ONCE UPON A REBELLION.

"A Tremaine always performs at their best," he remarked as he finished off the drink with a sweet cherry on top. He slid it over, gaze flickering up to meet Gil's for the first time since he had sat down.

"If I know anything about pirates—" he knew more than he liked to admit, "it's that they love their rum."

His arms crossed, he was intent on not reacting to the suggestion.

"I figured Auradon would suit you." He tilted his head in thought. "You were always... friendlier than most pirates."

Even Anthony recognized that anyone who could find Gil unlikable was an idiot. Unruly and unrefined, maybe, but no less charming than a regal prince.

He leaned back, arms crossing loosely over his chest as he eyed Anthony with something between curiosity and caution — not because he didn’t trust him, but because the compliments were unexpected. He was used to being liked, sure. But seen? That was different.

“Trauma and reputation, huh?” he echoed, half to himself. “Guess that tracks. Isle teaches you early how to wear armor and pretend it’s fashion.”

Then, quieter - true. “But yeah… Auradon’s been good. Weird. Too clean. Too shiny. But good.” He smiled, sheepish. “I like when people don’t flinch around me. And I like—friends. So I try to be one.”

His gaze flicked up to meet Anthony’s, and for a moment he held it — not teasing, not bold, just open.“Don’t know if it makes me sweet or just stupid, but… I’ll take it.”

"Living people aren't so hard to read." He glanced at her with a soft grin.

He pushed himself off the couch with a dramatic flourish as the credits started.

"The only thing I'm doing right now is making another drink. You ready for something stronger?" He asked as he moved over to the kitchen.

She stood with a stretch, just enough to shake the quiet from her limbs. As she followed him into the kitchen, her gaze flicked toward him thoughtfully.

“Misdirection suits you,” she added, leaning one elbow on the counter. “Like something you didn’t mean to get good at but did so anyway.”

She scanned the bottles like they might offer up something interesting. “Stronger’s good. Snacks if you’re feeling generous . . . I won’t stop you.”

Her fingers drummed once against the edge of the counter. Then, more offhand: “People usually show their hand when they think they’re being indulgent. Kinda makes me wonder what you’re trying not to give away.”

Only children too young to understand the nature of the Isle wore that kind of expression. It was different seeing it on someone his own age.

" I have a good memory and it comes in handy when I'm especially interested in getting to know someone. " It may be considered bragging, but Anthony put weight in his words.

A soft but satisfied expression graced Anthony's features and he did as he was told.

" I had two ideas in mind and my decision rests solely on how you answer my next question. "

He cast an expectant but teasing glance at him.

He shifted his weight slightly, posture still elegant but more relaxed now, the tension between them sharpening in the air. “No allergies,” he added. “Though if you were planning to test that with something risky, I’d have eaten it anyway.”

A moment passed — then a gentle note in his voice, more earnest.

She leaned in just a breath, eyes flicking over Sylvie with gentle amusement. “Perfection sounds exhausting. Do you polish your armor in your sleep too, or just recite the guard handbook over breakfast?”

Education was important, or so he was told. Nevertheless, Harry was a true menace. Gil could deny him if he really wanted to but it seemed his timing could not have been better.

" T'at's tha point, " he spoke with a dark edge.

Anyone watching might believe Harry was ready to strike Gil, they would be right, but never in a violent manner. He had a more fun idea.

" Aye. "

Abruptly he pushed himself up from the table and held his hand out to the other pirate.

But his voice lacked conviction, and the second Harry reached out, Gil’s resolve began to unravel. He dragged a hand through his hair, muttering, “Stars above, you’re gonna be the reason I get written up again.”

And yet, he was already standing.

He reached for Harry’s hand, fingers brushing warm against his. His grin curved slow, caught somewhere between surrender and mischief. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he said, half under his breath. Then louder: “Alright, fine. But if I get canned, you’re feedin’ me for the rest of the semester.”

uma sighed as she sat down beside gil. "i've been looking for you. i think i found the perfect place to explore. i need you to come with me. it'll be fun i promise, and i'll get us food afterwards? it's been hectic being in auradon, but i still want to hang out with you as much as possible."

He bumped her shoulder with his, easy. “You ain’t gotta twist my arm, Uma. You know that. Say the word, and I’ll follow you off the edge of the map.”

Then, after a beat, quieter — “Missed this. Missed you.”

She popped the sugar cube between her teeth, eyes never leaving Sylvie’s. “And lucky for you, I have very good standing in Wonderland. Tour guides are hard to come by these days—especially the kind who know which rules to break first.”

Red leaned forward then, elbow on her knee, chin in hand. Her voice dropped just slightly—low, velvet, curious.

" oh, well, i, um, it's a long story, " she settled on that, shrugging. truth be told, eva had been running from her problems, too anxious to deal with them at the moment. it probably wasn't as big of a deal as she made it out to be, but to her at the moment-- it was stressing her out.

as sol began to explain what it was he was setting up, she smiled small and nodded. " that makes sense. i'd love to help. here, " eva moved to hold the other post, looking to him to make sure she was doing it correctly, holding it in the right place.

“Yeah… that’s good. Hold it like that,” he said, voice low and even. “Steady, but not stiff. Just needs to feel like it belongs there.”

He crouched again, pulling the cord tight. Didn’t look up right away.

“Don’t have to tell me the whole thing,” he said after a moment. “Whatever you’re runnin’ from… I figure it’ll wait. Most things do.”

A final pull. The net held this time.

“But you bein’ here?” He stood, wiped his hands on the back of his jeans, then looked at her — not pressing, just honest. “That says plenty.”

He gave her a small nod — more gesture than smile, but there was warmth in it. The kind that stuck around.

“Thanks for helpin’. Not many would’ve stopped.”

A beat, then — quieter, almost casual, but not indifferent:

“You, uh… got time to walk the edge with me? Just makin’ sure no other lines slipped.”

His reason for waiting finally came into view and a charming smile formed perfectly on his lips.

"I don't know everything, but in some ways you are quite predictable," he teased gently.

"Consider this a gift, along with an invitation," he offered one of the coffees to the prince. "If you accept, I would like you to spend the morning with me."

“You remembered,” he said, quieter than before. Not accusing. Just… moved. A little caught off guard, like he hadn’t realized he’d want this kind of attention until it was offered.

He glanced down at the cup, then back up at Anthony. That unreadable gaze. That patient, maddening smile.

“I wasn’t expecting this.”

The words were honest. A little cautious. But his shoulders eased as he said them, and when he took a sip, it was slow—unrushed. Thoughtful.

He let out a soft breath, gave the smallest shake of his head, and started walking.

“Alright,” he said, glancing sideways at him. “Lead the way.”

And though his tone was calm, the look he gave Anthony was anything but—a quiet sort of dare, softened at the edges.

"Don't offer ah challenge yer not ready tae meet," he warned teasingly.

"Well, lucky fer ye ahm always feelin' generous."

A bark of laughter escaped his lips as he popped another fry in his mouth. He got enough stares without making a spectacle of himself, but Harry would never shy away from his boisterous nature.

He didn’t speak right away — just reached for a fry, fingers brushing Harry’s like a nudge that lingered. The glance he gave him was steady. Just this side of smoldering.

No grin. Just that look. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Then — finally — his voice: “You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he murmured, low and unhurried, “I might forget we’re in public.”

He dragged the fry through the sauce without breaking eye contact, then popped it into his mouth — chewing slow, like the taste didn’t matter as much as the silence between them.

He leaned in — just a little closer than needed — and let his elbow rest on the table, chin in his palm, eyes half-lidded and still on Harry.

“Better ways to spend my time, huh?”

The air felt thicker now. Not from words. From everything left unsaid. And the smallest lift of his brow said it plain:

"Yes, one of the lucky ones to get to experience a real drink and not the gutter bucket moonshine everyone got used to."

Anthony grabbed a couple of mixers and the rum that had his own personal seal of approval. His other family members insisted on also ordering the cheapest they could find, since they had to cater to all their clientele.

"Careful, Legume. I don't feel like getting hooked by any stray pirates."

He frowned at Gil's earnestness, a reminder of one of the rare traits Anthony found himself lacking in.

He leaned in a touch more, arms folded loose over the counter, watching the way Anthony poured with that same practiced flair. “Knew you’d go for the good bottle,” he added with a half-smile, voice dipping just slightly. “Never seen you do anything halfway.”

The pirate line made him grin wider. “If some pirate snags me, I’ll flash ‘em your drink list and hope they take rum as ransom.” He paused, then nudged the moment just enough to make it real. “Though I’d rather it be you hookin’ me, if I’m honest.”

Then, when Anthony asked about Auradon — even if the question came dressed in cool detachment — Gil didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said simply. “Took a second to find my sea legs, but I’ve got ‘em now. Kitchen’s got me workin’ double shifts, but it’s good work. Feels real.”

⸻ ☀︎ SHE TWIRLED AN THIN WILDFLOWER BETWEEN HER fingers. watching sol struggle with the net. half-curious. half-amused. " judging? " she gasped-playfully. " i would never! " as her voice held an soft pulse — teasing them.

taking an slow-step forward. " i was simply admiring your technique. very . . . cazador original. " another slow-step forward. much closer now. as he really must want that trampoline like-net up that badly?

holding back an smile. " i could help! " she offered sweetly " but i’m not sure your pride could handle it. or are you finally willing to admit you need a princess to rescue you? " she added with an wink.

" i promise not to tell anyone — unless you fall again. then i’m telling everyone. " which was her older sibling & maybe her roommate. hardly what one would take as an tell everyone. softly bouncing on the tips of her toes as she helped him regarding the response. she was always going to help. as he looked terribly serious for this sky-trampoline.

“Your version of ‘helping’ usually ends with me in a tree,” he said dryly, though there was a flicker of fondness beneath the words. “Or soaked, if we’re counting that fountain incident in the rose courtyard.”

Still, he shifted slightly to the side, making space near the post. “I’ll take the assist.” His fingers flexed once around the rope, steadying it — then that rare, half-lopsided smile tugged at his mouth. “Just… if I fall again, make the story sound cool. Fire. Bees. A rogue griffin. Something heroic.”

He ran his forearm across his brow, clearing the sweat and the smirk in one swipe before glancing her way again — voice low, but amused.

“And no telling your sib unless they swears not to turn it into a musical number. Again.”

She reclined further, one arm draped over the cushion like a queen at recess. “Charm never lands where it’s expected. And the best kind of cute? The kind that doesn’t even try.”

She plucked a sugar cube from the tray and twirled it between her fingers, musing aloud, “Guard leathers, sweat-slick hair, a look of accidental menace… if I were the poetic type—oh wait, I am—I’d say you’re the very image of a midnight sonnet in motion.”

A pause. Then, with a grin sharp enough to cut ribbon: “Wonderland would be eating you up.”

He gave the knot one last pull, then glanced her way — recognition in his eyes, the edge in his expression easing. “Surprised to see you out here, Eva,” he added, voice quieter but not uncertain. “Figured you’d be in rehearsal or somewhere less likely to snap at your ankles.”

A breath, then — more explanation than complaint: “This one’s part of the Bramble Circuit,” he said, nodding toward the trees beyond the field. “They use it in survival drills — meant to trip up whatever doesn’t belong. Students included.”

"Witches are always a vibe," he responded distractedly as the final scene played out.

The weight of her words would have missed him had he not already seen this movie ten times over.

He shifted in his seat, setting his glass down on the coffee table, contemplating for a second too long about his next words.

“Not smart enough,” she echoed, like she wasn’t sure if she believed him or just didn’t want to argue. “You always say that like it’s a joke, but… I don’t know.”

She let her shoulder rest a little heavier into the cushion between them, gaze still half on the screen, half on him.

“You’ve got this way of reading people without ever making it obvious. That’s not nothing, Salem.”

Her tone stayed easy, but there was something quieter beneath it — not a confession, not quite, just truth said gently.

Then, a flicker of that familiar smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“If you were casting anything…” A beat. Her eyes flicked toward him, warm. “Let’s just say… you’re not as subtle as you think.”