Writing brings me so much joy even though I don't get to finish or publish them. So many ideas crammed inside my head only to get carried away or not write them down when it's fresh.
That’s okay! I love a good daydream.
My Socials:
Bluesky: @lilyswrittenworks.bsky.social
You can also find me on these platforms!
Ao3: Lilys_Written_Works
Wattpad: Lilys_Written_Works (@Lil-9prime)
Quotev: LilysWrittenWorks (@Lil9prime)
hi okay we've seen some posts about this floating around and i wanna clear up what this means before any misinfo spreads too far.
if you are in a country like the UK or australia with recent age verification laws, this changes nothing. if you are NOT in any of those countries, this will work the same way their age verification does.
on discord, this DOES NOT outright block access to the app. it will prevent you from accessing channels marked as age-restricted, and it will prevent you from viewing images that the automatic image detection software deems as "adult content". which is annoying, but that software doesn't pick up on too much. also, it doesn't stop you from sharing images with third party hosting services lol
again, you DO NOT NEED TO VERIFY TO CONTINUE USING DISCORD. DMs will work fine. most servers will work fine.
do not verify. you do not need to. don't let this become normalized. just continue using the app. find ways of noncompliance. show them how worthless this is.
Synopsis: Living a peaceful life was too good to be true.
━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━
A chill breeze swept through the streets of Niki Town, slipping effortlessly between buildings and down alleyways, carrying with it the sharp bite of an approaching cold season. It kissed your exposed skin without mercy, and you shivered despite yourself, arms folding tightly around your torso in a futile attempt to trap what little warmth you had left.
You should've known better.
Short overalls and a yellow button-up—cute, sure, but hopelessly impractical now that the nights had begun to turn. You'd convinced yourself you could handle it, like you always did. You always did. But tonight was different. Colder. The kind of cold that crept in slow and deep, settling into your bones as if to scold you for your stubbornness.
Another gust brushed past you, colder than the last, and you sucked in a sharp breath as a shudder ran through you. Your fingers curled against your arms, goosebumps blooming across your skin.
Damn it... I knew I should've brought my jacket.
Your silent frustration lingered only a heartbeat longer before something warm and heavy settled over your shoulders.
You stopped mid-step, breath hitching as heat enveloped you—real, steady warmth that chased the cold away almost instantly. The faint, familiar scent of leather and earth filled your senses. You didn't even need to turn around to know.
Still, you did.
Piccolo stood close behind you, so close you could feel his presence like a quiet gravity. His hands were careful as he draped a leather jacket over your shoulders, solid and well-worn. You knew without asking that he hadn't been carrying it. He'd manifested it. Just for you. No hesitation. No comment.
Your lips curved into a soft smile before you could stop it, warmth blooming in your chest this time. "Was it that noticeable?" you teased gently, glancing at him over your shoulder.
His large hands lingered as he adjusted the jacket, tugging it snug around you in a way that felt almost instinctive. When his gaze finally met yours, there was that familiar mix of quiet concern and understated affection in his eyes—something he never tried to hide from you.
"You were shaking," he replied simply. Not accusatory. Just factual. As if that alone justified everything.
The jacket felt heavier now—not in weight, but in meaning. You slipped your arms into the sleeves, the warmth settling in fully, wrapping around you like a silent promise.
And suddenly, the cold didn't seem so bad anymore.
"That's very sweet of you, Piccolo."
He answered with a low grunt—noncommittal on the surface, but you knew better by now. You'd learned the language of his silences, the way restraint often masked affection far deeper than words ever could.
A breathless laugh slipped from you as you reached for his hand, your fingers closing around his without hesitation. His palm was warm—steady—and you gave it a gentle tug, already turning to guide him down the sidewalk. "Come on," you urged lightly, practically bouncing with energy. "We have to hurry! Jenny and the others are waiting for us."
Piccolo allowed himself to be pulled along, his long strides automatically matching your pace. If it had been anyone else—Goku, for example—he would've bristled immediately. Teeth bared, scowl sharp, protests loud and unfiltered. But with you?
None of that.
Instead, he found himself acutely aware of the way your hand fit into his—firm yet gentle. Your grip told a story all its own: calloused just enough to hint at years of training, but still warm, still unmistakably you. And there it was—the familiar gleam of the simple platinum ring pressed against his knuckles, catching the streetlight with each step.
His gaze drifted downward, lingering on your intertwined fingers before slowly lifting to you.
You didn't notice.
You were too focused on where you were going—eyes bright, steps eager, leading him toward the bar the two of you had come to frequent with your tight-knit group of friends. The place that had somehow become a second home. The Unsupervised Adults, as Piccolo privately referred to them, with equal parts fondness and exasperation.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just that—your laughter, the warmth of your hand, the quiet comfort of walking beside you.
So focused on you was Piccolo that he failed to notice the subtle shift behind him.
A presence.
Footsteps measured and deliberate, just far enough back to go unnoticed.
It wasn't until they neared the bar, he felt it. A faint energy signature spiked throughout his heightened senses.
The shift came so suddenly it was almost jarring.
Piccolo stopped.
Not slowed—stopped, his grip on your hand locking in place just as you were a block away from the bar. The warmth and ease that had filled the walk evaporated in an instant, replaced by something sharp and coiled beneath his skin.
His head turned slightly, eyes narrowing as they swept over his shoulder.
There.
Just for a fraction of a second, he caught it—a silhouette slipping too quickly to be coincidence. The figure vanished behind the mouth of a narrow alleyway, swallowed by shadow as if it had never been there at all.
Piccolo's jaw tightened.
You, however, were still riding the high of the night—of warmth, of friends, of anticipation. You gave his hand another tug, laughing lightly. "Hey, come on—"
He didn't move.
It was like trying to pull stone.
Confused, you turned back to him, brows knitting together when you saw his expression. The softness you'd been basking in moments ago was gone. In its place was something cold, alert—dangerously focused.
"Piccolo?" you asked gently. "Is everything okay?"
For a beat too long, he didn't look at you.
His gaze remained fixed on the alleyway, senses stretched thin, reading the air, listening past the noise of the city. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm—too calm. Carefully measured.
"Go on ahead," he said. "I... forgot something in the car."
That earned a pause.
You studied him, suspicion flickering across your face. He never forgot things—especially not trivial ones. And the way his hand hadn't loosened even as he spoke told you everything he wasn't saying.
"...You sure?" you pressed softly.
"Yes." A fraction firmer this time.
You exhaled through your nose, unconvinced but choosing not to push. "Alright," you said at last, giving him a look that clearly promised we're talking about this later. "Don't take long."
You squeezed his hand once—gentle, grounding.
Piccolo squeezed back, just as firmly, just as reassuring.
Then you let go.
As you turned and walked toward the glow of the bar's entrance, laughter and music spilling out onto the sidewalk, Piccolo waited until you were a safe distance away before he moved.
The moment you were gone, the calm shattered.
His shoulders squared, muscles tightening beneath his clothes as he stepped toward the alley, senses flaring wide. Whatever had been following the two of you had made one mistake—
It had let Piccolo notice it.
"I know you're there," Piccolo said, his voice cutting cleanly through the cold night air. It carried—low, rough, and edged with a promise that made the shadows feel thinner. "Come out and show yourself."
The street answered with silence.
No footsteps. No passing cars. No drunk stragglers spilling out of nearby bars. The two-way road lay eerily empty, streetlights casting long, skeletal shadows across the pavement. The only sound that dared exist was the distant, muffled thrum of music and laughter drifting from the bar a block away.
Piccolo stood at the mouth of the alleyway, broad frame unmoving as darkness stared back at him like an open wound in the city. Whoever was hiding there knew better than to breathe too loudly. He could feel it—the tension, the fear, the deliberate stillness of someone trying not to be noticed.
His patience thinned to a razor's edge.
With a practiced motion, Piccolo lifted his hand. Energy gathered in his palm, glowing faintly at first before coalescing into a tight, crackling orb. It hummed with restrained violence, casting sharp yellow light across the brick walls of the alley. His lips pulled back in a snarl, fangs fully bared—no longer restrained, no longer civil.
"You have less than a minute," he growled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, "to show yourself before you're eviscerated."
He began to count, slow and deliberate, each number a measured threat.
"One."
"Two."
"Three—"
"WAIT—WAIT! PICCOLO, IT'S ME!"
The voice shattered the tension like glass.
A familiar figure stumbled out from the shadows, hands raised high in surrender, breath uneven as she stepped into the dim glow of the streetlight.
Piccolo froze.
The energy sphere flickered—then fizzled out entirely, dispersing into harmless sparks as his eyes widened in disbelief.
"...Bulma?"
She stood there, hair slightly disheveled, face pale and drawn tight with a mix of fear, frustration, and something dangerously close to regret. Her shoulders sagged as if the adrenaline had finally caught up to her, arms still raised like she didn't quite trust him not to vaporize her on instinct.
For a moment, Piccolo could only stare.
The fury that had coiled so tightly inside him unraveled all at once, leaving behind nothing but stunned confusion.
"B–Bulma?" he stammered, blinking hard as if she might vanish if he looked too closely. "What—what the hell are you doing here?!"
She let out a long, shaky breath—pure relief—before planting her hands firmly on her hips. The moment didn't last.
Her eyes narrowed, sharp and accusatory as they locked onto Piccolo. "I should be asking you that same question."
Piccolo's shoulders tensed, a barely contained flinch rippling through his frame. He cursed under his breath as her glare sharpened, honed by years of knowing him well enough to smell bullshit a mile away. His gaze flicked—just for a second—toward the bar down the block.
The knot in his chest tightened painfully. You were probably checking your phone. Probably wondering why he hadn't come back yet. Probably trusting him, like you always did.
He needed Bulma gone. Now.
Chi-Chi knew. Dende knew. Mister Popo knew. Three people already knew what you were to him—what he had finally allowed himself to want, to protect, to keep. That number already felt too high. Add Bulma to that list and—
No.
He wasn't ready.
Fuck.
He absolutely was not ready for that kind of interrogation, that kind of exposure. Not when he was still learning how to hold happiness without crushing it.
Piccolo forced himself to meet Bulma's stare. Her foot tapped sharply against the sidewalk, impatience radiating off her in waves.
"Look." He drew in a slow breath through his nose, grounding himself. "I don't normally ask for this... but you need to leave."
Bulma's jaw dropped.
"Leave?" she echoed, incredulous. "You can't be serious. Right?" She whipped an arm out, pointing toward the bar just a block away. "I spent the entire day retracing your steps only for you to tell me to leave? No. Not happening, mister. Not after I just saw you holding hands with some mystery girl and acting all—" she squinted, offended on principle, "—nice."
The world tilted.
Piccolo felt it—something inside him splintering, the careful balance he'd been holding shattering outright. His breath caught, disbelief flashing hot and sharp across his face.
She saw that.
She saw you.
Horror curdled into anger, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You've been following me?" His voice dropped, dangerous and low.
Bulma scoffed, folding her arms with a huff. "Of course I've been following you. If it weren't for the GPS tracker on the Dragon Radar I lent you, I wouldn't have known you skipped my birthday party just to sneak around with some hot chick behind our backs!"
Something in Piccolo snapped.
His eye twitched, the scowl on his face deepening as his voice rose, raw with disbelief. "All of this... because I missed your stupid birthday?"
"It is NOT stupid!" Bulma shot back, stepping forward. "It was my birthday, you asshole! How could you miss it?!"
"You followed me because I missed your birthday once—ONCE!!"
Their voices echoed down the street, sharp and unrestrained, the argument spilling out of control. Neither noticed the figure approaching from behind—too wrapped up in the storm they were creating.
Piccolo dragged a hand down his face, fangs clenched as he finally cracked. "Look—I'm sorry! Is that what you wanted to hear?!"
"Yes!" Bulma snapped back. "Everyone was worried about you, Piccolo! No one could find you—not even Goku, and that idiot can teleport across planets. Even Gohan was—"
A loud, pointed cough cut through the air.
Both of them froze.
Slowly, they turned.
You stood a few feet away, eyes flicking between the two of them with open concern—and just a hint of awkward amusement. The tension hanging in the air was thick enough to choke on.
"Hey, uh..." you said carefully, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. "Is... everything okay?"
You glanced between them again as you gestured vaguely back toward the bar. "We could hear the yelling from inside. I kinda thought someone was having a full-on domestic dispute."
You paused, then added lightly, "Which—no judgment, just... thought I'd check before someone called the cops."
Piccolo's heart dropped into his stomach.
The way Piccolo and the strange blue-haired woman stared at you made you shift your weight, unease prickling along your spine. The air felt... strangely tense. Like you had accidentally walked in on something you weren't meant to see.
You cleared your throat, forcing a small, awkward smile.
"Sooo," you said slowly, glancing between them, "you two know each other?"
Piccolo opened his mouth—clearly scrambling for something, anything—but he was a beat too slow.
"Oh, we definitely do," the woman cut in, far too quickly and far too cheerfully for the tension hanging in the air. She stepped forward and thrust out a hand with confidence. "Bulma Brief. Nice to finally meet you."
You blinked once.
Then again.
"...Bulma Brief?" you repeated, the name rolling off your tongue like you were testing its weight.
And then it hit you.
Your eyes widened, posture straightening as recognition slammed into place. That Bulma Brief. Genius inventor. Capsule Corp heiress. Daughter of Dr. Brief. The Bulma Brief whose name was practically synonymous with world-changing tech.
You let out a soft, incredulous laugh, eyes flicking back to Piccolo. "Wait—THE Bulma Brief?"
Piccolo still looked like he'd been caught in the middle of a crime scene, frozen and visibly horrified now that the most important person in his life was standing face to face with the person he least wanted to stumble across.
You tilted your head, studying him with a mix of surprise and amusement. "Piccolo," you said lightly, "you never told me you were friends with THE Bulma Brief."
Bulma burst out laughing, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Oh please," she waved a hand dismissively. "He's not the type to flaunt his extremely influential friends to strangers."
Then—without warning—she jabbed him in the side with her elbow.
Hard.
Piccolo startled, shoulders jerking as if he'd been shocked back into his body. He shot Bulma an irritated glare before letting out a low, embarrassed grumble. "...She's not a stranger."
Bulma's grin sharpened instantly.
"Oh?" she said, eyes sliding back to you with unmistakable curiosity. "Well that explains a lot."
You couldn't help but notice the tension clinging to them like static, sharp and unresolved. It sat in the pit of your stomach, making you wonder just how heated their argument had been before you stumbled into it. Whatever it was, it clearly hadn't burned out yet.
Bulma, on the other hand, seemed to shake it off with ease. She stepped closer to you, her sharp blue eyes softening as a friendly smile curved her lips.
"But enough about me," she said brightly. "Piccolo still hasn't introduced me to you."
Your body jolted as if you'd been called on unexpectedly in class. "Oh!—Right." You laughed a little too fast, nerves sneaking up on you out of nowhere. "Um, my name is (Y/n). It's really nice to meet you, Bulma."
Piccolo, standing just behind Bulma, looked like he was one second away from either screaming into the void or physically phasing out of existence—and honestly, he was tempted by both. This was already bad. Uncomfortably bad.
And then Bulma tilted her head, curiosity lighting her face.
"I hope you don't mind me asking," she said, lowering her voice as she leaned closer to you. She even cupped a hand to the side of her mouth, as if Piccolo—who had razor-sharp hearing—wouldn't catch every word. "But what exactly are you to Piccolo? His friend or something?"
Your mind stalled completely, gears grinding as you tried to figure out the safe answer. Friend? Technically incorrect. Fiancée? Entirely accurate. World-ending information, apparently.
Your eyes flicked over to Piccolo instinctively.
Bad move.
He was comically shaking his head so hard you half expected it to pop right off, his eyes wide with sheer panic as he mouthed a frantic, Don't you dare.
You felt a rush of sympathy—and then a quiet, stubborn defiance.
You gave him a small, apologetic smile.
Whatever color Piccolo had left drained from his face and his soul was actively trying to escape his body.
You turned back to Bulma, clasping your hands behind your back as warmth spread across your cheeks.
"To be completely honest with you," you said gently, "I'm not Piccolo's friend."
Bulma blinked, taking a step back. "Oh?"
You inhaled. "I'm actually his fia—"
Suddenly, warmth and weight enveloped you.
A large hand clamped over your mouth, cutting you off mid-word with a muffled sound of surprise. Your eyes widened as Piccolo appeared behind you in an instant, having teleported so fast it kicked up a faint rush of air. His right arm wrapped firmly around your waist, anchoring you in place, while his left hand stayed pressed over your lips like his life depended on it.
Which, judging by his expression, it absolutely did.
You squirmed, indignation flaring as you reached up to pry his hand away. It was like trying to move a stone pillar. Solid. Unyielding. Annoyingly warm.
"Piff-ccolo!" you muffled, shooting him a glare.
"A friend!" he blurted out over you, voice just a little too loud and smile painfully forced. "We are platonic friends. Nothing more. Definitely not something else."
You let out an annoyed sound against his palm.
Bulma stared at the two of you.
Then she slowly raised an eyebrow.
"...Uh-huh," she said flatly, her gaze dropping pointedly to his arm locked around your waist. "Because that's exactly how platonic friends behave."
Piccolo stiffened.
Bulma's stare didn't leave Piccolo's arm around your waist at first—but then it shifted. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a predator locking onto prey.
Her eyes dropped to your hand.
Your left hand.
A simple, modern platinum band sat snug on your ring finger, catching the glow of the streetlight just enough to be unmistakable. Clean. Unassuming. Intimate. The kind of ring that didn't beg for attention—because it didn't need to.
The answer was right there.
Right in front of her face.
You weren't just Piccolo's friend.
You were his wife.
WIFE.
Bulma's eyes went so wide they looked like they might pop clean out of her skull. Her mouth fell open, shock freezing her in place as if someone had just slapped her with the cold, hard truth of reality.
"No way..." she breathed, voice barely above a whisper.
Then she snapped out of it.
Her finger shot out, pointing straight at you as she practically shrieked, "THAT RING ON YOUR FINGER—YOU'RE HIS WIFE?? PICCOLO'S WIFE?!"
The sound echoed down the empty street.
Both you and Piccolo flinched hard.
You winced, shoulders instinctively hunching as you let out a muffled laugh.
Piccolo, meanwhile, looked like he'd just been publicly executed.
His grip on you tightened for half a second before he realized what he was doing and immediately loosened, ears turning a purple hue as he turned his head away with a low, mortified growl. "Tch... damn it," he muttered, teeth clenched. "I told you not to say anything..."
Bulma stared between the two of you, her brain clearly short-circuiting. "You—You're married?!" she sputtered. "Since WHEN?! How long has this been going on?! How did I not know about this?!"
She grabbed her own hair, pacing a step back and forth. "Do you have any idea how insane this is? Piccolo—you—you got married and didn't tell me?!"
You lifted your hand slightly, the ring catching the light again, suddenly feeling very aware of it. You tapped onto Piccolo's hand that was still covering your mouth, and he immediately released it, allowing you to speak. "Uh... technically we're engaged. We haven't eloped yet. But yes, I am his wife." you offered weakly.
Bulma stopped dead.
Then she turned back to Piccolo slowly, eyes narrowing with dangerous clarity.
"...You disappeared. You missed my birthday. You've been dodging everyone."
Her gaze flicked to you, then back to him.
"Oh my god," she whispered, realization dawning. "...You didn't disappear. You were hiding."
Damn it...
This wasn't how he imagined it happening. Not like this. Not under streetlights and raised voices and Bulma's razor-sharp perception. He had always assumed he'd have more time. More control. More distance between you and the rest of his world.
He had been wrong.
He knew what came next—knew it with a sinking certainty that settled deep in his chest.
Piccolo could already hear it—the endless questions, the disbelief, the teasing that would follow him for years. Bulma would never let him live down the fact that he had kept you all to himself, tucked away like a secret he was selfishly guarding from the world. And maybe, in some small way, she'd be right.
His jaw tightened, a quiet breath leaving him as his gaze drifted to you. There was a flicker there—something unguarded, something almost apologetic. Not regret. Never regret. Just the ache of knowing that the peace he had built so carefully with you was about to be shaken.
If this was the price of loving you openly now—of standing his ground instead of running—then he would endure every second of it.
Because losing his privacy was nothing compared to losing you.
━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━━─┉┈★┈┉─━
(a/n)
FINALLY.
THE WRITERS BLOCK CURSE HAS BEEN BROKEN!!
I'm SOOO sorry for the painfully long wait. Thank you for those who waited after an 8 month long hiatus. 8 MONTHS. That's insane. I've been a ghost this entire time omg.
The very well anticipated moment has finally arrived! Bulma KNOWS NOW. 😏
Next chapter is going to be messy, it's going to be tense, it's going to be soo entertaining—I can't wait to start writing it all out. 😈
I kinda forgot to post more of these chapters for this silly little self-indulgent fic of Crash Bandicoot (even though I had posted almost all of it on Ao3, Quotev and Wattpad. oops :-: )
I know... I'm VERY late, especially for a halloween themed chapter 🥲
Penny stepped outside, squinting in the bright mid-morning sun as she finished tidying up the last of the breakfast dishes. The air was crisp with the first hints of autumn, and she was looking forward to a peaceful day, perhaps working on her embroidery or spending time with Coco in the workshop. But the sight that greeted her on the front lawn made her stop in her tracks.
The usually serene Bandicoot household had been transformed into a chaotic scene of Halloween madness. Bright orange pumpkins with jagged-toothed grins lined the path to the front door. Cobwebs, seemingly spun by some giant, eerie spider, clung to every available surface. Plastic bats dangled from the rafters, swaying in the breeze and casting strange shadows across the porch.
In the middle of it all was Crash, struggling mightily with a life-sized skeleton decoration. The skeleton was twice his height and seemed to have a mind of its own, wobbling and twisting as Crash attempted to secure it to a hook on the side of the house. His tongue poked out in concentration, but the skeleton refused to cooperate, its bony limbs flailing in all directions.
Nearby, Coco was carving jack-o'-lanterns with the precision of a surgeon, her hands deftly moving the carving knife to create intricate designs. She had already completed several pumpkins, their faces ranging from spooky to comical, and now she was balancing giving directions to Crash with her pumpkin artistry.
“Crash, no, the skeleton needs to be higher! It’s supposed to look like it’s hanging, not just standing there like it’s waiting for a bus!” Coco called out, not looking up from her pumpkin.
Penny took another step forward, her brows furrowed in confusion. She had never seen anything like this before. The strange decorations, the pumpkins with faces, the skeleton that Crash was wrestling with—it all seemed so bizarre, yet oddly intriguing.
“What… what’s going on here?” Penny asked, her voice tinged with curiosity as she approached Coco.
Coco looked up, her face lighting up with a smile when she saw Penny. “Oh, hey Penny! We’re getting ready for Halloween!”
Penny blinked, the word unfamiliar. “Halloween? What’s that?”
Crash, who had finally managed to hang the skeleton in a precarious position, looked over at Penny with wide eyes, his hands gesturing wildly as he tried to explain in his usual gibberish. But seeing Penny’s still puzzled expression, Coco quickly jumped in.
“It’s a holiday where people decorate their houses to look spooky, dress up in costumes, and sometimes go around asking for candy,” Coco explained, a hint of excitement in her voice. “It’s supposed to be fun and a little bit scary, but not too scary, just enough to get into the spirit of things.”
Penny looked around again, taking in the odd assortment of decorations with a new perspective. The plastic gravestones in the yard, the inflatable ghosts, the creepy cobwebs—it was all starting to make a little more sense. Still, it seemed like a lot of effort for something she’d never heard of before.
“People like to celebrate being… scared?” Penny asked, trying to wrap her head around the concept.
Coco chuckled, finishing the last few cuts on her current jack-o'-lantern. “Kind of! It’s more about having fun with the idea of being scared. It’s not real fear, just a playful kind. Plus, it’s a great excuse to get creative with decorations and costumes.”
Crash bounced over, nodding enthusiastically, clearly agreeing with Coco’s explanation. He motioned for Penny to follow him, leading her around the yard to show off the various decorations he had been working on. With each stop, he made exaggerated spooky noises, his eyes wide with mock fear, and Penny couldn’t help but laugh at his antics.
The whole scene was so different from anything she had ever experienced before. The eerie decorations, the talk of costumes and ghost stories—it all felt a bit… odd. The idea of dressing up as something frightening and celebrating a holiday centered around the spooky and strange was completely foreign to her.
As she observed the decorations Crash was showing off, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t quite belong in this festive chaos. Suddenly, Coco was calling out to Crash, instructing him to reposition the fake gravestones, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, while Crash excused himself and made his way over to the fake gravestones. They were clearly enjoying themselves, fully immersed in the Halloween spirit.
Penny, however, lingered on the sidelines, unsure if this was something she could really get into. A small part of her wanted to join in, to share in their excitement, but another part of her felt hesitant, unsure of how to connect with this unfamiliar tradition.
Coco, noticing Penny’s uncertainty, paused from her decorating and approached her with a warm smile. “Hey, Penny,” she called out, holding up a small, round pumpkin. “Come on over! We’re about to carve jack-o’-lanterns. It’s a lot of fun, and I promise it’s easier than it looks.”
Crash, who had been watching Penny out of the corner of his eye, bounced over with a carving tool in hand. He offered her the pumpkin with an encouraging grin, his excitement contagious. “You’ll love it,” he seemed to say with his eager expression.
Penny hesitated for a moment, glancing between the pumpkin in Coco’s hands and the friendly, hopeful faces of her two friends. She still wasn’t sure if she understood this holiday or if she would enjoy it, but the warmth and enthusiasm they showed made her feel a little braver, a little more willing to try.
Taking a deep breath, Penny accepted the pumpkin from Crash and the carving tool from Coco. “Alright,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “I’ll give it a try.”
Coco beamed, clearly pleased that Penny was joining in. “Great! It’s really fun, I promise. Let’s start by cutting off the top,” she said, demonstrating on her own pumpkin with a few swift motions. “Then we scoop out the insides before we carve the face.”
Following Coco’s lead, Penny carefully cut around the top of the pumpkin and lifted off the lid. The smell of fresh pumpkin filled the air as she peeked inside, seeing the stringy pulp and seeds. It was messy, but not as daunting as she’d imagined.
As Penny began to scoop out the insides, she found herself getting lost in the task. The simple, repetitive motion of scraping the pumpkin clean was oddly calming. She glanced over at Crash, who was dramatically tossing pumpkin guts into a bowl, making a game of it. His carefree attitude made her smile, and she realized that maybe Halloween wasn’t about being spooky or strange—it was about having fun, no matter how unusual the activities seemed.
Coco was already moving on to carving, her pumpkin taking shape with a toothy grin. She glanced over at Penny with an encouraging nod. “You’re doing great! Now, just draw a face and start carving. It doesn’t have to be perfect—it’s all about having fun with it.”
Penny hesitated again, but she could feel the excitement in the air, the warmth of her friends’ encouragement bolstering her resolve. She picked up a marker and began to sketch a face on her pumpkin, keeping it simple—a pair of large, round eyes, a triangle nose, and a wide, lopsided grin.
Once she started carving, she found herself getting into it more than she expected. The knife cut smoothly through the pumpkin’s flesh, and with each slice, her jack-o’-lantern’s face became more defined. It wasn’t perfect, but there was something satisfying about seeing the design she had drawn come to life.
When she finished, Penny held up her pumpkin to show Crash and Coco, feeling a small burst of pride. The face was a bit uneven, but it had a quirky charm to it. Crash gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, while Coco smiled warmly, clearly pleased.
“That looks awesome, Penny!” Coco said, genuinely impressed. “See? I told you it’d be fun.”
Penny looked at her finished jack-o’-lantern, the flicker of a smile playing on her lips. “Yeah,” she admitted, feeling a sense of accomplishment. “It was fun.”
Crash quickly grabbed a small flashlight and placed it inside Penny’s pumpkin, making the carved face glow with a warm, flickering light. The sight of it made Penny’s smile widen. For the first time, she started to understand the appeal of Halloween—the joy of creating something, the laughter shared with friends, and the simple pleasure of doing something just for the fun of it.
As the three of them admired their handiwork, Penny felt a newfound appreciation for the holiday. Halloween might have seemed strange at first, but now, surrounded by the warmth and enthusiasm of her friends, she realized it was more than just a day of spooky decorations and costumes. It was a time to let go, be playful, and enjoy the moment with the people who mattered most.
And for Penny, that was a tradition she could definitely get behind.
She asks Coco more about the holiday, genuinely curious about the traditions that seem so different from anything she’s known. Coco is more than happy to explain, sharing with Penny some of the most memorable moments from past Halloweens.
“Like the time Crash scared himself with his own costume,” Coco begins, her eyes lighting up with the memory. Penny listens intently as Coco describes how Crash, dressed as a particularly convincing ghost, caught sight of himself in a mirror and nearly jumped out of his fur. The image makes Penny laugh, the sound light and genuine.
Coco goes on, telling her about the year they tried to make a haunted house out of cardboard boxes. “It wasn’t very scary,” Coco admits with a grin, “but it was a lot of fun. Crash kept getting lost in the maze we made and knocking everything over.”
Penny can’t help but laugh along with them, feeling a growing sense of camaraderie. Soon, she’s not just listening—she’s actively helping them bring the holiday to life. With a newfound enthusiasm, she climbs ladders to hang plastic bats from the ceiling, making sure they’re positioned just right to give the room a spooky atmosphere.
Outside, she works with Crash to spread fake cobwebs over the bushes. Crash, as usual, can’t resist being a bit silly, pretending to get tangled in the webs, which only makes Penny laugh more. She’s no longer just an observer—she’s part of the fun, and she’s loving every minute of it.
As the day progresses, Crash's goofy creativity takes center stage. With an ever-present grin, he dives into the pile of random objects scattered around the house, his mind brimming with wild ideas. He grabs a frying pan from the kitchen and, with a flourish, sets it up on the porch, declaring it a witch’s cauldron. He even throws in some leaves and twigs for good measure, making a bubbling noise with his mouth to complete the effect.
Penny watches, her giggles bubbling up as Crash continues his antics. He attaches googly eyes to just about anything he can get his hands on—picture frames, potted plants, and even a few of the pumpkins they’ve carved. “It’s all about the spook factor!” he exclaims in his gibberish, making Penny laugh even harder.
The pinnacle of his creativity comes when he decides to create a scarecrow. But this isn’t just any scarecrow—it’s a “scary” scarecrow made from old laundry and straw. He stuffs the arms of a worn-out flannel shirt with straw, ties on a pair of raggedy jeans, and tops it off with a hat that’s seen better days. When he’s done, the scarecrow looks more comical than terrifying, slumped over with a crooked smile painted on its makeshift face. Penny can’t help but laugh at the sight, her earlier hesitation about Halloween long forgotten in the face of Crash’s playful energy.
Meanwhile, Coco is busy with her own project. She’s decided that they all need costumes, and her resourcefulness knows no bounds. Digging through her supplies, she quickly gathers materials to create outfits for everyone. First, she whips up a spooky ghost costume for Crash (which wasn’t as convincing as last time), cutting holes in a white sheet for his eyes and draping it over him. Crash immediately starts floating around the room, making exaggerated ghostly noises, much to Penny’s amusement.
Next, Coco sets to work on her own costume—a classic witch. She finds some black fabric and a pointed hat, and in no time at all, she’s transformed into a perfect Halloween witch, complete with a broomstick that she twirls dramatically.
Finally, Coco turns her attention to Penny. “What do you think, Penny?” she asks, holding up various pieces of fabric. “How about a pirate costume?”
Penny’s eyes light up at the suggestion. “A pirate sounds fun!” she agrees, her excitement growing.
Coco nods with a smile and gets to work. She skillfully sews together a striped shirt, a tattered vest, and a pair of pants with a frayed edge. She adds a bandana for Penny’s head and even finds a plastic sword to complete the look. When she’s done, Penny is dressed as a fearsome (yet friendly) pirate, ready to join in on the Halloween festivities.
As Penny looks at herself in the mirror, she feels a wave of excitement. The costume is perfect, and she can’t help but admire Coco’s talent. The idea of dressing up, which had seemed so strange to her at first, now feels like the most natural thing in the world. She turns to Coco, her eyes shining. “Thank you, Coco. This is amazing!”
Coco grins, clearly pleased with the outcome. “I’m glad you like it! We’re going to have the best Halloween ever.”
Penny nods enthusiastically, her earlier uncertainty replaced by a growing sense of anticipation. With Crash’s playful creativity, Coco’s impressive resourcefulness, and her own newfound excitement, Penny is ready to embrace Halloween in all its spooky, fun-filled glory.
Crash, ever the playful spirit, notices the spark of enthusiasm growing in Penny. With a mischievous grin, he grabs a fake spider from the decoration box and sneaks up behind her. In an instant, he’s chasing her around the yard, waving the plastic spider in the air and making goofy noises. Penny squeals in surprise, her laughter ringing out as she darts around the pumpkins and plastic gravestones, trying to escape Crash’s playful pursuit.
“Crash, no!” she calls out between giggles, her face lit up with joy. The sight of Crash’s determined, yet clumsy, chase only makes her laugh harder.
Coco, watching from the porch, can’t help but smile fondly at the scene unfolding before her. Seeing Penny so happy, so at ease, fills her with a sense of contentment. This is what she loves about Halloween—the way it brings them all together, the way it turns ordinary moments into cherished memories. She’s thrilled to see Penny warming up to the holiday, becoming more comfortable with not just the decorations, but with their little group dynamic. It feels right, like Penny has always been meant to be here with them.
Finally, Crash catches up to Penny, gently tapping her on the shoulder with the fake spider. “Gotcha!” he exclaims in his usual gibberish, his eyes twinkling with delight.
Penny, catching her breath, shakes her head with a wide smile. “You win this time, Crash,” she says, mock-seriously, but the laughter in her voice betrays her.
Coco joins them, placing a hand on Penny’s shoulder as they all share a moment of lightheartedness. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying this, Penny,” Coco says, her tone sincere. “This is what Halloween’s all about—having fun together.”
Penny nods, her heart full. “Yeah, I think I’m starting to get it,” she replies, looking around at the decorated yard and then back at her friends.
As dusk settles over the Bandicoot house, casting long shadows across the yard, Penny steps back to take in the scene. The transformation is remarkable—the once ordinary home is now a spooky, yet inviting, Halloween haunt. Ghosts sway gently from the trees, their white sheets fluttering in the evening breeze. The jack-o'-lanterns they painstakingly carved earlier now flicker with an eerie glow along the walkway, their carved faces grinning mischievously in the twilight. Cobwebs stretch across every corner, giving the house a delightfully creepy vibe.
Penny, who had started the day unsure of this strange holiday, now finds herself fully immersed in the Halloween spirit. She turns to Coco and Crash, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Okay, I get it now. This is actually really fun,” she admits, her eyes shining with newfound excitement.
Coco beams with pride. “I knew you’d come around! Halloween is one of the best times of the year. Now, we just need to pick out a movie for tonight. How do you feel about scary movies?”
Penny hesitates, the idea of a scary movie still a bit intimidating. But after a day filled with fun, laughter, and feeling more at home than she ever has, she feels brave enough to give it a try. “As long as it’s not too scary,” she replies with a playful grin, glancing at Crash, who’s been suspiciously quiet for the past few moments.
Before she can react, Crash sneaks up behind her, draped in his ghost costume, and lets out a loud, “Boo!” Penny jumps, startled by the sudden noise, but the fear quickly melts away as she bursts out laughing. Crash’s antics, combined with the ghostly sheet that barely covers his wild hair and crooked grin, are more funny than frightening.
“Crash!” she exclaims between giggles, playfully swatting at him. But there’s no mistaking the warmth in her tone or the joy in her eyes. She feels more connected to Crash, Coco, and the strange, wonderful world they’ve brought her into than ever before.
As they head back inside to pick out a movie, Penny realizes that Halloween isn’t just about scares and spooky decorations—it’s about the fun of coming together, the warmth of shared experiences, and the bonds that grow stronger with each laugh and every little fright. Tonight, she knows, will be a night to remember.
I genuinely do not understand this new, stupid accusation floating around the internet that using em dashes somehow makes your writing ‘unnatural’ or ‘not human.’
Like… are you kidding me? Em dashes have existed longer than half the people making that complaint have been alive. They’ve been in literature, essays, newspapers, journals, letters, and basically every written medium since punctuation became a thing humans fought about.
And I actually tried to ignore this whole topic for the longest time. I told myself, “Just let people be wrong on the internet. It’s not worth the energy.” But there comes a point where enough is enough, where the ignorance just gets so loud and so confidently stupid that you cannot stay silent anymore.
I’m truly, deeply sorry that I want to articulate my thoughts in a way that actually reflects how a human brain jumps, pivots, interrupts itself, and wanders. There is nothing ‘unnatural’ about that. That is literally how people think and speak.
And if you genuinely believe that em dashes are some proof of ‘inhuman writing,’ then my dear, you have never actually read a single book. Because ninety-nine percent of traditionally published authors use them. Classics. Fantasy authors. Romance authors. Literary authors. Modern authors. Old authors.
And sure, yes, obviously no one should use sixty em dashes in a 200-word paragraph. That looks like a punctuation stampede. But refusing to use them at all? Acting like they are some kind of forbidden, suspicious punctuation mark? Absolutely not.
I love em dashes. And I’m going to keep using them forever.
So stop accusing writers of “fakeness” because of punctuation.
Stop pretending your personal punctuation preferences are some moral high ground. Stop acting like you’re the gatekeeper of real writing when you clearly haven’t read widely enough to know how real writing actually looks.
And honestly, EVEN if someone does misuse punctuation, even if they sprinkle em dashes everywhere or barely know how a comma works, it is still NOT your business. Take care of your own stuff instead of policing someone else’s creativity.
Mind your own work. Because other people’s punctuation choices are not (AND NEVER WILL BE) your job to fix.
A litte something I drew a couple of weeks ago. c:
Semi small update regarding the current status of It Turned into Love fanfic!
It's been pretty rough. I haven't been able to properly sit down and write down anything since I've gotten my promotion at work. Not only that but I now work 5 days a week and barely have time to do anything at all, sometimes I come back home so tired that I just want to relax and play video games or maybe read a book.
My creative juices have been lacking lately but I haven't forgotten about the story just yet! It just means that the progress for the next chapter will be very slow. I do want to apologize for that, life has a way of throwing amazing oportunities at you, even if it meant that some of my other stories would be on temporary hold.
The upcoming chapter is slowly taking shape tho! It's nowhere near finished (I wish I could just write the scenes straight out of my head, man...) not even close 😭. But for now, all you lovely readers know that I am still lovingly working on the story. I love the world that I built and would like to continue it until my fingers literally fall off. 🥹
I know some people have seen the news recently and may be doubtful of it. To the uninformed, Google Docs has started using AI to find "inappropriate" and "problematic" content, scraping your documents and deleting it. I know some people are unsure if this is real or think this is not going to affect them.
I regret to inform you that this is real.
As I was on a call with some writers and we were moving our documents as a precautionary measure, one person discovered entire pages missing that they did not delete themselves. This is happening to us, it's not a hoax or a rumor, it's happening right now. You need to move everything if you want to preserve it.
If you're a writer with writer mutuals, please reblog this so they know. I rarely write on Google Docs anymore, but I started my fanfics on there, and I would be devastated if I lost works more than ten years old because people decided marketing appeal is more important than creative freedom.
I literally have my orginal works and fanfics exclusively written on Google docs—this is SCARY to even think about.
Imagine this—
You have worked hard on your Novel, spent countless hours, maybe YEARS, working on your passion. Only to one day log in and see that a large chunk of your excerpts are missing or worse—deleted!
Thankfully, I'm super anal about backing up my works on multiple platforms. Scrivener has been my GO TO writting app for over 5 years now and I have my stories from over 12 years ago (I was 16 then).
If anyone has their works written on Google docs or has them saved in google drive, please, please, PLEASE.
MOVE THEM ELSEWHERE WHERE THEY DON'T JUST GET DELETED OUT OF THE BLUE OR IF GOOGLE CLAIMS THAT IT CONTAINS EXPLICIT/HARMFUL SUBJECTS.
Back it up anywhere! Scrivener has saved my life on multiple occasions when something goes wrong and it has never failed me. Sure, the price to purchase it stings (it's $50) but well-worth it! You keep it forever and that's what matters as long as your stories are safe.
Stay vigilant everyone!!! Much love, by a fellow writer 💖
tried to reblog the original post but it was gone so here we are i guess. thanks for tagging me leigh!!!!! @poemeater <3 i love you to pluto and back come kiss me now
currently reading: nothing actually. walk of shame
last song: man in the mirror — michael jackson
last film: captain america brave new world
last series: new girl season 3, mha season 2 (rewatch), wbk s2
sweet/savory/salty?: savory + salty!!! but i would give up both kidneys for some cinnamon sugar pretzels rn
tea or coffee: tea always
working on: packing to move states in july, weeding through some rough friendships that no longer serve me, picking up guitar again, and. well. kinktober ‘25
no pressure tags 🤍 @carminechrollo @admiringlove @madaqueue @cheralith @bouqette @mochiqa @mosskissed @storiesoflilies @toadba @tokeposts @hiraethwrote sorry if you’ve been tagged i tried to choose people i haven’t tagged in awhile/at all hehe
currently reading: cadence of time by redhairedhunter on ao3 (PEAK jing yuan fic)
last song: susan smith by wych elm
last film: k-pop demon hunters (i think)
last series: mob psycho 100
sweet or savory: anything i'm like a vacuum
tea or coffee: coca-cola zero sugar
working on: my summer fic exchange draft, atsumu fic jokes in the background, currently hinking hard about a hsr streamer hybrid-smau, drivers license.. yurrrrrrrr
npt: @oleander-cup @kaalwanan @bouqette @kissunday @megapteraurelia + anyone who wants to join
last series: LMAOO coffee prince... my cousins and i binged it while we were in the philippines and kept talking about how it was so ohshc core
sweet or savory: idk both i love food too much
tea or coffee: tea!! i hate coffee most of the time
working on: writing consistently on here, getting my driver's license, preparing to go back to school, overcoming some grief
npt; @warfairie , @kuronarnze , @adoresia , @peaktora , @chevxyn , @livteracts (sorry if you've already been tagged/don't like partaking in this type of thing !! 💔)
Thank you so much for the tag @mia-can-yap-too :))) i would LOVE to get to know u better! My blog isn't very big but these always seem so fun and I'd love toooooo sooooo
♡ currently reading : The Cruel Prince and Rules for Dating Trash on Webtoon!
♡ last song i listened to : Killin' it Girl by Jhope
♡ last film i watched : Kpop Demon Hunters (hehe i love)
♡ last series i watched :- squid game season 1, i just started, and Good Boy (I love both so far)
♡ sweet or savory :- sweetttttttttt all the wayyyy, I'm infamous for it in my family
♡ tea or coffee : neither (?) i like occasional chai with biscuits (I'm desi ofc) and frappes are yummy but caffeine makes my anxiety worse, I like lemonade best
npt: @bluukive @caffine-exe @edensrose (sorryyy ik you were already tagged) and @mia-can-yap-too ofc :)
so sorry if these tags are unwelcome!!
★ currently reading : rereading Coanda Effect on ao3 bc that is my fav fic of all time
★ last song i listened to : night changes by 1D (DON’T FKN JUDGE ME IT WAS ON SHUFFLE)
★ last film i watched : lost in translation (thanks to @riveredmoon)
★ ast series i watched :- arcane league of legends
★ sweet or savory :- savoury, I LOVEEE sweets, but if I had to pick, savoury.
★ tea or coffee : COFFEE. I LOATHE tea so much, I think it tastes too bitter, even with sugar, BUT milk tea tho? YUM YUM
tags: @muliwamm @fear-is-truth @gremlinmidi @kenntoria @realalpacorn @satorrruuu @juliarchiv3s @meanderingwistera @milkdudsss @sukunaslilsocks @goonforgeto @nanamisbbygirl @yukinohoshikuzu + anyone who wants to join. i didnt tag all my mooties bc i saw that they were previously tagged (you don't have to do this btw feel free to ignore!)
last film: kpop demon hunters as well lol!! (but right before that: pride and prejudice to help me write & understand tension in romance lol)
last series: i’ve been rewatching a bit of the walking dead (for the umpteenth time) if that counts
sweet/savory/salty: i will eat anything laid before me ✅
tea or coffee: i have enough caffeine in my body to wake an entire workplace. iced coffee always ✨
working on: chapter 4 of my sylus series; a saja boys yandere fic; and hopefully recovering from a writers block that is targeting poor fishie rafayel :,)
no pressure tags + anyone who wants to join! ♡ @thatsbunnysmind @mandalhoerian @osamwah @luvzayne @tojislovergirl
Ayy, I got tagged in one of these! This is my first time EVER, thank you @thatsbunnysmind for tagging me~ 😊
currently reading: The Lost Apothecary by Sarah Penner (I literally started it yesterday on my e-reader, soo we'll see how it goes)
last song: Here We Stand by Hidden Citizens
last film: Superman 2025
last series: Dragon Ball Z, Episode 151 (I've been binge watching the show for the nostalgia 💜)
sweet/savory/salty: I'm a sucker for sweet things, I would die for some good ol' Taro Boba tea right now!
tea or coffee: I grew up surrounded by the scent of coffee because of my grandparents and it's become one of my comfort drinks in my morning routine. It just tastes so nice with a touch of creamer and the right amount of sugar (sometimes I drink it twice a day with a giant croissant on the side~ ☕)
working on: I've been juggling between two works—a super long short story with RoTB Optimus Prime x Cybertronian Reader/OC, and I'm also slowly writing out chapter 23 of a PiccoloxReader fic that I haven't been able to get around to because life/work/personal business has been keeping me very busy. Once everything settles and find a little bit of motivation to start working on it, hehe. 😅
no pressure tags + anyone who would love to join! 💚 @lucidglass33 @bulma-laboratory
aaand I have no idea who else to tag 🫠
pls feel free to join in even if you're not tagged! c:
Lets Get Weird @lilyswrittenworks - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
annaxmalina
titsay
gummygunk
stormborns
snowghoul
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
discoholicmusic
