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.

fini poofs a TWO THOUSAND WORD intro
2013 words

howdy doodle swc nerds!!! my name is fini (she/her), a perfectionist who's fallen in love with debate, spreadsheets, swimming, the ocean, depressing poetry, rambling about fandoms, robotics, graphic designing and all things storytelling. residing in the incredible timzone of ist, i'm already like seventeen whole hours into swc and have been procrastinating to write my 1k intro since morning. i guess it's finally the time ;D this july session of swc, i'm so excited to be co-leading apocalyptic alongside skylar, ris and jiyeon. we're literally the most iconic leader team ever and i will personally duel anyway who says otherwise (i've spent hours daydreaming about sword fights so you should be scared). the only down-point is having ris on the team. the word which best describes her is ew. she and alana think they can overthrow me and win the favor of the swc community but that's not true. sure, there are many people who support their annoying and simply unorignal ways of chaos right now, but by the end of the session, that won't be the case. OKAY OKAY i'm going to rant about scworld war one later because i can earn a lot of words that way hehe. apocalyptic is such a cool cabin because it's mun themed. mun, or model united nations, is exactly what the name suggests. it gives an opportunity to students to engage in global discussions as done in that actual united nations and gain first-hand experience in public speaking and problem-solving. i've done four muns so far and they've all been absolutely amazing. my favourite one was definitely the crisis committee because like IT LITERALLY HAD LIVE ACTORS. and you could use the internet during moderated caucus as well. wow, to those who don't know about mun, yall are going to be so confused while reading this. anywaysss, apocalyptic is basically using up all the ideas i had for non-fi last july but refining them way better. i'm so excited to start a few fires and represent my awesome country, zooboo!! also, in case you didn't know, you greet each other by saying “ZOOBOOLEMON!!!!” in the zoobooian language. while everyone else in apocalyptic have such aesthetic names for their countries, i believe in the power of humor and hence ZOOBOO. the name was also inspired by my joke app this session, revolving around mr zoo boo–our neighborhood grumpy elf. if you haven't checked him out, what are you waiting for–SHOO.

i just realized that the paragraph above is 408 words already, which is very surprising since i still have a lot of things i can write about hahahaha. in fact, i can easily write 3k words on how ew alaris are or the superiority of fff (finley's fingernail factory). swc, also known as scratch world court (it's a thing okay. ask livy skylar lora), is literally my favourite community on earth. i still can't believe how insanely lucky i am to be surrounded by such beautiful and talented individuals like yall. i genuinely wish i had a group like swc irl. in all seriousness, this writing camp has shaped who i truly am today. courtesy to swc, i have cooked in so many english tests, slayed muns (ty moonlit alia), forged incredible friends, explored so many amazing books, watched the best tv shows in existence, learned a lot of new things and transformed as a person. i honestly wouldn't be here without you guys <33 it's insane to think that this session will mark my forth year in swc. FOUR YEARS. that's a huge part of my life and i wouldn't have spent it with anyone else. out of the eleven sessions i've been in so far, i've (co)led in eight of them. this is so surprising considering 2022 me would have screamed at even co-leading one session. my favourite session is a triple-tie between horror nov 2022 with wave and ethel, mystery nov 2023 with clev and mabel and thriller march 2025 with livy and mabel. at this point i've actually forgotten how it's like be camper. what do you mean i'll have only three months in my life with swc in it- as a (co)leader, i get only three months without the incredible spark of swc haha. it's so inspiring to think that a group of teenagers on a kids website are successfully running a full-on online international writing camp with more than three hundred people. if you consider it that way, swc just gets so much cooler. we literally have college students, dancers, authors, singers, artists and loads of more epic individuals. sometimes, it makes me sad to think that i'll have to leave swc in a while. it would definitely be very weird if we were still doing swc with teenagers as ADULTS lmao. but honestly, that would also be very amusing. who says we should start an swcadult camp :eyes:

OMG WE'RE AT 818 WORDS and i haven't even started ranting about scworld war one, finley's fingernail factory, my favourite books and tv shows, music artists and school (vomit). let's see how long i can get this about me to be :muscle:

here’s a deep dive into my favorite books, movies, artists, and whatever else comes to mind ;D some of my all-time favorite books are babel, in memoriam, a good girl's guide to murder, the burning god, the song of achilles, caraval, six of crows, on earth we're briefly gorgeous, a thousand splendid suns, the inheritance games, the hunger games, the book thief, and circe (i’m probably forgetting a few, oops). i’m obsessed with anything written by r.f. kuang, khaled hosseini, leigh bardugo, holly jackson, madeline miller, rick riordan, ocean vuong, suzanne collins, and john green. as for music, my top artists (according to my very intense spotify activity in jan and feb) include sleeping at last, derivakat, noah kahan, lyn lapid, clairo, avery anna, phoebe bridgers, olivia rodrigo, billie eilish, linkin park, lana del rey, lyn lapid, avery anna, laufey, one direction, clairo, emei, and conan gray. yeah… it’s a long list. but they’re all amazing and you should totally give them a listen ;D my current favorite songs? pretty much the entire arcane soundtrack (#stanarcane). that brings me to arcane—my comfort show, my obsession, my everything. the animation, the characters, the plot, the worldbuilding, the music—every time i rewatch it (usually with friends i’ve successfully converted into fans), i’m blown away all over again. vi is hands down my favorite, but jinx, isha, and mel are close behind. other shows i’ve loved: never have i ever, manifest, shadow and bone, heartstopper, xo kitty, young sheldon, brooklyn nine-nine, stranger things, locke and key, and lockwood & co. and for movies: nimona, the spiderverse series (so hyped for two spiderverse cabins this session omg), enola holmes, the matrix, harry potter, wonka, wicked, and honestly all disney movies <3

OKAY YAY WITH THAT WE HIT 1.1K WORDS!! let me go ahead and ramble about finley's fingernail factory now lol. soo, back in november 2024 (i think) chuey started taking people's toes and selling them. well, zy followed and i decided to start my own UNIQUE business–a fingernail factory!! ever night, me and my team went to request people to give their fingernails in order for us to sell it as seasoning, or even fresh if our customers would like it XD it is a very important organization dedicated towards the preservation of fingernails and instead of throwing them in the trash when they get too long, using them to fill our appetites. if you want to join our wonderful cause, just donate your fingernails! that's good enough to earn a job offer from us ;D in case you want to buy from us, however, we accept payment in many forms–from mangoes, money and some loyal followers. finley's fingernail factory is BETTER than all other swc businesses (ehem ehem chuey/zy's toes and alya's cat hair) because unlike toes, fingernails grow back in a jiffy. toes will NEVER EVER grow back. if you donate to their cause, you'll be toe-less. forever. and i'm sure you don't want that, right and alya's cat hair business promotes cat labour, which WE DO NOT PROMOTE. so swcers, join the right cause–join finley's fingernail factory (i just imagined myself giving an ad haha). due to my amazing persuasion skills (and help from the wonderful lora), we managed to create an extensive team including veni, finch, luka, zy, lora, cat, faith, alex, lily, sage, bookie, eloise, zoe, chocolate, chuey, oscar, lily, kat, ariana grande and taylor swift! now that's one iconic team. so, as this paragraph comes to and end, ALL HAIL FINLEY'S FINGERNAIL FACTORY <3 donate your fingernails and join our epic organization!! also shoutout to lora she made fff a whole freaking website.

i proudly serve as general of the anti-alaris army. on one side, you’ve got the ultra-sparkly kingdom of alaris, layered in glitter and dramatic speeches. on the other? the rebellion is slightly unhinged, highly opinionated, powered by vibes, chaos, rage, and the occasional mangoes. but really–it’s not about the war, it’s about the lore. the iconic rivalry between finley and alaris has a long (and slightly ridiculous) history. ris thinks that just because she has thor and dramatic flair, she deserves the crown. and alana… respectfully, closing main cabin comments last session was a bold move. your glittery empire may run on “the power of friendship,” but let’s not forget, appearances can be deceiving. ris occasionally raids my profile trying to roast me, but babe. take a seat. those comebacks aren’t comeback-ing. and it was in those moments of sparkly sabotage that i decided enough was enough. someone had to rebel, and it had to be me. sure, most of swc is still hypnotized by their shiny charms—but don’t worry, i was too. it’s okay. recovery is possible. now they can keep their cats and chaotic sparkle messes—we’ve got rage and spreadsheets. and that’s all we need. so, dear reader, now is the time. pick a side. but if you pick alaris, expect to be playfully booed in main cabin. i mean, it’s your decision… but make it wisely. join finley’s fingernail factory. join the anti-alaris rebellion. secure your place in the most unhinged group of victors this camp has ever seen. and if you're still unsure—caught between the sparkle-glazed empire and our spreadsheet-wielding squad of truth—just know we’ve got mangoes. and the mangoes are persuasive.

yay we hit 1.8k!! instead of a 1k intro, let's try to aim for a 2k one :sparkles: today's the last day of summer holidays </3 i'm still in vacation mode and so not ready to return back to school tomorrow. i hate school. it maybe the only thing worse than alaris. july is looking to be a really busy month with theatre rehearsals, library internship, global competition studying, swc, homework, tests, my birthday and leading my very own animation club. it's going to be a pain, and in all honestly, i have no idea if i'll survive july. we'll just have to wait and see ;D this swc session, i aim to write 100k words, complete all dailies and weeklies, do a critiquitaire and word war everyday as well as bond with apocalyptic campers. let's see if i can manage all that while still being able to stand. soo, with only around thirty words left till 2k, here's my message to y'all–whether you're new to swc or have a lot of experience on your hands–welcome to the chaos. welcome to the sparkly warzones, the cursed businesses, the ungodly timezones, the screaming matches over mascots like kevin, the spreadsheet cults, the 3AM word sprints, the beautifully unhinged lore, and the friendships you didn’t even know you needed. welcome to a place where your weirdest ideas are celebrated, your passions are shared, and your words actually matter. wow that sounds so cheesy. i hope you scream-laugh at least once, make a memory that sticks, and find your own little corner of magic. don't be afraid to embrace your inner silliness!!

ZOOBOOLEMON (it also works as a parting-away thing)

critiquing leopard's poetry

holes in heaven
woah, this was an absolutely gorgeous read leopard <3 it's so thoughtfully written and is etched with love, emotion, longing and memories. i love the metaphor of stars and how you've seamlessly weaved it into the poem. poetry is such a malleable form of writing and we all have our different styles, so i'm not quite sure what to say—but here are a few things you could consider revisiting or refining if you ever want to develop this piece further:
- the pacing: the poem flows like a stream of consciousness, which is an insanely cool style okay. however, some stanzas feel densely packed with imagery, and some are really clear, which doesn't fit in quite well together and can confuse the reader. poetry should help the reader feel something, not overwhelm them with too much to think about. you could try delving into everything a bit more, though this would make the poem a bit longer. one stanza could focus on the ballet and her watching you dance, letting that tender moment linger. and another could hold the summer memories (kayaks, medals, school fields) to evoke that joy. honestly, it's all up to you–this is very nitpicky lol
- enhancing the star metaphor: leopard, the star metaphor is literally gorgeous and ties the poem together so well, especially with the idea of “holes in heaven” as loved ones shining through. to make it even more cohesive, you could revisit how it’s woven in certain stanzas and bridge the imagery of stars to the grounded, everyday memories. this could could ease the reader into those personal anecdotes while connecting to the metaphor. furthermore, dropping hints of a constellation earlier in the poem could make the ending feel even more circular and complete.
- the ending: the final stanza is beautiful, with the image of walking “back down the lane” tying back to the opening walks. but, you might want to consider the whole “holes in heaven” idea one last time, perhaps suggesting her star will guide you on that walk, to tie the metaphor full circle.

in all frankness, your poetry is stunning and most of this feedback is really quite nitpicky haha. let me know if you want me to elaborate on anything!!

goal motivation
255 words

hey there oak!! i'm totally blown away by your goals omg–twenty thousand words, top ten on trackbear and participating in cabin wars? those are some pretty solid goals haha, and i'm positive that you'll be acing them with flying colours. like, just the fact that you set those goals says so much already. you’re ambitious, you’re driven, and you’ve got that fire in your chest that’s going to take you places—not just in writing, but honestly everywhere in life (wow i sound so philosophical). i love your goals are realistic and aren't overly demanding, like a lot of others i've seen (including mine lol). that shows that you honestly put in thought into these, and will be more likely to achieve your goals. and that’s not something small, okay?? it takes wisdom to know your limits, and courage to push just far enough to grow without burning yourself out. setting healthy, attainable goals is a skill, and you’ve nailed it.

you're honestly such an inspiring figure in swc, and i'm so excited to see how far you go this session. personally, i read couple of your dailies last session and they were so fun to go through haha. i'll definitely be stalking more of your writing this july and cheering you on from the sidelines! beyond your goals, the most important thing is that you enjoy and are proud of whatever you write. take frequent breaks, eat mangoes, set a few fires and embrace your inner silliness <3 best of luck, you're going to cook!!

weekly one - character development

part one
Crow Verlyn, ringleader of the infamous Fures gang, is the perfect personification of ruthlessness. She's paranoid—always assuming betrayal is near—maybe because her adoptive parents turned out to be criminals who used her and left her to rot. As a result, she's brutally cynical, never expecting kindness from anyone or mercy from the world. Verlyn is masterfully manipulative. She has a knack for twisting words and converting people to her side like pawns in a game she's already won. She's also vengeful—she won’t rest until every grudge is settled in blood. That alone makes her a terrifying leader… and an even more terrifying friend. Pride is stitched into her spine. Even in an alternate reality, Crow Verlyn would never allow herself to be vulnerable, never admit defeat. Even when others prove themselves, earning her trust is like clawing through barbed wire. And you can’t exactly blame her—how do you learn to trust when the only people who ever raised you did it with knives and constant lies? Her trust issues result in endless secrecy. She hides information, lies by omission, and masks her true thoughts behind a determined expression. Her name, ironically, defines her. Crows are omen-bearers, and she blames herself when things go wrong—because they always do. She's a scavenger, too: she'll do anything to survive, even if it crosses every moral line. So if you ever cross paths with Crow Verlyn… don’t. (233 words)

part two
Crow Verlyn is a tactical genius. She's a game-player, knowing exactly which pawn to move, and when. Her manipulation skills have helped shape her into a dangerously charismatic force. Many have begged to join her cause, but no one's let in that easily. They're the ones who get hurt if they don’t make the cut—not her. Because of her traumatic childhood, Crow fears abandonment and betrayal more than anything. She believes that if she ever lets someone in, they'll leave her broken—just like her adoptive parents did. She thrives under pressure, because pressure means she's the one holding the control switch. There's always something at stake, and Crow doesn't believe in luck. One of the first things to challenge her is a mission gone wrong. The Fures capture a teenage girl out for revenge. Crow sees herself in the girl, and for the first time, she hesitates. She lets the girl live, but lies to her gang about it. Mercy is a weakness, and her weakness is not something she can afford to reveal to others. Later, an undercover member of the rival Bromiens poisons her. Despite her illness, Crow insists their work continue, and for the first time, she entrusts her life's empire to someone else. She doesn’t thank them, but she does promotes them, which is progress for Crow.
The climax is when she discovers a letter from her adoptive parents, revealing they had been protecting, not betraying her. It fueled her internal conflict as she had a self-realization that maybe not everyone is out to destroy her. (260 words)

part three
Even though her parents abandoned her, Crow Verlyn has never forgotten their goals and she’s determined to get her revenge. Her goal is to eliminate the Bromiens, the gang of thieves her parents managed to control the undercity. She wants to prove that she doesn’t need them and doesn't care about what they did to her. That everything she’s built, she's built alone. By taking total control of the undercity, she would get her sweet revenge against them and ruin their legacy. She doesn’t want their forgiveness, but longs to burn down what they've spent their life building. They ruined her life, and she was going to do them one worse. While it does cause tension with other gang members who don’t share her obsession with the idea of control (they're unaware of her past), she's the leader in this project and doesn't give a thought about what others want. If they don't support the organization, they can find themselves out. This is Crow's biggest character motivation. If she destroys the Bromiens and takes the city for herself, she’ll finally feel like she’s won. Like she’s above them. Like she’s no longer the broken child they left behind. At this point of life, all that matters to her is winning. After all, she is a game-player. (218 words)

part four
The undercity was burning, and Crow Verlyn didn’t so much as flinch.This was what she had worked her whole life for—to finally take the city and settle the score with her parents. “Come with me, Rika,” she said, already moving toward the smoke. “Grab your weapons. It’s time to hunt Mr. and Mrs. Raven—and stop this. For good.” She ignored the shadows of the fleeting Bromien members, as well as their cries to stop. She relished the scent of ash in the air, accompanied by the beautiful sounds of distant explosions in the background. Each step she treaded with Rika was a reflection of all the years of sweat that had gone into making this day what it was. “This ends tonight,” Crow murmured, patting Rika’s back—too exhilarated to pretend to be numb anymore. Suddenly, Rika froze. “Verlyn… are you sure you want to do this? Shouldn’t we at least talk to them first? I don’t know how I feel about this now that it’s actually happening.” “Comrade,” Crow said sharply, not even slowing her stride. “I do neither talking nor overthinking. Either coward your way out of this, or show me what you’re truly made of, and come.” Rika shot her a look—sharp, scornful–but didn’t speak. Then she kept walking, playing scavenger for Crow’s parents like nothing had been said at all. Crow kicked open the wooden door. It had once been decorated with delicate floral carvings but was now blackened and blistered by smoke. And inside, she found herself face to face with the ghosts she’d spent her whole life chasing. Her parents. Her mother took a step forward. “Crowsie…” she began, voice raw with something like recognition, maybe even love? But before Crow could let the softness in, before she could let herself be weakened by a name she hadn’t heard in years, she went along with her decision. And the world spun. The smell of smoke was suddenly too thick. The room too quiet. She collapsed. It might have been hours before she opened her eyes. Maybe even days. But when she did, she found Rika screaming at her viciously. “W-what happened? Was the mission a success? How long have I been like this for?” she stuttered, still in a daze. Rika didn’t answer. She just threw something onto the floor between them—a crumpled, ash-streaked envelope, the paper singed at the edges but still intact. “That,” she said coldly, “was hidden under your mother’s mattress. Thought you should see what you destroyed before you start bragging about your precious ‘victory." Crow, hearing Rika talk about her mother, sprang up and opened the letter. It read:

Our beloved Crowsie,

If you’re reading this, it means we never got to say goodbye.

We don’t know what they told you about us. Maybe you believe we ran. That we left you behind. Maybe you hate us now–and we can’t blame you for that. But there are things you need to know. We didn’t leave because we stopped loving you. We left because we were being hunted. The Bromiens were turning on us, and they knew about you. You were a weakness we couldn’t let them find. We thought if we stayed away, if we let you grow up far from it all, you’d have a chance to live life. A real one. You were always too sharp. Too good at listening when you weren’t supposed to. Too good at surviving. We wanted to come back. We did. Every year, we tried. But we couldn't bear risking your safety. If this letter finds you angry, we understand. If it finds you powerful, we hope you’ve used that power for more than pain. And if it finds you broken—then know this: we never meant to be your villains. We were just two scared people trying to protect the only person we've ever loved. We're so sorry. We hope you can forgive us.

Love,
Mom and Dad.

Crow goes completely still. She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at the letter, rereads it. Again. Again. She tries to breathe, but the air feels too thick. She clutches Rika hands, crying. “I didn't know! I swear I didn't know.” Rika doesn't respond, merely shrugs. And for the first time, Crow Verlyn–the ruthless ringleader of the gang of Fures–lets herself unravel. Here's to another thing she messed up in life! Cheers. (727 words)

guess what food this is lol
324 words

Dip it in milk, eat it raw, or have a mystery topping challenge—it’s all up to you! These chocolatey cookies with a vanilla filling are the world’s favourites. With many different flavours, you can try one for every mood: apple pie if you’re feeling fancy, mint for a fresh kick, or peanut butter when you’re craving something rich. Crunch into the crisp edges or twist them apart to savour the creamy centre first—no judgment lol. Whether you’re a dunker, a splitter, or a straight-up muncher, these iconic sandwich treats always bring a little joy with every bite.

There’s no right way to eat them either. Some twist and lick. Some dunk until it's just the right amount of wet. Some pop the whole thing in at once. And others hoard them to crumble over ice cream, blend into milkshakes, or stack into dessert towers of pure sugary chaos. They show up in everything from cheesecake crusts to milkshake mix-ins, and have got the entire world crazy about them.

But these cookies are more than just a snack—they’re also nostalgic. A memory of school lunchboxes and late-night cravings, of sleepovers with friends or youtube video challenges You’ll find them in five-star dessert menus with high prices, or right in your kitchen, waiting in the pantry for that one perfect moment.

Their allure is simple yet powerful. The contrast between crisp, dark chocolate and smooth, sweet filling is irresistible. The balance is engineered to perfection—just enough crunch, just enough cream. And with seasonal specials, limited editions, and international flavours, there’s always something new to try. If you haven't had these yet, I doubt you've lived. And if you've not heard of them, well, you're a alien. Truly.

Loved by generations, these cookies have earned their place in hearts and stomachs across the globe. One bite, and you're reminded of why the world fell in love with them in the first place.

nimona??
202 words

the girl isn’t a girl.
she’s a sword dressed with pink hair.
a bomb in the snap of a finger.
a wound so deep, god couldn't find the stitching.

they said: be normal
she said: okay
and turned into a shark in a dress.

this is science.
this is betrayal.
this is a hug so tight it crushes a man’s ribcage.

ballister looks at her like she's a disaster someone dared to love.
he says we can still fix this
and nimona thinks you say that like i want to be fixed.

they put her in a tube
they called her anomaly
they called her unstable
they called her girl when it was convenient and monster when it wasn’t.

she calls herself:
boom.
then nothing.
then everything.

ambrosius tries to be gentle, but his sword has memory.
it remembers whose blood it liked better.

once, nimona was a child who liked stars.
now she's the one who makes them.

they say: how can she still smile after all this?
they forget that villains have to fake it until they make it.

the kingdom fell
and the girl disappeared into legend—
or the sky
or herself.
which, in the end,
is the same thing.

forgiving president snow vomit
325 words

forgiveness is not a thing i do
but a thing that eats me alive.

i do not forgive president snow.
not really.
but today is global forgiveness day.
& the girl with the mockingjay pin said:
the hard thing is finding the courage to do it.

so i imagine snow not as the tyrant
but as the boy he once was.
the one in the faded uniform,
scooping broth out of thin air,
working hard towards paying the rent.
the boy who loved a girl named lucy gray
& lost her to the trees.

i imagine him sitting in a white room
bare hands, no roses.
the scent of blood which gave him
nothing.
finally nothing.

i imagine haymitch walking in.
not cynical.
not sharp.
just tired.
because he is always tired.
tired of seeing children made myths
& myths made corpses.

he places a photo on the table.
lenore dove.
bright as dandelion light.
you killed her, he says.
and snow says nothing.

but haymitch does.
he says:
i forgive you
like it’s a bruise he presses on purpose.
like it hurts to let go
but hurts more to keep holding.

snow does not weep.
monsters rarely do.
but something in the stillness shifts.
a curtain of silence pulled open
just enough to let the smallest warmth in.

maybe in some afterlife,
lenore is dancing.
barefoot in the district twelve wind.
hair undone.
laughing.
not because the pain didn’t matter
but she's gone over it.
just like haymitch should.

and maybe snow is watching,
a boy again.
not forgiven,
but freed.

and haymitch walks away.
lighter,
if only by a thread.

and the world doesn’t change.
not really.
but the weight he carries
changes slightly.

forgiveness is not forgetting.
it is the grave we dig
so that grief doesn’t have to stay in the bed with us.

today, i forgave snow.
not for him.
but for lenore dove.

without e
300 words

quick, look.
a boy stands by a pink train track.
all around, fog. not cloud, not ash.
but thoughts.
words of a land lost to war,
softly slipping from his palm.

his mama told him
truth is born in ruin —
that no flag is loyal,
only soil,
and that too, not always.

this boy is not boy.
not truly.
what is a body, but a myth
sung by a nation?
what is a soul, but a thing
a god forgot?

his lungs hold ghosts
of towns sung out of maps.
his skin, a scroll
with no author.

“don't cry,” his papa told him,
long ago,
“a man must hold storms
in his throat,
but talk rain into lullaby.”

his origin?
a land now burnt,
drawn in maps with ink,
with a lot of with bomb attacks.
his mom said
that to know loss
is to know form.
that a body is born,
not of joy,
but of fallout.

and so,
this boy walks.
no origin.
no final stop.
a pilgrim of loss.
a hymn with no choir.

a bird falls —
not from sky, but from thought.
it was born fiction,
now it is fact.
how many myths must fall
to birth a boy?
how many wars?

this boy is not boy.
no man.
no child.
just motion.
just trauma with lungs.

a woman sings.
not loud.
not long.
but his skin knows it —
that song.
that old, old song.

a song lulls in his skull.
a lullaby?
a warning?
his grandma’s, possibly,
from that long-ago land
of gods and coal.

a song of pain,
of ink,
of wrongs that won’t wash off.

his path is not light.
but still,
still,
a foot follows a foot
follows a foot.

look again.
a boy walks.
and that is all.
that is god.