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Keroro Art Contest (END)(Old contest information, this contest is no longer running.)
credit to :icondesoso:
Department: High rank ordinal in the Gama space invasion army of planet number 58
Keroro second platoon invasion force.
He's a super-small child worried for the Keron star,
and one person Keron soldier because of this 100 year time gap in birth.
Hence all Keron Army's efforts on concentrating in training respectfully,
a one platoon by one person to possess combat ability.
However, Keronians still have more room to grow along the way.
"Weapons of mission excel Giroro's ability possessed style."
"Tamama's high hand-to-hand combat ability possessed style."
"Dororo's possessed high assassin ability pr
And Now For the Winners...A month has passed since :iconsereneflame: and I began the contest.
We received a whopping 22 entries boiling down to a grand total of 5 places to win.
It was a difficult decision and required over a week of discussing and pondering between us judges.
But we made a choice and we are more than happy with the results and we hope you will be, too.
Keep in mind, we do not play favourites, even among friends or art quality.
Anyway, I have a LOT to say coming up about each winning entry individually and why they got what they did.
My sister unfortunately doesn't have anything to really say about these entries. But that is fine.
You may scroll down and skip right to the point.
And now for the results!
(We will include a point tally and how exactly they accumulated and decreased in the voting process for the winners, these points do not determine a winner exactly, they only help tally the creativity and concept. They will not be applied to the honourable mentions as this journal is already big
I Belong To You I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another coat like her. Yet here I am, blundering through the elements in my vain search for the acceptance and warmth I found wrapped in Valentino’s woollen sleeves.
Thud. My body slams into the door, making the ‘open’ sign quiver and the bells tinkle in offense. I fight for entry, the door’s assault doubled by the stale funk of
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