It was nighttime in Ponyville. The cloudless, star filled sky glinted and shimmered overhead in the twilight. The moon hung among the glimmering cosmos, its white cratered surface providing a light modicum of light for the ponies below. And they appreciated it. For tonight was a special one. Nightmare Night, and everypony was out enjoying the festivities. The streets were full, more so than it did in the day. Among them, the sounds of laughter mingled with those individuals knocking on doors and shouting the catchphrase.
Truely, this was a night of fun for everypony. Bedecked in a menagerie of costumes, ranging from cliche monsters, to characters from movies and comics, to obscure references. Crowding around the food and game stalls, chatting and having fun amongst the spooky decorations, it was a time of merriment only topped by Hearth’s Warming. They had turned carved pumpkins and other vegetables into a myriad of designs, from the amateurish to professional, almost every house had one in a window or by the door. Thick webs of cotton wool, strings of bats and skeletons swayed ominously in the light breeze.
Despite the amount of merriment, not everypony was there for the atmosphere it seemed. Out of an alley, a figure crept forward. His head whipped back and forth, checking to see if anypony was paying much attention. Satisfied he wasn’t being watched, he trotted out, a slight clinking of glass accompanying him from the insides of his tatty jacket. Still, he mainly stuck to the shadows, letting his dark outfit help him to blend with the gloom.
Looking at the wall, he paused for a moment, squinting at the poster he noticed sticking to it. “Tch… they keep getting better and better looking every time…” He mumbled, quickly ripping the paper off the wall and stomping it with a hoof. “One of these days, they're finally going to get my mane right.” Chuckling, he pulled out one of the lollipop's he’d snagged a while back, the sweet blackcurrant flavour filling his mouth.
Exhaling through his nose, he took to watching the crowds, his purple eyes darting from pony to pony, scratching his chin and adjusting the battered top hat he wore, a collection of yellowed bones and aged playing cards strapped to it. Content to watch the festivities, the creature snorted, eyeing up each pony as if they were his prey. Mostly, the citizens either didn’t notice him, or ignored him entirely, having too much fun to bother with him.
“Hmm… I wonder if I’ll get any catches tonight…” he mumbled, scanning through. Then, his eye caught something, or rather, someponies. “Oooh… now there’s a pair to go after, he grinned, patiently waiting as the two unsuspecting individuals browsed a number of stalls.
“I’ll take one’r those toffee apples, if ya be so kind.” A chipper voice piped up, a distinct southern Equestrian twang bubbling up.
“Here you go, mister!” The vendor replied with near equal enthusiasm, hoofing over the requested goods in her magical grip. The eager stallion grabbing the stick jammed into the apple, the handle slick with juice and candy.
“Thanks miss, golly, it sure looks good,”.
“Glad you think so, have a great Nightmare Night!”
Braeburn was having a blast. Having visited his cousins in Ponyville for the week, he’d made sure it was the week that just so coincided with Nightmare Night. Replacing his usual stetson and jacket, instead decked out in a cheap costume he’d cobbled together. Using spare clothes, cheap face paint and some actual paint he’d found in the corner of a toolshed, the Appaloosian Stallion made for a convincing zombie. Well, from a good few feet away at least. Taking a bite from the toffee apple, he gave an approving moan, licking strands of the sticky sweet from his lips. “Well, how about that? Ah swear Apple’s go with everything.”
“Eeyup, sure do.” A deeper, bassy rumble came from his side. Big Macintosh walked alongside his yellow cousin, enjoying the time with the excitable farmer. Normally, he’d be running a myriad of different tasks around town, from giving cart rides around the attractions to helping with the corn maze back on the farm, he rarely had time to have some fun with a good buddy during Nightmare Night.
Taking some inspiration from his previous costume as a mummy, he’d ramped up the Ancient Somnambulan influence. With a resplendent, shimmering headdress, fake golden beard, and all the bangles, necklaces and trinkets to boot, he’d put together a genuinely impressive pharaoh costume. Even in the weak moonlight, the golden accents shimmered and sparkled, an ankh swaying around his neck.
“What should we do next, cous’? I think we’ve played every game here on offer.” Big Mac tapped a hoof to his chin, a small grin appearing moments later.
“How about we head back to the farm an’ have a bit of a visit to the corn maze.”
Braeburn stopped. “Wait, really? I’m not sure how good it’d be if you know your way around it.”
Big Mac shook his head. “Nnnnope! It is on our property, but we usually have help growin’ it. Hay, with all the stuff Applejack’s been doing, we’ve been able to hire some other ponies to help around the farm.”
“So, ya don’t know the way through?”
“Eeyup.” Big Mac returned with a grin, followed by Brae giving him a light, playful punch on the leg.
“Well, that settles it then. Lead on Mac!” Side by side, they trotted off, heading for a road leading towards the town borders. Winding through the cobbled streets, Braeburn continued to drink in the sights of the charming town, looking at the displays the townsfolk had put on. So much so, that he almost missed the Stallion that trotted out in front of them, walking towards them with a friendly smile.
“Been having a good Nightmare Night, you two?” The Stallion asked casually, adjusting his hat’s brim.
“Oh, are we ever! This here’s mah first one in Ponyville!” Braeburn responded gleefully, the Stallion nodding.
“That’s great to hear! Ponyville has a special charm to it, dosen’t it?” Braeburn nodded in response.
“You're not from round here though, are you?” Big Mac piped up, instantly recognising what he was. “We don’t get too many Zebra’s around here, ‘cept from Zecora.” The Zebra stallion chuckled, holding a hoof up in mock surrender.
“Well, you got me. I mostly keep to myself on the road, but occasionally I do pop into towns to sell my wares.”
“What kinda ware’s? Ya got my interest now, erm... what did ya say your name was?”
“I didn’t, and it’s Zarkis, just Zarkis. And before you ask, no, it means nothing special. I just so have a talent for brewing potions.” Big Mac’s eyebrow raised, whilst Braeburn urged him to continue. “Given that it’s Nightmare Night and all, I thought what better way for ponies to spice up the experience than a new set of effects I whipped up.”
Reaching into his jacket, he produced a pair of small vials, each with a cork stopper at the end. Inside, two vibrant coloured concoctions sloshed around. One was a bloody red, the other a lime green. “I call them Nightmare Brew’s, each produces a different ‘spooky’ effect.” He outstretched his hoof, holding them in front of the farmers. “Consider these as test samples.”
Shrugging, the pair grabbed one, uncorking and swallowing with minor issue. “Huh, ah expected a horrible aftertaste.” He clasped his hoof to his mouth, his voice suddenly dropping several octaves lower, a gravelly rumble accompanying it. “What in the world is happening, and what happened to you Mac!” He exclaimed, watching as a sudden haunting aura surrounded the red stallion’s now partially transparent body, giving him a spectral appearance.
“That, my booming friend, is what I call ‘Daemons Rumble’, and the ghoulish vision is ‘Poltergeists Mischief’. The effects are very apparent, I think you’ve noticed.” Zarkis grinned, returning the empty glasses to his pockets. “Don’t worry, the sample has a very diluted solution, it won’t last more than a minute.”
“Is that so? Guess I’d better make the most of it.” Clearing his throat, rolling his eyes up, he held a hoof out in front. “Bbbbraaaaiinnsss…” He grumbled, a chill running up his own spine from how menacing it sounded.
“Bravo, that’s exactly what that’s for. I’m sorry I didn’t have something more appropriate for you… was it Mac?”
“Eeyup, Big Mac. Don’tcha worry ‘bout it, ah think somepony else is sold on it though.” Mac nudged the yellow stallion, watching as the ethereal glow died down, his body losing the transparency.
“Well, blow me down, ain’t that the darndest thing?” A slight hint of disappointment tinted his voice at the end, realising it was over.
“Thanks, that means a lot to me.”
“No problem… ya got any more of it?”
“Oh sure, I do. The proper full flasks are back at my caravan, near to the woods. I hope that won’t be an issue?” Braeburn shook his head.
“Not at all! Why, we were just going that way to get to Sweet Apple Acres, that right Mac?”
“Eeyup.”
“Great, just follow me. I’m sure this’ll be a night you never forget!” Turning around, he cantered slowly, the handsome farmers right behind him. They were close, but not close enough to notice the triumphant grin that blossomed, his teeth showing. His plan was going well, he just hoped that he could pull off the rest. But for now, though, he elected to make pleasant chit chat, keeping those two hunks blind to his actual intentions.
A couple minutes later, and the trio were meandering their way around the winding path. The cobbles gradually gave way to loose gravel, before turning to hard earth. Not that anypony here minded getting their hooves a little muddy, two of them spent most of their days stamping and trotting through it.
Every hooffall brought them further and further away from the sounds of celebration and playful terror. From the abundance of decorations to the utter lack thereof, the ambient noises of nature surrounded the group, as the trail led close to the boundaries of the White Tail Woods. Here, the hooting of owls and the scratching of small nocturnal animals scurried around in the foliage, the dull shine of their eyes occasionally betraying their position.
The stars even seemed brighter, the mild light pollution from the town near non-existent, allowing Zarkis to point out multiple constellations to the pair, and even some far off planets. “So you see over there, just above those mountains is Atrapos, the warden of the heavens, and over there, a bit to its right is Hippocampus.”
“Ooh, yeah ah see it, looks a bit like a pony head, ya think?” Braeburn confirmed.
“Well, I personally think it looks more like a zebra's head, but to each his own.” He chuckled, making a right turn, the group entering a wide grassy clearing. Parked towards the back of the space was a wooden caravan. From initial looks, it had seen better days. Several extra planks had been nailed in place, overlapping the smaller gaps to a significant margin. The original paint job had likewise been chipped away. Across the brown wood, decrepit patches of red and purple hinting at its age. “Let me just run inside and grab your stuff, I shouldn’t be long.”
With a bounce in his step, Zarkis cantered up to the door. Unlocking it, he entered, trotting past the organised clutter that his abode comprised. A pungent, almost acrid smell permeated most of the fabrics and hung in the air, the result of all the brewing he performed. To most, it would have been deeply unpleasant, Zarkis had learned to tolerate it… and use air fresheners from time to time.
Pushing aside miscellaneous items, he fished out an old milk bottle holder, doubling as a place to store his finished potions. The iron frame was buckled and warped, rusting clearly accumulating around the base. It wasn’t surprising, seeing as he’d pinched it from a farmer’s field, amongst the other pieces of random junk. Reaching to the shelves, he plucked two large flasks, each matching the colours they had sampled, amongst some other ones too. Satisfied he had everything, rejoined the pair.
“Well, there you go, my friends, one potion each, plus other ones from the ‘range’ if you’re interested. I have ‘Spectral Spite’ and this ones ‘Baleful Blaze’”.
“Ah think we’ll be fine with just the two from before, that right Mac?”
“Eeyup.”
“That's fine. That’ll be 10 bits each please.” The stallions exchanged a few looks, before Braeburn spoke.
“How long did you say these’ll last?”
“These undiluted ones should last the whole night, plenty of time to spook friends all over town, I think.” He smiled, nodding his head almost impatiently.
“Well OK, here ya go, I’ll pay for yours Mac.” Before he could respond, Braeburn hoofed over the jingling gold, pressing it into Zarkis’ hoof, the red and green liquids following moments later. “Hey, ya have been treatin’ me well at the farm. Only natural ah try to repay the favor. After all, it’s Nightmare Night, live a little cous!”
Uncorking them, the two farmers chugged the vibrant liquid, finishing in but a few seconds. Aside from the dregs clinging to the glass, it had all gone. With a satisfied sigh, Brae braced himself, preparing his zombie voice.
“How does this sound Mac? BbbrraaUUUURRPPP!!!!” the goldenrod stallion’s eyes grew wide, clapping a hoof to his mouth, the empty bottle tumbling to the ground. “Whew, excuse me… hey wait a second, mah voice sounds the same, an Mac, you ain’t glowing neither.”
Looking down, the red, muscled stallions looked all over, feeling his chin squishing into his neck. Pausing, he touched his chin, the normally toned jaw feeling remarkably soft. “Mac, you ain’t glowin’, ah think ya growing!” With every moment that passed, the amaranth stallion’s body softened as his convex belly blorped and gurgled. Shaking his leg, he could feel light jiggles propagate through his once lean, muscular frame.
“M...me, what about you!” Mac pointed back at his cousin. Where the yellow stallion’s barrel had been flat, a modest bulge blossomed as an additional layer of adipose materialised. His costume covered most of the growth, though, judging by how the material was slowly rolling up, that privilege would be soon gone. Soon, the growth had moved across their bodies. Their firm butts bloated outwards, fresh lard sticking to them as they quickly widened, blubber depositing along their thighs and cannons.
“Mmmm, oh yeah, that’s the stuff.” The zebra mumbled off to the side, his eyes gleaming with lustful excitement from his victim’s plight, ignoring their grunts and distressed cries. No, he was content to wait, watching the transformation with a devilish grin.
Already, the two were beyond simple winter weight. Fresh rolls of juicy yellow and red adipose expanded their bellies, asses and appendages outwards. Their necks had each developed a poofy slab, making Mac’s necklace uncomfortably tight. Simultaneously, the once baggy robe he wore was stretched taut against his fleshy folds, looking almost painted on as the fabric hugged every roll and crevice. Between them both, ham sized bingo wings blossomed out, the excessive flab sagging onto their elbows, staggering around as they tried in vain to adjust to the ever-increasing weight.
‘SHHHHRRIIPPP!!!’ Suddenly, Braeburn’s top violently tore apart, the existing rips providing a neat guideline. From the sudden gash, a flood of flab oozed forth, the restrained slab of butter coloured dough sagging ever closer to the ground, so large that his legs were pressed apart. “Huff… pant… what in the world is happenin’! Braeburn exclaimed, feeling his neck pressing into his malleable back rolls.
“Well, I guess I’ll tell you hot stuff.” Zarkis purred out, moving up alongside the confused stallion, eagerly squeezing his love handles, eliciting a small yelp. “I’m not the most honest Zebra around. A ‘menace to society’ the posters call me, and I guess they are pretty accurate.” Braeburn tried to shake him off, however, his normally abundant strength failing him, too much weight drowning his muscles.
“Why are ya doin’ this? Do ya want money or summit? Cus we Apple’s ain’t the most wealthy folks around ya know?” Braeburn stuttered, feeling the dishonest zebra gravitate to his rear end, only just able to stretch his hooves around the expanse of squishy plot flesh, just able to touch the cutie marks.
“Money? Oh no. That's one of the last things on my mind. No, the answer is simple”. A sudden meaty slap erupted across the clearing, a moan filled with mixed pain and pleasure crying out. “I’m a pervert, and I have a certain type… that being creatures with several hundred pounds of sexy, beautiful blubber. That’s the stuff I live for, that’s why I live a nomadic lifestyle, and that’s why I’m turning the pair of you into blobby mountains.” Grinning, he kissed the red hoof print, muzzle sinking into the dimpled, sagging flesh.
“What’dya mean...huff... by blobs?” Big Mac spoke up, his rounded cheeks the size of tennis balls sloshing around, his jowls and additional chin following moments later. You could hardly tell the obese stallion was slim minutes prior. He felt like he’d cleared the barn of every bushel of apple, fresh adipose creating deep creases along his back. Another tear, and Mac’s robe failed, the apex of his stomach kissing the blades of grass.
“It’s exactly as I say. You think you're fat now? Just you wait. Compared to now, this’ll look anorexic in comparison.” Zarkis merrily cantered over to his other victim, grabbing and kneading at his sides, biting his lip as the pliable flab depressed around his touch. Listening carefully, he could hear the stallion’s digestive system audibly complaining, gurgling and glorping as it accumulated millimeters by the second “Ooo, look at those cellulite dimples!, especially on that big butt of yours.” Practically leaning into the jiggling specimen, he glomped onto Mac’s cutie mark, cooing as he saw the image had deformed from the number of folds and wrinkles.
“Cut it out!” Mac shouted, as he coiled up to plant a powerful buck square in the zebra’s chest. A level of violence he never wanted to exact upon anypony, or anycreature. Eyes widening, he realised the normally fluid bucking motion was rather hard when had more than quadrupled your weight. His flaring emotions had muddled his judgement, the result of his actions as apparent as the sun rising in the morning. The result was that with a manly scream, muffled by his burgeoning collar of neck flab, he stumbled to his hooves, landing square on his belly. “Oof!”
Zarkis had stepped back briefly, Mac’s intentions telegraphed enough for him to sidestep. There, he watched the lying fatty try his best to extricate himself from the dry grass. Chuckling darkly, he watched as Mac’s hooves scrabbled and strained, failing to gain enough leverage to stand. “And that, ‘Big’ Mac, is immobility. Don’t worry about it, your cousin will join you shortly, my hefty hoss. Don’t worry about the ground being too hard, your gut will provide you with an excellent cushion tubby”.
Trying once more to get up, his knees shaking and sweat tricking across his forehead, he finally gave up, gasping and panting as he attempted to look back at Braeburn. His treble chin smooshing into his neck roll, he watched as his cousin’s legs finally gave out, sending him to the ground with a smack.
With his body still thickening, he let out a sigh, only hoping the deranged zebra was exaggerating about being ‘mountain sized’. But for now, he could only watch as his forelegs became thicker than an apple tree trunk. With his cheeks swallowing up his peripheral vision, he allowed his legs to rest upon the swell of his gut, feeling blade after blade of grass flatten beneath his rolling mass.
For about half an hour, the potion’s expanding influence continued unopposed, the bright moon above illuminating the gargantuan stallions. There was very little else to describe the utter enormity the two had ballooned up into. Where two healthy, well-built farmhands once where, they had been instead replaced with blobs of adipose, together rivalling the size of a barn. Thick mattress sized wedges of adipose were crammed along their sides, pressing and squeezing together the gelatinous clumps.
For both of the blubber bound stallions, their hooves were non-existent. Their cannon’s had become so engorged with lard that they had engulfed the limbs to where only brief glimpses of the keratinous nubs could be seen. Their cannons had been covered extensively by their immense bingo wings, looking more like a stack of prize winning pumpkins. To top it all off, the thousands of pounds of fat accumulating in their guts had forced their limbs up, limply resting amongst a sea of cherry and buttery flesh, gently swaying from their breathing and futile attempts at moving.
Despite initially being positioned several meters apart, the sheer obesity on display had forced their sides to touch. The slight force had pushed them upwards, their gaze now meeting the middle branches of the tree’s. And between the both of them, laying across their cart sized plot cheeks like a water bed, Zarkis was spread eagle. “Ahh, now this is how you enjoy Nightmare Night, just you, the stars above, and a comfy, sexy cushion to rest on.” Resting his head upon a squished fat roll, the perverted zebra noticed a few strands tail hair poking out of the chasm of ass clevage.
“Hmphg!!!” An annoyed mumble rose from Braeburn, the sheer quantity of neck, cheek and jowl fat rendering him unable to say much, electing instead to vocalise his displeasure. It wasn’t very surprising, given that a veritable waterfall of chins thickening with each successive roll.
“Oh sorry, I meant two sexy, plush cushions. Sorry about that, haha!” Flipping over, he planted his hooves into the pliable surface, sinking up to his ankles. “I must say, I’m quite impressed with your gains. Those Apple family bodies certainly know where to put all that extra junk, I can tell you that. You’ve both got an ass to die for, and a magnificent piece of advertisement to boot for those juicy apples, any juicy flanks” He coyly smiled referring to the billboard sized cuties marks attempting to stretch across the quantity of booty they were stamped to.
The sheer level of growth though had utterly deformed the clear apple shapes, turning them instead into creased blotches of green and red.
Wading through the pure blubber, he crossed the large distance to their faces. Sliding on his stripy hindquarters, Zarkis sat upon a convenient slab where belly and neck flab merged together, using it as an excellent seat. Looking around, he was able to glimpse their partially buried heads, remnants of their long destroyed costumes remaining. Whilst Braeburn only had some streaks of face paint, Mac had retained his headdress, along with the eye of Horus’, the black paint deformed across his wobbling basketball sized cheeks.
“While this has been a ‘ton’ of fun, I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you two. Residents don’t take too kindly to creatures that blimp up their friends and family.” Giving their rolls one last squeeze, he slid down the rest of the way, landing perfectly upright. “Well, thank you ever so kindly. I’ve taken plenty of photos to save this memory, though, I'm not sure you’ll forget this soon either”.
With no response coming forth aside from annoyed pants and deep belches, Zarkis made the brief trip to his caravan, loading up any spare possessions and unfurling the harness. Through the meters of lard, the pair could hear the sounds of wheels bumping on stone and gravel. “Mac?” The Appaloosian stallion grunted, his voice deepened by the sheer quantity of fat squashing into his throat.
“Yeah, Brae?”
“Next Nightmare... huff... Night, I’m picking the activities.”
