I have so many different plans half imagined and half cooked for future posts but, I figured I'd take a break from those to get something out to yall.
Two Halloween inspired short stories. Double feature style.
🐦⬛👻💀⚰️🦇🖤🧛🧟🐈⬛😨
At times I feel like I might be Frankenboob’s monster — some perverted scientist’s stitched-together masterpiece. Like he dug up the freshest, largest-breasted corpses and pumped them all into me, his odd fetish project, carting me around like a prized abomination, knowing I would soon be unable to walk beneath the sheer volume of what he’d created.
The Bride of Frankenboob, forced to marry the mad scientist who imbued me with pound after pound of quivering, fat, useless chest meat. An oddity to the town, he would hide me when company came over, only to lose sleep that night, pacing, muttering, “Just one more graft… just one more inch…”
Maybe his core lust for more bust would drive him to… murder?Stalking the biggest-breasted woman in town, learning her exact measurements — 38 M cups, but overfilling it a bit — before poisoning her drink.After the funeral, who would notice a dozen cup sizes being removed?I would. I’d feel them being added.
Sometimes I imagine him down there in the lab again — sleeves rolled up, chest-deep in jars of more breast meat to add, measuring tapes dangling like rosaries. The air thick with formaldehyde and obsession. I can almost hear the clink of a beaker, the soft hiss of air being released as he whispers, “just a little more, more tit for her... yes…”
And I, his creation, lying motionless on the table, stitched together with invisible seams of lust and shame. Each time I awoke, they were heavier, rounder. I was even more off-balance. I’d look down and see his handiwork — two obscene bulging experiments quivering against my ribs; and wonder if he could even see me beneath them anymore.
He called it progress.I called it punishment.
Now I lumber through life like a ghost in her own skin — half woman, half wish-fulfillment — haunted not by chains, but by my body itself. The villagers stare when I pass, whispering about me, about them, unsure whether to take a picture or to run. Their fear feels almost flattering. Almost.
Sometimes he’s still out there, scavenging the countryside for more “donors.” Somewhere out there an absurdly top heavy woman is laughing, jiggling, unaware she's being watched, measured, visually scaled. Her breast weight eyeballed and his imagination and memory adding her to my already untenable masses. Week after week I’m still being added to because he never stopped. And he may never stop.
And if one night you hear a creak in your floorboards, soft, rhythmic, and impossibly heavy — it might not be the house settling or the wind.It might be me, Frankenboob’s Monster The Bride of Frankenboob™, still being pumped fuller, still yearning for release from my perverted breast obsessed creator.
or it could be the wind idk...
😂
🐦⬛👻💀⚰️🦇🖤🧛🧟🐈⬛😨
Or maybe I insulted a pumpkin patch.
Some kind of sickly, sentient gourds that I looked upon with pity for not being big enough.
“Damn, these pumpkins are tiny, huh?” I said as I walked past.
Words I would soon grow to regret.
There was no one in that field to hear me, but still, I got the sense that something had. Something underneath. I had a Halloween party to plan, so I had to go—but as I backed away, something in me wanted to stay. I resolved to check back later, though I wasn’t sure why.
The next morning was a blur of practical matters: candy, cooking, costumes. My revealing nurse outfit wasn’t fitting, even though it had been too big the night before. Around the chest, the fabric refused to close—something that might’ve worked for a “slutty Halloween” costume, but made me worry why I felt so bloated and sore.
Around sundown, I tried to take my mind off the dull, heavy ache in my chest with a walk. I absentmindedly wandered toward that familiar pumpkin patch, still wearing my nurse costume, ready to leave for the party in an hour or so... but what my eyes took in stopped me cold.
Fat, round masses now sat higher than the fence. The pumpkins that yesterday had been small and misshapen now loomed three times their original size. I could almost hear liquid rushing through the thick, almost muscular vines that fed them. Each gourd gleamed wetly in the dying light, faint green veins winding beneath their taut orange skin like varicose threads under strain.
I moved closer. Jumping the fence sent a shiver through my body—everything felt heavier than it should—but I couldn’t bring that thought to the front of my mind. I needed to touch the pumpkins. I felt unnaturally drawn to them, as though they were calling to me.
When I reached them, their warmth radiated against my skin. I wrapped my fingers around a vine—it was hot, but bearable—and felt it throb beneath my grip. I could feel it pumping life into the gourds, nutrients forced through at unnatural speed. My phone alarm went off. It was time for the party. I don’t know why, but I wanted to stay. Still, I had plans.
As I turned to leave, taking a step away, I felt a tug at my leg. I jumped, thinking a snake had gotten me, but I fell forward, my ankle yanked out from under me. When I looked down, my stomach dropped.
One of the muscular vines was wrapped around my leg and wouldn’t let go. As I tried to pull it off, several others coiled around my wrists, slowly but firmly pulling me to the ground. I tried to scream, but my mouth was covered by another vine—this one split open like a hollow stem.
I thrashed and fought, but the vines only tightened. A warm, sweet taste spread across my tongue. Pumpkin. Syrupy and thick. It slid down my throat before I could turn my head. The more I struggled, the more of it poured in, filling me with a heavy, drowsy warmth. My limbs slackened. The world dulled around the edges.
I remember thinking I should be full—that my body couldn’t take any more—but it kept coming, pulsing through me in steady waves until I couldn’t fight it. My thoughts dimmed. The field went quiet. And then I slept.
...
The next morning and into the next week state police searched for me. The local news was calling it a Halloween disappearance. The only other news of note was related, but only because my nurses costume was found next to them.
A record breaking pair of pumpkins being grown in an abandoned field near my house. They'd attracted more attention than the missing person's case, not just because of the odd nature of them growing without any special fertilizer, but because of their immense size, weight, and continued growth.
Both still connected to the vine, they weighed over 3000 pounds each, crushing any records held before them. Since they were still alive, a tent was erected around them and they were tended to, researched, and when no real conclusions could be come to, turned into a tourist attraction.
Years later, people taking pictures with the biggest healthiest pumpkins to ever be grown.
Me.
🐦⬛👻💀⚰️🦇🖤🧛🧟🐈⬛😨
alright, thats all I got for now, lol.
I'm a bit worried to wear my custom made Jack-O-Lantern costume out, I DO have a Halloween party this weekend. I'll let yall know how it goes. wish us luck.
And yes, this is how big they are now when not compressed >.<
Luckily I can usually hide them more than THIS.
Also if you want a commission or have a pending commission message me :)
thx
-Plushy 🍈🍈