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Chapter Text

“Reverend of Misfortune”

The Rudinn’s hands ghosted over her fuzzy skin as she tilted her head forward, letting the clamp shut and the necklace fall around her neck.

She sat in front of a full-length mirror, staring at her reflection with a wan smile, trying to make out the outline of her dark eyes against her pitch-black markings covering her face. Her crown was washed and shined brightly, two sides curving up in a hook formation with a sharpened peak between them, and her makeup—she had to thank these wonderful servants for what they made possible—was just the way she envisioned it. The way she’d wanted it all those years ago.

”Gotta say, miss, you’re looking beautiful for tonight. Good luck with the King,” the Rudinn idly commented, hopping off the stool and slithering around to face what was his finest work. He narrowed his eyes slightly, and with a half-witted flick of his hand, added, “just tuck in your fangs, will ya? Not the most… ladylike.”

The Queen flinched at the request, bringing her lower lip out to conceal her vampire-like fangs that stuck out of her overbite. She furrowed her brow and tapped her stubby fingers against her lap.

“‘s tight,” she grumbled, staring down at her torso where her ribbon was  bound with a vice grip around her, squeezing into her sides where she could hear a low growling coming from her young, concealed maw on her stomach. Any tighter, and she might just burst like a balloon, or just feel her sides snap like a taut guitar string.

“I think ya look dashing,” the Rudinn said, though the Darkner was facing away from her, getting out a black, pointy collar he prepared to lay over her shoulders.

”Say that to my face,” she murmured, taking note of her pudgy arms and the distinct spot where her sides lapped over each other and formed a line of chub underneath her arms. The King would never like to see someone like her. She was ugly—repulsive, even.

The Rudinn clambered back onto the stool with the neckpiece in tow, laying it over her shoulders and tucking the back of it into the crook behind her head, moving aside the growing fur she never was able to trim.

”Ya sure you don’t want me to cut this fur?” The servant asked, tugging slightly on the knots of milky white fur that grew in clumps along her chub.

”Do we have time?” She asked nervously, frowning and looking in the mirror where she could see the Rudinn scrutinizing her neck and all the way down her back.

”…I’ll grab some shears,” the Darkner announced, climbing back down and scrambling over to the dresser next to her queen-sized bed.

”Grab a brush while you’re at it,” Queen said with a laugh, though it came off forced and awkward as she was left staring at herself almost mournfully.

She sighed.

The Rudinn returned with a pair of steel shears and a heavy-duty looking brush, getting back on the stool and holding the handle of the shears between his jaws as he started laying her fur flat. The Queen snarled and mewled in pain, her burly hands clutching at and wrinkling her dress, though she could feel the agitation fading away into a nice, tender feeling at the Rudinn’s hands combed through her fur.

“There w’go,” the Darkner announced with a cheeky grin, still holding the shears in his mouth. He tossed the brush to the ground rather unceremoniously and collected the steel shears from his maw, bringing the dual blades up to her overgrown fur and beginning to cut with unmatched precision.

”I don’t get why King hates fur,” Queen mused, looking down at the velvet fluff that grew along her arms, “but if he wants it cut off—“

”Best if y’don’t talk right now, don’t want these guys to nip at ya,” the Rudinn interrupted, plucking off a piece of fur and flicking it off of his hand.

Queen pursed her lips tightly, tapping and fidgeting with her hands against her large lap.

The Rudinn let out a loud sigh, setting down the scissors at once and brushing out her trimmed fur with the backside of his hand. “Collar kinda got in the way, but… Whoopee-doo, what can ya do?” He commented, getting back off the stool to collect the brush and dual blades.

Queen laughed heartily at the saying, her voice coming off rather gruff as she felt the lingering feeling of phantom-hands brushing over the back of her neck, making her shiver.

The brush and shears hit the table as the Rudinn stood next to her, placing a hand on her leg with a triumphant smile.

”Go get ‘em, Queen,” he exhorted, looking in the mirror where he could see her lips slightly upturned in a grateful smile, “make it a night he won’t forget.”

Chapter Text

”Lush”

Her heels clicked against the tessellated floor, her stubby hands groping and lifting her dress just enough to where her feet wouldn’t cross the fabric and throw her off balance.

Everything felt wrong with her, no matter how much praise was handed on a silver platter to her by seas of servants and guards and relatives. She knew that if she saw one more mirror, she might just start to whimper and sob, and her tears would stain her makeup and render a woman like her useless.

The hall was long and dimly lit, only illuminated by the barely candescent torches that dappled the halls with a soft blue glow. She could barely tell her jet black dress from the checkered white-and-blue ground, though she mainly kept her eyes fixed on the halls ahead.

Outside, in the endless dark, she took a moment to gaze out the windows that made up the entirety of the left wall, and felt herself momentarily lost in the endless dark.

She reached the end of the hall before she knew it, and sank her heel into the ground with one last click, and let her dress fall to the ground, her hands returning to her sides as she let herself have a moment of respite, looking down at the ground. 

He had to love her. Everyone said he would.

But all she could think about was the fat on her fuzzy, shapeless arms.

And the ruler’s vicious sneer.

───── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────

King’s mouth was pursed tightly as the servant combed, but the maw on his stomach was unafraid to voice his pain.

The Rudinn Ranger brushed a thick patch of fur on the side of his face, earning a quiet snarl from the King of Spades as the bristles caught on a knot and tugged harshly.

”The advisor was right,” King growled, “you guys are better off as guards.” He kicked his foot against the spade-shaped stool he sat on. His maw letting out another baritone growl that resonated throughout his room.

”As long as I get paid,” the Ranger said, raising up the scissors and cutting away at his fur. King sighed and kicked the leg of the stool again, mostly just out of pure boredom.

”How long is this going to take?” He grumbled, glowering and curling his hands into tight fists. “She’s probably well on her way here, and if her first impression of me is sitting here like an idiot getting a haircut it looks like I paid a quarter for…” He took a moment to exhale loudly, trying to keep himself from lashing out for the second time that day.

It’s an important day, King, he thought, his mind immediately taking on the voice his mother used to speak to him in, You can’t be ruining it all just for the sake of getting every last lash of anger out of you.

He imagined his future bride—what he wanted her to look like. Her body would be slim and full of shape, with a slight dip in her waist and a flowing dress behind her. Her smile would be beautiful and radiating with saccharine submissiveness. Somebody willing to do anything for him, somebody willing to linger at his heels…

Her voice would be high-pitched, with a slightly foreign accent that sounds like somewhere around the Field of Hopes and Dreams. She’d raise up her hand to her mouth and cast a glance back at her wonderful groom, and turn around and smile and bow low enough to where the peak of her crown (which would be slightly smaller in comparison to King’s) would face his knees.

Her hands would push down and around his shoulders as she kissed him, (even if Darkners didn’t have lips, it seemed prettier if they did,) and she’d try her best to take control… But he’d laugh and flip them both around to where his thumbs stroked her exposed collarbone, and…

He smirked at the thought of being in control, but didn’t see any use in prolonging the thought.

“Almost done, sire…” The Ranger grumbled, plucking off one last bit of stubborn, shed fur and flicking off onto the floor, “just need-a clean up in here, then you should be good to go.”

King smiled, happily envisioning the idea of a well-dressed, perfect woman at his door, winking at him and smiling as she tilts her head down and gives him a knowing look. At his side, the Ranger swept up excess fur and collected it in a dustpan which he dumped into a trash can, (though his aim was quite poor, the Rangers were notorious for their bad eyesight.)

”I’ll be on my way, my lord,” the Rudinn Ranger said, dipping his head to the King one last time before strolling out the door.

King got off the stool and pushed it to the side before sitting down on his bed with one leg kicked up, watching the door with growing impatience. He didn’t even bother to take his mantle off, keeping it draped over his shoulders as it slightly caught between his weight and his mattress.

His quiet ears picked up on footsteps outside his room, and his eyes quickly widened as he watched spade-shaped frame of his door in anticipation.

Knock. The first stroke came uncertain and strong, lingering in the air without resolve. Knock-knock-knock.

”Come in,” King growled, flicking his hand dismissively and waiting for his picturesque bride to come strolling through the doorway.

The door swung open, and standing there was a tall, broad silhouette he couldn’t make out in the darkness, their hands clutched to their chest. The first thought that rang in his head was that it was his future wife, though he quickly dismissed the idea as it being a guard or maybe even his advisor.

The figure reached down and lifted up the ends of what appeared to be their dress, stepping into the blue glow of his room as the door swung closed behind her.

No way.

She had a similar physique and color to King, a large, hooked crown (that was slightly bigger than King’s, much to his disapproval,) atop her head, a thin line of blue lipstick, and an overbite where he could see nasty looking fangs protruding out of her mouth. A spade-shaped necklace hung around her neck, as well as a neckpiece with jagged edges that draped over her shoulders in a similar manner of King’s mantle, just without the actual cape part. She had on a black dress that looked way too small for her, a mix of fat and poorly trimmed fur spilling out of it, as well as a visible line around her sides where her body seemed to slouch into itself. She had a ribbon wrapped tightly around her torso, where he could see the light blue ends sticking out from behind her. One of her blue hands was reached up to her chest as she stared down at King expectantly, though he saw more fear than excitement in those dark eyes of hers.

Needless to say, she was… Repulsive.

King bared his fangs and drew back a little bit, making the Queen’s frown deepen. He felt like he had to say something, though he knew that anything that was the slightest bit too rude would make his bride run off sobbing.

The Queen of Spades nervously smiled, though her teeth were jagged and gnarled. It was a kind gesture though, and King felt like he had no other choice. She was—as much as he hated to admit it—the most realistic bride coming from the Spade breed.

She would have to do, whether he liked it or not.

”Good evening,” he grunted.

The Queen flinched slightly before mumbling back in an almost baritone voice, “good evening, sir.”

King couldn’t help but furrow his brow at her voice, but still patted the side of his king-sized bed for her to join him on.

”Y-You look… Fine tonight,” the Queen commented, stumbling over her words as she examined her groom from head to toe, though it seemed clear to King that she was only hoping for a reciprocal answer.

”Thank you,” King said. Queen continued to stare as if waiting. He sighed quietly before adding rather forcedly, “you look quite… Lush, my dear.”

Queen smiled, blushing slightly as she fidgeted with her necklace. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

”I believe you’ll be just right,” King continued as he advanced closer, placing a hand on her shoulder.

───── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────

Love. That’s all she felt.

Love, love, love…

Chapter Text

”Daydreams (Oh, How I Love)”

The sound of King’s snoring, to put in words, was about the same as a slumbering bear. His limbs were sprawled out across the bed, mouth full of jagged teeth wide open with his royal blue tongue lolling out of his mouth. His breathing came steady but ultimately loudly; it was always known in the Spade breed how obnoxious they could be when asleep.

Queen’s eyes were wide open, staring down her sleeping partner and feeling her empty ring finger, the situation—of how they were to be together for life—starting to weigh down on her. If she was being completely honest with herself, she’d say that she more looked forward to cradling her child than she ever did hugging her husband.

She’d give him a name of her own…

Though nothing came to mind.

She clutched at the sheets she had pulled up over her bosom and pursed her teeth, continuing to look at what would be her husband.

And felt that same blooming feeling within her make its presence.

Over and over again…

───── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────

It was almost amusing the way he saw her in his dreams. In a pigsty with her stubby spade snout lowered into a trough. He’d be sitting behind a fence and watching as both him and his maw bellowed in amused laughter, and he’d slap his knee and throw his head back, unable to control himself at such a spectacle. This? His wife?!

She’d look up at him with slop smeared across her face, a thick, hot pink smear of lipstick across her mouth where she bared her ugly, gnarled teeth like a boar.

”You’re a pig!” He would guffaw, pointing at her and feeling tears prick in his eyes at the sheer absurdity of it all, “you’re a pig!”

And she would start to sniffle and whine and cower away, though the more she curled up on herself the more he could see the lines of fat in her cheap dress.

He’d suddenly materialize a whip and without hesitation begin to—

He woke up, his snoring coming to a sudden halt as he looked over at the Queen of Spades, who had the blanket pulled over her bare chest.

“You sounded happy,” she whispered, looking away.

”Put some clothes on and begone,” King growled, flicking his hand dismissively at her and turning away and adding under his breath, “I don’t wanna see your stupid body again.”

She shuffled off the bed and collected her clothes, though all the while King could only imagine a pig in a dress, sniffing and grunting as its hooves beat against the dirt. A pig in his bed.

He laughed, and Queen glanced back for only a moment.

Chapter Text

"Let Me Go Towards the Morningstar (Pt. 1)"

The laughing that King gave her was not something she appreciated, but nonetheless she refused to reckon with it.

The past few weeks—whether they were good or bad—were a setting example for getting to know her husband. She'd trail at his heels like a stray dog, listening to his chats with that big advisor of his and casting rather cruel glances back at her now and then.

His deep black eyes that cast against his dark markings would stab daggers right into her, no matter if she was facing towards or away from him.

And as she took a step after him the second he began to walk back towards his room, he glared at her like he always did.

"Stop following me," he growled bluntly. It wasn't a lot said, but it was enough to make Queen flinch slightly as he hadn't said anything to her before this.

Her hands subconsciously came up to play with her necklace as she looked away nervously, furrowing her brow and searching for the words to say. "I..." Her voice was soft and barely breaking the tense air as she lowered her head, though she couldn't find anything else to say. Nonetheless, she still stepped forward meekly, her eyes locked on the tessellated floor.

King stamped his foot against the ground and let out a menacing growl, making her stop in her tracks and take a step back, finally getting the courage to meet the tyrannous prince in the eyes. He was glowering furiously, his hands clenched into fists and short, cut fur bristling. "Shut up!" He yowled, making an effort to keep himself from seizing her by the shoulders and hitting her.

Her breath caught in her throat as her bottom lip quivered, her hands coming up defensively and hovering close to her neck.

"I told you to stop following me, didn't you hear me the first time?" He snarled.

Queen shook her head, letting out a pathetic sob followed by a drawn-out whimper as her hands clutched at the fur on the underside of her chin. She stumbled over her words, barely coherent between cries, "I'm sorry, I didn't know, I didn't—"

"SHUT UP!" With a roar, King's hand flew out to slap her across the face with a mighty crack, making her rear back with a scream. She fell to her knees and slumped against the glass wall in front of King's room, the endless night stretched on behind her.

Her livid husband's face glowed in the pale moonlight as he stood with his back heaving, the Queen of Spades reaching up to clutch her cheek and let out a loud whimper. Pain swarmed through her body and clogged her mind, making her unable to do anything but quiver like a leaf and weep.

Shadows threw themselves across his face and emphasized the look of pure rage on his face as he stood staring at Queen for a few more moments, watching her attempt to collect herself.

"You look pathetic," he snarled, that same look of hatred not leaving his face for even a moment.

A wave of irrational frustration overtook her, making her bare her fangs as thoughts started to swarm her head. Before she knew it, she met King's eyes with an undeniably vicious glare and spat out, "You're pathetic!"

King recoiled like he was hit, his maddened expression somehow deepening as he let out a guttural sound that resonated deep within him, somewhere cold and heartless. His maw gnashed its teeth as he reeled back his fist with a dangerous tension and struck her in the center of her torso with a deadly force before she could even brace for impact.

The wind was knocked out of her, making her wheeze and her head lurch forward as the tears returned to her eyes. No longer did she have the urge to cry, but only sputter breathlessly and grope at her chest.

"YOU BITCH!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing through the otherwise silent halls as he punched her in the shoulder again with another mighty crack. She let out a shriek in pain, making servants start to crowd the hall—though they still stood at a reasonable distance.

"Please, please..." She begged miserably. "Don't..."

He hit her again with a lethal amount of wind-up against her head, making the tip of her crown crack the glass behind her. His claws scraped against her flesh and left blue blood streaming down the side of her face, matting her fur.

"I should've never married you," the King of Spades said in a quieter tone, though that seemed to scare her more than anything. "I should've known the second I saw you pig of a queen step through the door."

"I'm not a... Not..." She stuttered.

Another blow to the chest.

Tears streamed down her face as she threw her head back, revealing her agonized face. She couldn't bear to open her eyes, but before she knew it felt five of King's claws score across the entirety of her face.

King's claws caught on her snout and pulled off with a sickly sound and a spray of blood, the Queen of Spades falling on her side and pressing her face against the cold floor. He stood staring, his face barely visible in the shadows that the moonlight cast.

She expected a kick. She expected a shout—she expected anything—but she just heard King slowly step towards his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

The servants didn't move. They just stood and watched her crippled body writhe against the tessellated floor.

───── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────

After what felt like a century, she caught her breath and braced her hands against the floor, her feet catching on her dress as she went, and stood up.

And began shuffling back towards her room.

Chapter Text

“With Hope It Won’t Disappear (Pt. 2)”

The pain spread over her like a shroud of snow as she sat on her bed, keeping her head hung low and facing away from the mirror. A murky streak from where she had shed tears fell from her face and down her velvety cheeks, her lower lip drawn back and quivering as she snarled and weeped.

The Queen of Spades made a dire attempt to catch her breath, letting out a pained sound as she reached up to clutch the right side of her head where there was still blood rolling down her matted fur, bruised flesh sticking out from beneath her ripped fur.

She couldn’t stop thinking of him. That damn snarl she’d convinced herself she’d love. That heartless glare he cast upon her.

Hell—he loved his advisor more than her. He loathed her in some unexplainable way he never bothered to break to her. He’d crush her skull with his bare hands if they were left alone for long enough. She was surprised she wasn’t beaten too badly the first time they met. She was surprised he hadn’t killed her after she tried to talk with him. She was—

Knock knock knock.

She jumped slightly and turned towards the door, one hand fidgeting with her necklace as she stared silently. She couldn’t bring herself to speak. Come in, yes, she thought and believed she said out loud, and wasn’t quick enough to realize that she was gazing in unbroken silence.

After a few seconds, the door cracked open and a hesitant looking Rudinn stepped through the door.

”M…Miss? My Queen?” They asked, shuffling towards her slowly. She only blinked slowly, her hand moving up to wipe her eyes and sniffle.

”I didn’t bring anything to patch ya up, sorry,” they mumbled, letting themself onto their bed. “Just wanted to uh… Check up on ya.”

She sat in the tension for a few moments, her thoughts running laps like wild horses before she broke into an ugly sob, wrapping her arms around the Rudinn.

The Rudinn let out a quiet squeak before slowly returning the embrace, unable to seek out the right words to say.

“He still loves me, right?” She whispered into their ear, her voice shaking and cracking with sorrow.

The Rudinn was silent.

”Right?” She repeated.

They hesitated before saying, “sure he does, sweetheart.”

She let out a broken sob and hugged onto the servant tighter.

───── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────

King sat on his bed, his large clawed paws curled into fists as he faced away from his advisor.

”She loves you, you realize that?” His saccharine, baritone voice echoed off the silent walls, his gloved hand slowly reaching out to place atop King’s.

”Sure she does,” he growled, and felt a grin coming over him now as he added, “but I don’t care.” He glanced towards Cuppore in a manner that almost seemed to ask for acceptance, but he couldn’t read his advisor’s face.

He sighed, furrowing his brow as his other hand came up to play with his comically long mustache. “You can’t keep acting like this, my liege,” he grumbled, his Field of Hopes and Dreams accent, (no matter how he said he came from the ‘Dice Den,’) worming its way into his mind tenderly. “You need to grow up.”

’You should be the one growing up,’ he wanted to say. ‘You’re the one who still plays with those Knight-forbidden Pipps—or whatever they’re called!’ But he couldn’t find the courage. Not when they were this close. He only sighed and turned over the palm of his hand to hold Cuppore’s.

”Don’t refuse her hand, King,” Cuppore’s voice took on a smoothness that made King feel like melting into him. “This is her life-long dream.”

Sire Cuppore reached out to rub King’s broad shoulder, making the larger Darkner exhale and relax slightly. The advisor said something else to him, but he found himself not paying attention. All he was focused on was how close he was to him. That voice like a parasite. The best parasite ever.

”…My lord?” Cuppore’s hands stopped moving as he gazed in concern at him. “Are you listening?”

”Keep going. I’m—I’m listening,” the words fell off his tongue awkwardly, his brow scrunching slightly in distaste for his own words.

Cuppore hummed and smoothed his thumbs over the chub of his shoulder, making King purr under his breath.

”Don’t get the wrong ideas, King.”

”I won’t.”

Chapter Text

"My Angel (My Reluctant Angel)"

The Pippins sat in a circle, tossing dice into the center of the ring as Cuppore sat hunched over his desk, feverishly tucking his blonde hair out of the way of the paper and scribbling down update after update.

The King was planning things. Quite brutal things. He wasn't sure what worm had wriggled its way into the mind of his liege, but he'd been snarling out livid suggestions left and right. He felt like he was dragging around a hell-hound by a large chain, trying to keep him from gnashing his teeth against everyone he sees.

But he understood him, and that's what made him so special. He understood how in reality it was a way to mask a sort of fear (at least to some degree.) He knew what he dealt with. He knew that in reality he was just doing it in blind hope to better his kingdom.

He knew that—

"Cuppore?" That damn soft-spoken, squeaky voice came from his side, making him slam the pen down and turn to see which Pippins had come to interrupt his work.

Lorrin. That damn purple Pippins. Their button-like eyes looking up expectantly at him as they fidgeted with their hands. They looked undeniably intimidated by his presence, but that could be said for literally everyone he ran into. He was smaller than the rest, with a stout—and slightly chubby—figure, as well as only two fingers instead of the Pippins' signature three.

"What?" He grumbled, his voice cold and unforgiving. Lorrin shuddered, the pace at which his hands moved at he struggled to maintain eye contact with the towering Darkner. "I... Uhmm... They keep..." They stammered, turning their head for a moment to glance back at the rest of the Pippins who still sat in a circle before looking back at him and muttering, "they keep calling me... The... The..."

He wished he could facepalm right now, but that'd just scare them away.

"I'm listening," he mumbled, resting his arms on the desk and letting his robes droop down below him. The Pippins' eyes darted to the dice markings on the back for a split second before they finished hastily, "the runt of the litter. What does that mean?" The sheer amount of time it took Lorrin to stutter out the sentence made him forget what he'd said in the first place, but after a small moment, he nodded his head slowly in a manner of faux empathy as he intertwined his hands and narrowed his eyes at them.

"Ahh, Lorrin," he began, trying to find the words to say. "You see..."

His hands subconsciously came up to play with his mustache, his gaze distant as he spoke. "You see, 'runt of the litter' is a very, very special term," and this was when Lorrin began to crack an innocent smile, "and it means that you..." He pointed at the Pippins. "Are unique."

"How am I unique?" That smile made him reluctant to say the truth. To say anything to them. 

He was quiet for a moment, his gloved fingers pinching down around his blonde hairs as his eyes wandered. "You're not like the rest of them," he said simply.

Lorrin beamed unexpectantly, asking with a feverish joy, "in a good way?!"

He hesitated for a moment before quietly affirming, "yes, in a good way."

The Pippins let out a delighted squeal before scurrying back over to rejoin the herd of Pippins, the group growing quieter to a noticeable degree as Lorrin recollected with them (though he didn't seem to notice.)

Sire Cuppore turned his gaze back towards the papers on his desk, moving a few aside to where he came across the one with the list of Pippins names—the unique ones.

"BATTAT - 23

MELDEE - 48

ANILLA - 17

MUGTEES - 51

LORRIN - 0"