A/N: Hey, lovelies! I'm back from beyond the grave with a new name, as well as something fresh and new. This is inspired by a RP my friend AJ and I once had. My writing style has changed a lot, and I hope that shows in this piece.

In other news, here are the stories that will be continued, aside from this one: Verheddert, and... oh. That's kind of it. Ha.

I'm planning on discontinuing Novocaine until further notice due to my pure frustration I've developed working on it. I'm sorry; I might go back to it someday.

Lastly, I will be putting together a series of oneshots at some point, so jeep an eye out for that.

I hope that you enjoy this!

-Yester Darling

Show me a man with a tattoo and I'll show you a man with an interesting past.

-Jack London

Some people, in this world, believe that our fates are guided by destiny. No matter how hard you try, you will always end up where you're supposed to be and you will do what you are supposed to do. Other people believe that our destinies are written by no one other than ourselves, and there is no precursor to genius, greatness, misfortune, or ill luck.

And, of course, as Alfred Jones listened to the speech of the valedictorian of his class, listening in on how everyone was destined for great things, the subtle expression on his face was enough to give anyone a hint of how he felt on the matter.

In Alfred's eyes, he saw himself as stuck. Stuck in the endless spiral down into where he was today; only barely graduating high school and being tossed into the unforgiving world of adulthood.

Many would wonder what it was that had brought themselves to this point, but he already knew. A mother that had left when he was young. A father that couldn't be there enough. A profound knowledge in science and math, and yet, he had sabotaged himself.

He tried to not think about how it was his own fault, though.

As the ceremony ended and all the other students discussed their plans for Senior Week, the nineteen-year-old passed them by without a second glance, only wanting to make it home so he could contemplate his future choices.

He tried to keep his focus on the road as he drove back home to his father's house, nearly zoning out at every red light. Stuck in routine, he parked the truck in front of the house, already beginning to strip himself of his graduation garb as he walked inside. It was far too hot to wear it.

He knew his dad left a graduation card on the table for him, but he ignored it, not in the mood to read it and instead going straight to his room.

It would have been a lie if one said that everything was working against Alfred. Aside from his best subjects, he had his looks working in his favor. Despite his dorky personality and almost-obsession with math and science, any girls at school had admired him, if only for his wheat blond hair and sky blue eyes, hidden behind thick glasses. His time on the baseball team never went unnoticed, either. And yet, as he shrugged off the white business shirt and pulled off his tank top, he noticed something he hadn't before.

Ink.

It was a dark blue in color, cascading across his left pectoral as if done by the greatest tattoo artist, all forming together into the shape of a spade; the shape he had seen so many times on playing cards. Unmistakibly, in the center of the shape, was the letter K.

He couldn't help but admire the handiwork for a moment before freaking out.

"Oh my God, I'm so stupid!" He berrated himself, face-palming. "When the heck did I get that? Shit. Fuck!" One to enjoy a good party every now and again, he tried to think back to the last one he had gone to, raking his mind to figure out how he had only noticed the tattoo today. What on earth did the "K" even mean? He hadn't the slightest idea. In a hurry now, he did his best to take off his khaki pants and change into jeans, all while looking for the nearest tattoo removal place on his phone. Tossing on a shirt without bothering to button ot up, he hurried to the door, barely grabbing his keys and slipping on sandals before running to his truck.

-x-

Many have theorized on the existance of alternate worlds, similar to ours and yet completely different. In one such universe, there lies a small island in the center of a large lake, the lake being surrounded by lands so foreign to our own. And on the small island, at the top of the largest peak, there is a house that is inhabited by two strange men bearing starp horns and long tails.

They were an unlikely duo, the elder being one to dress in seemingly nothing but shades of black, the color only accenting the paleness of his skin and hair and the strange shades of red and blue that colored his eyes. The younger one was, indeed, very young; no older than twelve with a blond and child-like haircut. His color scheme was a bright and chipper red, with black accenting the color and adding depth. As he spoke, his voice still had boyish undertones, though it was clear that he knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I'm telling you," he said in a light English accent, normally bright blue eyes with a shade of seriousness to them today. "I know that it's the right man. I already saw his mark, and in five minutes, he's going to try and get it removed! It won't work, but we still have to get him to the Spades. As soon as possible."

"We've been over this; he's not even from this world!" the elder Joker protested, his German accent harsh on his judging words. Clearly, their debate had been going on for a while. "There's never been an outsider in the court of any kingdom before, let alone anyone of a position such as this. I don't have anything to base this off of; imagine if he brought about the fall of them! Wouldn't that be un-awesome? Besides, I look over the Spades and Clubs. This isn't your call to make."

"Gilbert," he protested, trying to not sound like he was whining. "At least hear me out again! He's the best bet! The Queen could work without him, yeah, but that alternate looks hazy, at best. Tensions are already high between the Spades and Clubs. They need a King!"

Looking into the eyes of the Red Joker, he saw the concern, if not fear, in his eyes. Would the balance between the kingdoms be thrown off that much? He didn't know, but if anyone did, it would be the boy in fromt of him. It was true that the Queen would be able to rule alone with only the Jack, but if Peter was that adamant...

Heaving a sigh, the Black Joker snapped his fingers. The air next to him began to shift, seemingly unfolding until the two could see through to the neighboring dimention. Looking as though he was walking towards the Jokers was a man, looking over his shoulder as he tugged uncomfortably at his collar.

"For the sake of everyone, Peter," he said, "I hope that the future you see for the Spades doesn't worsen with this man."

-x-

It had happened so quickly, he could barely believe it, if he wasn't now standing in a dimly-lit room, a man a few years older and a boy several years younger in front of him.

"So this is him?" The older, albino one asked, seemingly scrutinizing Alfred in a way that made him want to crawl out of his skin. "I guess he does look like a Spade..."

"A spade?" Alfred asked, not yet making the connection yet. "What the heck do you mean, I 'look like a spade'?"

Seemingly puzzled, the other replied, "It means that you look like someone from the Spades Kingdom... Right. Outsider. Nevermind." With that, he stopped talking.

Pondering for a moment, Alfred pulled down the partially-unbuttoned collar of his shirt, revealing the top of his newly-aquired tattoo. The indigo marking still swirled intrecately across his chest. "Hold up... Does that have anything to do with this?" He asked.

"It has everything to do with that, sir!" The boy clad in red said, by means of explanation. "You bear the mark of the King of Spades."

"King of Spades?"

"I'll take it from hear, kinder," the man said, speaking once again. Nodding, the boy stepped back. "Ja, he said King of Spades."

"Isn't that a playing card?" Alfred asked, more confused than before.

"Well... ja... but it's also a literal king! One who rules over the Southern Kingdom, the Kingdom of Spades."

"Riiight..." the American muttered, slowly backing up. It was a dream. It had to have just been some sort of dream. Praying he was near a door, he groped for a doorknob, but grabbed at nothing but air. "That's... Uh..."

"It's a big deal," the black-clad man continued, closing his eyes, "though it's a lot of stuff to fill you in on. Most of the Spades are scholars, though, which is awesome for you. They'll fill in the details I miss."

"I'm going to stop you there, man. Kingdoms? Marks? Spades? This is bullshit!" Alfred laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. "Why should I believe two guys with horns and tails wearing... whatever that is... who're telling me I'm meant to rule a kingdom that I've never even frikkin heard of? I'm fresh out of high school. Totally unqualefied. Plus, this is probably a dream, right?"

"A dream?" The young boy asked. "How could this be a dream?"

"Uh, because people don't just magically appear in weird houses?" He turned around, searching again for a door, but found none. "Look, this is... great and all, but..." He was cut off as the albino grabbed his arm.

"Hey, I'm skeptical about this, too," he admitted. "Yeah, I know that's uncool of me. But according to that mark on your chest and Peter over there, you're best to do it, ja? Come on."

Heaving a sigh, the blond suddenly found himself nodding. So what if it was a dream? Maybe if he went along with it, he would find himself in his bed, or perhaps wherever it was that he had slipped into unconciousness and begun this incredibly lucid dream. "Yeah, fine... But can someone just explain this all to me?"

"Yes!" The boy replied, cutting off the albino. "Um... Is it ok if I do it, Gilbert?" Recieving a nod from his elder, he continued. "There are four kingdoms, each named after a Suite. That mark means that you're to be king of the land of Spades. When the previou rulers pass on, marks like that appear on those who will be the next one. There two other people that work with you–the Queen and the Jack of spades–and an Ace to protect you. They've already been chosen. Got that?"

"Uh... Yeah, sure, I guess."

"Good!" Peter said, grinning.

Seemingly relieved, Gilbert stepped foward, putting his two cents into the conversation. "They'll question if you're truly the king," he explained. "If you tell them you were sent by us, that should clear up some confusion, but they'll still check to make sure the mark is real. They always have."

"And you said they already have a Jack, Queen, and Ace?"

"Yes. Get used to them; you'll work with them for a long while."

"The Queen's hard to get used to; he's closed-off," Peter stated. "But I think you'll get along with him. Any other questions?"

Something felt off to Alfred, and yet he couldn't put his finger on it, distracted by his own thoughts. Lost in thought, he shook his head. All of it was so strange and hard for him to process, yet he still was in the mindset that the sooner he got it all over with, the sooner it would all be over. "Uh... nah, I'll be good. Thanks for the crash course..."

"Then," Gilbert said as he snapped his fingers, the air unfolding and the passage opening, "You should get on your way." Nodding, the soon-to-be ruler hesitantly making his way towards the opening.
All that he heard was, "You'd better not screw this up," from Gilbert as he made his way through, still trying to figure out what it was that felt so off to him.

-x-

His landing could have been softer.
Putting his hands out in an effort to stop himself, Alfred found himself breathing heavily and on his hands and knees, staring at a glossy tiled floor. Coming from in front of him, he heard sounds of shock as he slowly looked up.

There were three men in front of him, the one closest seeming both shocked and confused, yet still still standing his ground. His clothing seemed to be of an era that, to Alfred, was outdated, yet the pale blue waistcoat and navy overcoat suited him, and the obscurely small top-hat somehow didn't detract from the look. His face was angular, framed by messy ash-blond hair, but what stuck out the most to Alfred were his eyes. Beneath his obscurely thick and dark eyebrows was a pair of emerald eyes, greener than any forest.

"What the fuck is all this, then?!"
The bitter words coated with a British accent quickly drew him back to reality.

"I... shit, sorry," Alfred muttered, standing to his feet.

"That's not an explanation. I'm waiting."

"Those two guys sent me here," he managed to get out, racking his brain for the right words. "Gilbert and Peter, I think."

"Why the hell would the Jokers send you here? Even they know that sending some bloke here for no reason is far from amusing."

"Something about me being the King of Spades... Well, no; it was that. They said I was the King of Spades." Remembering the mark, he quickly pulled down his collar to show part of thce spade, as if it would magically give him the credit he needed. "They... uh... said you would want to see this..." Awkwardly, he stood there as if exposed as the green-eyed man (as well as the other two), scrutinized him in a way that made his palms sweat.

The Brit's eyes widened slightly before he narrowed them again. "You're the King of Spades?" He asked, as though he thought the story was made up. As if he could make up something as far-fetched as that.

Fuled by the response of the other man, he replied haughtily, "Yeah, I am. Who the hell do you think you are, acting all high-and-mighty?"

Immediately, Alfred regret his question as the Brit's already perfect posture improved, the fact that he had been insulted apparent in his eyes. What Peter had said earlier replayed through his mind.

"The Queen's hard to get used to; he's closed-off."

He.

Oh shit.

"I," he said coldly, "am Arthur Kirkland. The Queen of Spades."