Series: The Fairly Oddparents
Pairing(s): Cupid/Wandisimo
Summary: Sometimes—not often, but sometimes—Cupid felt a little guilty about this.
Disclaimer: The Fairly Oddparents and all related characters, etc. are the brainchild of Butch Hartman.
Other Notes: I feel like this deserves an explanation, just because it really is a pile of fail, even as far as fail is concerned. I mean, I actually asked them folks at ff. net to add Cupid (as well as others) to the Fairly Oddparents character list purely because I wanted to write this little ficlet. xD So here's my explanation: I watched Wishology. Those of you who have seen it should have no problem figuring out why that's relevant here.
Please review! Seriously, reviews are 310% welcome here. =)
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Sometimes, Cupid felt guilty.
It wasn't often, because Cupid was unscrupulous and he knew he was unscrupulous and he knew that he didn't mind doing whatever he needed to do to get what he wanted. He had no problem rigging a game show for a handsome wad of cash, didn't mind tricking party guests into doing his grocery shopping, found great fun from simply shooting arrows willy-nilly and bonding the strangest people together for eternity. He had always been spoiled; not spoiled like a child is spoiled by its parents, but rather, he spoiled himself. He did what he wanted when he wanted, and despite being the god of love, his greed exceeded his heart by far.
Ah well, he might have supposed, they do say that love makes you greedy.
He'd lived out the greed expertly for hundreds of thousands of years. Wasn't greed like a different form of love, in a way? You want something so badly that your heart simply bursts from not having it? Greed, love... Technicalities aside, there was little practical difference between the two as far as Cupid was concerned. The best part about magic, he had always thought, was that there was never a limit to things to desire, things to love, things to want. No way to get bored. No way to ever have everything. Always something new, something wonderful. And so, no matter how long he lived, he always found things that he loved—that he simply loved to want and loved to have.
Cupid had never really thought any differently of him. He seemed like something new to desire, something new to try to obtain, something else that Cupid loved to be greedy about. Toned muscles that exposed themselves as though on cue for Cupid's desires, the teasing husky voice, the burning purple eyes, the purr of his voice as it sang praises to itself... It all struck Cupid with some immense force he should have been able to identify, some force whose name danced on the tip of his tongue but yet eluded him. He supposed it was greed, and he had to have him. After all, greed is like love and Cupid had never really had anything against taking away someone's free will for the sake of love.
But since then, the bow and arrows locked safely away deep within Cupid's lavish home had haunted him. Sometimes he'd think of them, and then he'd find the playful desire to toy with people's hearts gone, snuffed out like a candle. Because sometimes, Cupid felt guilty. He couldn't explain it; guilt was never supposed to come as a part of the package that contained love and greed. Love is a lot of things, he knew, but above all, love rings true. Love is beautiful and innocent and passionate and honest above all, so what is there to be guilty about?
"Something wrong, mi amor?" asked a velvet voice in gorgeous Spanish-accented concern. He had come across Cupid in one of those inexplicable moments of guilt.
"Hmm? It's nothing," Cupid murmured, forcing a smile easily; it was never hard to smile with him around.
"Are you sure? You do not look happy, my sweet, have I done anything to upset you?" The concern was genuine, the worry was genuine, the warmth was genuine, the desire was genuine, the passion was genuine, the love was genuine in that tone and in those gentle, smoldering violet eyes.
And seeing that, how could Cupid have trouble convincing himself that it was still true love? It didn't matter if Wandisimo had had a choice in the matter, did it? Love strikes in the most unexpected places, doesn't it? Does it really matter whether it comes naturally or by a golden arrow in the back?
It doesn't really matter, does it?
Cupid smiled, more genuinely this time, planting a soft kiss on handsome lips that hovered between a pout and a true frown. He pulled back smoothly, swiftly yet with no real rush, perfectly, "Really, it's nothing."
Because this greed was a form of love, and the god of love would do anything for love.
But sometimes—not often, just sometimes—Cupid still felt a little guilty.