Count Fluffula and Frankenbabe
This was made in September 2025 to celebrate the Seven Month milestone of being in a relationship with my amazing and talented partner Fin.
For my yummy Fin: you make me smile on even the darkest days, the fact that I can still crack jokes after this week is a miracle, and I have you to thank for that. I still have to pinch myself over how very much in love with you I am. You really are precious to me.
For my yummy Fin: you make me smile on even the darkest days, the fact that I can still crack jokes after this week is a miracle, and I have you to thank for that. I still have to pinch myself over how very much in love with you I am. You really are precious to me.
The moon was big, bold, and smug, the kind of moon that knew it was the main character. Bats flitted across its face like shadowy confetti as Count Fluffula emerged from the crypt wearing his most dramatic cape. He struck a pose immediately, one fang flashing.
“Ah-ah-ahhh! Tonight, I vill…” He paused, distracted. “Vhy is this cape lined in glitter?”
“Because you look fabulous, babe,” said Frankenbabe, stomping out of the shadows like the world’s hottest science experiment gone right. Lightning still sparked lazily across his arms, buzzing through the stitches. His grin was wicked, his vest was ripped in all the right places, and the pumpkins behind him suddenly looked embarrassed to exist in the same shot.
Together, they were chaos incarnate.
The party at the haunted mansion was already in full swing when the double-doors flew open and the duo entered like the rockstars of the underworld. Count Fluffula swooped dramatically, almost tripping over his cape, but recovered with a flourish so convincing the crowd actually applauded. Frankenbabe flexed once, and three witches fainted.
They hit the buffet first. Count Fluffula piled his plate with gummy bats, blood-red punch, and suspiciously wiggly agar-agar molds. Frankenbabe just grabbed the entire roast pumpkin and ate it with a fork like a rebel.
On the dance floor, they were unstoppable. Fluffula spun so fast his cape created a small weather system, while Frankenbabe’s lightning synced perfectly with the bass drop, accidentally jump-starting the DJ’s equipment when it fizzled out.
By midnight, the costume contest was down to three competitors: the Grim Reaper (who cheated by just showing up as himself), a werewolf in sequins, and, of course, our legendary couple.
The Reaper scythed the lights in half. The werewolf howled to the heavens. But when Fluffula dipped Frankenbabe into a kiss, lightning arcing across the ceiling and bats circling like a crown, the crowd lost its collective mind.
They were declared winners on the spot. The prize? A giant golden pumpkin trophy, which Frankenbabe immediately used as a candy bowl.
Later, strolling home under the smug moon, Count Fluffula whispered, “I vant to suck… your gummy worms.”
Frankenbabe snorted so loud the lightning cracked. And just like that, Halloweird royalty was born.
The moon was big, bold, and smug, the kind of moon that knew it was the main character. Bats flitted across its face like shadowy confetti as Count Fluffula emerged from the crypt wearing his most dramatic cape. He struck a pose immediately, one fang flashing.
“Ah-ah-ahhh! Tonight, I vill…” He paused, distracted. “Vhy is this cape lined in glitter?”
“Because you look fabulous, babe,” said Frankenbabe, stomping out of the shadows like the world’s hottest science experiment gone right. Lightning still sparked lazily across his arms, buzzing through the stitches. His grin was wicked, his vest was ripped in all the right places, and the pumpkins behind him suddenly looked embarrassed to exist in the same shot.
Together, they were chaos incarnate.
The party at the haunted mansion was already in full swing when the double-doors flew open and the duo entered like the rockstars of the underworld. Count Fluffula swooped dramatically, almost tripping over his cape, but recovered with a flourish so convincing the crowd actually applauded. Frankenbabe flexed once, and three witches fainted.
They hit the buffet first. Count Fluffula piled his plate with gummy bats, blood-red punch, and suspiciously wiggly agar-agar molds. Frankenbabe just grabbed the entire roast pumpkin and ate it with a fork like a rebel.
On the dance floor, they were unstoppable. Fluffula spun so fast his cape created a small weather system, while Frankenbabe’s lightning synced perfectly with the bass drop, accidentally jump-starting the DJ’s equipment when it fizzled out.
By midnight, the costume contest was down to three competitors: the Grim Reaper (who cheated by just showing up as himself), a werewolf in sequins, and, of course, our legendary couple.
The Reaper scythed the lights in half. The werewolf howled to the heavens. But when Fluffula dipped Frankenbabe into a kiss, lightning arcing across the ceiling and bats circling like a crown, the crowd lost its collective mind.
They were declared winners on the spot. The prize? A giant golden pumpkin trophy, which Frankenbabe immediately used as a candy bowl.
Later, strolling home under the smug moon, Count Fluffula whispered, “I vant to suck… your gummy worms.”
Frankenbabe snorted so loud the lightning cracked. And just like that, Halloweird royalty was born.
