Hey Squidy! So for this critique, I’m just gonna pick out some lines and note some stuff that stands out to me as well as well <33 There wasn't that much to add on and most of this may seem quite nitpicky also.

Let me start off by saying this. Oh my god. This is actually so pretty. Like, I don’t even know how to explain it, but the whole thing just feels like a memory? Like one of those soft, rainy-day moments you don’t realize is important until way later.

Okay okay, so first off— I love the whole vibes from the story. The way the rain is just there but she doesn’t care, the petals, the warm drink, the umbrella kids??? It’s all so cozy but also kinda sad, and I love that. And the way the forget-me-nots are used at the end??? That was painful in the best way. You really felt that moment. Like, she didn’t have to say she was heartbroken, but you just know.

But like, okay, I do have some thoughts. Not bad ones!! Just little things that could make it even better:

The girl feels kinda… far away? Like, I get that she’s all quiet and dreamy and in her own world, but I would like to know what she’s feeling more. Like, when she sees the kids laughing—does she feel sad? Jealous? Does she miss being included, or is she pretending she doesn’t care? Just little hints would make her feel more real and beautiful.

That last moment was so well written! But it happens a bit too fast. Like, she sees her old best friend, they gasp, they stare, and then done. I feel like if you slowed it down just a little, let them have a second of awkward eye contact, maybe one of them almost says something, maybe she hesitates before offering the flowers—it would hit even harder.

The transitions are a tiny bit choppy. Like, it jumps from one thing to another really fast. Which is fine! But maybe adding a little something to connect the scenes could help. Like, if she still had one of those periwinkle petals when she was curled up with her book? Or if she absentmindedly touched paint on her fingers when she was thinking about the past? Just tiny details to tie it all together. This is super nitpicky though so feel free to ignore it lol.

That's pretty much all I can think of lol, and most of this is very nitpicky, you actually did a great job! Thanks for letting me critique your piece and I'm so sorry for the delay sobbing </3

Date: February 9th (because February is cold and exhausting)
Motto: “The floor is lava, but like… legally.”

The alarm rings. But today—today is different. Because today is Stay-in-Your-Bed Day, the most sacred of all holidays. A day when the very act of stepping foot onto the cold, cruel ground is punishable by law (or at least, by the universal agreement that moving is unnecessary).

The rules are simple: You must not, under any circumstances, leave your bed. Not for breakfast. Not for school. Not for anything in the world. Those who dare to set foot on the floor? Banishment. Exile. No cozy blanket privileges for a full year.

Instead, the day is spent in ultimate comfort with:
- Breakfast in bed
- Binge-watching (TV, movies, TikToks, that weird documentary you always meant to watch)
- Naps (scheduled, unscheduled, mid-sentence, mid-episode)
- Snoozing until 1pm (or later, we don’t judge)
- Throwing your alarm out the window (if it rings, it has disrespected the holiday)
- Getting some much needed sleep
- Doomscrolling in peace (I won't call you out don't worry bestie)
- Reading a book (or falling asleep with one on your face)
- Building a pillow fortress (optional, but highly recommended)
- Having deep 2 AM thoughts about the universe, existence, and whether you should get a snack

You'll be wearing your most embarrassing pajamas, fluffy socks, mismatched blankets. So snuggle in, embrace the laziness, and remember—if your feet touch the ground, you have lost the holiday. Happy Stay-in-Your-Bed Day!

Aesthetic set - https://www.canva.com/design/DAGiv1tMp4A/EvDwWPByloaaze41J8sLyA/edit?utm_content=DAGiv1tMp4A&utm_campaign=designshare&utm_medium=link2&utm_source=sharebutton

The ocean was alive that night, and so was he.

Once upon a time, there was a pirate named Captain Finn. He stood at the helm of his beloved ship, The Dagger’s Smile, his boots planted firmly against the slick wooden deck, his coat billowing behind him like the wings of a crow. The salt-kissed wind howled through the rigging, rattling the sails, whispering secrets in his ear. He grinned. Oh, how he loved this—the sea in a rage, the sky spitting lightning, the thrill of not knowing if he would live to see another sunrise.

Most men feared the ocean’s wrath. Not Finn. The sea had raised him, made him, molded him into the legend he was. His crew had long since gone below deck, their nerves as weak as a landsman’s knees. But Finn? He stayed. He always stayed.

It was then, in the dead center of the storm, that he saw it—the shape in the waves.

A shadow. No, a figure. It flickered in and out of the storm-lit darkness, its form shifting, gliding effortlessly across the surging water. A woman. A woman made of the sea itself. Not the metaphor, I see it.

Finn blinked the rain out of his eyes, gripping the wheel tighter. “Not tonight, love,” he muttered to the ocean, to the storm, to the thing watching him. “I’m not ready to go just yet.”

The figure tilted her head. Her eyes, dark as the trenches of the deep, held something strange—amusement. She lifted a hand, and the waves answered.

A wall of water rose behind her, towering, curling, shimmering with the fury of the sea. Finn barely had time to curse before it came crashing down.

The ship lurched. Finn was thrown off his feet. Cold, merciless water swallowed him whole.

For a moment, there was nothing but the crushing silence of the deep.

And then—a voice. Soft, lilting, but powerful enough to make the ocean itself obey.

“You have danced with me for long enough, Captain Finn.”

He opened his eyes, and there she was. Closer now. Close enough to see the strands of seaweed woven into her hair, the pearls glistening at her throat, the sharp, sharp teeth just barely peeking from behind her lips.

“It is time to come home.”

A siren. Of course. Finn had heard the tales, laughed at the fear in men’s voices when they spoke of the ones who lurked beneath the waves, waiting to drag sailors to their doom.

But now, he was the tale.

Air burned in his lungs. His vision darkened. The siren smiled, reaching for him, the sea curling around his limbs like fingers, pulling, pulling, pulling—

And just as the darkness claimed him, just as he felt the sea wrap itself around his soul—

He grinned.

Because Captain Finn had always known one truth.

The sea does not steal. The sea takes back what is hers.

And so, he waited. And waited. And waited. And died in the process. The End.

At first, it sounds like the perfect dream—waking up every single day to the words, *“Happy birthday!”* Streamers hanging from the ceiling, the smell of freshly baked cake drifting through the house, presents waiting to be unwrapped. Balloons bobbing gently in the air, as if they, too, are excited for another round of festivities. Every single day, a celebration just for me.

The first few days would be magical. The thrill of making a wish, the excitement of seeing what’s inside each brightly wrapped gift, the delight of getting to pick my favorite foods for every meal. I’d plan elaborate birthday parties—one day a pool party, the next a cozy movie night, then a grand masquerade ball, followed by an all-you-can-eat dessert buffet. My friends would never get bored because no two parties would ever be the same. One day, we’d have a glow-in-the-dark dance party, and the next, we’d be solving a thrilling birthday escape room challenge.

But soon, the cracks would start to show.

What happens when the world realizes I have a birthday every day? Would people stop showing up? At first, my friends might be excited, enjoying the daily celebrations, but after weeks, maybe even months, exhaustion would set in. “Didn’t we *just* celebrate your birthday?” they’d groan. “Can’t we take a break?” I’d see fewer and fewer guests at my parties until one day, I’d wake up to an empty house, my phone silent, my decorations from yesterday still hanging limply because no one had the energy to put up new ones. “Happy birthday everyone! Since it's everyone's birthday everyday, we're going to celebrate everyday!”

The gifts would pile up, unopened. What’s the point of presents if there’s always another one tomorrow? Would my parents still give me birthday money, or would they quickly realize this was an endless cycle? Would I even age, or would I be stuck at the same number forever, forced to relive the same moment without moving forward?

I’d try to make it special again. Maybe I’d turn my birthdays into other people’s* birthdays. Today, I’d celebrate my dog’s birthday. Tomorrow, my neighbor’s. The day after that, a fictional character’s. Maybe I’d dedicate one to historical figures—imagine a Shakespeare-themed birthday party! If I could turn my endless birthdays into something bigger than myself, maybe I’d enjoy it again.

But then, the strangest thought of all—if it’s my birthday every day, then it’s never really my birthday at all. The *specialness* of it comes from the fact that it only happens once a year. If I always have cake, do I ever truly crave it? If there’s always a gift to unwrap, do I ever feel the anticipation? If I’m always celebrated, do I ever feel truly appreciated?

One day, I’d wake up and wish for just an ordinary, normal day. No balloons, no cake, no confetti. Just a quiet morning where I get to exist without being the center of attention.

And that would be the best gift of all.