#I’m so IRATE I SPLATTERED PAINT

[screamingiminlovewithyou]

Shit my friends say to get me by. Link to purchase.

[eddiemxnsons]

OUTSIDE — Edward ‘Hillbilly’ Jones

REQUESTED BY: @ourmiraclealigner —

hi! i really loved your take on the last request and was wondering if you could write something else when you get the chance? where the reader is really struggling with everything she’s seeing on peleliu and hillbilly tries cheer her up? maybe she gets hurt and doesn’t call for help?

TRIGGER WARNING: Blood, mental illness, suicide ideation

TAGLIST: @noneofurbusinez

SHE TOLD HERSELF that the floods of crimson fear were merely awry brain chemicals, her amygdala pinged, and then attempted to analyse the situation as an bystander; pondering how a military officer — not a human — would take action. They certainly wouldn’t be cramped ass to ankles in a mud-sodden foxhole, questioning every man lost and if there was an absent step in each incident, a step that would have yanked their golden souls away from Death’s irate tendrils. Where had she gone wrong? She had lost so many men — friends — in this ardent bitterness festering on the Pacific island.

The darkened island was an empire of misery and fear for Y/N; memories of death tucked in with the foliage, playing a macabre game of hide and seek behind trunks with murmurs of young men’s hysterical implores to a savior that wasn't there. A ripple in reality was at her fingertips as she discarded a mournful, muddied foxhole for an equivalent agony beneath the rich canopy of kaleidoscope trees, rifle haphazardly swung on a strap between her shoulder blades. The moon beamed like a flashlight clenched in a steady hand as the stars brushed the curved branches, her weary eyes fixated on the corpses abuzz with hungry flies. And upon the forest floor so woven with ancient tree roots, was subtle streams of crimson, no longer a softened light from nature's bouquet above. And the overwrought young girl in her had emerged with the ghosts behind the trees, the boogeymen of a child’s unconscious mind.

And she momentarily surrendered her obligation of nightly patrol to the small girl misplaced amidst the decaying corpses of men. A fleeting feeling rumbled in her core as if the rumpled yet headstrong woman that stalled in the rain had vanished, a young girl with braids at the facets of her freckled face, and a simper of gold in her absence. Perhaps the war was all a dream. She’d awake in her bed, murmuring of the story her conscious had trudged her soul through. Her soul that wouldn’t be dilated red with the blood of her men. Yet, imagining this itself was a fantasy and was sanity laying in madness.

She’d continuing traipsing her normal patrol with a burdensome soul, a ledger stark red with blood that wasn’t as easy to scour away like blood upon skin. A mental imprint of the young men that cursed her existence from whatever beyond existed. Ones that could pluck her through a ripple of reality, have her on scarred knees imploring for forgiveness beneath the twilight.

An absentminded hand clutched the golden cross stowed under the threadbare collar of her jacket; a dangling sheath of metal that she had prayed over too many times for her aching chest. God wasn’t here. This was a breeding ground of devastation and only the Devil could prosper amidst the chaotic sorrows of humanity’s war. Raindrops accumulated along its frayed edges as she stared at it from beneath rain-sodden eyelashes. She felt a fool for adorning it, a fool for providing false hope.

Y/N weakly lowered herself to a moss-encrusted log, every inch of her body felt as if it accommodated lead weights, her legs cramping with agonizing spasms. The frustrated gulp she took burned her larynx as she gasped for breaths of the humid air, crying despite her distaste for succumbing to this fear.

The ghostly, sweetly bloody fingers of soldiers that failed to be successes of her miraculous hands traced delves into her shoulder blades. They were ambassadors from a misery far away from the comprehension of the sane. The copper sourness exuded from the flickers of their souls in her peripheral, their wounds not healed in the bittersweet glory of the afterlife, rather stark against the ivory complexion of their drained bodies.

Y/N’s throat clawed with the irate exhaustion of her very being to implore for salvation from this eternal hell. Her hand clenched the front of her uniform just as if she was holding what remained of her soul from rotting into the abyss of a lamenting chest. She needed it to stop. Her piteous tears were waving flags of surrender, oval sorrows to the surviving company beyond the slick horizon — to Edward Jones.

Y/N wanted a life with him, oh, how she did. Yet, didn’t desire to be cradled in a life where she was broken and bruised, wrecked from the inside out by war. And that’s why she remained crouched against the fallen trunk, alright with letting the forsaken souls of soldiers take her away, take her away from the death and more dying men. She had nothing left. Ashes of a soul gradually vanishing with each final breath of a fellow soldier. It’s not what her company deserved. It’s not want Edward deserved.

All she could hear was the obnoxious banging of her heart as she peered up with her lungs clenching in her chest almost immediately; a soldier — Japanese — huddled alongside a bullet-ridden tree trunk, glowering at her, eyes searing holes into her soul. Even in the murky shadows, Y/N’s weepy eyes found his finger cramping on the trigger of his rifle.

Yet, she remained there, back constrained against a rooted tropical plant with her own rifle trembling in bloodied hands, a clasp weakening to relinquish the weapon to a congregating puddle. Her mouth was open, but it was an oblivion of silence, not even a single wisp of breath as the pair of them mounted within a tense stare-off. Her bloodshot eyes trickled over the defined, silver corners and edges of the enemy’s rifle — her gateway away from this crimson hell. She wanted to scream at the shadowy soldier to pull the damned trigger, to hush the sullen memories. Pull the trigger, kill the tarnished soul beneath. Dying was quicker than falling asleep. Her achy eyes eased shut, fingers cramping in fragility to renounce her weapon and surrender to a bullet.

Yet, the meager burst of life in her decayed soul desperately thrashed and penetrated the water’s surface her mind was submerged in, writhing against a lotus of misery. It begged for the life she could live, clamored how she wasn’t a bad person. Bad things occurred around her, but she wasn’t a rotten soul for it. She is a categorical victim of war, constantly drowned in tidal waves of guilt, regret, pain, anger. But, she did everything she could have to save those boys.

Y/N heels are what landed roughly first into the crumbly dirt as she anchored jellied legs upon the soiled ground, boots noisily striking rolling pebbles littered in the grass. She cast a hand out to seize up her rifle in a mirror position to the enemy sewed between the foliage. She was the best shot in the company, yet the trigger-happy soldier opposing her trembling stance was a faster one.

Her stomach lurched at the recognized poignant screech from the discharge of a rifle. A successor to shots that silenced golden laughter and made dull lively gazes. Y/N heaved herself absentmindedly backward to elude the contempt trajectory of the approaching bullet. Her boots slipped shortly on slick algae in the shallow water of a stream, trudging through soupy sand until she was struck frozen.

The blast into the gentle air had collapsed into her shoulder and the utter velocity of the meager shard of metal propelled her to the ground. Her chin plummeted through a dense mound of congealed mud, specks of nature’s grime embroidering with the blood splattered across her cheek. Distantly, her bewildered mind detected the silent atmosphere being hindered by fleeing footsteps, a harsh murmur from a foreign land. The soldier thought she was dead.

Her gaze was alight with so much perplexion and despair as she strained to ease herself onto her back, breaths aching her throat. The gaze poked out from eyes swathed with a solidfying concoction of blood and mud, yet her shivering hands trailed to her wound rather than to scrub away the blinding, burning substances.

Cramped fingers shakily reached to apply pressure to what she could access of the wound. She gasped through gritted teeth at the impressive surge of agony trembling her petite frame, her blood now painting her clammy palms.

“Fuck, fuck,” she panted incredibly fast, securing her hands to the accessible portions in a last desire for survival. She was a thoroughly trained medic, yet all that knowledge that was typically at her fingertips, was dissipating with her fading resolve to save herself.

A hollow feeling bloomed at the center of her chest almost immediately at the stark crimson soiling her hands and the brilliant white of pain ricocheting from her shoulder. Dying. She was on a path ending with the turbid shadow of Death. Dead, dead, dead. She was going to die — nobody would be coming. This is what she had wanted, trekked out into the gloomy forest with whispers of intention for death. Yet, was it selfish to forsake Death and proclaim the worthiness of her life? To say she couldn’t leave another soul behind in despair?

However, there was essentially nothing at her dispense to stanch the bleeding without proper assistance. I’m so sorry, Ed. She’ll see him one day. Take your time. I’ll see you on the other side, was her farewell penned to the company’s golden boy in a letter that’ll never be physically scribed. She had touched him for the last time, kissed him for the last time, smiled at him for the last time, spoke to him for the last time, loved him for the last time.

Her mind was prospering with a bitter fire of panic, her chest saturating with this tightening feeling of misery, letting it scorch her from the inside; was this how all those young men felt as they held her hand and cry for their mothers as they bleed out from shredded wounds on their bodies?

But, she never screamed once for any of the troopers that she knew were beyond the rain-sodden horizon — never once in palpable desperation for Edward. She craved death so badly just mere minutes before, and to wish away the desires only festered karma to strike. There was no eluding Death. This was all inevitable and attempting to play God by saving herself, someone not much worthy of living, was foolish.

Her GI-issued uniform was saturated with the rain water and the tickles of sweat emitting from her clammy skin, and it only was anchoring her further into the cradle of sludge. Her free hand reached for the swaying cross on her blemished collarbone, a glance from sore eyes squinting to the cloudy sky for salvation. For a wish that God saw her through a tranquil demise, a desire that he vowed to her that her family — Edward — would fare well without her.

With the smell of Death soaking through and through her skin, perhaps even grazing her rattling bones, she knew she was being anchored into a dusky conscious. The hand planted around the curve of her shoulder uneasily limpened and greeted the plunge of blood that swirled into the rain puddle beneath her. Ragged breaths careened from her glass chest and absentminded fingers poked and prodded at her dog tags suspended beneath her collar. Her mouth was dryer than a sandbox beneath the summer sun whilst her mind contemplated through races of agitation and sorrow being casted. The frustration was a burning rod weaving between the bones of her ribcage, cooking with the shared gaze between her and the sky.

A cacophony of disturbed dirt and pebbles shot through the tension like the bullet bound to the muscles of her shoulder. Her agitation shattered into petrifaction, absentmindedly maneuvering her tender body further into the ink of the shadows. Had the soldier returned to confirm his belief? The belief that she was long dead?

“Y/L/N!”

It was her relief for the patrol that had her ambling amidst the forested graveyard in the first place. Her relief being, by some divine yet sadistic logic, Captain Haldane and Lieutenant Edward Jones. The bitter realization urged her diminishing strength to wrench herself up to sit behind the tree, entirely absent from their view. However, whilst she careened herself up to a sitting stance, she screamed regardless of her resolve to suppress the mind-numbing anguish for the sake of herself and the soldiers not at the mercy of the prowling Japanese.

Y/N fastened her hand over her mouth hastily, clenching her teeth on the begrimed arch of her palm to subdue her whimpers as her wound scraped against rough mounds of bark on the trunk.

Their heels are what landed roughly first into the crumbly dirt adjacent to her shoddy hiding place, skidding a few feet in shell casings, shredded leaves, and rocky sand before a flash of camo green slashed through her spotty gaze. Edward collapsed into dampened dirt amidst the cluster of puddles, blood, and grime whilst Haldane hastened off to retrieve a corpsman. Edward’s expression was consumed with petrification as he regarded her bloodied body heaving against the concave of the trunk. There was so much blood and dirt on her baggy uniform and what skin was exposed.

“Why didn’t you fucking call for help?” He hissed harshly in the midst of recovering a clod of gauze from his jacket, hastily dressing it across her wound without forewarning.

If more strength could have been mustered, she would have nudged him aside and tended to her wounds with more experienced hands, but she was pinned to the ridges of the trunk with her entire body churning with waves of agony. Her chest was heaving and she couldn’t get any word uttered through her clenched throat, the pain superiorizing the need to talk. He rose a few meek fingers on her cheek to shift her amiss gaze to himself, her instinctively subsiding into the meager touch.

Her eyes were just as remarkably expanded as his as they steadied eye contact with one another, and it seemed incredulous now to call her the most dangerous in the regiment when she trembled like an ill child.

“I didn’t because...because....I can’t handle any of this anymore....” she babbled nearly incoherently despite their close proximity, “Just g-go....let me go. I-it’s okay....”

Edward glanced to her with stern glint in his narrowing eyes, “You stop that talk. There’s no outcome in which I leave you here to die. And don’t pity the dead ‘round us now, don’t believe they are dead because of you. None of them are. Their deaths - their blood — that’s all soaking the Jap’s hands, not yours. I see how you pull out every stop to save the lives of these men. You don’t see the wounds, you see the person around them.”

His present hand shifted to skim the rough patch of his thumb across the begrimed apple of her cheek whilst the other one exerted pressure to her wound. And she couldn’t refuse when his hands drew her head into the crook of his neck, embracing her tight to make her cracks remain together. Her leaden arms encompassed his torso whilst easing her cheek to his chest, the aloof ruckus of an approaching medic and her captain resounding behind them.

And she’d go on.

[hannahmcne]

Tag, You’re It - A Descendants Fic

He hears about it long before he actually gets to see it.

The rumor mill starts turning, people start passing notes and whispers and then Fairy Godmother is coming over with a tight-lipped expression to confirm what everyone is saying, what 'That Girl' has done to their school lockers. By the time he's led to the site of the problem, he's heard the descriptions in so much detail that the only surprise he feels upon seeing the graffiti on the wall is in relation to the one detail everyone conveniently forgot to mention.

It is amazing. The details are smooth and crisp. He has no idea how the daughter of Maleficent is so unbelievably talented with a spray can, but boy, is she ever! Fairy Godmother leads him right up to Mal's locker and then stands to wring her hands as he takes in the image of her mother with the motto 'Long Live Evil' engraved into the design. He runs his hand over the paint and discovers it's all in one sheet – it'll probably just pull right off. He hums as he examines the clean ut of Maleficent's horns and then turns back to the Fairy Godmother, who is looking irate and stressed.

"We ought to get her into Art Classes, and then we could actually compete with Corona's Art Department," He decides.

Fairy Godmother stands in shock for a few seconds and then relaxes a little as she considers this. "Well, there's talent, no denying that, but… on our school lockers?" She frowns in disapproval.

"It looks like it'll peel right off," Ben hums, furrowing his brow. He could go and talk to Mal, ask her if she'd be willing to not spray paint the lockers, but he doubts she'll listen to him. If they have someone clean it off, then there's a chance she might just… expand her canvas. At least like this, it's contained. Ben runs his fingertips down his chin and a little smile crosses his face. "Fairy Godmother, I know this isn't the solution you want to hear, but is there any chance we can just… leave it up?"

Fairy Godmother's face twists up and her eyes water in pain at the idea of having graffiti depicting Maleficent up in the school. Ben hurries to back himself up. "Just temporarily! I'm going to try and get into her graces. Maybe I can convince her to take it into Art Class, or at least see if she'll depict something other than 'Long Live Evil'." He runs his hand down the locker door. "Besides, I don't think it's that much of a problem, to be honest. If I can't convince her to take it down, we can leave it up for a few months and clean it off before we leave for summer break. I'll pay for any damage that the paint causes, if any."

Fairy Godmother is still regretful, but Ben implores her and with the assurance that the palace will make sure the locker is restored by the end of the year, she agrees to let the matter slide. So, Ben moves on to phase 2 of both his Isle Transferee plan and his Get-Mal-Into-Art-Class plan. He has to talk to the mini dragon and convince her to take it down.

He sees his chance when he's walking out of class with Chad and Audrey one day. Audrey is mid-sigh, laughing at one of Chad's jokes, when Chad hits Ben's arm lightly and a scowl darkens his expression. He points down the hall, past the passing students, to the defaced locker that is currently open with a pair of spray-paint covered leggings poking out underneath the door. Behind Mal, Evie's locker is open, and she's checking her eyebrows, which are immaculate as usual. "Those kids are trouble," Chad hisses.

Ben pulls his pen out from behind his ear and puts it into his pocket, looking down the hall as Evie shuts her door and bids Mal farewell. In his pocket is a black permanent marker, which he must have put there earlier and forgot about. "Come on, Chad," He implores. "Give them a chance."

Audrey lets out a little sigh and steps forward to give him a lecture, but he is barely listening because Mal glances past her locker door and down the hall, which is starting to clear, and he knows as sure as he knows his name that she can hear them, somehow.

"I think you're wrong about them," He declares when he hears Audrey fall silent. She sighs in exasperation and then turns and walks away. Chad casts another distrustful look towards the girl down the hall, and then he turns to follow her off down the hall. Ben heads in the opposite direction – towards the purple-haired fairy hiding behind her locker. She closes it when she hears him approaching and turns as if she's going to walk past him. He leans into the lockers, blocking her path, and smiles. "Hey," He greets.

Mal blinks a little as if she's surprised that he's dared to speak to her. "Hey," She returns.

"How was your first day?" He wants to know, glancing at the books she's clutching in her arms. One of them, unfortunately, looks like her mother's spellbook. She can't be the only villain kid to receive a gift from their parent. Maybe he should have paid a little more attention to the cracked mirror Evie was using to examine herself earlier.

"Super," Mal hums, pressing her lips together in a way that makes the pink tones grow a little lighter for a few seconds.

Pleasantries aside, now is the time to strike. Ben nods his head towards her paint-covered locker. "You should really think about taking this talent off the locker and into Art Class. I could, uh, sign you up?"

Mal examines his gaze with a little squint and keeps her lips pressed together. "Hmm," She hums as if she's considering it. "Way to take all the fun out of it." Then she squints her eyes at him a little more, turns in a smooth motion, and walks away without another word.

"Huh," He hums, leaning back into the locker next to hers and then staring at the graffiti as student pass by in front of him. He shoves his hands into his pockets and feels the cap of the sharpie that had somehow ended up there.

And immediately, an idea comes to mind.

He pulls the sharpie out of his pocket – it's black, he should invest in a set of purple or blue – and then turns to examine Mal's artwork. He knows he can't draw for crap, but his handwriting is pretty and elegant and… kinglike. It'll do nicely. Ben locates an area on the right side of Maleficent's wing and, on top of the green, scribbles: Art Club meets after school, in room 36. Go check it out. Then he caps the sharpie and walks off in the other direction. There isn't much fault in putting graffiti over someone else's graffiti, he thinks.

______________________________________________________________

Mal, it would seem, does not agree with his reasoning.

He knows the moment she enters the room because the temperature drops and kids fall silent. Chad takes a deep breath of frustration, and he turns nonchalantly over his left shoulder to watch the Core Four enter the room. It's not at all surprising that they're here, but it should

definitely be noted that they look like they're walking into battle. Each one stands with a stance of iron, frigid gazes sweeping over the crowd and hands clenched into fists. Mal's eyes are bright green and she looks so, so pissed. Evie spots him first and puts a hand on Mal's shoulder. Quickly, everyone else's gazes drift to Ben, who looks at them for a few seconds with mounting amusement as their jaws all set into place and then turns around to return to his lunch.

There's heavy footsteps echoing off the walls and all in perfect synchrony, just like the standing army of Auradon. He listens to them get closer and closer and fiddles with the marker in his pocket before someone slams something down into the table in front of her. He glances up briefly at the maths book before Mal plants her hands on the table and glares down at him. He pulls the marker from his pocket and does his absolute best not to laugh, picturing every undesirable thing he can conjure up on the spot to aid him, as he puts the permanent marker behind his ear.

"Yes?" He askes in a conversational tone.

"You defaced my locker," Mal sneers.

Ben snorts, loudly, and a sound that has all the Auradon kids around him exchanging looks. "You defaced your own locker," He reminds her. "It was a note, princess, so you might as well put the battle squad away." He gestures to the way Evie, Jay, and Carlos are all braced behind her in perfect, solid formation, clearly ready to jump him and beat him into a pulp. Still, he doesn't back down. Mal is Isle, and the Isle respects strength. He has a feeling that if he stands his ground, she'll back off before she orders her gang to attack the future King of Auradon. This way, he shows strength and, hopefully, earns the Auradon kids some respect.

"Princess?" Mal repeats, looking disgusted. She sneers and Ben swears he sees lightning flash inside her eyes, like there's a tiny storm brewing in her pupils. It's absolutely amazing.

"Royalty of the Isle of the Lost?" Ben asks, spooning a bit of fruit salad as he looks back down at his tray. "Or, well, I guess Princess would be Evie. And I know that this is weird coming from the King of Auradon, but does the title 'Queen' do you a bit more justice?"

He raises the spoon to his mouth and Mal slaps it out of his grasp. Little bits of colorful cottage cheese go splattering across his suit and the table. He sticks out a lower lip. "That's mean. I was going to eat that," He sighs and reaches for a napkin. "Perhaps you'd like to be referred to as 'Dragon', instead?"

"Don't touch my locker again," Mal hisses, pointing a finger in his face. He looks down and notices pencil lead stains on the tips of her fingertips. Paint is underneath her nails. How interesting.

Ben doesn't say anything. He just calmly finishes mopping up the last of his lost fruit salad. An idea pops into her head. "Mal," He has to pause to keep from laughing. "Go eat. You're not yourself when you're hungry."

Chad starts coughing beside him at the reference to the popular online meme. A look of confusion passes over Evie, Jay, and Carlos's faces. Mal's lip curls, and then she abruptly shoves herself back up and takes her book off the table. She heads off with her associates following her. Ben gets up, finds his spoon, and sits back down again. Lonnie leans over the table with a little smile spreading across her face. "You're not going to quit, are you?" She asks in a whisper, tracking the four villain kids with her eyes as they head over to the lunchline.

"No," Ben shakes his head with a snort. "She's asking for it now. Game on."

______________________________________________________________

Mal fixed his last message and unintentionally left him a wide, blank canvas. He fishes his marker out of his pocket and uncaps it. On Maleficent's left side, he makes a little row of four stick figures, all holding hands, above Mal's Mom's arm. Then, he adds little lines, like the group is casting a glow, and sets about to decorate the stick figures as best as he can. Mal, the shortest stick person, gets three wavy lines for hair and a deep frowny face. Evie gets a skirt and a jacket, and lots of pretty squiggles for hair. Jay gets a hat and a vest with no sleeves, and Carlos gets some curly hair and headphones. On the right side, he writes: 'Let me know if you want help signing up for Art Classes. Art Club is still available after school.'

The stick figures are a little wobbly and Mal's frown is bigger than her face, but the additions look overall pretty neat. He puts his marker in a pocket with a satisfied expression and walks off.

Later in the day, he walks into class and Doug, Chad, and Audrey immediately flag him down. Doug plants his hands on his desk and leans forward as Ben puts his backpack in his chair.

"Did you tag Mal's locker?" Doug demands as Audrey puts a photo down of the scribbles.

"Yeah," Ben affirms with a smile crossing his face. None of the VK's have come to glare at him, so he assumes they haven't heard yet or they're planning. Well, plotting, as they prefer to call it.

"Dude, she's pissed," Doug gapes, staring at him in shock. "She stormed past me in the halls with Evie – her hair was steaming!"

Ben frowns. "Oh," He mourns. "I wish I'd gotten a photo of it."

Chad begins to laugh. "Nerves of steel, Ben, way to go! Show those Villain Kids who's boss!"

Ben shakes his head. "I'm just trying to convince Mal to join Art Classes. She's talented."

"Talented?" Audrey repeats, lips curling into a sneer that reminds Ben of Mal. "She made graffiti of her mother, and you're calling it talent?"

"Yeah," Ben agrees. "Did you see the detailing? She did that with a spray can. Can you do that with a spray can?"

Audrey stays silent because, of course, she cannot do that with a spray can. Ben shrugs and pulls his books out of his bag. "She won't be mad, anyways," He shrugs. "It's not like she can do much to get back at me."

______________________________________________________________

"Oh my goodness," Audrey gasps as they walk up to his locker. Ben stays silent as he examines the long, ugly word splattered across his locker door. 'No', she has written, in black eerie paint. Part of it is still fresh, and the air smells like aerosol. He brings a hand up to his chin as he examines her work – all contained to his locker, thankfully. He glances down the hall to her locker and discovers that it's been stripped clean. There's not even any paint left in the hinge. No way she could have done that that quickly. She must have a spell for it, he realizes with amusement.

"This is… vandalism!" Audrey shrieks. "Ben, look at it, it's hideous!"

"It'll come off," Ben rolls his eyes. He opens his locker and puts his books carefully before he feels in his pocket for his permanent marker. He locks his door, heads over to Mal's locker, and then in big, bold letters writes: "Please?" Then, because he feels like the question merits a drawing, he begins another shaky stick figure of Mal with crossed arms and a frown dropping off her face like an overgrown mustache. Audrey watches him, shaking her head.

"She's just going to keep going!" She warns him with narrowed eyes.

Ben nods in agreement. "Probably," He affirms. "It's nice to know I've got her goose though."

As he puts the marker away, he spots a flash of orange leather out of the corner of his eye. He turns and sees Jay stop in the entrance to the hallway, cross his arms, and examine Ben's new handiwork. Then, Ben watches Mal's friend raise a hand to cover his mouth as he tries his hardest to stop a laugh.

Ben raises a patronizing hand. "Don't laugh," He demands with as straight of a face as he can procure. "Not all of us are blessed with art skills."

Jay says nothing as Ben and Audrey walk away from the scene of the attack. Ben is pretty sure he hears Jay start to laugh as soon as they're a fair distance away.

______________________________________________________________

Ben bumps into Jay the next day – literally – because the hallway is crowded and doesn't think anything of it until he reaches his locker and discovers his trusty permanent marker is gone. Jay must have snatched it from him when they slammed into each other, Ben realizes with a sigh. And it's a shame, too, because Mal has defaced her locker again, but this time with a black design that resembles her and her squad. Ben traces the outlines in Carlos's curly hair and smiles to see Evie's mirror in hand and Jay's beanie expertly slouched on his forehead.

Then, he glances down the hall at his locker and finds that the large, ugly word has been cleaned off. Instead, a mockery of the royal crest is atop his locker door. The beast in the crest is sticking his tongue out and one eye is slashed through. It's in the proper golden colors, and what amuses Ben the most about it is the fact she knows how to draw the royal crest.

He doesn't have a marker on hand, but he does know where to get one. There are several options: borrow from someone else, borrow from the art room, or…

During lunch that day, Ben makes a point of walking in late with a grocery bag slung over his arm. Mal and her friends are already sitting down at their table when he comes up behind Chad and Audrey and puts a hand on Audrey's shoulder as he puts the grocery sack on the table. "Sorry, I'm late!" He announces, loud enough for his voice to carry. "I, uh, had to go pick up some things."

He glances over to Mal's table and watches Jay and Carlos turn around at his proclamation. His permanent marker is behind Jay's ear, but it doesn't matter as he reaches into his bag and pulls out a new pack of sharpie markers. He displays them in his arms as if he's just showing Chad and Audrey, but they're in clear sight for the villain kids to see as well. Jay, Evie, and Carlos's mouths all fall open and they turn to stare dumbfounded at Mal as the angry dragoness curls her nails into the lunchroom table.

Chad and Audrey take in the sight of the markers and then turn to look over at the villain kids, who have effectively been duped. A snap comes as Mal accidentally breaks one of her long nails off her finger. Evie gasps in concern as Ben and Mal lock eyes from twenty feet away; her in barely-contained rage and him in scarcely-suppressed amusement. Because this is a declaration of war.

In his hands, he holds a full set of pretty purple markers, just a few shades off of her hair.

He spikes an eyebrow at Mal as a bright, gleeful smile spreads across his mouth. Evie starts to laugh, and Jay doesn't look like he's far behind as Mal's hands shake. He puts the markers away and sits down at his table, feeling very successful as Chad and Audrey exchange bewildered looks.

In retaliation for his stunt in the lunchroom, Mal wipes his locker clean of the crest and leaves it blank and white. He guesses it's because she doesn't think he deserves her artwork. Of course, that won't do, so he covers his locker himself.

Which is a mistake.

Because, if you'd forgotten…

Ben can't draw.

His locker is covered with an unintelligible mess that Ben is honestly embarrassed about. He tried to draw his family crest himself, and it looks about as much like the beast as a fly looks like a dragon. He tried to do a tree because he figured something like that was a good place to start, but now there's a jumble of squiggly lines that he can't even admit was supposed to be a tree for fear of bringing shame and dishonor on him, his family, and his cow. Lastly, he tried to do a heart because he figured that was simple enough, but his arm slipped on the second side and now he has a very odd cane shape. He can't even remember how he managed to do the stick figures at this point.

Ben gives up on his own locker and, feeling a little disheartened, heads over to Mal's locker, where she and her friends still stare down at everyone who passes. He scribbles underneath the portraits: 'Art Club is still after school. Have you checked it out yet?'

He's just barely put the marker back into his pocket when Mal and Evie appear in the hallway and stop upon seeing him there. Evie bites her lip and looks to the ground while Mal's face goes white upon seeing his message. Ben smiles and waves to the two. "Hey!" He greets. "How are you guys today?"

"I'd be a whole lot better if you'd quit messing with my art!" Mal snaps, stomping up to him.

Ben nods, pinching his lips together in amusement. "I see how that would be frustrating," He hums. "I, too, am suffering from minor annoyances. There's a certain girl who should be displaying her talents on canvases in hallways everywhere and proving to everyone she's the best artist around, yet she lowers herself to defacing my locker with cream paint." He sticks a thumb out to his locker and watches Mal's eyes flick towards it once, then back to him. Suddenly, she processes what she just saw and leans to the far right, mouth falling open, to stare at his locker.

Ben remembers too late the awful squiggles covering his locker door.

"What did you do?" Mal wails, covering her mouth in absolute horror at the awful atrocities covering his door.

"I'm… making your artwork look even better than it did before," Ben declares, trying to fight the pink tones as they surface in his cheeks. And he's not wrong. With his abominable locker being just down the hall from Mal's masterpiece, it looks way more impressive than before.

"What even is this mess?" Mal whimpers, looking like she's in physical pain as she examines Ben's failed heart attempt. And it is a mess.

"Well, see, this right here is a… well, a," He falters, trying to come up with a good cover story. "It's a drawing of some of… Bigfoot's hair?" He chokes. "And this is a cracked candy cane and this right here is a mythical creature you hope to never meet outside your worst nightmares." He turns to watch Mal shrink into despair at his horrific artwork plus dazzling cover story.

"You're horrible!" She declares, looking and sounding like someone had just fed her entire soul through a grinder.

"Is that a compliment from the Isle of the Lost?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

Evie laughs as Mal braces her hands at her sides. She shakes her head. "I'm not touching that atrocity," She tells him. "You created it, so you can stare at it." She forces herself to turn and walk back to her locker, and a brilliant idea strikes Ben. If she's so embarrassed by his drawings when it has nothing to do with her, then…

Later that day, the words 'The artist who did this also did the locker down the hall' appears underneath Ben's invitation to Mal on her Locker door. Then, on his locker, he puts 'By the Daughter of Maleficent – Don't Mess With Her!'.

And then he waits.

______________________________________________________________

His purple markers start disappearing whenever he's near Jay or Carlos. He kind of just lets them go; it means Mal is still invested in this battle.

His declaration that Mal had done the lines on his locker had produced the desired effect of Mal freaking out over her artist reputation being ruined. She'd cleaned his locker – and hers – clean before covering his with angry scaled beasts in dark shadows with hideous limbs and features. Meanwhile, on her locker, she creates a mighty dragon breathing fire down onto a tiny person.

The rumor mill is churning. Most people think that the person the dragon is burning is Ben, but Ben personally agrees with Audrey when his girlfriend proclaims that it looks a little like her. He has to figure out a way to get Mal to remove or change the new graffiti before something bad happens.

Fortunately, he knows a fairly easy way to do that.

He uses his third-to-last purple permanent marker to doodle a little dog in the fire with tiny Audrey-lookalike. He doesn't have to try to make it bad. The dog's belly is deformed, one eye covers a third of the face, one leg is about three times the length of another, and the tail is a floppy squiggle line. Then, he makes a broken mirror around the dragon's fiery breath and adds tiny flecks falling as if the dragon had broken through the mirror. He needs something for Mal, so he does a rough drawing of her mother's spellbook on the bottom of the locker before announcing in capital letters across the top of her locker: Tourney Game on Saturday – Look for Number 8, Scoring the Winning Goal.

And then, underneath, in smaller letters: 'Art Club after school and Art Classes still open for enrollment.'

During third hour, the entire school hears a shriek of rage that echoes off the walls and makes a windowpane in Fairy Godmother's office break. "Ben!" Mal can be heard cursing his name across the entire school.

Ben's class all turns around to stare at him. "Is that Mal?" Lonnie demands as the teacher pauses class with wide eyes.

Ben shrugs. "Probably," He affirms.

"What did you do?" Audrey asks with a deep frown. "She sounds pissed."

"She probably is," Ben laughs. "I drew over her new artwork on her locker."

One of the other kids in the class sighs dramatically, sinking back into their chair. "Dude, can you just ask her out the normal way?" He demands. "Isn't the paint a little excessive?"

Ben's mouth goes a little dry as Audrey's mouth drops indignantly. "I, erm, am not trying to ask her out. I'm trying to get her to sign up for art. And, before anyone else asks, it's going pretty well. Her friends all think it's hilarious and I think she's growing more attached to the idea than she realizes."

"She's going to kill you," Jane gasps in horror.

"Are you sure you're not trying to ask her out?" Someone else asks suspiciously.

Ben presents Audrey at his side. "Girlfriend," He introduces sarcastically. "I'm not asking Mal out."

One of their classmates blinks in surprise. "You're still together?" They ask. "I thought you broke up ages ago!" Audrey's face contorts in hurt.

Huh. The rumor mill has been a lot more active than he realized.

______________________________________________________________

Mal changes her art to a detailed exhibition of some wicked green flames, but Ben's nasty depictions of brutal beasts stay up. Ben uses his last purple marker to scribble Mal and her friends with him a little ways away, all in stick-figure perspective. Above Mal', he puts a downwards-facing arrow and makes her at least an inch shorter than all her peers.

Mal responds with a cutting portrait of his corpse in a coffin, which she takes down the next day without any prompting from him or Fairy Godmother at all. Even the daughter of Maleficent has her reservations and depicting the dead crown prince is one of them. Ben is touched, even though the locker art turns back into dragons in the wake of his body.

His locker art hasn't been touched in some time, so he scribbles over it with a new golden permanent marker, from a pack of five-hundred that he'd opened in front of Mal and her friends, and the next day there's a picture of his dad with Auradon behind him, standing on the dirty Isle of the Lost.

It is one of the most stunning things he's ever seen.

Of course, it is grotesque, as is Mal's usual style, but it's also intense and impressive. The lines and shadows in his dad's face are detailed and structured, and the Isle is hideous and demeaning in a way that only a citizen could express. Meanwhile, Auradon is bright and flashy and a completely different sort of repulsive to Ben. It's prideful and antagonizing.

It's done with actual paint and brushes, not just spray cans. A different sort of art that she really put her heart into.

He's staring at it after class one day when Audrey walks by and her face twists into a sneer of rage so powerful that Ben doubts Mal and her friends – 'his villain kids', as people have been calling them – could rival it if they tried.

"You need to stop this!" She demands, dropping her purse on the floor and sticking out her lower lip to show how serious she is.

Ben blinks in surprise as he tears his eyes off of the painting and stares at his girlfriend. "Stop what?" He asks.

"This!" She yells, gesturing furiously to the portrait. "With the VK's and the spray paint and Mal!"

"It's Acrylic paint, this time." Ben corrects, brushing his fingers along the details. "See the brush strokes?"

"Ben!" Audrey snaps, glaring at him even more now.

"I don't see the problem, Audrey," Ben huffs. "It's not hurting anything."

"It's hurting us!" Audrey disagrees with her eyes filling up with tears. She waves her finger back and forth between him and her. "You and I! You've been focusing all your time on what's the next big thing that Mal's going to draw and every single date has been about 'I'm going to do this to see Mal's reaction' and 'Mal is going to hate me for this'. I'm sick of it, Ben! You need to stop this right now!" She balls her fists up into tiny balls that probably couldn't even snap a pencil if they tried.

"Audrey, it's just a joke. We have our little jokes between you, Chad, Lonnie and I. It's just something I'm doing for fun. What's so bad about that?" Ben crosses his arms in defense.

"What's wrong with it is that you're going off in the deep end for a villain kid instead of me, and I don't know if you've forgotten this, but I'm the one you're dating, not Mal!" Audrey snaps, with angry, stressed tears streaming down her face. She must have been thinking about this for a while.

"Audrey, you need to calm down!" Ben holds up his hands. "Listen, I'm sorry if I've been neglecting you or anything. I'm just trying to make them feel more welcome and help them start more friendships. If you want, you and I can do something special later this week. Would that make you feel better?"

Audrey wipes her eyes a little and picks up her purse. The argument seems almost over. Ben hadn't even realized when he'd stopped paying attention to Audrey – it just sort of happened. He glances back to the stunning portrait and that's when Audrey snaps.

"If you don't quit this painting nonsense, I'm breaking up with you, Ben," Audrey tells him with clenched fists. Ben's mouth drops open. Over a joke? For real?

Well, there was one thing Ben knows, and it was that he was not going to let Audrey's temper outburst break up the lead he had with the VK's. "Well, then maybe we should take a break," He frowns. "I don't like you trying to manipulate me with our relationship. That's not the kind of person I want to be with."

Audrey's mouth drops open. "You're breaking up with me?" She asks.

"I think you're breaking up with me," Ben corrects. "You said that if I didn't quit the painting stuff, we were done, and I'm not quitting the painting stuff. So, we're done." He turns back to the portrait, away from Audrey, opens his locker, and takes out a white permanent marker. Audrey stands still, in shock, as Ben goes over to Mal's locker and writes, in the bottom right-hand corner, 'Thank You'. He listens to Audrey breathing hard in rage and then hears her spin around and walk away. Ben continues his little note. 'The portrait is exquisite, and I love it so much. Do you have a name for it?'

"You could just ask me that in real life," A voice comes from behind him.

Ben looks over his shoulder and spots the purple-haired girl standing over his shoulder, examining the note as he writes it. She shakes her head. "How can someone with such beautiful handwriting be so bad at drawing?" She asks.

"How can someone who spent all her time learning to be a villain have so much talent?" He replies. "Your drawings are just… flawless."

Mal makes a sound of acknowledgment in the back of her throat and twiddles her thumbs a little as she gazes at the dragons on her locker. "Are you, uh, okay about Audrey?"

"Oh yeah, fine," Ben nods, examining the dragon on her locker and then reaching up to write her name in his most beautiful cursive. "As I said, I don't want to be in a relationship with someone who uses that relationship against me. And besides, Audrey hasn't been acting like someone I would want to make a queen since she got here."

Mal hums, quietly watching her name appear in the beautiful, official-looking font on her locker, and then turns and walks away.

______________________________________________________________

Ben wakes up a little late and doesn't have time to run to his locker before breakfast. When he walks in, the room goes a little quiet, and the Fairy Godmother appears, gesturing to him frantically. As a precaution, he seeks out the villain kids to make sure that he isn't being summoned for Jay stealing something or for Mal destroying someone's property, but they're all present and don't look like they're into more trouble than usual. Jay is wearing his tourney shirt and Evie is fixing her makeup while Mal watches him over the pages of her spellbook.

He grabs a raspberry Danish and then the Fairy Godmother leads him through the halls to where his and Mal's lockers are. Ben gasps when he sees what the new development is. Stretching across Mal's locker in place of the dragon is a very realistic painting of Gaston, his father's attempted murderer, shaking hands with Audrey, his ex-girlfriend. As always, it was very detailed and immaculate, but the sinister tones implied in the painting make Ben shiver.

"This is going a bit far, Ben," Fairy Godmother tells him. "We didn't say anything when she depicted you dead, but this is just… too much. If Audrey complains to her parents, we'll have to stop this whole escapade, no matter how funny it has been for the whole school.

"I'll ask Mal to change it," Ben nods, pulling his phone out of his pocket and backing up a few steps to photograph the painting. "Look at this detail! How does she put so much into such a small space?"

"It is amazing," The Fairy Godmother agrees. She folds her hands. "So, is the rumor mill true? Are you planning on asking the daughter of Maleficent out?"

"Since when are you one to get involved in student relationships?" Ben asks, raising an eyebrow. "And no, I'm not. I'm just trying to convince her to sign up for art."

"Ah," Fairy Godmother nods. "I was asking because Carlos and my Jane will be going to a movie on Friday evening, and Doug and Evie are doing an 'independent study group'. Jay, of course, has tourney, and Mal has an ongoing art war with the Crown Prince of Auradon."

"War is a strong word," Ben hums, even though it had been him to first declare war with the markers. "It's more like… an argument. Or a strongly-pictured discussion with depictions of my dad and ex-girlfriend involved."

"A war," Fairy Godmother nods. "Well, I hope you know what you're doing."

"I do," Ben nods, going to his locker, opening it, and pulling out a blue permanent marker. Jay and Carlos are still stealing his markers. He's running out of good colors and has a feeling Mal will return to being a little annoyed if he writes on her locker in hot pink. Under Fairy Godmother's watchful eye, he scribbles on her locker door, right beside the lock: 'Who else can you do? Suggestions: Evie, Jay, Carlos, Yourself. Art Club after school, will you be there?'

"You should just ask her out," Fairy Godmother hums. "You would be cute together."

Ben rolls his eyes. "I'm just going to stick to getting her into art class." He laughs.

The next morning, Jay and Carlos stand outside of his door when he unlocks it. He supposes that at this point he should just assume the villain kids will never become predictable to him and he should just expect them to pop up, but their dramatic appearance still shocks him.

"Sup!" Jay exclaims, crossing his arms and nodding sharply to the ceiling.

"Have you seen Mal's locker yet?" Carlos asks.

"I just barely woke up," Ben laughs. "But let's walk down and see it."

"Well, it's your locker, and her locker," Jay corrects. "And, um, you may want to wait till later. There's a crowd outside of the area."

"A crowd?" Ben frowns.

"Admirers," Carlos nods. "Students and Fairy Godmother and some people from the National Art Association. But when you do get the chance to see it, just know she stayed up till the sunrise finishing everything."

"Sunrise?" Ben's eyebrows shoot up. "Does she even sleep?"

"Not anymore," Jay shakes his head. "She's been staying up to finish these portraits because you like them so much."

"Huh," Ben furrowed his brow. He hasn't even considered when Mal is making all her masterpieces, and now he feels rather guilty. "Where is she now?"

"I think she told Evie she was missing her first class and then she'd go to the rest," Jay explains. "But anyway, we came to warn you about your locker, and also to return a few things." He pulled a fistful of markers out of his pockets, and Carlos did the same. Ben laughed and held out his hands to take them back. His smile faded slightly as he examined them. There was the sparkly gold and the dark blue and all of the purples and the white one, but not all of the colors had been returned.

"Why are you only returning a couple?" Ben asks with a frown.

"Well, about that…" Jay trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.

"We've grown rather fond of some of the colors," Carlos declares, turning his head a little so Ben could see the headset around his neck and the sharpie design that now cover the side of the earpiece.

"Wow!" Ben's mouth drops open as he leans forward and examines the design. "Did Mal do that one too?" It features two crossed bones and several different shades of red, grey, and black.

"She did," Carlos affirms. "But anyway, we're keeping the colors we like and returning Mal's favorites."

Ben frowns again. "Why would you return Mal's favorite colors? I mean, if she wants to use them, them-"

"No, not her favorites to use," Jay shakes his head. "Because we're keeping all the greens and some purple too. But these are the favorite ones that she likes to see on her locker. She says if you start using hot pink then she'll paint someone she hates naked on your locker in retaliation. Just a warning."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ben shudders. "I doubt anyone would enjoy that very much."

"Yeah, she'd probably get annoyed with it and take it down herself after a while," Carlos agrees. "That's what happened with that one where you were dead. She got herself all upset painting it and then couldn't keep it up after that. She got really into this whole thing. It's like, the most important thing to her now."

"I love it," Ben confesses. "I didn't mean for it to go in this direction, but I think the whole school is enjoying it at this point."

"Everyone is saying you're going to ask her out," Jay reminds Ben, sticking his hands into the front of his athletic jacket. "That true?"

Ben shakes his head. "I'm not planning on it," He explains. "Though lots of people have been asking me lately."

"Oh," Carlos's face furrows up. "Okay, cool. Hey, if you ever do, you, me, her, and Jane should all see about doing a double thing."

"Oh yeah, I heard you and Jane were going around," Ben nods. "Jane is super nice. We grew up together."

"Yeah, she's great," Carlos smiles. He glances at his watch. "Hey, Jay, we've got to get to class. It was great talking to you, Ben."

"Nice talking to you too! Thanks for tipping me off about everything," Ben raises his hand to wave to the two boys as they salute him and start walking away. He can't believe that Mal has people from NAA looking at her artwork, much less that she's stayed up all night working on a project. He wonders what she'd drawn this time.

______________________________________________________________

A figure in purple is slumped over at a picnic table in the shade. Ben has to keep from laughing as he walks over, examining her hair, slung forward onto the table, and her fallen backpack beside her. He sets his gift down in front of her and carefully announces his presence. "Hey, Mal!"

Mal stirs and opens an eye. She flips her hair back into place over her head and Ben stifles a chuckle at the way half of her hair settles back into place on her head and the other hair remains spoofed from the angle she was lying at. She blinks several times and then yawns as she raises a hand towards him. "Hey, Ben," She mumbles, leaning against her hand.

"Jay and Carlos told me you were up late," Ben begins, then pauses as Mal begins to nod as her eyes drift closed. "So, I brought you some Iced Black Coffee with no milk and no sweetener and also I know it's not as good as anything you can do, but I asked the barista to draw a little dragon on the side of the cup." Ben turns the cup around to show off the dragon as Mal's eyes fly open and she examines the drink suspiciously.

"That's my order," She frowns. "How did you know that?"

"I'm in charge of you guys while you're in Auradon. I know everything about your lives." Ben explains as he took a seat.

"Did Evie tell you?" Mal asks through a yawn as she reaches for the cup and examines the dragon. A little smile spreads across her mouth.

"Evie did tell me," Ben affirms with a nod. "You'd better try it and make sure I got everything right, though, otherwise I'll have to run back and get a second."

Mal snorts and takes a sip, closing her eyes as she does. Ben drums his fingers a little and watches her sigh in relief. "I'm tempted to say it's wrong so you can run and get me another, but it's perfect. Thanks."

"No problem," Ben laughs. "I'm sorry it didn't occur to me that you were staying up to paint."

Mal nods. "It's the detailing that takes the longest. My locker was being the troublesome one last night. I couldn't get my eyes to look right."

"Your eyes?" Ben asks, perking up a little. Had she drawn herself?

"Have you seen it yet?" Mal asked with a frown.

Ben shook his head. "Jay and Carlos tipped me off that you had National Art Associates at our lockers today, so I've been avoiding the area while it clears out."

Mal furrows her brow a little in disappointment. She reaches down and picks up her backpack before she gets to her feet. "Come on," She invites him, nodding her head to the school.

They walk through the halls in silence, shoulder to shoulder as Mal sips her coffee. She leads him to the hall with their lockers. It is still relatively crowded with people who are gaping in amazement at the paintings. Mal steps through everyone and the area clears for the creator. Ben's breath catches as he looks over Mal's locker. On it are the portraits of her, Evie, Jay, and Carlos. Their hair is sleek, shiny and lifelike. Mal is holding a sword and staring straight ahead with a dark purple leather suit covering her. Evie is turned slightly to the side, looking over her shoulder, and Jay and Carlos pose with their shoulders back in firm positions. If not for the size comparisons, Ben would swear he was looking at the actual Core Four.

"This is amazing!" He sputters, waving his hands a little in a complete inability to express his meaning. "This is… this is! How do you do all of this in one night?" He leans in, searching for the tiny brushstrokes covering the locker. "Do you use magic?" He gasps.

"No," Mal shakes her head. "Using magic would take the fun out of painting. And to be honest, I like yours a lot better." She points down the hall to where Ben's locker is. Ben tears his gaze away to look towards his own space and his entire expression falls slack at what he saw. He leaves Mal's locker and walks down the hall to brush his fingertips down his very own portrait. It is completely unlike any portrait he's ever seen of himself. He has his hands clasped underneath his chin and is wearing a simple yellow button-up shirt. In this, he appears to be sitting at one of the outdoor lunch tables, and he's looking up at the sky and to the right a little bit as he laughs. She's caught him mid-laugh. It's so natural and lifelike that he almost expects to catch himself breathing. Even the grass behind him looks real. Bordering the painting is a solid gold frame with the beast crest – the proper one, this time – set in the center of the painting. The shading behind the frame is so realistic that you can only tell it's a painting if you're looking at it from the side.

"How are you so talented?" He gasps. "I haven't met palace personnel or anyone who can draw as well as you can. This is such raw talent…" He turns to stare at her in utter amazement. A little blush creeps across her cheeks.

"This is amazing," He tells her. "It's like I'm looking through a window. Just absolutely crazy." Ben stares at Mal, eyes tracing her jawline and eyes. "Why won't you sign up with the art department?" He asks.

Mal wrinkles up her nose a little and her shoulders slump a bit. "I, um…" She trails off. "I don't want to waste my time having people tell me things I already know."

"But think of all the people you could help!" Ben protests. "And just imagine all the things you could learn about the business. This would be so good for you!" He puts a hand on her shoulder and looks straight into that electric-green gaze of hers. "Mal, you should do it."

"Well…" Mal trails off, looking a bit confused. "It's not that easy," She sighs.

"Why not?" Ben asks. "What have you got to lose? You could make so many friends and have lots of art supplies and get to make tons of new friends! Plus, I'd stop pestering you to join."

Mal moves away from his grip with a downcast expression. "I don't want to join," She sighs. "I just… I'll talk to you later." She turns around with another sigh and a shake of her head, and Ben watches her part the crowd like the red sea before she's gone.

______________________________________________________________

The artwork stays for two more days, and then it's all gone. Back to clean lockers and no paint. Ben can't understand where he went wrong. He feels like he almost had her. She had been so close to agreeing and then… something had happened. He lays awake at night, thinking about the downcast, almost regretful manner in which she'd said 'I don't want to join." Clearly, she thought it would be cool. Clearly, she had talent. What was holding her back?

During lunch, as he sits with Chad, Doug, and Lonnie, watching the villain kids from a distance, he notices Mal picking at her plate and mumbling to Evie, Jay, and Carlos. Something is wrong. Something that is starting to feel a lot like it's his fault.

Doug leans across the table. "Did Fairy Godmother shut down you and Mal?" He asks.

Ben shakes his head. "She approved of the whole thing. Mal just told me she didn't want to join and now the locker art has just… died." He sighs, slumping back into his chair. "I'm really… disappointed, but I don't know what went wrong."

Doug pulls out his phone with a sigh. "How about I text Evie and ask if she has any clues?" He offers, unlocking the screen and going straight into the messaging system. Ben sighs and doesn't say anything as Doug types out a lengthy message and then sends it to Evie. The group turns as one to glance at the VK table as Evie reaches into her purse, pulls out her phone, and glances at them. As one, they all return their attentions to their plates while Evie answers Doug.

After about a minute, Doug's phone dings. He holds up the screen to read the text's contents and then clears his throat. "Tell Ben to meet Jay, Carlos and I by the tourney field at two." He relays and then shuts off the screen.

Ben sighs and nods. This is something that requires a face-to-face discussion. He only hopes he's prepared for it.

______________________________________________________________

Evie, Jay, and Carlos are all sitting in the lower section of the bleachers when he walks up. They watch him approach with forlorn expressions. Ben swallows as he took a seat facing them and Evie twisted a black book in her hands. It's filled with loose leaflets. She puts it down on the bleachers and gestures at him to pick it up. Ben does as she commands and pops the seal off on the book.

"Mal's been having a rough last few days," Evie whispers. "She's pretty bummed about the locker stuff."

"I am too," Ben sighs. He opens the book and is greeted to a welcome, familiar sight. It's the original 'Long Live Evil' graffiti he first noticed on her locker. A smile spreads across his face at the memory. He flips the page and discovers the other artworks she's done. Demons and dragons and everything she's put on their lockers. His dead body is missing, but that was okay because he isn't been particularly attached to it. He reaches the end with the portraits of them and then keeps going. There are things from the Isle and from Auradon Prep and from a land he assumes is entirely Mal's creation.

Near the back of the booklet, he starts seeing himself more and more predominately. In class, in the halls, standing by his locker, and everywhere in-between.

"She got really into this," Carlos mumbles from behind Ben. "We think it's because she got really into you."

"She only kept up with the locker thing because she saw and heard how impressed you were," Jay explains.

"And then she realized that if she started taking Art Classes, it'd stop. All the little notes and you asking her things and her getting to tag your locker with graffiti… and then she couldn't even though she started to kind of want to." Evie sighs, running her hands through her hair. "Now, she's just kind of in a 'blah' phase. She doesn't want to work on anything because she's sad."

Ben traces one of his portraits with his fingertips and a quiet smile. Then he swallows. "I think I might have an idea," he announces slowly. "Can you send Mal to our lockers? Just send her a text and I'll meet her there."

______________________________________________________________

He can hear Mal's boots hitting the floor as she walks closer and closer to him, so he turns and begins to doodle a tiny crown on her locker. He hears her stop in the doorway of the hall and mentally prepares himself for Mini-Maleficent before he heard boots stepping towards him and turns to watch her forlorn, blank expression as she walks towards him.

"Your drawing is still horrible," She mumbles. "You're defiling my locker."

"Another Isle compliment?" He asks, and then drops the white sharpie and recaps it. "It was supposed to be a crown."

"It looks more like a chewed-up sunflower seed." Mal laughs.

"Yeah, I can't draw," Ben agrees with a chuckle. "I can write, but I can't draw. Maybe I could, though, if I had a good teacher." He glances over at her and their gazes lock in something in something incredibly powerful that he can't quite fathom yet.

"A teacher?" She clarifies. "Is there a question in there?"

Ben jerks his head back to where his locker is. He turns and together, they walk down to his locker. Ben's locker is open, hiding the backplate from view. Ben shuts it with a flick and then stands back as Mal examines the locker. On it is a letter, written first in gold and then in white. A tiny, enchanted smile crosses Mal's face as she reads it.

'Mal,' it reads, 'Art Club is still after school and Art Classes are in need of a leader. My class schedule is full, but I still need a tutor to help me with my drawing skills. Why don't we sign up together and call it a date?'

"I thought Jay and Carlos said you weren't planning on asking me out?" Mal asks with a tiny, breathless gasp.

"Well, I changed my mind," Ben smiles. "The truth is, I missed much more than just your artwork. I missed the conversation and the connection. I need someone like you, artistic and funny and beautiful, in my life. So, what do you say, should we sign up together?"

Mal smiles with a little nod and then chuckles. "Lead the way to the registry, Beast Boy."

Ben laughs as he puts an arm around her, and they head off to the Art Room to announce the two latest members of the after-school club.

[themurphyzone]

Absolutely Disastrous Ch 11

Ch 11: Milo’s First Gym Battle! The Unpredictable Substitute Gym Leader!

Classes ground to a halt whenever a gym battle took place. Every student and teacher in the school gathered in the bleachers surrounding the battlefield. Even a class of six-year-olds from a nearby primary school had come over to watch. Their teacher wasn’t too pleased with the disruption though. She was busy giving Mrs. Murawski, a teacher at the Rustboro School and referee for the gym battle, an earful about the proper times to allow a gym battle so her students could focus on their lessons. 

“-YOU TRAINERS, AWFUL AT REMEMBERING THAT MATH AND READING ARE JUST AS VITAL!” 

Mrs. Murawski sighed dreamily at the desk she’d carried down herself, ignoring the other teacher completely. 

“-STOP FONDLING THAT DESK LEG AND PAY ATTENTION! MY STUDENTS CAN’T EVEN GET THROUGH A SIMPLE BERENSTAIN BEARTIC BOOK CAUSE OF YOU!” 

Since the gym battle would be delayed until those two sorted out their drama, Melissa and Lydia took the opportunity to review strategies with Milo, while Zack and Amanda distracted Scott from potentially overhearing them and coming up with a counter. 

Supersonic had finally worn off on Zack, but he seemed just as confused as to why Scott was throwing empty candy wrappers into the air like they were flower petals. 

“Don’t let him tire your Pokémon out,” Lydia suggested. “Principal Milder used the same tactic earlier on a boy’s Shroomish. He lucked out, you know. Effect Spore decided to activate when she tried finishing the battle with Tackle. Nosepass went right to sleep and couldn’t block Bullet Seed. If you ask me, he didn’t deserve that badge.” 

“Black hair, glasses, sarcastic, and rude?” Melissa asked. 

“Plaid gray shirt too,” Lydia shuddered. “No fashion sense at all.” 

“I can hear you!” a voice protested from the stands. 

Milo waved at Bradley, who scowled back fiercely. His Shroomish and Minun were playing an odd game of rock-paper-scissors together, ignoring their trainer’s grudge against Milo. 

Well, it looked like rock-paper-scissors, but Milo wasn’t sure how Shroomish managed the appropriate shapes without hands. 

“Hey, you came!” Milo exclaimed. “I bet you’re just as excited as me!” 

“I’m excited to watch you lose,” Bradley said, adding an eye roll for good measure. He turned his attention to Lydia. “And this shirt is part of the Gothitelle Boutique winter line. It’s fashionable.” 

“Sure, if your definition of fashionable includes rainclouds hanging above your head and spreading a mission of doom and gloom,” Lydia retorted.

Bradley flicked his hand dismissively and sat down, still glaring at Milo while he scratched Minun’s ear.

Milo wasn’t sure if Bradley was trying to emulate one of those jerk rival archetypes from Sara’s favorite anime, because he seemed to run more along the lines of grumpy guys with soft spots for non-humans. 

“You’ll do great,” Melissa said. “Just remember, Zack and I are right behind you...and the protective shield.” 

The shield was mostly there to protect spectators from barrages of dirt, water, and other attacks, but it would be good protection against Murphy’s Law as well. 

“You can do it, Milo!” Amanda cheered. Minccino squealed in encouragement, perching on Amanda’s head for a better view. 

Milo took his position on the battlefield. Diogee stood next to him, his front legs trembling with excitement. Milo grinned. 

“You’ll get your chance, but I’d like to lead with Mudkip,” Milo told him. 

Diogee fixed Milo with a red-eyed stare, his chest heaving in a deep sigh.

“Save the best for last, remember?” Milo asked. 

Diogee’s chest puffed out with pride. 

The irate primary school teacher finally gave up berating Murawski and stalked off the field, muttering some very unkind things about Milder’s hiring choices. 

Murawski draped herself across her desk, holding a megaphone in one hand while supporting herself with the other. Milo took the opportunity to set her up with a protective shield of her own as she announced the rules of the gym battle.

“This is a match between Scott, designated gym leader, and Milo, our challenger!” Murawski shouted into the megaphone. “This will be a two-on-two battle and no-SCREEE!” 

Her last word turned into a high-pitch wail that made everyone cover their ears. 

“Sorry! Technical malfunction! Happens all the time!” Murawski giggled nervously, a strange snort coming out of her nose. 

Once he was finished with the shield, Milo set two extra megaphones on the ground next to her desk. “You’ll want those,” he said. 

Murawski took it in stride and shooed him back into position. 

“-no substitutions are allowed. Scott has been given authority to issue the Stone Badge if the challenger wins.” 

“Pumice or feldspar?” Scott asked, digging around in his hard hat, which appeared to be full of small rocks. 

“Do you even have the Stone Badge on your person?” Murawski asked, aiming the megaphone in his direction. 

“My person is Mildred!” Scott exclaimed. 

Murawski stared at him for a few moments, and when he offered no further explanation, she turned her attention to a group of students in the stands. “Allison, grab a Stone Badge from Milder’s office. It’s in the desk, first drawer on your left.” 

Allison ran off and came back with the Stone Badge in record time, evidently not wanting to delay the match any further. 

Murawski stored the badge in her desk for safekeeping. “Commence the battle, and I swear if any of you hurts my little desky-poo...” 

She let the threat hang in the air, then raised a green flag to signal the beginning of the match. 

“Mudkip, let’s do our best!” Milo shouted, sending the Poké Ball flying. Mudkip used Water Gun on his Poké Ball in a display of power and sent it hurtling straight for the megaphone in Murawski’s hand. 

“Save me, desk!” Murawski shrieked, ducking underneath for cover as the Poké Ball shattered the megaphone upon impact. The megaphone released a final screech as its final cry before falling silent. 

“The blue-finned one’s your new friend, Cynthia!” Scott exclaimed, gently setting an orange juice carton down several feet in front of him. 

Milo glanced at the audience, but most of them didn’t look too surprised at Scott’s choice. Zack, Lydia, and Amanda all had to strain Melissa from marching down to Scott and decking him for breaking the sacred rules of battle. 

“Scott, the rulebook clearly states that orange juice cartons are not Pokémon,” Murawski sighed. “Neither are motorbikes, cupholders, or Pikipek.” 

“You mean the native bird of Alola?” Melissa asked, looking up from the notebook she was writing in. 

“Pikipek are evil. They will devour your desks in seconds and have your backup desk as dessert. They are not of this world,” Murawski’s voice dropped to a low hiss, stunning everyone into silence. 

Except for Scott, who just threw his arms up in the air. “It’s the inside that counts!” he exclaimed. 

A green pile of goo oozed out of the carton, reshaping itself into a blobby Pokémon. It smiled at Mudkip, revealing two peg-shaped teeth. 

Milo was no stranger to Grimer, since they lived inside the caves surrounding Mt. Chimney. But he’d never seen a green one before. 

“Milo!” Melissa shouted from the stands. “Alolan Grimer are Poison and Dark type! It’s even more weak to Ground than the ones at Mt. Chimney!” 

“Don’t give him info!” Bradley scoffed. “I’m trying to watch him lose!” 

He was immediately met by four outraged protests. “Quiet, Bradley!” 

Bradley sank further into his seat, grumbling about unlawful interference. 

“Use Mud Slap!” Milo shouted, deciding to open with a super effective move to see how Mudkip fared. 

Mudkip slammed his paws into the rocky ground and released twin jets of mud, which arched towards Cynthia. 

“Make yourself pretty and share your makeup with the blue-finned one!” Scott yelled. 

Cynthia’s body glowed blue and vanished in the blink of an eye. The mud streams hit the ground, leaving a rather ugly splotch of greenish-brown gunk. Before Milo could blink, Cynthia materialized behind Mudkip and spat a glob of acid at him. Mudkip yelped as the sludge hit his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” Milo asked as Mudkip staggered. 

Mudkip nodded. He wasn’t poisoned for now, but that could change at any moment. 

“Make yourself even prettier!” Scott exclaimed. 

“Try another Mud Slap!” Milo yelled. 

Mud Slap clipped Cynthia’s arm, but didn’t cause enough damage to surprise her. 

Unfortunately, the protective shields did nothing to protect spectators from attacks above their heads. Screams erupted from the stands as people used backpacks, jackets, and each other to block the sludge Cynthia haphazardly lobbed as she zoomed all over the gym. It splattered all over the protective shields, making Murawski shriek and cover her desk protectively. 

Cynthia bounced off the walls at high speeds, leaving small piles of goop behind wherever she landed. Diogee ducked into a small area under the bleachers, dutifully avoiding the sludge piles as he curled up. 

“I’ll call you when it’s your turn!” Milo shouted to Diogee, quickly putting on safety goggles to protect his eyes. 

Scott chuckled at the chaotic scene. “We’re making art! Don’t forget your subject, Cynthia!” 

Cynthia lobbed several globs of sludge at Mudkip, but Mudkip blocked them all with well-aimed Water Gun attacks. However, this didn’t deter Cynthia in the slightest. 

Milo knew he had to do something before Mudkip got too tired to track her. He flicked a stray candy wrapper that had blown onto his shoe. 

There were a lot of candy wrappers on the ground. 

Vaguely, Milo recalled his dad’s wise sayings about Grimer. 

“Grimer love trash of any kind. So if the Bouffalant painting behind us mysteriously disappears one day, I deny any involvement in allowing a Grimer to eat it.”

Granted, the Bouffalant painting hadn’t disappeared under mysterious circumstances yet, but the point still stood.

While Cynthia and Scott were fixated on creating an acidic portrait of a Dustox on the shields, Milo called Mudkip over. Mudkip bounded him up to him, shaking the sludge off his tail. 

“Mudkip, I want you to gather every candy wrapper you can find and put it into a pile. And don’t call Scott’s attention to you,” Milo said. “We have to get Cynthia in one place to hit her. She’s too fast with that double Rock Polish.”

Once Mudkip collected a sizable amount and piled it all into the middle of the field, Milo ordered a Water Gun to get Cynthia and Scott into battle mode. Mudkip stayed near the pile of wrappers, dodging Sludge attacks until Scott finally called for Bite. 

Now that Rock Polish had mostly worn off, Cynthia wasn’t as swift in her movements and Mudkip easily sidestepped her gaping maw. Cynthia crashed into the wrappers, though she wasn’t hurt by the impact and immediately started munching on the wrappers. 

“You’ll ruin your dinner!” Scott shouted. “Don’t you want roast leftover meatloaf on a stick?” 

Cynthia paid him no mind. 

Milo grinned. “She’s in position! Fire at will!” 

Just as Cynthia dropped the last candy wrapper into her mouth, twin jets of mud smacked into her mucky green body. 

Mudkip cheered at the direct hit, but his elation didn’t last long when an enraged Cynthia tried to drop a giant rock on his head. 

“Target practice! Head worth fifty points, fin worth forty, body worth twenty, and limbs are five!” Scott exclaimed. “Bet you can’t beat my record!” 

As a matter of fact, Cynthia really wanted to beat his record. Mudkip panted, crouching low in front of a rocky pillar. Cynthia stretched her slime so that she rose above Mudkip, holding a giant rock above her head with amazing strength. 

“Mudkip, get out of there!” Milo warned. 

Cynthia brought the rock down, and Mudkip’s body suddenly became enveloped in a blinding white glow. His front legs stretched, growing longer until the rock was firmly in his grasp. The form grew larger, then the light died away, revealing a light blue Pokémon with a bipedal stance.

“Let’s finish this off, Marshtomp!” Milo shouted. “Mud Bomb!” 

Marshtomp wrenched the rock out of Cynthia’s grasp, applied a much stronger Water Gun to the rock to break it into dust, and flung the muddy projectile into Cynthia’s torso. 

Acid and mud splatted everywhere, and Cynthia laid unconscious, her peg-like teeth exposed.

Murawski blocked her desk from further attack with one arm while she used the megaphone to announce the results. 

“Grimer is unable to battle!” she proclaimed. 

A resounding cheer came from Milo’s friends. 

“Into the orange juice carton, Cynthia. We’ll dumpster dive for your reward later,” Scott said, coaxing her into the container he’d first thrown onto the field. Once Cynthia was out of sight, Scott grinned widely at Milo. “Have I ever introduced you to Mildred?” 

Milo shook his head. 

“Oh, I haven’t?” Scott looked sheepish. “Whoops, guess I’ll have to fix that! Methuselah, meet Mildred!” 

He placed a milk carton on a flat piece of rock at his waist level. 

Milo waved awkwardly. “It’s Milo.” 

“Sassa-oh no, it’s sorry! Sorry, Mikey!” Scott said. 

Close enough. 

Murawski lifted her megaphone again. “Scott, milk cartons are prohibited from participating in an official gym battle.” 

Scott blinked at her. “Wow. You guys are like, really discriminatory to cartons.” 

The carton glowed red and released a Miltank, who stomped the ground with such force that Milo could feel the tremor. While Milo was curious as to how Scott managed to get a discarded carton to work as a Poké Ball, he didn’t get a chance to ask since Miltank body slammed Marshtomp into the ground without a prompt from her trainer. 

Marshtomp was knocked out instantly. 

“Marshtomp is unable to battle!” Murawski declared. “Both trainers are down to their last Pokémon!” 

“C’MON, MILO! YOU CAN BEAT HIM!” Amanda screeched. She leaned dangerously over the railing. Zack and Lydia hauled her back to her seat, but she barely noticed. 

Bradley muttered something Milo couldn’t make out, but Melissa didn’t look too happy and she ‘accidentally’ jabbed him with her elbow while standing up to cheer for Milo. 

“Looks like you’re up, Diogee!” Milo called as he returned Marshtomp to his  Poké Ball. 

Diogee crawled out from his spot underneath the bleachers and took up a position on the battlefield. 

“No roughhousing!” Scott yelled. “Play nice, Mildred!” 

Mildred took her trainer’s order as an excuse to body slam Diogee, who barely dodged in time. Milo sidestepped to avoid being steamrolled by a charging Miltank, and she crashed into the wall that separated the field and bleachers. 

The spectators behind him screamed as the bleachers shook and collapsed. 

“We’re okay!” Melissa yelled. 

“I can’t feel my appendix!” Zack complained. 

“All of us except Zack’s appendix are okay!” Melissa amended. 

Mildred grinned dizzily, charging back onto the field. Diogee aimed a Cut attack in her direction, but it barely slowed her down. 

“Right hoof, let’s stomp!” Scott yelled as he did some weird jig that involved a lot of leg-shaking. Mildred stomped on Diogee’s hind legs, making him stumble and lose his balance. 

“Are you okay?” Milo asked. Diogee staggered away from Mildred, sending an affirming nod to Milo. “Good! Let’s try Bite!” 

Diogee darted forward, avoiding another Stomp and landing Bite on Mildred’s shoulder. Mildred cried out and tried to shake him off, but Diogee held on tightly. 

“Scratch while you’re in close quarters!” Milo shouted. 

The tips of Diogee’s claws elongated into long, thin strips of light and scratched Mildred in the face and stomach. 

“Good job, Diogee!” Milo praised. 

Diogee broke his Bite attack to give a pleased look at Milo, allowing Mildred to fling him off. 

“Snack break!” Scott exclaimed, wolfing down a can of beans at a speed so fast that Milo was sure he’d choke. He tossed a milk bottle to Mildred, who happily gulped it down. In a few moments, it appeared as though Diogee hadn’t gotten those close quarter hits on Mildred at all. 

“Is that legal?” Milo called to Murawski, who was too busy carrying her desk out of the room to pay attention. 

“You saw the destructive power of that Body Slam!” Murawski shouted. “There is no way I’m risking my desk’s life!” 

“Keep rolling, Mildred!” Scott called as he wiped bean residue from his face. 

Mildred curled into a pink ball and spun in place, building up enough energy to propel her to Diogee. Diogee unleashed several Cuts, two hitting their mark and three that crashed into the ceiling, sending several chunks raining down. 

Milo opened an umbrella to protect himself from the dust. 

Mildred slammed into Diogee, sending him sprawling. Then she continued to roll past him at high speed, ricocheting off a wall as she rolled into him a second time. Diogee retaliated with another Cut, which prevented a third Rollout from connecting and sent Mildred spinning toward Scott’s side of the field. 

Mildred crashed into another wall, and Milo decided that he’d better end this match before the building collapsed. 

“Diogee, cleave a furrow into the ground with Cut!” Milo shouted. 

“Pass the roll and butter, Mildred!” Scott called. 

A well-executed Cut cleared enough rock to form a shallow groove in the ground. 

“Dodge and ready your Razor Wind!” Milo called as Mildred barrelled straight at Diogee. Jumping to the other side to avoid Mildred, Diogee’s horn began to glow white as the winds whipped through his fur. 

Mildred crashed straight into the furrow, her body still a pink and black ball, as if she hadn’t realized she was trapped. 

Once the wind was sufficiently built up, Diogee released it, and the air blades crashed straight into Mildred. She uncurled, panting heavily and making no effort to climb out. 

“Finish with Bite!” Milo yelled. 

The resulting Bite drained the little energy Mildred had left, and she collapsed as soon as Diogee carried her out of the furrow.

Melissa hopped over the railing and grabbed a megaphone that had somehow avoided the line of fire. “Miltank is unable to battle! The winner is Diogee! The challenger wins the match!” 

With the exception of Bradley, the spectators cheered. His friends ran onto the battlefield, loudly cheering for Milo’s victory. Bradley sullenly followed behind them. 

Bradley scowled. “You’re not an official referee!” 

“There’s a rule stating that the family of a gym leader could act as referee if an official ref is unavailable,” Melissa replied with a smirk. “It’s obscure now because the League wants to avoid nepotism, but never officially repealed.”

“Your friend is kinda scary,” Lydia remarked. 

Milo couldn’t reply because Amanda and Minccino were nearly choking him in their enthusiasm. 

Once they allowed him some breathing room, Milo released Marshtomp from his Poké Ball. While Marshtomp would need more rest before battling again, he was well enough to celebrate their victory. 

“You two were awesome today!” Milo exclaimed. 

Diogee and Marshtomp puffed their chests out in pride. 

“It shouldn’t count,” Bradley muttered. “He wasn’t even battling the official leader.”

Lydia left briefly to retrieve the badge from Murawski, who still refused to enter the arena while Scott and Mildred were around. They still had the capacity to destroy her beloved desk. 

Because Scott was the designated gym leader, Lydia had to hand off the badge to him so he could officially present it to Milo. 

“This stone makes you our leader!” Scott declared, dropping the Stone Badge onto Milo’s head. “Cynthia, Mildred, and I are at your command! Who would you like us to trap underground?” 

“Well, there’s someone who owes me money...” Melissa began, but Zack put his hand over her mouth to indicate that they weren’t trapping anyone underground. Scott and Mildred seemed rather disappointed. 

Milo plucked the Stone Badge off his head, passing it around to his friends so they could see it too. Minccino wouldn’t let Amanda give the badge back to Milo until it received a proper cleaning. 

“I just got...A STONE BADGE!” Milo exclaimed once Minccino was satisfied, holding his badge triumphantly in the air. Marshtomp and Diogee struck victory poses. 

“Really?” Melissa asked as Milo stored it in his badge case. 

Milo shrugged. “It looks fun when they do it on TV.” 

“Well, Mildred and I must be off!” Scott saluted as he and Mildred squeezed into a large pipe that had been exposed during the battle. “Those dumpsters ain’t diving themselves!” 

“The next gym leader better not smell like sewer...” Bradley muttered. 

“And then I said ‘girl, that’s not a Trubbish! That Pokémon is way cuter than your hairstyle!’“ Lydia finished, bowing low to a round of applause as they exited the Rustboro School. 

“Trubbish are pretty popular with Dr. Magnezone fans,” Milo said. “Problem is there’s so many nicknamed Trubbishdroid that they can never tell them apart!” 

Zack and Lydia broke into hysterical laughter, and Milo laughed too until he felt someone crash into him. Milo fell back, rubbing his head where it had collided with the other person’s. 

The pain quickly subsided and Milo offered his hand to the other person, who was whimpering fearfully at the empty briefcase he dropped. The green suit looked vaguely familiar. 

“Hey, aren’t you that businessman we helped in Petalburg Woods?” Melissa asked. 

“You have to help me!” the businessman cried out, looking ready to faint at any moment. 

“Yup, it’s him. Before you faint from sheer terror, mind filling us in?” Milo asked. 

“Red mustache! Gray clothes! Stole...weird hat doesn’t match! No, wait!” the businessman screeched, pointing in the direction of the mountains. Melissa and Bradley shot him exasperated looks. “Other way around! Gray mustache and red clothes! Funny hat! Took my goods! The super important goods! Running into Rusnel Tunturf...Neltun Turfrus...I regret skipping lunch...” 

He fainted. 

“I think he meant Rusturf Tunnel,” Amanda said while everyone stared in disbelief. “It’s east of here.” 

“I’m leaving,” Bradley scoffed. “I have my own things to do.”

Melissa latched onto his arm and dragged him to the east exit, ignoring Bradley’s protests. “You’re coming. Milo’s Pokémon are still tired and we could use the extra help.”

Alolan Grimer can learn Rock Polish via TM. Both types of Grimer can learn Rock Tomb.

The bit with Martin saying he wanted to feed the Bouffalant painting to Grimer came from Disco-Do Over, in which one of Martin’s listed dreams is replacing the buffalo painting in the living room.

Whitney’s strategy in the anime was to just have Miltank steamroll her opponent with Rollout until they fainted. Similar concept here really.

First gym battle is done and Milo has the Stone Badge! Next it’s to Rusturf Tunnel they go!

[alltheimaginationofme]

Brushes with Balor

Part I

First attempt at something, and may turn into a series! Please let me know how I get on?!

Finn Balor was the hottest new commodity in WWE, having recently been added to the main roster. Some would say he had a serious backing, others would say it was a cult. Either way, I had found myself in the Balor club without knowing, following his movement in ring with the same kind of admiration that the crowd had for him. Behind the curtains, I was another crew member who blended into the background. I was a nobody, lighting and technical, maybe even a helper for the makeup crew if they needed the extra hands. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t mind dabbling with some pencils but I wasn’t Picasso with a paintbrush. So when they asked for all hands on deck with the TLC Pay Per View, I jumped at the opportunity-a part of me wished that a certain Demon would be appearing and I would have a hand in his paint.

I should have wished for something nicer.

I entered the room slightly late and ran to Stacey, my boss whenever I was in makeup.

“Where the hell have you been?” Stacey was straight off the bat and straight into my neck, trying to rip my head off. “Nevermind! Just get over here, Sasha needs glitter eye in purple, use the Beverly hills, no that’s Huda, the Beverly Hills- just.. this one! Right, purple glitter eye and then fade around the eyes, big lashes- she’s on TV.”

I nodded and tried not to get the makeup brands mixed again, Stacey could be sweet when she wanted to, but I had seen her explode at someone once and the mess after did not look fun. I made sure to pick the Beverly hills up, and made my way over to Sasha Banks. We had met briefly before and I smiled a small smile to her, she grinned back at me over her phone. “Hurricane Stacey right? She’s fun” I laughed lightly as Sasha, not sure if Stacey could hear or if anyone else would report us making fun of her. Sasha laughed, and said it clearly “I’m not one of those girls, if you wanna talk cool. If not I get it, but I’m not about to tell everyone that you laughed at someone. Now please, make me look flawless.” She finished by batting her eyelashes at me, and it got a full laugh.

I had finished one eye, and got the approval for it, and even a compliment and was starting on the other when I spoke. “So what’s it like being on the roster?” It was polite and quiet, the corner that we were sat in was nearly deserted now- with only our dresser and a door next to us, which I was told not to go in. Sasha hummed for a moment “It’s great, it’s everything you think it will be. Even the bad bits- I’m guessing you actually watch the show?” When I nodded she continued, “It’s the fame and the glory, but also being exhausted all the time, all these bright lights and makeup… The attention can get too much…” She trailed off, and I sympathised for her, her storyline had hit a slump and she wasn’t standing out right now with the belt on Alexa Bliss. “I can only try to imagine what it’s like… I’m sorry that it’s like this… But look at the people you’ve helped? Look at the little girls who love and want to be like you? The you that they see is sometimes what keeps them going..” I trailed off and looked at her face. Sasha nodded and smiled at me.

There was a sudden crash behind the door and some swearing, making us both jump. There was more cursing and crashing sounds of pots that got closer to the door. The door flung open and an irate Finn Balor stood in his trunks. I couldn’t help the ‘woah’ that escaped my mouth and Sasha nudged me, causing me to turn bright red.

“Hey you, are ya doing makeup?” His voice was deep and rung in my ears. I was starting to answer no when Sasha overtook me. “Check my face out Balor, she’s definitely makeup.” Sasha winked at me and ran off shouting a thanks behind her for her look. I was stood with an eyeshadow brush, open mouth and empty chair. “Good. Come here.” I snapped out of it and followed Finn into the small room. There were tubes of paints in negative colours all over the room, browns, blacks, reds and even some green was splattered on the floor and chair. Finn had splashes on him that seemed in anger. He sighed and spoke “ ‘m sorry, jus needed some help wit my paint. Jus can’t think of anything right now” I took in his form and began to form some words. “I’m sorry Mr Balor, but I think you might need Stacey instead.. I’m just filling in.. I’m lighting and technical. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” I dragged my eyes away from his body and looked at the floor, blushing and I started towards the door.

He grabbed my wrist, “You jus did Sasha’s makeup right? It’s not more difficult than that..” his puppy eyes had me hooked. I thought about the situation quickly, Stacey would have my head on a platter if I messed up… She might have my head anyway if I do Finn’s paint. I rocked on my heels and thought about it, Finn seemed to take the hesitation as a yes and shut the door.

 An hour and a half of silence later, I had finished Finn’s chest and face. We both decided the red should be a main focus this time, with the black and white playing highlights- and the green accent of a tongue peeking through the jaws I had drawn. At first the room was filled with Finn firing off ideas and then shooting each one down, and after a few tweaks we had decided to go with jaws grinning this time- it added the element of cockiness his character was going for in the story. I didn’t ask if he was scripted to win. It was a struggle to paint on its own, and I had a feeling that Finn was feeling sorry for me- holding unnaturally still for so long had made him break into a small sweat and it was smudging the makeup at the edges of his forehead. After the time we’d spent doing the paint I wasn’t about to let it be ruined before he got out of the studio! My hand moved of its own accord and gripped the back of Finn’s head, the other reaching out with the paintbrush “Come here”. Finn’s hands flew towards me and landed on my waist as he almost fell into me.

“Oh God! I’m sorry Mr Balor! I didn’t realise what I was doing, oh crap I’m really sorry…” My words tumbled out of a dry throat before I could stop them, and Finn chuckled- before being interrupted by the door swinging open and Stacey storming in. I let go of Finn immediately and only realised he had still been holding onto me when he let go and jumped back.

Stacey’s eyebrows hit the roof, and then back down again as she demanded to know what I was doing. “She was jus helpin me wit my paint Stace” Finn’s voice was calm, as if she hadn’t come steaming into the room and if we hadn’t just been looking intimate (and I assured myself it wasn’t that AT ALL) Her mouth opened and I winced, ready for the explosion to happen.

It never came, the tense air suddenly had a weird silence to it. Too silent, like the calm before the storm. “She’s got it covered, I’ve approved it and I’m sure Vince will be pleased.” Finn’s voice had somehow gotten deeper and almost seemed to echo in the tiny room. Stacey’s mouth shut again, she narrowed her eyes and left. The temperature that had dropped suddenly shot back up and I shivered, when I turned back to Finn to thank him… His eyes were black, and his face looked drawn across his bones and his skin was pale white- he looked dead… I stepped back in shock, but when I blinked and did a double take he was back to normal.

I would’ve thought it was just my eyes… But Finn looked drained, like had just done his match, or a marathon. The sweat had returned to his forehead and my brow creased. “Mr Balor… What was that?” Finn looked at the floor and his gaze remained there “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

We didn’t speak for the duration of me doing his back, and he barely mumbled a thank you as he all but ran from the room. Leaving me yet again with messy brushes, an empty chair and an open mouth- with 101 questions this time.

[baeyeonsei]

« with @pyeonsi from this »

Lensed orbs enflame with surprise and worry as they focus on the fabric, once a perfect and clean white now sporting a splatter of dark brown hue thanks to the iced americano deciding that her shirt is a better object to settle on rather than staying inside the plastic cup it was made for or even her stomach after it goes through the awaiting plump lips. Or was it really the beverage’s fault and not her utter lack of luck mixed with the abundance of clumsiness? Of course her mind settles with both, refusing to wholly blame herself even though heaven knows it really is only the latter. The elder’s smooth voice collided with a grumble of her own that could not be suppressed while her hands busy themselves dabbing the stain with the limited amount of napkin she has. “– that I’m clumsy? Or that my shirt has redesigned itself out of nowhere?” Or that this is possibly the worst day I’ve had in months? she gives Joohyun credit for her natural sensitivity to detecting one’s mood but as always, the younger let her molars gnaw on the inside flesh of her cheek and swallow the thought as she hopes her retort sounded more of a lighthearted joke than she actually intended. 

There was no way anyone couldn’t see that, for whatever reason, Siyeon was particularly irate today. Maybe it was the brown colored liquid that decide to latch itself onto her white shirt, looking like a coffee painting on white canvass, or maybe there was something Joohyun wouldn’t know of. Siyeon was quite young and well, she did not mean to make herself sound older than she was, but the younger really was bad at hiding what she was really feeling. “Maybe both.” She chuckled. It wasn’t an action made in order to mock her, but rather, she was simply attempting to appease her and to help her out of her sour mood. She sincerely hoped it was working, or that it’d eventually work. She wasn’t so used to seeing Siyeon in such a mood. She could see that the napkins were doing no good, only adding onto the smudging of the brown color and allowing it to spread through her clean shirt even more. Watching Siyeon for a moment, Joohyun clicked on her tongue. “That looks pretty bad.” A few seconds of pregnant silence whipped through with Joohyun thinking of a solution. “Come.” She then takes the younger by the wrist, taking her to the nearest comfort room she could find where she proceeded to wet her handkerchief, rubbing it against the stubborn stain carefully, being extra aware of the smudging. “I think cloth on cloth will work much better.” She says as she focuses on her work, the brown stain on her shirt gradually turning light yellow as the remnants transfers onto the handkerchief.