Warning::sigh:: you know what's coming, it's in the bloody summary: SLASH, people, PURE AND SIMPLE. That MEANS: boys lovin' boys, kay? Oh, and also: LANGUAGE, ALLUSIONS TO EW! POP CULTURE! And a marked lack of sensibility, reason or realisticness.

Rating: T for now. Will probably go up later.

Summary: SLASH To Val, being Cupid means he gets to torture lots of pathetic little mortals. His mother, Goddess of Love, decides to teach him the TRUE nature of love…the hard way.

A/N: Mwehheheehee I've actually had the idea for this story for absolute AGES, except that when i first started thinking it up, it was non-slash. And it just lacked a certain something. Then I remembered it and realised that if turned not slash, it could have immense potential for endless fun. So here we go. If you read Winter Storms, you'll know that I'm basically pitching this story against Tale of a Broken Umbrella. So I'm giving both stories a whole week to see the readers' reactions, and the most popular I'll carry on on a more or less regular basis. So, get telling me what you think and which one you prefer!

Just like Broken Umbrella, this story is experimenting again, this time with fantasy/humour kind of romance. Opening my horizons and all, yeah:)

Read on, babies! And try to enjoy!


The Loveheart As A Symbol of Hatred

1-How the letters OMG and WTF apply to my life


The thing I got told the most during my entire life was: "Keep your nose out of others' affairs." I can't think of a single person that I know that never once told me: "Mind your own business." There was nothing to it: I had been warned, time and time again, that my irritating determination to stuff my nose where it didn't belong would one day get me into deep trouble.

I more or less expected that.

What I didn't expect was the excessive deepness of the trouble I eventually fell into.


Monday morning, the Art and Music department.

Hailey and I are leaning against the wall, reading our horoscopes on different magazines and newspapers while waiting for class to start. As usual, we're too early, and everything is still switched off, so we just sit against the wall, and after we're done choosing our favourite fate of the week from the newspapers, we begin exchanging the latest pieces of gossip. Hailey tells me:

"Apparently we're going to have this new kid in our class. Emma was telling me about him: he's in her Lit class and he's supposed to be doing Art too."

"Yeah?" I say, not really caring.

I mean, come on: new kids are part of the everyday process of life, right—nothing interesting. Unless they're naïve and impressionable and I can freak them out by telling them that I've been abducted and raped by aliens and freakishly got pregnant and had to have an abortion but the embryo somehow developed into some sort of creepy Little Shop of Horrors-like houseplant and my ex-lover took it and fed it My Chemical Romance CDs and the plant withered and died but my ex-lover took the seeds and sold them to a Chinese man who later got himself abducted by the same aliens that had abducted an raped me and when they tried to rape the Chinese guys the seeds grew tentacles and strangled everybody and the UFO spaceship crashed on some planet where the seed-tentacle thing planted itself and made loads of little tentacle-me monsters who would one day come back to this earth to reclaim me, squeaking in horrible little mechanic voices: dad-dy, dad-dy, dad-dy...

Yeah. New kids can be real fun.

"Mic, are you listening to me?" Hailey snarls, poking me hard in the side.

I try not to let out a girly squeak-gasp, and fail miserably. I absolutely hate being poked in the side.

"Don't poke me, you Paris Hilton!" I yell.

"Oh my God how dare you!" she yells back. "Don't you dare call me a Paris Hilton, you…you Britney Spears!"

"You Victoria Beckham!"

"You Claudia Schiffer!"

"You Hilary Duff!"

"Hilary Duff is so sexy…" a voice sighs, interrupting our battle of earth-shattering insults.

Hailey and I both turn around, reeling in sheer disgust, and stare at Dave (the inhuman being who just uttered those words) like he's some kind of freak. Which he is, considering what he just said.

"Hilary Duff is not sexy. And she can't sing. And she can't act!" Hailey yells ragingly.

"Yeah! By calling her sexy you are insulting all the sexy people in the world!"

"Yeah! Like Christopher Slater!"

"And Johnny Depp!"

"And Hyde."

"And Miyavi!"

"And Billie Joe!"

"Billie with ie!"

"I know it's with ie!"

"You said it with y!"

"I said it with ie!"

"You hamstard! You made Billie cry! You're an idiot!"

Hailey and I immediately link arms and burst into song:

"Don't wanna be an American idiot!"

"Guys," Lissa's voice suddenly stops us.

Hailey and I immediately break apart and lean against the wall, assuming mature expressions of deep thoughtfulness.

"I was actually trying to persuade Val here that our class is the most mature and agreeable to work in. You've ruined all my lies!" Lissa says reproachfully.

Uh…Val? The new kid.

Hailey ad I both look up eagerly, for different reasons: she wants to check him out, because she's a pervert, and I want to see if he's some impressionable, naïve little twitterer.

Yeah, twitterer is not a word. So what? Shakespeare made up his own words, so take it, biotch.

The new kid is…disappointing. He has long pale hair streaked in pink, he's wearing a white shirt with a stripy tie, skinny black jeans, a sweater with pale blue and pink emo-doll designs on it. This would be fine if it stopped there, but he also has massive kick-ass boots, moody grey eyes thickly framed in black eyeliner, the words 'fuck off' written in pink ink over one cheek and the number of piercings he has is…impressive: two rings on his bottom lip, two rings and a stud on each eyebrow, half a dozen rings and studs on each ear, and these are only the visible ones.

He's glaring at the floor and kicking the floor and looking moody and angsty and emo. Bless his sweet emo soul.

Hailey and I glance at each other, and I grin because I know what she's thinking and she knows that I'm thinking the same because she grins too. We link arms again, lean our foreheads against each other's and begin to sing quietly: "I must be em-o…"

"Kids. Cut it out," Lissa snaps, opening our studio's door and stepping inside. Hailey and I follow her in, holding hands and singing under our breath. We both peek at the emo kid, and he is not pleased.

I elbow Hailey.

"The emo kid is upset," I point out.

She nods.

"Now he's going to go slit his wrists in the bathroom...and it'll all be our fault…"

We shake our heads.

"Aw, we're only joking!" Hailey yells, whipping around and completely glomping him. He freezes. He actually totally freezes over. Eyes widening and all. And then he shoves her off him. Hard. She stumbles back, giggling a little nervously.

Whoa…angsty or what?


30 minutes later.


It seems that I have, um…spilled my Indian ink all over the emo kid's picture.

"Um…sorry," I say, looking down because the force of the glare he is slamming on top of my head is too crushing even for me to bear.

It's not my fault anyway! Why the hell did Lissa make him sit beside me? She knows he hates me, dammit!

"You fucking bitch," he says quietly, glaring at me like he's trying to laserbeam holes into my head. "I hate you. I hope you fucking die."

Whoa…was that strong or what? The dark side of the force is within you, Luke…

"What the fuck?" the emo kid snarls.

Oh no, did I say this out loud? I so need to watch my tongue. But Hailey has just walked over from the other side of the class where Lissa diplomatically placed her and started singing:

"Duh…duh…duh…duh, duh-duh, duh, duh-duh!"

Lissa tells us to shut the hell up, sends Hailey back to her seat and the lesson carries on, the emo kid glaring at me the whole while. By the end o the lesson, I'm actually glad to get away, and hastily make my exit. I knock over a fresh painting on my way out…I hope nobody notices.

I'm not clumsy, damnit!


To my eternal relief, the emo kid is in none of my classes for the rest of the day. It's not like I'm scared or anything, but, you know…that glare can be pretty intimidating…for an emo kid, that is. Shouldn't he be crying his ickle heart out and slitting his pretty wrists? It's not like I ruined his ink study on PURPOSE. Who do you take me for?

At the end of the day, I sling my bag across my shoulder and prepare to make my way home. I don't take the bus because I'd rather save my money to buy the next volume of Deathnote (I'm currently on Volume 7, and oh my God the plot is just going worser and worser, in a good way obviously, because Deathnote is TEH ROCK. With a t and an e and a h, babies.

Hell yeah.)

I'm walking home in the falling dusk, tiny specks of rain fluttering down from the dark sky. Sounds glamorous? I wish. I have to cross this field, and when it rains it's so muddy my feet sink ankle-length in the bog and I totally understand the pain of Frodo and Sam when they're in the Marshes of the Dead, you know? That scene is so cool in the film, it's even more creepy than in the book, with that ghost that has these weird popping eyes and the sound that goes all muffled and everything.

Retournons a nos moutons.

Heh, I used a French expression. Kiss my feet, ye mere mortal.

Before I get to the Muddy Marshes of Murderous Madness-inducing Muddiness, I need to walk through these tiny paths between these rows of bushes. Sounds cute and gothic faery-tale like? Think again. The ground is soft and gravely except now the gravels are sunken in the mud and under the puddles and the ground is all rickety and annoying and gah I just hate. But, being the brave person that I am, I carry on regardless. I'm meeting Hailey and Broom in the field (they take the bus until the field because they're richer than me and they don't mind paying the exorbitant price for bus tickets), because we're going to my house together to watch Mary Poppins because it's on TV tonight and I don't care what anybody says this movie is da bomb, man!

Damn straight!

I stop suddenly, because, at the end of the last of the little muddy paths is a figure, standing against one of the bushes. It's dark and skinny and it looks suspicious. Is it my personal stalker? Is it a serial killer? Is it an escapee from an asylum on the loose from the American government because he claims to have seen an actual alien and they know it's true so they pretended he was mad and locked him up in an asylum but now he ran away and they're looking for him and a chef on a cruise ship helped sneak him to England and he needs help because weird purple spots are beginning to appear all over his skin and forming a date that is actually the exact time and day the world is going to end but if someone found out it would be the end of destiny as we know it and then we'd have to find someone to invent a time machine so we could send the guy back to before he was taken buy the aliens so that we can stop him from being marked by the end of time so that fate can become again but we need the good material and oh my God now the American government is catching up with us and we need to get away to the secret base of the uber-geeks who know how to construct the time-machine and it's in the London Underground and we have to travel by night and hide all the time and I have to buy a wig and I get to crossdress and not look like a freak because I have a really good excuse and then when we're stowing away together on a train he and he falls in love with the chef's first sous-commis and then we realise that she's actually a spy from the government but then she falls in love with him too and then she can't just betray the man she loves so she helps us reach the London Underground and we help the uber-geeks make the time machine and then both him and the sous-commis-slash-spy go in it but then the government bursts in on us and they wreck the machine and instead of finding themselves several months earlier they find themselves stuck in the 17th Century and

W. T. F?

I stop suddenly because I've reached a point where I can see the person who's hiding against the bush and oh my God, am I dreaming or is this a gun they're holding? Wait, oh my GOD, am I dreaming or is this THE EMO KID holding a GUN? And pointing it towards two persons in the field, who are coming my way and oh my God this is Hailey and Broom and he's getting ready to shoot them oh my God have I entered I gangster movie and what the hell is going on and oh my God he is actually going to shoot!

This is the moment when I should have listened to the advice everyone always gave me and mind my own business. Instead, I just stop thinking, and let my instincts take control of my actions: I run to the emo kid and throw myself at him. He lets out a yell of surprise and rage, and drops the gun. I try to grab it but he hits me across the face and I fall back on top of him, and then we're both grappling in the mud and puddles for the gun. I elbow the emo kid in his cute little face, and he shrieks and curls up, covering his face with his hands. I use this moment of inattention to pick up the gun and scramble to my feet. You'd think at this point he'd freeze and admit all his evil plans but instead he just gathers himself up, all tiger-like, ready to spring and all, and then jumps on me! What the hell?!

And I let my instincts take over again and my instincts tell me to pull the trigger and I pull the trigger.



There is a soft, intense sound of explosion and then he stops. Freezes over completely and stares down at his chest.

And then everything becomes surreal.

A bright, violent red begins to shimmer all around him, and he lets out an inhuman scream and drops to his knees, and yells over and over again:

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!"

The gun vanishes from my hand, and I'm clutching air in my fist. And he's covering his face with his hands and the red light kind of gathers itself around him and it's like he's absorbing the freaky red light and he's yelling:

"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! FUCK!"

At this point, I'm wondering:

What. The. F. U. C. K. Is. Going. On?


A/N: VOILA!! Tell me watcha think and if you've read Broken Umbrella tell me which one you prefer, kay? Thanks all for reading and a massive thanks and huggies and kissies and lurve to all those of you who read everything I write. You cannot understand how much this means to me.

I love you all abominably much.

Kissies and all.

Disclaimers: I do not own Little Shop of Horrors, My Chemical Romance, Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, Claudia Schiffer, Hilary Duff, Victoria Beckham, Christopher Slater, Johnny Depp, Hyde, Myiavi, Billie Joe Armstrong, Shakespeare, Deathnote, The Force, Luke or the Star Wars Imperial March, Lord of the Rings or Mary Poppins.

In fact, anything that I mention that you've already heard about, I don't own it, kay? So don't sue, YA SON-UVA-MUSHROOM!