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~DISCLAIMER~
I DO NOT OWN OR CLAIM TO OWN VILLE VALO IN HIS AWESOMENESS IN ANYWAY. I JUST LOVE HIS NAME AND FINLAND! So yeah it’s sort of a productive fandom. Get off my back. At least I’m not drooling over him like Rachel! Just sit back and enjoy the undertones and references to H.I.M. and Ville Valo.
Haha teasetease onexprettyxmoth.

A light chill haunted the stone bulwarks that traversed around the archaic courtyard; all was still. A few students shuffled through the fading gardens as the feeble yellow sun above struggled to make its presence known among the fat graying clouds that obscured the star from showing its warm, joyous face. Such a hindrance those clouds were! To leave poor earth bleak and shadowed was shameful to the cotton giants. The students however, young and arrogant to nature’s bidding did not seem to notice. Classes had been delayed this morrow, giving ample time to relax and enjoy the good weather, an immense change from the usual glacial temperatures that stormed the mountainside school.
Raucous laughter now cracked the solemn silence of the gardens. Three young men huddled in a loose triangle, the two slightly shorter reeling with manioc giggles. The tallest took a long drag of his slender foreign cigarette, a crooked smile set in his mouth, A dark hat dominated over chocolate curls, forcing them to peek out from beneath and cling to his ears. His complexion was bone-white and his teeth, despite his nasty smoking habit were equally ivory. Beryl eyes peered out mischievously through his thick locks and a breath exhaled the bitter grey smoke as a light laugh danced to a softer tune than the lanky boys he hung with.
No inch of skin, save his face, was visible as his tattoos were to remain hidden if he were to attend this school. It was not normally a problem wearing long sleeved shirts around the frigid stone walled school, but the warmer weather cast an itch into the body of the youth. He wriggled under his thick dark coat uncomfortably, a frown appearing on his flawless face as he determined the odds of a scholar caring if he shed the layer. He hadn’t once expelled for a thing in the school, much less punished. His grades kept him safe, no matter what he did to the Deans car or the girls’ locker room he remained untouched by his flawless GPA. It rather disappointed him.
Today he figured would be like every other. He would raise hell, and continue doing so until the day ended. No teacher wanted him gone, he was adequate enough as a disciple and not bad on the eyes in the least bit. He would most definitely be safe. His buddies had recovered from whatever joke he had softly announced moments ago and were chatting idly about some girl they want to bang, he rolled his eyes, having no interest for any of the women in this school, and shrugged out of the heavy coat he had compensated for his dark tee that spent the majority of it’s life clinging to his fairly well-built body he had constructed at several foreign military camps training for the Suomen merivoimat that his father had wanted him to have..
A stained arm stood out against pale flesh as his tattooed arm darkened his overall clean appearance. His friends rarely got to see this side of him and they crudely voiced their admiration through curse words and swears, their eyes wide with envy.
“Damn Ville! Is there anything you can’t do where you’re from?” his friend Louis queried his eyes glued to Ville ( Vee-lay) arm only to receive a deep chuckled and a robustly calm reply.
“Finland has been kind to me I suppose,” the alluring voice had only a hint of a Finnish accent. He was always amused when his American pals were astounded by him. He never thought much of himself, and only his Oma(grandmother) had any real influence on him and thought he was special in any way back in his country. Therefore, Oma was the only person he confided in or respected with absolute obedience. Unfortunately, the poor old woman was separated from her grandson with he left for America, leaving two parents and a sister long buried in the soil of his homeland.
“Is it true there’s no age limits for drinking there?” his other friend, the lankiest of the three, Paul, questioned excitedly nearly jumping up and down in ecstasy. Another muffled droning laugh emitted from the pale throat of the miscreant foreigner.
“That is true, but it is not as great as it sounds, hangovers are hell,” he mused taking another drag of his shrinking cigarette. He also lost is sister to the lack of law but he thought little of it any more; if he did his heart would break. Both boys were in awe, greedy looks on their faces. At that Ville let out the giggles that were burning inside of him. “Stop staring at me like I am not human!” he took a breath to try a regain his composure but their incredulous looks were too much. Another wail of laughter assailed him as they kept their dumbfounded expressions of wonder. “Honestly, how long have you two known me? I am not that special,” he took another bit of cancer stick, and laughed out the smoke, softly this time.
It did not seem to matter to the Americans that they had lived two years of fun and mischief around this school when Ville Valo came to America their sophomore year. He was always a step ahead of them in everything and he remained the center of attention to quite literally /everyone/ in the area, whether it be for his pranks, his grades, or his flawlessly beautiful yet modest façade.
Even more poplar was his voice; he sang like a nightingale, his deep, resonate vocals outdoing the entire choir combined. His mastery of instruments knew little bounds and only coupled him with many other artistic habits. It was how he was raised. His Oma in her glory days had lived as a renowned artesian, and she had trained him well.
It was no wonder that he was fairly distant even from his close allies. He never did quite fit it, this possibly the reason for his acting up. He wanted to get in trouble, despite what his Oma would think, no matter how much love he sent to her he needed change. He needed to be normal like Paul and Louis. Unfortunately it was harder than it looked.
Sighing and finishing his beloved cigarette, he crunched it beneath his toe so as not to be the cause to the destruction of the lovely foliage around them. It would be the only time anything would bloom for awhile and though a fire seemed a good idea to human him, he refused to murder the delicate buds of the winter roses, the softer side of him preventing any true harm to the struggling life from the soil.
That was Ville Valo. Troubled, /troublesome/, and angelic.
That was H.I.M.