 40% of the winning submissions, if not 50%. That’s why having 100 submissions might mean there aren’t a lot of winners the staff could pick, and why there weren’t any Fae skins for Starfall 2022 or Spiral M skins for Mistral 2023. 

I tested this theory with F Ridgeback submissions. I mainly focused on three breed/poses that I saw as the least submitted - F Noc, F Bog, and F Ridgeback. I went with Ridgeback because it was the base I liked the most. The result? Out of the 22 contests I’ve entered, I won 5 with F Ridgeback. That’s a 25% win rate with one breed/pose alone. If we factor in wins I’ve had with these three poses combined, that’s 8 wins or a 36% win rate.

Drawing on an unpopular breed/pose is a good way to make sure you don’t have too many competitors (and also show some of the more unpopular breeds some love). This is particularly true if you’re a newer artist like I was. I started doing art in June 2021, so I knew there was no chance I could outcompete better artists on the same breed/pose. 

Of course, choosing the right breed will not always net you a win - you still need good skin composition and skills to catch the staff’s attention, which is what we’re going to talk about next.

Statutory Win Conditions: Flight Themes & Colors

When it comes to making a skin for a festival contest, I always recommend people look at the apparel, lore, and familiars for that flight, because these items are usually the closest to what’s canonically considered a flight’s aesthetic. A lot of the entries I’ve seen win are based off of the fest fams or match a fest apparel.

There are exceptions. The game aspect of the Lightning Flight isn’t canon, but we’ve had hivemind and gaming skins win. Why? Maybe that contest only had a total of 12-15 breed/poses submitted, maybe it was just the best executed skin for that breed/pose, maybe a staff member just really liked it. However, generally winners will match the flight’s canon aesthetic.

The trend of skin contest winners also suggest a favoring of elements that are placed on the dragon’s wings and head (leaves, vines, fairy/insect wings, gears), or accent/tattoo-like effects that involve gradient, sparkles, or abstract smoke (see 888’s 2023 brightshine win). Skin compositions that are balanced (elements throughout the body, as opposed to just one part of the body) see a higher win rate. Skins that have lower accent coverage tend to see higher win rates when they’re gradients/accents (linings on the dragon, runic/circuit effects) or when they’re concentrated on an easily noticeable/central part of the body (like the wings, or the dragon’s back).

In the end, knowing what to draw really comes down to research and knowledge. Before each contest I would review all the past winning entries and try to glean what staff did or didn’t pick. I noticed that staff didn’t tend to pick whiteout or body morph skins, and they tend to pick skins with higher coverage. I also checked past festival winners to see the color theme for each contest. There are some contests during which colors that aren’t necessarily the flight’s colors are still picked, and there are contests that haven’t seen a festival skin which didn’t match the flight’s colors. Like any contest, there’s always going to be a small bit of luck involved.

Ultimately, while I can’t speak for the staff, I do think there are win conditions that need to be fulfilled. You need to have a basic level of art skill. You need knowledge on skin composition and colors. Then, of course, you need to know which breed/pose to choose.

-

I hope my analysis helps a little when you’re entering your next contest, or that it made for an interesting read. If you just came here for general tips and tricks, that’s all I have for you - you can also scroll all the way down to see my final thoughts on contests. But generally, just keep trying different things, doing your research, and making sure you’re sticking to the flight theme.

For people who want it, here’s my breakdown on each series of contests that I’ve entered, and reasons why I think I won or lost. 

-

Personal Analysis - Brightshine 2021-Brightshine 2023

I’m a very competitive person and more importantly, I love to compete. So the moment I found myself capable of making skins, festivals were on my radar. I studied what previous artists did, what techniques and designs seem to win the most. What skills did I need and what skins caught the judges' eyes? More importantly, what bases did I feel confident with and could perform the best on? As soon as I felt like I understood the contest, I entered Brightshine 2021 with about 2 weeks’ worth of art experience.

Then I proceeded to lose four contests in a row.

So, what happened?

Brightshine 2021 (loss)

Sometimes unearthing your old art is like watching an old video of yourself in your cringey teenager phase. But knowing why you lost is important in understanding how you can win (and what to absolutely not do again).

For Brightshine 2021, I submitted a Guard F design with two recolors. At the time I only had the skill to draw lanterns and filigree, so I went “that’s Light enough” and did exactly that. Although I would say my theme was (kind of) on point, it was my execution that was lacking:

Issue No. 1: Colors. In review of previous Light winners there’s a umber/gold palette or gold/sunlight palette that appears to be the meta. There have also been cases of red or purple winning even though they aren’t used in official Light items, and some rainbow entries. While one of my recolors followed this scheme, it fell short because–

Issue No. 2: Composition. Skin composition is the balance of elements and how well each element pulls their weight in a piece of art. In my Brightshine 2021 entry, most of the base was left bare. Artists like August are really good at skin comp where their entire piece looks tied together; mine was far from that.

Issue No. 3: Quality. If you compare my Brightshine 2021 submission to my 2023 one, you’ll see what I mean. My art style relies on rendering, or applying lighting and shadows, to bring out each element. Basically I need rendering in order to win. This isn’t necessarily a requirement for you; some artists do lineless, others do painterly, and others don’t render at all, but overall the art style should have a specific level of quality that rendering brought out in my art.

In short: wrong colors, bad lineart, skill issue, no skin comp - overall it was a piece of art not even its creator could love. (I tossed the psd in the recycling bin and hit delete. Except looking in the database now apparently I printed it, so now I have to live with the shame of its existence.)

There is one takeaway that I got. By the time the contest ended there were no other Guard F entries. I realized then that had my art been better, with the breed/pose’s lack of competition, I could’ve had a shot at winning the contest. 

Thundercrack 2021 (loss)

Alright, 2021 Myth thinks, I’ve learned my lesson from Brightshine. The skin composition was not good. That means I should put more stuff on the base and I’m sure to win!

Have you ever just looked in the mirror and realized you, yes you, are the most punchable thing in the world?

In all fairness, the skin comp of my TCC entry did improve. Like Brightshine, I did a single design with two recolors on an unpopular breed. Improvements I made: additional elements to the skin aside from the one big element on the wing, and a color palette that matched the flight. Of course, I wished my theme of hivemind/code also matched the flight aesthetic, but just like my love life, the only thing my submission matched with was loss and disappointment.  

Issue No. 1: Design. Upon reviewing past winners, very few featured fake apparel or clothing. As mentioned previously, staff do not appear to favor whiteout or body morph skins, and prefer elements that adhere to the dragon (like wings) or add to the dragon (like bones/feathers).

Issue No 2: Technology. For my entry, the circuit patterning on the wings did not take resizing well. I drew this on a 750x750 canvas and the resizing blended the many circuit lines into a single line. This isn’t a program issue. It was a lack of understanding of how resizing works.

Issue No 3: And we’re still here with my biggest problem: skill issue. Art is not a skill you learn in two months. I did learn to render, but not well enough. I wasn’t good enough. Yet. 

Starfall 2021 (loss)

So… fun fact! During all of this I was writing my thesis. As in, I was writing my thesis after not writing my thesis for a year. It was stressful. I don’t have much to say about this contest because I did this skin as a meme for the sole reason that somewhere in my 3 am sleep deprived brain I thought “Emergency Portal-col” was hilarious.

I did not expect to win and I didn’t. Still, I did notice more and more that certain breeds just weren’t submitted for contests. Ridgeback F, I noticed, had anywhere from 0 to 1 submission for each contest while M pose generally had 0. Same for Nocturnes. 

Riot of Rot 2021 (loss)

By this time, 2021 Myth had given up on the “one big element + some other accessories” idea. It hadn’t worked for Light or Lightning and it wasn’t going to work. So I thought, what if I just went for the accessory elements? My ROR skin featured the spider lily, smoke, and sparkles. I also started experimenting with dark gradients on the limbs of the dragon, which I’d noticed in winning fest entries.

Gradients and sparkles help with skin composition. Especially if you’re a newer artist who can’t pull off more complicated effects. Oftentimes a skin looks empty in certain parts, but adding elements to those parts would make things look messier. That’s where gradients/sparkles come in. However, I lost because:

Issue No 1: Composition again. While my elements tied together well, I had no main attraction other than the empty void that was the center of the Ridgeback wing. I essentially did a background scene and didn’t add a main character for it. This made me think that maybe my “one big element” skin comp idea was still worth a shot, but I needed a different take.

Issue No 2: Aaaand skill issue again.I was still bad at rendering, and sometimes skill is just why you lose. Not because you don’t have good ideas or because your execution was bad, but because you do not yet have the skills to defeat your competitors. You can do a really good looking skin, but if someone else in the contest did an even better looking skin on the breed/pose, then you’re not going to win.

Gala 2021 (win)

Losing four times in a row was pretty discouraging. But here’s another important element to skin contests: consistency. The frequency of your submissions should result in a win so long as you fulfill all of the other win conditions such as good composition, understanding of the theme, and the basic level of art skill required to win. 

For the Gala, I realized that wings would be the best big element to put on a base while tying in all of the other elements. This is probably the most complicated skin I’d worked on at that time. But because I’d learned minimal rendering, because my skin composition was actually good, and there was no competition for Ridgeback F, I won. For the very first time.

Trickmurk 2021 - Starfall 2022 (6 wins 2 losses - 12 skin designs submitted total)

Here, I’d found my strategy. As long as I kept to the theme and made sure my skin comp and rendering was good, I would win. Especially because I had no competition. Again, breed variety is a huge issue in skin contests, because people - particularly the really skilled artists - are more likely to go for a breed that they like or is popular. As a newer artist, I was well aware that there was a 100% chance I’d lose if I tried to fight anyone for the same breed/pose. (And part of knowing the win conditions is also knowing artists you definitely are not winning against.) 

3/6 of my wins during this time was F Ridgeback. The others were: F Coatl, which had no competition during Trickmurk, and F Nocturne, which had no competition during Wind and Arcane’s fests (but competed against my will to live because this is a terrible base to work on).

But relying on unpopular breed advantage was about as reliable as internet connection in a college dorm. 3/6 of my wins were ridgeback but that meant all of my losses were also ridgeback. On top of that, the number of Ridgeback submissions peaked at one point to 5-6. I was still winning, because I had the skill to beat my competitors. But I had to up my game. My skins had to be more elaborate, closer to the theme. I began submitting two designs per competition, which was… going to be a problem for me later.

The idea behind submitting two designs per competition is simple. Instead of just relying on one unpopular breed/pose to net you the win, now you have two shots at winning. 

My goal that I’d made during this time was to either win 11 in a row or to win once for each holiday. This was to keep my motivation. Keep in mind I was also writing my thesis, so I really needed a goal to go towards, especially when I committed to doing two designs per contest. 

(I defended my thesis successfully in May 2022 and graduated with high honors!)

ROR 2022 - Brightshine 2023 (7 wins 1 loss - 16 skin designs submitted total)

Here’s where I found another niche in the skin contests. Flight-breeds. These are breeds that belong to each element and surprisingly - they don’t actually get that many submissions. Seeing Starfall 2022’s skin turnout as an Arcanite was tough. When it came to reviewing Starfall 2022, anyone would’ve won as long as they submitted a good quality Fae skin that didn’t break the rules or stray too far from the theme and had a skin composition that the staff liked. 

I decided to put my theory to the test with Earth, Ice, Wind, Water, and Nature. Are you surprised there were only three Snap F submissions for Earth, one Tun M for Ice, two SDM for Wind, and something like two Undertide F entries for Water? I was. Especially with Undertides because the breed had been released only five months ago. By noticing the flight-breed meta, and having the time, skill, and experience to make skins for those breeds that fit the criteria, I was able to win.

At this time I started straying away from my “one big element + smaller accessories” composition. My art had gotten better so I was able to expand my designs. Wavecrest 2023 was the biggest show of that, and I’m really proud of my entries for that contest. It was essentially a turning point in my art style… but it did take a lot more time and effort. From that point on, my skins were hitting 90+ layers and taking me at least two weeks to draw.

The last skin contest I entered with that art style was Brightshine 2023. By the time the contest ended, I was pretty sure winning would take a miracle or a relationship with god that I did not have. The competition for Imp M was difficult, and I was pitting my submission against artists who had far more experience and skill. I had some hope for my Ridge F entry, but again, relying on unpopular breed advantage is, well. Not reliable. 

I lost. It was crushing, because not only did that mean I lost Brightshine three years in a row, Brightshine was the last contest I needed to win to fulfill either one of my goals: winning 11 in a row or win once for each elemental holiday. However, losses happen and it sucks, but it’s not the end of the world. I simply lost to a much better artist, and I am okay with that. 

Final Thoughts

Heart-to-heart time. 

I know some people become discouraged because they don’t think they have the skill, or they compare themselves to other artists. I felt discouraged for the same reason. After losing so many contests in 2021, I thought I would never improve. I would never be as good as artists that started long before me, or even some that started after me but learned so much faster. 

I still think that’s true. I have a long way to go and I may never catch up to these other artists. But here’s the thing about art: it’s a skill that constantly evolves and you cannot see that evolution unless you keep trying. And you need to keep trying if you want to win, because you aren’t going to without reaching the right skill level. 

The hardest truth about competitions is that you can’t expect to win just because you tried. If everyone could win just by participating – that contest isn’t worth winning. There are no stakes so there is no value. But when you put in a lot of effort and time, and you win? That win is something that will stay with you. That is a worthwhile win - because it was hard and because you lost so many times.

Sure, the staff could let everyone who enters win. Maybe winners should be judged solely on participation. Maybe that would make more people happy. But would you really be happy to win, knowing there’s no chance of losing? At that point, would being a festival contest winner mean anything?

In the end, a contest is supposed to be fun. Throw everything I’ve said out the window if that’s made contests un-fun for you. Most, MOST importantly, you should join the competition because you enjoy it. If you’re joining just to win, and you take losses very hard, and participation becomes a chore - then that is never going to be worth the toll on your mental health.

Take it from someone who took it too seriously. Drawing two skin designs monthly was taxing (remember it was taking me at least 2 weeks per design), and by Nature 2023 I had severe burnout. When Brightshine rolled around, I sat down for 11 hours to finish my Imp entry, because I knew I wouldn’t have time for art later. By the time I finished, I was running on about five hours of sleep and a very unhealthy attachment to caffeine. 

Then, three days before Brightshine, I was diagnosed with tendonitis. 

I started feeling discomfort in my arms/wrist since March, hence why I stopped releasing public skins. But this is effectively the worst arm related injury I’ve had, and while drawing is not the main cause, doing so for 11 hours straight didn’t help. My left arm has minor pain. My right arm is swollen and in a brace. This could’ve been avoided by taking breaks and doing exercises. But the lack of proper precaution led to injury. (And yes, I drew my Bogsneak TCC 2023 entry with a mouse for this reason. I could not use my tablet pen so… circle and line tool it was. But I had fun ^^)

I hope my analysis of the contests will be of some use to you. But please do not hurt yourself, mentally or physically, in competing. UMA artists make around 3kg per run of skin, so if you are entering contests for the prize, that’s not the best use of your time and energy. When it comes down to it, you are going to be doing free art for the site, and that is never worth injuring yourself for.

As a final note, thank you to the FR staff for allowing artists to participate in the site. My art experience is purely derived from skins and contests have encouraged me to improve myself. Thank you also to my friends who cheered me on along the way, the many wonderful artists who gave me tips on line weight, coloring, and rendering. And of course, many thanks to August for being the best cheerleader I could have. I would not have made it to Brightshine without him as a competitor and fellow artist. 

(However nothing you do will make me like Gaolers and that is a hill I will die on.)

Happy almost-Flameforger’s everyone! Here’s to the next fest cycle.

[steveyockey]

launching an ao3 competitor it’s a google doc and you all have the power to edit it. good luck

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

A Jester's Token

HEY SO. I wrote a thing. Based on @oblivionsdream's Knight/Jester OCs, who are SUPER AMAZING, which you can find here.

Thank you for your wonderful art!! And also accidentally inspiring a jester obsession in me 🤡

No warnings, contains a little suggestiveness, 3.4k words 💖

*

The grounds were alive with activity. The King doted upon his sons, and now with his second eldest’s twentieth birthday only a scant few days away, the celebrations were in full swing.

The prince, as was his wont, had demanded a tournament to celebrate the day of his birth. The King, as always, had been unable to refuse. And the Knight was looking forward to a week of respite; of celebration and jousting and fun instead of training and war council meetings.

Typically, he tried to remain impassive and stoic with his fellow knights. It was what was expected of him as the King’s champion, after all, and besides: it added an edge to his demeanour that meant orders were obeyed. The other knights weren’t to know that beneath his shining, shuttered helm he was wondering if the stable cat had birthed her kittens yet.

Still he kept his head high as he strode across the grounds, heading towards the armoury where he had left his sword that morning to be honed and polished. Several other knights turned to glance at him as he passed: one, he noticed, standing immediately to attention as he did.

The deference was useful, he supposed, but he hoped it did not extend to the tournament itself. It would be a dull affair if everybody he encountered was afraid of the King’s champion knight.

As he approached the armoury, a familiar noise perked up his ears. He found his steps faltering, his sure stride suddenly broken.

Not everybody was afraid of him.

He turned just in time to see the grinning face of the Jester as he sauntered over, his motley - brand new for the tournament in festive greens and reds - lit up in the dazzling summer sunshine. His hair haloed from his head, sticking in yellow waves from beneath his cap’n’bells. His eyes - startlingly bright, one dark, one nearly gold - shone with excitement. 

“Good morning, Sir!” he said cheerily, “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Lovelier for you, the Knight didn’t say.

“It is indeed,” he said. “Perfect for a tournament.”

“Perfect for a party,” the Jester countered. “I called into the ale tent on the way here, have you seen how stocked it is? Forget the tournament, I fear our Lord means to drown us. Can you swim in that?” he pinged a fingernail against the Knight’s plate.

The Knight rolled his eyes, forgoing a response.

“Although,” the Jester continued merrily, “I must admit, these events always make me laugh.”

“Oh?”

“Come,” the Jester said, “Oh ho - here I am, the picture of virile manhood! Beware my powerful—” he gave a short, sharp thrust. “Lance.”

The Knight bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing. “You have a filthy mind.”

“You should hear me talk about maypoles.”

“I would really rather not.”

“I can do some wonderful things with ribbons, you know.”

“Anything useful in a tournament?” 

“Depends what you need,” the Jester said, catching him with a sidelong glance. “I’m very good with knots.”

The Knight swallowed, saying nothing.

“Well!” The Jester said, clearly unphased. “I am afraid I am wanted by— well, by everyone. Which makes it such a shame that I’d rather spend my morning following you around. Nevermind.” His smile twitched a little, before settling back into a grin. “Good luck, my Knight!”

And with that, he was off. The Knight watched him leave, swaying through the crowds with his typically fluid movement. While the Knight would be entering competitions, the Jester would be entertaining in a much different way: joking and turning somersaults and charming the King and his guests. He even had a role in the joust alongside the announcer, riling up the crowds and mocking the competitors.

With luck, the Knight would be able to watch him perform. He enjoyed watching the Jester show off, and he loved his jokes, not that he would ever allow the Jester himself to realise that. The first time they had met he’d been forced to remove himself lest he make an utter fool of himself, and since then the Jester had taken him as a challenge, when he wasn’t making a game of flirting with him.

With a sigh, and a final glance at the Jester’s departing figure, he walked on towards the armoury. He noticed Sir Rowan lingering just outside, standing beside Lady Felicity - one of the Queen’s Ladies in Waiting. Without thinking, he called out a greeting to his fellow knight.

As he approached, he realised far too late that what he thought was simply a polite conversation between knight and lady was something far more intimate. Sir Rowan’s head was tilted just so, Lady Felicity leaning in a little too close. Their hands, he realised, were linked.

Shit. But it was too late now; he had already hailed Sir Rowan and he couldn’t very well turn heel and run. Lady Felicity quickly snatched her hands away, her face mottling in a sweet, pink blush before giving him a slightly lopsided curtsey, bidding them both farewell and quickly rushing off. 

As The Knight drew closer, he noticed a scrap of fabric clasped in Rowan’s hand. He pretended not to have seen it as Rowan quickly tucked it into his breastplate.

A favour, then. He hadn’t realised that Sir Rowan and Lady Felicity were courting; although most of their time spent together would have been at banquets and feasts, where the Knight’s attention was more often than not focused on their entertainment and very little else. It was terribly improper to ask Sir Rowan for more information. Even as his friend, he would not push for information too intimate to share; certainly not while Rowan and Lady Felicity were still in the first, tentative steps of the most delicate of dances. 

He engaged Rowan in brief conversation, deeply aware of the moment he had managed to ruin. He wished him good luck - making him blush - then headed inside the armoury where he collected his sword.

He couldn't help but peer back as he left. Rowan, now alone, had taken the favour from his breastplate and was tugging it through his fingers. It appeared to be cream-coloured silk: a handkerchief or scarf, perhaps. Rowan's face had gone red.

Something tugged in the Knight's chest. It was a sweet, deeply romantic gesture. It would leave Rowan with no doubt at all about Lady Felicity’s intentions towards him. And, of course, it was furiously lucky: any man blessed with such a token would be sure to do well, especially from one they loved.

The tugging grew more urgent, joined by a leaden feeling in the Knights stomach. He would have no such token. Oh, he was sure that many members of the court would accept him should he attempt to woo them - courtly favours included - but it wasn't any of them he really wanted.

“I would rather spend my day following you around.”

The Knight’s face heated beneath the metal. His heart swelled. Whatever the Jester’s intentions towards him, his feelings were not the sort that spurred a man to give a love token. His were the feelings that spurred a quick fumble behind the stables - perhaps several quick fumbles, judging by the lewdness of the Jester’s tongue. It was no more than that.

Or, more likely, it was even less than that. The Knight was aware of the reputation he had carefully curated at court, and he knew that the Jester had taken him as a challenge. He was just another joke. The Jester had never even seen his face, hadn't seen the scars, didn't know the stories behind them.

He was just teasing.

The Knight tried to shake the thought from his head, fluttering the great plume that burst from the crown of his helm. Chasing such thoughts - be they of fumbles or fools - would get him unseated in the joust and begging for mercy in the duel.

He turned towards the stables, trudging down the muddy path. The earth had been turned by the sheer volume of guests and carts and horses, and was now a sucking, muddy mess. 

There was an oddly metallic clink beneath his boot. He paused. He lifted his foot. In the centre of a perfect footprint was a mud-splattered, but unmistakably golden, bell.

There was only one person who wore bells like that.

The Knight picked it up without thinking, desperately wishing he had something to clean it with. He rubbed off as much muck as he could with a fingertip, watching as it glinted in the light. As he turned it in his hand - terribly small against his huge palm - it jingled merrily.

He swallowed and closed his fingers around it, squeezing it tight.

The stables would wait. As a high-ranking man, he had been given a private tent on the edge of the grounds - somewhere he could clean and rest without traipsing through the castle to his chambers. He headed there, pulling the flaps tight shut behind him before unfurling his hand.

The bell had left a neat little indent in his palm. A curving, teasing smile embedded into his skin.

He placed it reverently on the wooden table at the far side of the tent before shooting a final, nervous glance towards the entry. And then he removed his helm.

The air felt cool and good against his burning cheeks. He shook out his hair, tied into a low queue to keep it out of his face, and stared down at the bell. It felt as if it were the only object in the room; perhaps the world.

Mindlessly, he took the cloth he used to tend his sword from the chest beside the table and gently began to clean the little golden thing. Mud had even managed to get inside the bell, and he carefully cleaned away as much as he could until it was shining and jingling once more.

He rolled it in his palm. It felt hot, like a tiny lump of coal, like a nugget of forge-warmed iron.

The Knight thought of Sir Rowan and Lady Felicity.

He would need luck, after all. Skill he had in abundance, but luck? Luck was harder to judge; a tip of the scales that, at present, could fall either way.

Of course, traditionally, a token needed to be a gift. But many Knights - both in tournaments and in battle - found luck where they could snatch it. A sword that had never slipped from their grasp, a tunic worn during a lucky win, a shield taken to war that deflected a killing blow. Perhaps a bell - so small and yet so weighty - could be like those. It was luck, after all, that helped him find it when so many people had stepped over it.

He turned back to the chest and searched through it until he found what he was looking for; the spare ties he kept on hand in case his snapped during the tournament. He typically used them to fasten his gauntlets, and while it was thin the leather was tough and sturdy: perfect for what he needed. Carefully, he threaded the bell onto the strap, ensured it wouldn’t slip off and then twisted the strap around the hilt of his sword, securing it tight.

The Knight gave the sword an experimental shake. The bell jingled against the hilt. He didn’t bother to suppress his smile: it wasn’t as if anyone could see him. The noise set a thrill through him. He would be the first to admit that he was not a musical man, but the ringing of the little bell felt like an angelic chorus just for him.

Besides, he thought, as he sheathed the sword once more: if it didn’t bring him luck, the noise may distract an opponent long enough for him to land a good hit.

He took a few moments to gather himself, taking a long drink of water from the jug atop the table, wiping down his face, and re-tying his hair before donning his helm once more. He pulled on his gloves, too, and now with his hand now gripped tight around the hilt of his sword, he exited the tent.

Outside, the noise was growing more urgent as more people gathered to watch the show. Now buoyed by the token hanging from his sword, he strode with pride towards the centre of the grounds where he intended to take part in the first single-combat duel of the day. It was likely still a little early, but no doubt he wouldn’t be the only one keen to begin and could at least find someone to spar against to pass the time.

He was dodging around a lad from the kennels and a pack of exuberant dogs when he heard a shout from behind.

“Knight! My Knight!”

He hastily shoved his sword behind his back as he turned, watching the Jester bounce across the field towards him. 

“I need your skills,” he said, as he slid smoothly to a halt beside him.

“Oh?” The Knight was glad for his helmet, now: the jester couldn’t see him blush.

“Have you seen a bell?” The Jester tugged at the frontmost horn of his cap, which was indeed bell-less. “I’m missing one.”

The Knight gripped his sword harder. He could feel the distinct shape of the bell through his gloves, praying it would not ring and give him away.

“No,” he said, his face so hot he was amazed his helm did not begin to steam, “I cannot say I have.”

“Oh.” The Jester gave him a crestfallen look that was so heartbreakingly sincere that for a moment, the Knight nearly relented. “I suppose it will turn up… or the King will fund me for another, I am sure.”

His eyes darted down, as if taking the Knight in for the first time. His expression turned dark. The Knight found himself standing a little straighter.

“And where are you off to, my chivalrous wonder? That’s—” he peered around the Knight’s back, “—an extremely long sword you have there.”

The Knight rolled his eyes, not that the Jester could see the gesture.

“You have realised,” he said, keeping his tone even, “where we are, yes?”

The Jester gave a dramatic twirl as if assessing his surroundings. “We are standing in the mud,” he grinned.

“Typically,” the Knight said, ignoring him, “A Knight takes part in a tournament. I intend to test my luck in the duel.”

“Luck?” The Jester said, “Not skill? Although—” he gave him another of those long looks, “—I suspect you have plenty of skill in swordplay.”

He gave the Knight a tight, cattish smile, his tongue wetting his lips as he waited for the Knight to respond. The Knight, once he had finally regained control of his lips, could only manage a single word.

“Quite.”

“Well,” the Jester grinned cockily. “I would surely love to see you in action. Lead on, good Sir Knight.”

The Jester looped his hand around his arm, gripping him tight. The Knight was utterly unable to resist, lost in a sudden moment of deep regret that he was so armoured, unable to feel that touch against his skin. 

Arm in arm they headed across the grounds towards the ring. The Jester joked and chatted and flirted as they walked, commenting again on that marvellously large blade, but the Knight could barely hear him over the rush of his own spinning thoughts.

He kept his free hand gripped on the sword, over the bell. The Jester couldn’t know.

The Jester finally released him as they reached the ring. Even though the touch had been to the plate steel of his armour and not the skin beneath, the Knight still missed having him hanging from his arm.

“You better win,” he said, stepping back. “There are a dozen other things I could be doing right now, and I refuse to tie my lot to a man who cannot even win a duel for me.”

The Knight’s heart stuttered in his chest. For me. The Jester was watching him, expectantly. And then his eyes widened, as if remembering something.

“Of course!” He said, face splitting into a grin. “You need a token. As you said, to give you luck enough to win. Ah— here…” he reached up, and before the Knight could stop him pulled another bell from his hat. “What’s another bell?” he said with a shrug. “I was lopsided anyway. Here…”

He produced a silk ribbon as if from nowhere, quickly looped it through the bell, and tied it with swift, dexterous fingers to the Knight’s belt.

“There,” he said. “I told you I was good with knots. Now you’ll win.”

The Jester stretched up on the tip of his bell-topped toes, placed a hand to the Kight’s shoulder for balance, and flicked his helmet’s plume with a single, long finger.

“Good luck.”

And with no warning at all, he placed a kiss to the warm metal of the Knight’s helm. Beneath, the Knight felt as if he could no longer breathe, his heart launching a battle of its own.

“I…” he said, gathering himself. “Thank you.”

The Jester gave him another grin, trailing a finger across the spot where his lips had been moments before.

“You’re welcome.”

***

The Jester leaned casually against a stack of crates, watching the Knight perform with genuine interest. The interest, of course, had very little to do with the fight itself - he wanted him to win, sure, but the minutiae of the fight were nothing compared to the strength of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders, or the exceptional noises he made when he struck a particularly good hit.

He fiddled mindlessly with one of the horns of his cap as he watched the Knight take another decisive swing. A hint of gold glinted through the air as he did, catching the light like a comet.

The Jester grinned to himself. No wonder his Knight was being so stiff as they walked towards the ring. What a sneaky little secret; not the sort he had come to expect from him. It was amusing, and quite sweet, too. Anyone would be lucky to have the Knight be their champion, to have him take their token. But the one he had chosen - the one he had taken for himself - was little more than a minstrel’s bell.

He was glad he had stumbled upon the thought to give him a token himself. Now the Knight would know that he would have given him one, had he asked, and even better: now he had twice the luck.

The Knight swung around again, the bell jingling, harmonising with the one the Jester himself had tied to his hip.

Thrice the luck, the Jester thought, if you counted the kiss.

The Knight ducked, dodged and lunged. The Jester watched, lips quirked into a smile.

When the Knight won - a feat which did not surprise the Jester at all - he straightened up, set his shoulders, and looked towards him.

And then his helm snapped down, taking in the hilt of his sword and the bell hanging from it. The Jester was almost surprised that he couldn’t see the Knight blush through his helmet.

The Jester too glanced downwards to the hilt of the sword. He let his gaze linger there. Then he dragged his eyes up, up the Knight’s body, over his chest, to the place where he desperately wished he could properly see his eyes.

He heaved himself away from the crates and waved. The Knight sagged, only a little. A small moment of recognition and relief. A spark of understanding, shared between them.

But the Jester could not stand there all day, no matter how much he wanted to. He shot the Knight another grin - his best grin, saved just for him - blew him a kiss, and swayed away towards the ale tent.

[v-albion]

“Hello! I’m from @the-forgor-four-rottmnt group! I got a bunch of cookies from an anon do I wanted to support competitors of the @tmntaucompetition! Would you like some?”

I wonder where he is @tmntaucompetition

Thank you for the treats and good luck wishes everyone! The boys appreciates each and all of them

@servalmutant @riseleon @tohrules @littlemissartemisia @stariax @benevolentbigmama @quillartistics @genderfluid-envy

Masterpost

[ornii]

Wednesday addams x male reader who can read minds and sees the future and he always teases her. During a fencing session she can't land a hit and gets increasingly angry then tells him she loves him and it catches him out and she manages to get a hit but it leaves a scar on his eye. He's furious thinking she said it just to win they argue and she says she meant it then a lot of fluff.

They are already dating and he's irish please.

So Heimdall basically, but more simply put:

“It’s Skill, Not luck.”

Wednesday Addams X Male Reader

Fencing, the art of footwork and swordplay was founded ages ago and to this day still a practical challenge for those not versed in their footsteps. In Nevermore there were two divisions, same teams of course. Men’s Division and Women’s division, both intense divisions of fencing and sharp skills. But for both, they were dominated by the “Power Couple.”

Wednesday Addams was a fierce competitor, swift and decisive with her movements, she made little error and did not err from her training. Teaching too of the Class was a challenge she enjoyed and profoundly excelled in. Her Boyfriend on the other hand, it was very different.

(Y/n), Wednesdays Irish Boytoy as many would claim, was also top of the men’s division, not for his evil calculating attitude, but his absolute abilities. Foresight. Being able to see the future, see your opponents moves before they can even make them gives you an almost omnipresent advantage in many situations, fencing especially. It was a normal day being King of the castle, another student falls before (Y/n), as he scores the final point.

“Game goes to (Y/n).” The teacher said, and (Y/n) calmly took off his visor to smile, he offers his hand to the student who takes it.

“A bit predictable, but nonetheless, good effort.” He says, (Y/n) then casually turns to face all the other students.

“Well, anyone else? I’m open to all challenges?” He says with a vast number of confidence, nobody really took up his offer, why would they? he could literally read them like a book, know their attacks, what they’re going to do, it’s impossible to touch him. everyone was silent until one voice decided to test her mettle.

“I’ll play your game.” A voice creeps from behind everyone, they split like the ocean and to Wedensday, dressed in Black as usual. (Y/n) was actually taken aback by his girlfriend challenging his spot.

“A ghrá?” (Love?)” he asks a bit shocked, he shrugs it off and smiles. “Very funny Wednesday..” he combs his hair back but sees she isn’t the one for jokes or in the mood to jest. He knows that look in her eyes.

“With all due respect, you’re the one only I haven’t bested in any division, I plan on changing that… I suppose luck has to do with that.”

“Not Luck, Skill.” (Y/n) responds, but decides that now would be the time, he turns to the teacher.

“Then let’s begin.” He asks, the Match was set but (Y/n) did not put his visor to cover his mask on.

“(Y/n)? Mask?” The Teacher Orders, (Y/n) calmly raised his hand. “It’s no need, she won’t lay a finger on this beautiful face she adores.” (Y/n) smugly got in position. Wednesday kept a scowl, everyone was at the ready. (Y/n) watches calmly as his foresight activates, an almost ethereal spirit from Wednesday shows her next movement, right foot forward, strong lunge to the left. Her body follows suit and (Y/n) effortlessly dodges the first stab. Everyone tries to contain their laughter, seeing Wedensday get played like a fiddle. She begins to pick up the pace, going for more quick and calculated stabs. (Y/n) begins to dodge left and right, reading each movement.

“Well! Someone’s confident today!” (Y/n) smugly steps back, he locks his arm in and counters Wednesday, a loud thud is heard, (Y/n) again dodged her stab, this time his rapier casually poking her forehead, only shouted by her visor was her growing anger.

“Point, (Y/n).” The teacher allows the two to separate. (Y/n) calmly raising his rapier. He can sense the unease, the growing anger in Wedensday, he grins and blows a kiss. The students watching try not to laugh as the couple have their little spout. “You know Wednesday, it’s like a song really. You’ve heard the tune before, the lyrics, you know them by heart so there’s no reason for you to struggle to sing the words. That’s what this is like… I know what you’re going to do, makes counters too easy.” He explains, She said nothing.

“Wish to try again black dove?” (Y/n) said, Wedensday without any hesitation gets back in her stance.

“Shut up and Duel..” she mutters and this time attacks more ferociously. Students watch with bated breath as (Y/n) sees, she’s going faster, trying to overwhelm his foresight. But even going as fast as a cheetah, her attacks remain futile as (Y/n) ducks down, and delivers a firm poke to her naval.

“Point two, (Y/n).” The teacher delivers the second one.

“This is best to five sweetheart. I know you can do better.” (Y/n) steps back, and Wednesday removes her visor, “Fine, no safety, I will win.” She and (Y/n) lock eyes. His confidence is overwhelming, (Y/n) doesn’t even assume a combat stance, Wedensday charges and uses her quick movements, but each attack was perfectly parried. (Y/n) calmly walks back as Wedensday attempts to put more pressure on him.

“Love, this is amusing…. But please, I’d rather not cut you. I do love you after all.” He tilts his head, dodging her stab. Wednesday is visibly angry, and says something (Y/n) could never foresee.

“I love you too! Which is why I’m trying to stab you—“ she blurts out in a small little fit of anger, (Y/n)’s foresight took a nosedive as his eyes go wide, “wait, did you—“ before he can ask, he could see the rapier racing to his face, with barely any hesitation (Y/n) threw his blade up to attempt to counter, but it was too late for him.

A splash of blood hits the ground and (Y/n) falls back, clenching his eye, grunge of pain echo though the room and stunned silence. Wednesday gripped her rapier, adrenaline finally causing though her cold veins, she suddenly comes down from her high and sees what she’s done, the blood splatter reached her forehead and she wiped the warm liquid from her skin and then quickly saw (Y/n) being helped by the teacher. Gut twisting regret was all over her face, she took a step to try to approach him, but something stopped her. Guilt.

Wednesday sat outside the nurses office, waiting impatiently. Her members have been agitated so bad, her foot is tapping the ground. She’s never done this, she could only stare at the ground, pondering the fate of her boyfriend. The doors knob turned and opened, the Nurse stepped out with bloody gloves and Wednesday hopped out of her chair.

“How is He?” Was her immediate first question.

“He’s fine, thankfully the cut just tore though the cheek muscle and part of the upper eyebrow, missed his cornea by millimeters. should be fine with a bad scar. I have to contact his family.” The Nurse walks off and Wednesday turns to the door, a wave of negative emotions washes over her. She gripped the handle and twisted the knob to enter. She saw (Y/n)’s face, half of it, he was staring at the wall.

“… What do you want?” He asks coldly. Wednesday had never felt so, off.

“I, wished to speak with you—“

“Why? You got what you wanted. You wanted to use our relationship to get one over me, you got what you wanted, right?” He turns to her, letting her see the other half, his eye was covered in gauze with clear medical tape holding it there, the beginning and end of the scar can be seen under the pad.

“You’re right, it is What i wanted, and I was selfish and, evil to do something like that.”

“Really?” He said with such Fake Shock, Wednesday couldn’t be angry at him for it. He looks back at the wall and then from the Corner of his good eye, sees her sit next to him.

“(Y/n), Im sorry…” She Mutters, (Y/n) turns to face her, she could barley look at him.

“You’re disfigured because of me, when you went down I had this sense of fulfillment and pride, but then, it felt like needles were tearing though my heart. I always thought I’d enjoy that sensation but I didn’t. I was selfish, bitter and angry, I hope you can forgive me.” Wednesday lays out her apology, it’s dead air for a moment until (Y/n) sighs.

“First of all, I’m not disfigured..” he grabs the tape and pulls it off, the scar wasn’t entirely bad. The bloods Coagulation around his scar so no bleeding, just your puckish rouge like scar now, his eye looks just fine, albeit a bit red.

“Second, if you want to make it up to me..” he begins, “Kiss it to make it feel better.” He said with a smug smile, Wednesday was actually taken aback, seems his attitude has always stayed intact. “But if you don’t want to—“ he trails on, before feeling her palms grip his face, more accurately the cheeks of his face and she lays a cold but, loving kiss on his closed eye. She lets go and (Y/n) stares at her, actually at a loss for words, he couldn’t hide his smile. He scoots over and lied back, laying his head on her lap, Wednesday was less than enthusiastic about it, his eye looked up to hers.

“Ye know, this might be dumb to say..” he starts,

“But what?” She replies.

“You kissing my eye, I actually didn’t see that coming..” he chuckles, Wednesday closed her eyes, trying to stiffen a smile to not show.

“Heh.. I love you, Wednesday..”

“… I love you too..”

[dawndelion-winery]

Fortune's Blessing

Meeting the God of Luck! Reader

Ft. Capitano(pt.2), Diluc, Dottore(pt.2), Pantalone(pt.2), Zhongli

Part 1

Capitano:

Fortune favours the bold

Or so he's heard, which is why he's once again at your altar, flowers in hand, along with his usual offerings

He takes more time in getting to his requests with each visit ever since you've started entertaining him in person

Terrible, really, the way he stalls, smoothly transitioning between topics the moment he sees you begin to lose interest

He knows there's only so long s mere mortal could hold your attention

Still he tries, adamant to make it work, to leave an impact on you, even if only a fraction of the impact you've had on him

Perhaps it really was time to be bold - what he planned to do would toe the line between courage and foolishness

"What is it you wish me to bless this time, Captain?" You murmur, tilting his chin to have him look at you as he knelt at your feet. He rose, kissing the back of your hand in reverence. Had you been anything but a god, you would have surely melted stthe intensity of his gaze, so steadfast and sure as he looked at you like there was nothing else in the world.

"It is a more...personal endeavour this time, Fortune." You raised an eyebrow at the captain prompting him to continue.

Diluc:

He's never considered himself particularly lucky or unlucky

Nor does he consider himself a devout believer of any god

Like yeah sure, gods exist, good for them, not his problem

Y'all failed him and let his dad die

So his first offering had been more of a formality since you were a friend of their archon and chose to visit their fair land of Mond

It just do happened his wine was the finest you'd tasted, and he found himself in much good fortune over the next few days

It felt odd to him, suddenly having this much good fortune after turning into a recluse

Greater still was his shock when you sat comfortably in his living room when he arrived home

"You are young lord Ragnvindr, yes?" you asked gleefully. "Your offering was received with much gratitude, and I am most regretful to inform you that it has run out."

He blinked a few times as you smiled at him expectantly. "You're...Fortune..." You nodded enthusiastically. "And you...you're asking for more wine?" His question sounded clipped, as though he were weighing the consequences of acquainting himself with yet another alcoholic god.

"Indeed, I took the liberty of installing a small shrine by your cellar for your convenience."

Your words left Diluc sighing, yet he couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips as you left.

Dottore:

Attention whore.

You thought you were dealing with a genius mad scientist?

Well, technically yes, BUT he is also an attention whore

Why did you not shower him with praise when he showed you the experiments he had used your luck for?

He takes it as your cue to him that he hasn't impressed you sufficiently

Which does make him grumpier

And he's not professional enough to hide it

"Take a look at this, Fortune."

You nodded in response, gingerly lifting the small device from his hands and raising it to the light to observe it. Your face remained impassive since you didn't really understand just what you were looking at, but of course, to Dottore, he'd expect a god to know these things.

"Well?" Dottore tapped his foot impatiently, his gleeful smile fading, slowly replaced by a frustrated scowl when all you comment is that "it's nice". Only nice?

The little office chair he pulled out for you is now carting you off around the lab to look at larger scale projects at speeds it was certainly not designed for.

Pantalone:

It's an investment, as you should know

Except luck is always a gamble, and who's to say his competitors don't worship you as well?

He finds out the hard way that his competitors were, in fact petty enough to come together and pool their offerings to one up his offerings

He does call for a business meeting with you over dinner

Enjoy it? Lovely, he certainly hopes you do

Gives you an ultimatum, in a way, because at the end of the day, he's got more to offer you long term

"Forsake them, Fortune. Whatever it is you want from me, it's yours. Is that not tempting enough of an offer to you?"

He's batting his eyes at you, plastering a pleading expression on his face, but you can tell it's an act. You know full well he'd cope just fine even if you declined, that this was just the most direct way out for him. Yet you found yourself caving for the sly, coy grin that tugged at his lips. So against your better judgement you agree. For a second, you note how serpentine his victorious smirk looks, and he seems to believe he has you trapped in his coils. No matter. It amused you for the time being; and you would continue to humour him for as long as he intrigued you.

Zhongli:

It's been a while since he's met another god who wasn't one of the seven

Heck, it's been ages since he'd even seen the seven, each of them preoccupied with their own affairs

So he's more than obliged to show you around, to accompany you when you visit Liyue

He has no need for luck, just as you have no need for material wealth

It's an odd sort of comfort, not being exalted, and it feels like two ordinary old friends walking along the harbour together

The two of you definitely jokingly exchange gifts as "offerings" and tease each other about your respective abilities

"Do you recall our contract?" Zhongli mused as he fidgeted with a single mora, rolling it between his fingers.

"Which? When you were only known as Morax? Or when you first were revered as Rex Lapis?"

"From our first farewell." You nodded, thinking back to that moment, back when Zhongli had kept his hair more unkempt, and worn the most fitted of shirts, flaunting the geo lines that adorned his arms. Back then, he'd lost Guizhong not long ago, and it was beginning to get lonely as more and more of his friends succumbed to erosion. So he'd proposed a contract, that no matter what, as long as he remained in Liyue, you'd one day return.

"Well, I did return," you hummed. "That you did," he agreed. "And I'd like to propose the same contract when you depart again. Something to look forward whole you're away."

Taglist:@myluvkeiji @aqui-soba @favonius-captain @tiredsleep @raincxtter @gensimping-for-all @irethepotato @almond-adeptus @mx-kamisato @chaosinanutshell @heizours @haliyamori @callmemeelah @sadlonelybagel @plinkuro @thevictoriousmoon @mastering-procrastinating @cxlrose @astrequa @eowinthetraveler @ajaxstar @boundedbyfate @the-lost-anime-dad @moonbyunniee @greyrain23 @heavenlyfloof

Commissioned by @monstersealclubber

[latersgayt0rs]

A piece I did as a present for @andromeda-galaxy2877 's Life Goes On au!! I'm so obsessed with her fanfics, I have more art to post still. Alsooooo I've been told Andromeda has a little surprise in store once I post this, so go check out her account ;D

@tmntaucompetition propaganda?? On my account??? More likely than you think. GOOD LUCK TO ALL THE COMPETITORS!!!

And below is the version without the blurred background.

[onlyonetifosi]

The sun shone brightly as Y/N and Max prepared for the momentous race. Max had spent countless hours teaching Liam and Luca the tricks of the trade, instilling in them the determination and drive to succeed. The twins eagerly put on their racing suits, beaming with anticipation. Today was not only their race day but also their birthday, and YN wanted it to be extra special.

As they arrived at the karting circuit, their friends and family were waiting with eager smiles and cheerful birthday wishes. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the familiar scent of burning rubber and the sound of engines revving in the distance.

"Good luck, boys," YN said, giving each of them a reassuring hug. "Remember to have fun and enjoy yourselves."

Max joined them, his eyes reflecting pride and anticipation. "Happy birthday, my little champions," he said, tousling their hair. "Make this race one to remember."

YN watched with pride as her twin boys, Liam and Luca, prepared for their championship race, the young boys had inherited their father's talent and passion for racing, following in the footsteps of their F1 World Champion dad, Max Verstappen.

The atmosphere buzzed with excitement as the race began, Liam and Luca, driving their sleek Red Bull-branded go-karts, skillfully maneuvered through the track, displaying remarkable talent and a competitive spirit worthy of their father's legacy. The crowd watched in awe as the young racers fought for every inch of the circuit. YN nervously clutched her hands together, her eyes never leaving the track. She couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and apprehension as her boys maneuvered their karts expertly, showcasing their skill and determination.

Y/N stood on the sidelines, cheering for her boys, her heart filled with pride. Max, wearing his trademark Red Bull Racing cap, stood beside her, his eyes gleaming with a mix of joy and nervousness. He knew his sons had the potential to conquer the race, but he also understood the unpredictable nature of motorsport.

As the race progressed, Liam and Luca displayed their innate talent, battling it out fiercely on the circuit. The crowd erupted with cheers and applause as the young drivers skillfully overtook their competitors. The twins' eyes sparkled with the joy of racing, fully absorbed in their own world of speed and adrenaline.

Time seemed to stretch as the race reached its climax. Liam and Luca were neck and neck, battling for the lead. With each passing lap, their skills became more apparent. They were destined for greatness, just like their father.

Finally, the checkered flag waved, and Liam crossed the finish line in first place, followed closely by Luca in second. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, recognizing the incredible talent displayed by the Verstappen twins.

YN's heart swelled with pride as she rushed towards her boys, embracing them tightly. "Happy birthday, my champions! You've made us all so proud," she exclaimed, tears of joy streaming down her face.

As the boys climbed out of their karts, they were greeted by their father, Max Verstappen. A wide smile adorned his face as he scooped his sons into a warm embrace. "I knew you could do it, boys! This victory is the best birthday present you could ever ask for," he said, his eyes gleaming with pride.

After a moment of celebration, YN led the twins toward a surprise waiting for them in the paddock. As they turned the corner, their eyes widened in amazement. Balloons, streamers, and a beautifully decorated table adorned with a Red Bull-themed cake filled their view. A chorus of "Happy Birthday" erupted from their friends and family, who had gathered to celebrate their special day.

A Red Bull-themed cake took center stage, capturing the essence of their family's racing heritage. Max smiled, his heart brimming with pride. He knew his boys deserved to be celebrated.

Following the cake cutting, Max surprised Liam and Luca with a shower of gifts. Customized helmets adorned with their names, the latest racing toys, brand-new game consoles—each gift more extravagant than the last.

However, as YN watched the boys unwrap gift after gift, a mix of gratitude and concern welled up within her. She approached Max, gently taking him aside. "Max, I appreciate your love and generosity, but this is a lot. I worry that they might become spoiled," she expressed, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Max smiled affectionately, placing a hand on YN's shoulder. "YN, my love, these boys are my everything. They're talented, hardworking, and deserving of every bit of joy and celebration. What good is all this success if we can't share it with our loved ones? I want to give them the world because they are my world."

YN's eyes softened, understanding her husband's perspective. She took a moment to absorb his words and then nodded, a warm smile forming on her lips. "You're right, Max. These boys are incredible, and they deserve the world. I'm grateful to be on this journey with you."

They rejoined the celebration, surrounded by the love and laughter of their family and friends. In that moment, YN realized that their racing dreams, birthday surprises, and heartfelt gestures were a testament to the bond they all shared, a bond that no amount of gifts could replace.

This are the inspiration for the cakes i got :)