Are you going to keep writing Ain’t no Rest or is that done? I loved reading it but you haven’t updated it in a long time.

I’m sorry to say that Ain’t No Rest is “officially” on hiatus–so I may get back to it sometime in the future, but unfortunately not anytime soon. I’m glad you did enjoy it while it lasted, though.

I do kind of miss it, but that fic just stalled on me and I didn’t want to force it and grow to despise it, you know? As it is, my writing style is kind of sporadic–in that, I’ll leave something alone for a few months and suddenly come back to it with a burning need to write something for it. So fingers crossed 🙂

Ain’t No Rest, part 11/? (2015-10-19)

While the staff panics over the missing prince, Jay dashes across an emptied courtyard to the other side of the embassy. There are two more possibilities to inspect and, as he hoped, the guards for those doors have joined the commotion. He’s going to take advantage of this distraction while he can.

The good news is, his first choice is a room with a very promising looking vault.

The bad news? Apparently someone else had the same idea.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Jay asks, trying to sound authoritative instead of like an impostor. Considering his true identity, well, he’s depending more on the fact that it worked once already.

The other figure, definitely not a guard from his clothes or lean frame, startles away from the vault door.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Jay adds, only about seventy percent sure of that.

“Ah, yes, well… you see… I was just…” the guy stammers and Jay is actually kind of embarrassed for him. If there were rules for being a thief, one of them would definitely be not to get flustered if caught. Of course, one of the rules before that one would be not to get caught in the first place.

“Uh huh,” Jay says, expression and tone blatantly disbelieving.

The would-be thief sighs and sort of slumps, running a hand through his short hair, “I thought I’d have more time. It seemed like everyone was headed to my room  so I thought I’d be able to crack this before then.”

… This is ridiculous.

“Prince Amir,” Jay says flatly, and said prince reacts with a sheepish wince.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to keep this a secret from my father?” Amir asks, and Jay can hardly hold back his laughter. No way is he going anywhere near the ambassador.

“That depends,” Jay replies, an idea forming in his head.

“On what?” the prince says back.

“On how far along you got.” After all, getting someone else to open a lock for you is half the fun of stealing.


A/N: Ugh, very short, and yet still somehow not at all what I had planned. THIS FIC.

Ain’t No Rest, part 10/? (2015-10-16)

All of this is very surreal, Ben thinks, as he carefully pokes at the scrambled eggs in the frying pan in front of him. Him, in pajamas, standing in his kitchen cooking a very late breakfast. His ex-girlfriend, perfectly dressed, sitting poised in one of the tall chairs for his dining table across from his current houseguest. An escapee from the Isle of the Lost.

“The season that you took over was my favorite, really,” Carlos says candidly, before smearing a thick layer of jam on his toast and shoving half of it into his mouth.

An escapee from the Isle of the Lost who is somehow better at media runaround than Ben–even though he’s been trained on this since childhood and again as part of Knight lessons.

“I’m not surprised, that season was the most popular even in other countries. A fresh face does wonders for a dying series. Although, I didn’t know you got reception on the Isle,” Audrey preens, delicately sipping at her no-pulp orange juice and leaving a pink lip stain on her glass.

Beneath the table, Dude has settled into a reluctant silence, his Audrey-induced growling abated mostly by Carlos’ gentle and rhythmic foot nudging.

Bemused, Ben turns back to the frying pan.

“We don’t. Well, not really. It’s more like we don’t have TVs on the Isle to receive signal. But I’m pretty good with machines,” Carlos says through a mouthful of food.

In disgust, Audrey looks away, “I suppose you don’t have manners on the Isle, either?” Half-heartedly she adds, “Is that why you left?”

Even Ben knows how much of a reach that was, and he figures the eggs are as good as they’re going to get. He turns off the heat, scrapes them onto two plates, and sits himself at the table as well. One plate goes in front of him, the other in front of Carlos.

“You sure you don’t want any, Audrey?” he asks, mostly sarcastic.

“As if,” She scoffs, “If I remember your cooking correctly, those eggs are probably somehow runny, rubbery, and burnt all at the same time.”

And… well… she’s not wrong. Ben pushes around the mess on his plate.

“They taste okay to me,” Carlos volunteers, after trying a bite. It must not be a lie because he keeps eating them, but Ben can’t help but mirror Audrey’s skeptical expression.

“Really?” Audrey asks, no longer a reporter but a person honestly mystified.

“They smell okay, so it’s already a lot better than the eggs on the Isle,” Carlos says with a shrug.

“Okay as in what?” this time, Ben asks.

“Okay as in not rotten,” Carlos clarifies, “Eggs are kind of a luxury on the Isle–non-spoiled ones, anyway–they are a good source of protein and all that. But they aren’t all that high a priority during barge runs, even if we’ve been getting first pick. And it’s rare to actually find a non-broken, non-spoiled egg so…” he shrugs again, though his shoulders don’t quite come back down after, and focuses on his breakfast.

Ben and Audrey look at him, then at each other, ill at ease. Of course rubbery, burnt eggs would taste okay in comparison to rotting food. Having no TVs is one thing. But not having edible food? Barge runs?


“What was life on the Isle like?” Audrey breathes out, horrified, somehow thumbing guiltily at the condensation beading along her glass of orange juice.

Carlos glances towards Ben for something like reassurance, then faces Audrey, “Is this still off the record?”

Audrey hesitates, and for that second Ben earnestly shoots her a glare, but she rallies herself. All of her emotions–her shock, her pettiness, her concern–tucked away behind pure professionalism. “Do you want it to be?”

Carlos answers.


A/N: I swear to god this story! Argh! Literally every chapter I have one thing planned and instead it goes in a completely different direction. I am barely stringing together a sentence when suddenly my brain goes–oh, wait, what if instead of that thing you already plotted out I did this thing instead? WHYYYYYY BRAIN WHYYYYYY.

That being said, because I have no idea what this story is doing I am even more invested in writing this because I AM SO CURIOUS AS TO WHAT IS HAPPENING.

Ain’t No Rest, part 9/? (2015-10-07)

Coming up with a plan to do reconnaissance of the embassy is easy. Actually executing it, however…

“I don’t do uniforms,” Jay gripes, arms crossed, head pointedly turned away from the plastic garment bag laid out on the bed. Inside is an authentic Agrabah embassy guard uniform.

“You do today,” Mal shoots back in a matching stance. Despite the height and muscle mass difference, the two of them are equally unyielding.

“At least it doesn’t have sleeves,” Evie offers, trailing her fingers down the fabric. It’s so strange to see cloth so new–as opposed to scrounging together pieces from the trash. And the uniform is clean, too, they stole it directly from laundromat.

“Why can’t you or Evie go?” Jay argues, but it’s a weak attempt, and Mal goes for the opening.

“That’s not going to fit either of us,” she scoffs–because it’s true. While there are female guards in the embassy, the uniform they stole is distinctly for someone much taller and broader than either of the girls. “And anyway,” she says with a smirk, “out of the three of us, you’re the self-proclaimed master thief.”

Jay groans.

Evie holds up a hair tie and the cloth for the uniform’s turban, “Need help with your hair?”

The Agrabah embassy is, in a word, palatial. Considering Auradon is a conglomerate of multiple kingdoms–many of the castles still meticulously maintained–it’s not surprising that the Agrabah architects would want to build something equally impressive and grand.

Beautiful, yes. Easy to navigate? Hell no.

So far, Jay hasn’t had his cover blown, mostly because he really does fill out the uniform nicely and so long as he marches around stoically, no one will stop him. It also means he can’t say anything to anyone, but he is learning an awful lot anyway. Such as:

The ambassador’s birthday is next week, there will be a party at the embassy to celebrate.

The sultana herself is coming. Unsurprising since, after all, the ambassador is the sultana’s husband.

The groundskeeper is in despair because last year there had been elephants involved.

There’s rumors that some sort of important announcement regarding Prince Amir will also be made at the party. Maybe an engagement? Maybe succession to the throne?

Jay rolls his eyes, because now the chatter is just getting further from useful, and he’s yet to hear anything about the lamp. He continues on.

There are a few doors that are already manned by guards, so Jay figures it’s in one of those rooms. One, he knows, is the ambassador’s office, so Jay doesn’t bother with that, but the other three could be some kind of treasury, maybe.

Well, there’s one way to find out.

“Our shift isn’t over yet,” one of the actual guards grunts, when Jay makes a move for the door.

Rather than get apologetic, Jay shrugs and says, “Yeah, okay. But are you sure you’re even guarding the right place?”

The other guard stares blankly at him, while the first makes a grab for the door. Because, first of all, making people confused and doubt themselves is just as hilarious as Mal always said it was. And, second of all, getting someone else to open a lock for you is half the fun of stealing.

But, apparently, third of all, Jay was right.

“He’s not here!” The first guard says, and the second startles in alarm.

“What do you mean? We’ve been standing here the entire time!”

The shout draws attention from other staff and personnel, more guards included, so Jay takes this as his cue to back away slowly. They were guarding a “he” anyway, so it’s not what Jay’s looking for.

As Jay walks away, he hears a shout–

“Prince Amir is missing!”


A/N: Uhh… yeah. So… this is not at all what I planned. Like… not at all. Which probably explains why it took me so long? I seriously have no idea what is happening in this story anymore.

Only just gotten on board the descendants fandom but AHHHHH!!! I REALLY REALLY ENJOYED YOUR ONLY FOOLS RUSH IN DRABBLE SERIES!!! So, so, so, good. SOOOOOO GOOD. And well-written. And soo cute omg omg you are amaaazing.

Thanks! I really appreciate it. And, welcome to the fandom! 🙂

I have a few other Descendants fic (and, in particular, other Benlos Descendants fic) you might be interested in. If you want to check those out, there’s “A Tale of Two Kingdoms,” a Pacific RimxDescendants crossover/fusion series and… well… actually, a lot of stuff. I didn’t realize until now how much I’ve written for this fandom. You can take a look at my Descendants tag or my Benlos tag for everything else. I’m currently working on a series called “Ain’t No Rest” (but it’s slow going, so I recommend checking out my other stuff first, because I have no idea when that’s going to be finished…)

Anyway, thanks again for reading! I’m glad you enjoy them. And I hope you have a lovely time in the fandom.

edit: I realized how generic and voice-mailbox-esque the above sounded. sorry about that anon, let me try again:

THIS FREAKING FANDOM HAS EATEN MY BRAIN, I SWEAR TO GOD I WAS WATCHING THE MOVIE BECAUSE MY YOUNGER COUSINS WANTED TO WATCH IT AND THE ENTIRE TIME I WAS LIKE… This could be better. There were so many points in the movie where I was just, oh, so close Disney, you have the potential for a movie that honestly could be groundbreaking, but shied away.

Well, you know what? FANFICTION.

Which probably explains why a lot of Only Fools Rush In was written within the week after the movie came out. No other fandom has so quickly and thoroughly held my brain hostage and demanded fic as Descendants. None. Seriously. It’s the recipient of not only my first completed multi-part fic, but my second completed multi-part fic, my first three forays into fanmixes, and I’m pretty sure it’s responsible for at least 75% of my followers. (SHOUT OUT TO ALL MY FELLOW DESCENDANTS TRASH)

So, yes, I hope you do have a lovely time in the fandom. By which I really mean–I know you watched the movie and saw it’s potential and wanted something more TO THE POINT OF DESPERATION that you joined a fandom full of other people similarly desperate.

because that’s really what all of my fic and fanmixes are about. Me, seeing the potential that movie had, and wishing it had reached it. (and also, cute dumb boys being in love. With or without giant robots being involved.)

Ain’t No Rest, part 8/? (2015-09-29)

Carlos wakes up to a persistent ringing noise, a small furry face huffing dog breath right into his nose, and in a bed that definitely isn’t his. He’s not sure which problem to fix first–isn’t sure if he should even bother to fix anything. He’s on the edge between sleep and wakefulness and it’d be pretty easy to slip back down into sleep.

Except for that damn ringing noise.

Carlos groans, alerting Dude to his conscious state, and he has to move his head away from Dude’s well-intended but currently unappreciated doggy kisses. Might as well stick his head underneath the pillow to muffle the noise as well.

Prey having escaped, Dude jumps down off the bed and out the slightly ajar door. The doorbell, for that’s what the ringing must have been–though the doorbell at Hell Hall sounded different than that–stops, too, leaving Carlos in peace.

For about three seconds.

Because then Dude starts barking and growling, and then there’s the Knight’s voice saying something, and someone else’s voice–a woman’s–shouting back and nope. No way is Carlos going to be able to sleep through this.

Quietly–not that he would be heard over the ruckus happening outside his room–he tiptoes out of bed, straightening the sleeping clothes Ben loaned him as best he could. Without the tough leather of his jacket, or his steel-enforced boots, he feels soft. He feels vulnerable with his gang so far away–they’ve never been so separate before, even before they became a gang, the Isle is so small.

But Evie said he would be safe with the Knight, with Ben. He smooths his hands over the soft, plain shirt, before stepping closer to the bedroom door.

The voices become more distinct–actual words instead of just noise–and eavesdropping is a perfectly legitimate form of information gathering.

The woman’s voice curls around Dude’s continuous barking and growling, “–can’t believe you still have this mutt. This whole kind to animals phase was acceptable in high school, maybe, but we’re adults now, Benny–”

“Dude isn’t a phase!” Ben interrupts, almost a growl of his own, “And how did you even get in?”

“You gave me a key, Benny-boo, don’t you remember?” The woman says, high, lilting, like she owns the place.

Carlos can feel his muscles tense, preparing to flee. It reminds him of their mothers, back on the Isle, how everything they wanted was so easily taken.

“That was when we were still dating, Audrey, I asked for my spare key back.”

“And I gave it back,” the woman, Audrey, responds coyly, “After I made a copy, of course…” And maybe that was meant to be flirtatious, the pause in conversation implying some kind of seductive motion that Carlos can’t see, but instead:

“Will you shut that mongrel up!” She shouts, clearly irritated by how unromantic a barking dog can make a situation.

For some reason, it almost makes Carlos smile, even though he peeks out the door in concern for Dude. He knows what it’s like to be on the wrong side of that kind of irritation. Knows what it’s like to be on the wrong side of that phrase, actually.

The apartment size and layout being what it is makes guest bedroom door visible to the rest of the apartment. Extremely so.

So despite how quiet Carlos is in comparison to their argument, his movement is still very obvious. Three pairs of eyes catch on him and immediately Carlos regrets his actions.

To be honest, Audrey doesn’t look like much of a threat; she doesn’t look real–all pastels and perfectly put together–it’s entirely different from the world Carlos is used to on the Isle. Where grays and browns are the default, and colors are bright and loud and poisonous.

But Dude runs towards Carlos, wheeling around and standing guard, hackles raised and growling in her direction. Even Ben, from his spot further away, takes a few steps closer.


But Audrey is already near, and Dude not much of a deterrent. She turns towards Carlos, and smiles.

“Carlos, is it?” She asks, and there’s something in her hand, something she’s pointing in his direction. “Benny didn’t tell me he had a guest over.”

“Damn it, Audrey, I said no comment!”

But Audrey ignores him, focussed entirely on Carlos, “How about an interview?” She asks, recorder already on, “An escapee from the Isle of the Lost? My ratings will go through the roof!”


A/N: Ta-da! Ain’t No Rest update.

Surprise, Audrey is in journalism.

Also, bigger surprise, I actually barely made my midnight deadline! Wooooow.

Ain’t No Rest, part 7/? (2015-09-22)

Ben has no idea what the hell he is doing. Stopping a prisoner from getting harassed, sure, okay. Offering his own home as a place to stay? What.

“What am I doing?” Ben exhales, hands tightening their grip around the steering wheel. It’s six in the morning, the sun peaking over the horizon, and the roads are beginning to fill with other cars–early commuters, or morning deliveries and the like.

Carlos, who got a few hours of sleep in the holding cell, is nonetheless dozing in the passenger seat, head lolled back against the window. With his hair drying out into fluffy tufts, he doesn’t look like a threat to Ben who, even running on fumes, is a highly trained Knight.

Then again, it wasn’t Cruella de Vil’s physical prowess which made her so fearsome.

It’s very possible that Ben might die today.

“Fuck it, I’m too tired.”

Ben pulls in to his assigned parking spot, thankfully not stolen by anyone–though, really, who would that early in the morning. He hesitates for a few moments, unsure exactly how to wake up his passenger, before reminding himself that he is in fact a fully trained Knight and probably has several inches and several pounds worth of muscle on Carlos. There’s nothing to be worried about.

As it is, when Ben gently nudges his shoulder, Carlos’ reflexive flailing does manage to smack Ben in the eye. He ends up banging his own head into the window, though, so the two of them spend the next couple of minutes moaning in pain.

“Ow, okay, well. We’re here,” Ben says, inanely, rubbing gently at his eye. Oh god, he’s so tired.

Carlos says nothing in response, but follows Ben to his apartment easily enough, yawning all the way.

Ben’s apartment is on the third floor which, normally, means an invigorating walk up the stairs but at the moment is a gruesome climb that has both he and Carlos dragging their feet, nearly misstepping, and tripping on multiple occasions.

“Welcome to my apartment,” Ben says around a yawn, scrounging for the dregs of manners buried deep beneath the heavy weariness. Carlos, too, looks just as ready to go back to sleep.

Until Ben opens the door, that is; at which point Carlos screams and throws himself backwards until he hits the wall of the hallway with a loud bang.

Alert now, Ben scans his apartments for threats, sees nothing, looks again for anything even remotely scary, and only sees his apartment. Kind of messy, but not too bad.

Oh, and Dude who, being so small kind of just… walked below Ben’s line of sight to leave the apartment and sniff in interest at Carlos. Carlos who appears to be scrabbling at the walls in an attempt to climb out of reach.

Confused, but strangely, a little charmed, Ben reaches out to lift Dude up and away. “It’s just Dude. He won’t hurt you. He’s my dog,” It might be more accurate to say, he was a stray dog that wandered the campus of Ben’s high school until Ben decided to just take him home after graduation.

Carlos does not look at all reassured.

“Have you… not seen a dog before?”

“There aren’t any on the Isle. Mom says–” Carlos starts, only to cut himself off with a shuttered expression. Probably deciding it’s for the best not to bring up his mother, cop killer, around someone who works in law enforcement.

“Well, I don’t know what you’ve been told. But this particular dog is friendly. He’s just curious. Here, do you want to pet him? He likes it when you scratch behind his ears.” Ben says, carefully stepping closer so Carlos can reach easily.

It seems to work, Dude licks playfully at Carlos arm and the boy smiles back. Ben can feel the brief rush of alertness fade away, back to the persistent sleepiness.

“Okay, let’s get you settled inside, so all three of us can hopefully get some rest,” he says, about to lower Dude to the ground but deciding instead to hold him out to Carlos. Tentatively, Carlos reaches out, and Dude transfers easily between them.

Dude stays in Carlos arms the entirety of the quick tour–guest bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room–and when Ben retreats to his room, no more self-appointed obligations in sight, he sees Carlos set Dude gently into his doggy bed in the living room, only for the dog to hop back out and follow Carlos to the guest bedroom.

Well, they do say dogs are a good judge of character.


A/N: ARGH, okay, okay. I don’t know why this series is so frustrating to me. BUT I’M GOING TO DO THIS… BELIEVE IT.

I have maybe been reading too many Naruto fanfic. But is there really such a thing as too many?

Ain’t No Rest, part 6/? (2015-09-20)

“I hate this,” Jay says, quietly but forcefully. It feels wrong to be missing one of their gang, to have deliberately left behind one of their gang. Especially Carlos.

“He’ll be safe there,” Evie insists, though she reaches out and grips at Jay’s vest. She doesn’t like it either, having Carlos somewhere else, out of arm’s reach.

Mal lets them have that moment–she’s worried about Carlos, too, the way an alpha would be about one of her pack, not the same as the other two do–before saying, “It’s for the best,” concluding the matter. No more bringing it up, if they don’t focus on the goal then leaving Carlos behind will have been for naught.

Evie purses her lips and Jay’s expression twists into a scowl, but they fall into line obediently. Mal doesn’t mean to be so harsh, but she doesn’t gentle her tone. They’re all a little on edge considering what they’re running from, and for all the the least of Auradon is still better than that on the Isle, hiding out in a cramped, seedy motel room is less than what they would prefer.

Mal’s already done a cleaning spell on the room–twice–but she’s still hesitant to use the bed. Evie had nearly shrieked when she opened the door to the bathroom.

“Lamp first,” Jay decides, not out of any personal desire but out of experience–in comparison to the other items, the lamp is the easiest. Currently held in the Agrabah embassy, the theft of the lamp would have to be handled within house–the Agrabah embassy doesn’t have to and wouldn’t report the theft to Auradon authorities. The lamp is easy to transport without being magically connected to a particular person and, beyond historical value, it doesn’t have much importance over all. Stealing it would only be a scare for the embassy security, retrieval of the lamp would be a very low priority.

“We’ll need to do some recon in person,” Evie says, fingering the edges of her magic mirror which is currently displaying the blueprints of the embassy, “They have a ward of some kind that prevents me from looking inside the building, though as soon as someone steps outside I can get information on them. I should be able to give you a full roster on the staff within a few days.”

“And any big events that are being held at the embassy–galas, press conferences, whatever,” Mal adds, drawing out a larger copy of the blueprints on several sheets of paper, to better map out the heist.

“Like a ball?” Evie asks, voice soft and wondering–not completely over that childhood dream.

“More people means more potential witnesses,” Jay warns, doesn’t quite argue, “And the security increases.”

“But it also means a built in distraction and a greater cover–with so many people, even if the theft is discovered there are too many witnesses,” Mal contradicts, “It was just an idea,” she concedes, “since we don’t know what security is actually like, it may be better to do it some other way. We’ll keep our options open.”


A/N: I wanted to progress on this story, but I realize this part is very ~expository dialogue~ heavy.

Ain’t No Rest, part 5/? (2015-09-16)

Carlos is trying his best to stay strong or, if not that, then at least silent–trying to mimic his friends’ confidence in the face of a stream of strangers and bureacracy–but it’s been growing steadily more difficult as time passes. Especially with the Knight just… sitting in front of him.

It’s not like Carlos is going to snitch, but the fact that the guy’s not even trying to get him to talk is weird. The guy is weird. But maybe that’s just what people from Auradon are like.

Carlos startles when a knock on the door interrupts their lack of a conversation, but he keeps staring at the Knight. It’s not eavesdropping if they’re talking right there in front of him, and anyway, it’s about him so Carlos has a right to listen.

He was never one for stoicism, and so when he sees the Knight find out who he is–who is mother is–Carlos bares his teeth.

Carlos is put into a holding cell after the big reveal, so they can figure out what to do with him in relative peace. He knows he’s not the most physically intimidating, but no doubt the mere idea of an islander escaping their precious barrier is something that scares the shit out of Auradon. He’s a manifestation of their nightmares–born and raised by one of their bogeymen.

And so he smirks, and sits, and waits.

He is shocked awake with a splash of cold water. He jerks and splutters, hearing the sounds of sneers and laughter, before he blinks the water from his eyes.

Two of the officers–not Knights from what he can tell of the uniforms–stand outside his cell. A bucket noticeably hanging empty from one of their hands.

Carlos does not break his silence, though he does internally curse that the fear of his heritage has already worn off.

“Told you,” One of them says, the one with the bucket, “He’s not much to look at.”

“Caught on your first heist? Not as smart as mommy dearest?” The other sneers, though Carlos does catch the way the phrase stumbles as it passes the officer’s tongue; as if it’s curdling in his mouth as he speaks. The possibility of Cruella de Vil hearing anyone mock her, at least, a twisting trepidation.

With her reputation, it’s not so far off base. She had been a terror to the authorities in her prime. A suspect for dozens of heists–though never officially proven until that last one. Each of them had been ruthlessly successful, planned perfectly, outwitting her opposition at every turn. She didn’t care about collateral damage caused to bystanders and the police sent after her. In fact, the one task force formed in an attempt to stop her received a present of an incendiary nature. Needless to say, Cruella de Vil is a name to be feared.

There’s a damned song about it.

But he’s not his mother… even if everything is going to plan.

He bites that back, though. He doesn’t like these two assholes thinking that the heist was anything less than successful but he stays silent. And anyway, Carlos being incarcerated is part of the plan; a secret part of the plan.

So he just smiles–the way Mal would in the face of any weakness, the way Jay does after an unnoticed pick pocket, the way Evie smiles at an unsuspecting victim–all sharp edges and barely concealed danger.

He’s not Cruella de Vil, no, but he’s an islander outside the barrier. And he’s not the only one.

“You little shit,” the uniform spits out, dropping his bucket with a clang and reaching for the keys to Carlos’ cell.

A little worried, Carlos sits up, but he doesn’t move away, doesn’t want to be the one to back down first. The door of his cell doesn’t creak open–the hinges well oiled, no rust in Auradon, not like the Isle–but the clatter of the bucket was enough to gather some attention, because before the officer can actually enter the cell the Knight from before calls out.

“What are you doing?” He says, a harsh reprimand, going so far as to bodily shove the officer away. The other officer disappears quickly, though from the way the Knight’s eyes flick to a ceiling camera, he won’t be able to hide.

Carlos doesn’t quite sigh in relief, but his muscles relax.

“I was just–” the officer starts feebly, trying to weasel his way out.

“You were just about to harass a prisoner,” the Knight says, then looks at the bucket and Carlos’ still wet hair, “To continue to harass a prisoner,” he amends.

“He’s from the Isle! He’s a fucking de Vil!” he shouts, twisting around the Knight in another effort to get to Carlos’ cell door, only to be shoved back again. Harder, until he smacks against the opposite wall.

“He’s as much protected by the laws as anyone else in Auradon,” the Knight says coolly, and at some unseen signal, several other Knights–probably called in while Carlos was sleeping–drag the officer away.

One of them hands a folded towel over to Carlos’ Knight–the first one, that is–before saying something, too soft for him to overhear, glancing at the ceiling camera, and leaving.

Then, it’s just like the interrogation room, just Carlos and the Knight.

He opens the cell door, but doesn’t step in. And for that, Carlos feels a rush of gratitude–one that grows when the Knight wedges the towel between the bars instead of trying to hand it over.

Carlos walks over and reaches for it gingerly, pulling away quickly, then beginning to pat himself dry.

“Technically,” the Knight begins, “the only crime we can prove you committed is trespassing. There’s no evidence of any breaking and entering or theft. So, you’re free to go,” the Knight says with a shrug, and he steps away.

Carlos stares, confused. This isn’t going how Evie said it would. Go where? He doesn’t ask.

But maybe something about his expression asks for him because the Knight continues, “As part of a law enforcement agency, I can’t tell you what to do or where to go from here,” and with another shrug, an almost casual movement if it weren’t for the fact that it turns his face away from the camera, “But as a private citizen I can tell you that I’ve got a pretty decent guest room in my apartment. And since my shift is over, I’ll be going home now.”

Then the Knight smiles, friendly, honest; nothing at all like what Carlos has been doing.

“I’m Ben,” he says, extending his hand out.

You’ll be safe with him, Evie had said, and Carlos trusts her even if he doesn’t trust this Knight.

Carefully, because he’s only ever seen it done on TV, Carlos shakes his hand.

“I’m Carlos.”



Also, I know all my laws are arbitrary and Ben offering Carlos a place to stay is probably illegal but, blah, whatever.