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peace-coast-island · 4 years

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Diary of a Junebug

A week full of weaving, sewing, and embroidery

It’s been a while since I’ve done arts and crafts. Lately I’ve been focused on drawing - traditional and digital - and improving my skills in that area. Journaling helps a lot in terms of that, especially when I’m trying to come up with creative spreads so it’s not just a wall of scribbled words. It’s amazing to see how much your art style has shifted over the course of several months.

I don’t know if I’ve found my art style yet but I’m starting to see what I tend to gravitate towards. I still have a lot to learn and the possibilities are endless. Who knows what my illustration style will be like a year from now?

Until Cecelia came to visit the camp earlier this week I hadn’t realized that it’s been forever since I last touched my sewing machine. Back in the day I used to make plushies with Cecelia for her shop when it was just starting out. It was a lot of fun creating cute plushie designs and then bringing them to life with fabric, thread, and stuffing.

That’s what I love about art - taking a bunch of stuff and creating something new and unique with it. With nothing but a pencil and paper, anything’s possible!

Daisy Jane and Cecelia have been working together a lot now that Daisy Jane’s becoming more serious about opening her own shop. Cecelia’s been running Coconut’s Grove for over seven years, selling handmade goodies like jewelry, keychains, art prints, pins, stationery, and knitted goods. It’s a lot of work running your own business so mad respect for Cecelia being a pro at it.

To help Daisy Jane get some exposure as well as have a taste at what it’s like being an independent business owner, Cecelia wants her help to release some limited products for the holiday season. So for the past few weeks they’ve been designing notepads, clay pins, and sticker sheets.

By now most of the designs have been finalized so they’re pretty much ready for Cecelia’s next shop update. Daisy Jane’s art has really flourished since coming to the camp! It’s hard to believe that what was once a pipe dream for her is slowly becoming a reality.

With Cecelia here, I figured we should have an arts and crafts week. Since campsite events became a regular thing, arts and crafts day has been kinda put on the back burner. I didn’t realize how much I missed doing them until we started planning out this week.

Since I wanted it to be chill and low-key, I decided to spread it out to a week instead of just a weekend. I actually like it better that way, probably since my inspiration tends to come in spurts. So spreading things out over the course of a week gives me time to really get inspired as I prefer to think things over before starting. Also that means we can take on crafts that’ll take more than a day to complete like ceramics and textiles.

This week’s arts and crafts themes are embroidery, sewing, and weaving. Other than cross stitch, I’m a newbie when it comes to embroidery. I don’t know why, but I never got around to learning how to embroider. I mean, I can do some basic stitches like the running stitch and blanket stitch but for whatever reason I never actually made something. It’s just one of those things that’s always been on my to-do list but ends up getting lost in the shuffle. At least now I got to finally give it a whirl!

In a way it’s kinda like drawing. A lot more freeing and enjoyable than cross stitch - probably because I don’t have a pattern to follow. It’s been years since I’ve done cross stitch and maybe I’ll pick it up again someday, but it looks like today’s not the day. Speaking of which, my mom’s picked up the hobby again after taking a break for a couple years. Now she’s halfway done with the project she’s working on and it’s looking great!

Weaving’s a new thing for most of us, except Cecelia and Maple. I’ve done basic weaving like with paper and the elastic band thingies as a kid, but not like with legit looms and such. It’s fascinating to watch and learn about, as well as watching those threads weave together into fabric. It takes patience but the end result is worth it!

I’m definitely going to look more into weaving and textile making. I wasn’t sure if it’s something I’d be into but it’s got my attention. Maybe if I’m brave enough, one day I’ll tackle making an entire roll of fabric or a rug or something big. Maybe I’ll even try to make some intricate patterns if I’m feeling extra courageous. That’s something to consider in the future once I master the basics of weaving.

Sewing’s one of those things I occasionally enjoy doing even though I’m not the best at it. My mom’s like a professional, as in people - family, friends, acquaintances - used to pay her to alter clothes. She’s the reason why me and my friends never had to get our clothes taken to a professional - because she’d alter our clothes for free. For someone with short legs - like me and my mom - pretty much most of our pants have to be cut. Same with Daisy Jane, Emmaline, Robin, Serena, etc. - short people who would be constantly tripping over pant legs if it wasn’t for my mom.

Aside from making plushies, I rarely use my sewing machine. I’ve learned the basics of altering clothes from my mom so if I need to, then I’ll use the machine. For the most part I prefer sewing by hand just because it’s easier. Aside from fabrics the only other time I’d sew is for bookbinding, usually a basic saddle stitch or coptic stitch. I think I do a decent job at sewing but compared to my mom, my stitches aren’t the most straight or even.

I try, but sometimes it just doesn’t want to come out right. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so reluctant to try embroidery. At least with embroidery the crooked stitches add to the charm, which I quite like. I find myself drawn to an art style that’s imperfect and clearly handmade because I think it gives character.

In between crafting sessions, we enjoyed the fall weather as much as we could. It’s getting cold now and most of the leaves have fallen. Maybe I’ll pick up knitting again and make mittens, scarves, or hats. If I’m really feeling it, maybe I’ll finally try to make a pair of socks.

Is it weird that I’ve been knitting for like, what fifteen years, and never ever made socks. Like most people associate knitting with socks because socks are, well, knitted. Except a) I don’t really like knitting with four needles and b) I’m not into socks. Also the yarn I have on hand isn’t suited for socks. Speaking of which, what yarn type/weight do you use for socks?

The weather this week has been on the warm side, so I’ve been embroidering outside. I’m living out the cottagecore aesthetic - as if I wasn’t kinda already doing that by living at the camp. There’s just something so peaceful about doing needlework outside, especially when inspired by nature. I can now see why embroidery is associated with fall - it just feels right.

Think of all the possibilities one can do with a needle and thread! I’ve just opened the door.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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chromemuffin · 7 years

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Shoukoku no Altair Liveblog (Chapter 8)

As for this chapter’s art, just when you thought this series couldn’t get anymore detailed, it goes and does just that! I am consistently floored by the patterns Kato puts in these designs. The circles along the hem of Mahmut’s red outer clothes make for a simple design, but are made a little more complex by including three circles inscribed in each other. And that is just scraping the surface. I also love the poses haha. Anyway, let’s move on.

Chapter 8: The Thief in the Slum

I really liked the swirls of smoke in this panel, reminds me of the otherworldly atmosphere of series like xxxholic. And the hexagon pattern on the windows is a nice touch. But look at Mahmut go! He’s supposed to be on vacation, but he couldn’t hold back from jumping right into this thing last chapter.

Of course Mahmut is sitting far away from everyone else. I have no clue how this seating area is arranged though?? Looks like a couch...but it’s not...there is a rise in the floor that goes across the room, and it looks like the rugs were arranged to make a seating area out of it.

lol throwing shade at Mahmut there. Shara finally gets her smug moment instead of constantly being D:< or –.–

Koko seems to have a nervous eating habit (she makes some adorable expressions too).

When I said I was going to catalogue his expressions, I meant it. Not sure what this one is, though...in the panel before he had a normal serious/concentrating expression, and this time it’s a little drawn, perhaps a small grimace of “I can’t possibly find this guy fascinating” when his goal is murder.

Very nice detailing on the comb here, instead of defaulting to a plain design. It certainly is...different from anything I’ve seen before.

Shara is quite the go-getter. Now you can see why she went ahead and accompanied Mahmut to go save Ibrahim. She certainly is quite tough in her own right.

Um, excuse me. Is. Is every person pictured here unique?? I mean, there are no repeats of patterns, except perhaps the two women in the middle to the right, they do have different expressions though. Notice that everyone is wearing something different, even though they are clearly from the same town. Some have scarves, others have patterns on their shirts/jackets. They also seem pretty excited for the show.

And of course there are those two ominous guys walking towards the front...

Good composition of this panel, as far as I can tell. The screentone for the sky gives it a nice depth.

And lol Mahmut you’re losing ground, maybe because your legs are so short. Mahmut is apparently only 5′4″ (forgot what that is in cm sorry).

Anyway, Iskander is on it. (though golden eagles don’t really fly around at night lol most birds are ‘blind as a bat’ at night)

Knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The uh black sludge water (?) looks very ominous.

Those are glorious wings. And you can see that nice teardrop shape on his forehead.

lol they are still calling him Mahmut Pasha.

o.O expression, maybe? He looks younger when he’s surprised.

Waaait, so the story ended up being true. xD

btw I like the official on the far left.

O-oh. That does not look like a happy thief.

And are you related to Zaganos. You both have that sort of medusa/my hair is going to eat my face if not for my hat or turban look.

lol she keeps giving him these looks and he just ignores it.

Mahmut really is all business, unless you drag him into having a good time (something I relate to). Plus, this is coming on the heels of his demotion, subconsciously he’s focusing on doing his best to grow to be worthy of his former title. He doesn’t actually know how to go about that, probably, but this is a good start. A pasha’s duty is to protect the nation, after all.

UH, way to look like the emissaries of darkness guys. They even made it a point of walking in a triangle formation! Who does that!

I was wondering why they had some pots and plates on the rooftop. Make for great weapons.

lol poor thing. Even her arms are noodly. Love how everyone else is all into it and she’s the only one with a semi-normal reaction: terrified.

This is why you should have kept your identity a secret, Mahmut.

This guy’s voice ought to be cool in the anime, I’d imagine.

Ok, I noticed that he hung the lamp on the wall and there’s a little hook there so it doesn’t look like it just disappeared or is floating.

Also, thanks to the anime I now can confirm this thing is a whistle! Sorta. It doesn’t require the user to blow into it, but it is meant to call Iskander to him.

Also, smug faced Mahmut is back. Slightly subdued though. Maybe wry?

This is also kinda interesting. He doesn’t strike me as the Robin Hood type. It’s a good thing he has that menacing face though, it makes it easier to tell that he’s being sarcastic, and I can even imagine how he’s speaking in my head.

Once again, very interesting life philosophy here. Doesn’t seem like he’s being sarcastic about this part...? I wonder if he had that ‘pride’ Mahmut is saying he must have thrown away by now. Did he actually have a sense of honor, or was it just an image that fit well with his thieving, and now that he’s lost face, he just gave it up? I’d bet on that last one, haha.

Very nice angle on the latticework there, but what are you–

OH MY GOD.

Dude, where do you keep getting all these eagles?? Once again, this is probably terrifying, especially at night when the shadows are long and dark, and you can’t see the birds clearly and they just all SWOOP IN AT YOUR FACE.

I always love the swirls and lines on Mahmut’s clothing, btw. The billowy shape of this type of clothing is different from what you normally see in manga.

*trying desperately not to curse*

WHAT THE HELL. I’m telling you, Mahmut is a bird whisperer. How much meat did you need to bribe these birds with to get them to all perch in this room to interrogate this guy.

The contrast of light and dark spots is very nice here, especially in a higher res image.

Once again, this guy’s life philosophy is interesting. Guess this is how it ties into the realization Mahmut came to in the last chapter.

That there are ways of life out there, in the country he was supposed to be protecting, that he knew nothing of. Because he never stopped to think how other people lived.

I think the word introspection suits Mahmut well. He seems to do a lot of it, in the quiet panels in which you get a glimpse of his eye or part of his face as he is thinking.

First of all: I forgot how bloody laws used to be in this part of the world’s history it’s been a while since I took history as a subject.

Second: The thief telling Mahmut to kill him there was probably to avoid a torturous death. The thief is honestly hard to pinpoint. I can’t tell if he’s being sincere about certain parts of the last few panels, or if they were part of an act, and if so for what purpose.

Then, this line of Mahmut’s is very interesting: “I, too, obey the rules of the world I live in.”

In a subtle way, this is the answer to the thief’s earlier statement explaining why he would go as far as kill over the uncovered treasure: “To us, our treasure is worth more than our lives. I don’t expect you people to get it.”

Typically, people in authority take the high road, and whether or not it is true, take themselves to be the moral good. They don’t understand the people who live at the bottom of society, and have no desire to.

That is why Mahmut’s statement is so intriguing. He is telling this man that he acknowledges his ‘world’ by comparing his own world and that of the thieves, something a person in authority wouldn’t normally do. He’s telling him that he does “get it”. But because he understands that the rules are different for different ways of life, he can’t accept the man’s request/command to kill him. Then Mahmut would be breaking the rules of his own ‘world’ (and, of course, his morals).

AND THEN, the narrative throws the bloody execution at you in technical terms, very little to misunderstand about the brutality of laws in the past.

It also throws this little gem at you:

Koko, who has generally acted like a normal person today would to these situations (like being terrified when armed men are attacking you!)...

...is actually saying “So mean” because the thief violated her expectations of who Fakir Hirsiz is in her imagination. Sliiight values dissonance there, yeah? On our part, of course. We don’t think the cutting off of limbs is an appropriate punishment for stealing (i hope), but the people in this world aren’t bothered.

OH, so it’s highly implied that the treasure’s location in the play was no coincidence. As they showed in chapter 7, the plays often took inspiration from current events, and the thieves and their treasure were just one of them.

Mahmut has a disapproving expression here, as she says. He figured it out at some point. Because the theatre troupe directly and probably deliberately benefitted from the misfortune of others, and caused the whole thing, including the murders by proxy.

But, to the very end, she claims it was all a “wonderful, fictional world”.

Very sneaky. And, perhaps, like with the punishments for theft and murder (well, the murder/execution thing is up for debate, but cutting off limbs for stealing I HOPE not), it is meant to leave you with a sort of hanging feeling. Everything is resolved as well as it could be, but...? That kind of feeling lol. Can’t explain it well.

ANYWAY, Mahmut is off! Feeding Iskander again :3

He looks, well, a little sad. That isn’t a frown, but he also isn’t happy.

Ah, yes, some much needed light-heartedness.

lol his expressions. I happen to like his startled expressions, they are always amusing. And then he’s pissed in that third panel. xD

LOL he’s the subject of the next musical.

And that’s a wrap! I actually wrote quite a bit for this one.

It was a tiny arc, but jam-packed with the very start of Mahmut’s long journey to meet his goal of becoming worthy of the title of Pasha.

← back・onward →

#shoukoku no altair #shokoku no altair #the very long altair liveblog #altair vol 2

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rufeepeach · 7 years

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Fic: Dutch Courage - Chapter 6

Title: Dutch Courage (Chapter 6) Rating: NC-17 (overall, T for this chapter) Summary: While staying with her best friend Neal over the summer, Belle can't help but fall for his handsome, intelligent, lonely father Mr Gold. Belle knows nothing can come of it, however close they might become or how sure she is he feels the same way. However, after a night of heavy drinking finds her knocking on his bedroom door at midnight, things quickly spiral out of control.

A/N: Lookit! Updating without an explicit prompt! Go me! The plot is even moving now! In this chapter: Belle and Gold confront the awkwardness following their encounter in the kitchen, and Emma knocks some sense into Neal.

Belle knew when she was being avoided.

It wasn’t as if it didn’t make sense. After all, she could feel the guilt and shame radiating off of Gold even before their encounter in the kitchen. Whatever he’d been wallowing in before, it got a hundred times worse afterward.

Belle sighed, and tried to focus on her reading. She had nothing to do, which didn’t help in the slightest. She had any number of applications for jobs still hanging in the air, and the only one she cared about – her application to become Storybrooke’s head librarian, overseeing the reopening of the public library under the clock tower – was still in committee. That was, at least officially, the reason she was staying here in town, rather than taking Mulan’s invitation to come crash with her family in San Francisco, or visiting her cousin Robin in New York. She wanted to be present and on-hand should the Storybrooke City Council decide they needed anything else from their one and only applicant.

Unofficially, of course, she had any number of reasons to stay in Storybrooke. And at least half of them were Scottish, gorgeous, wore an expensive suit to do laundry, and had all but vanished.

Neal and Emma were a helpful distraction. Belle had hung out with them for the past few days, working their way through the three movies playing at the tiny Storybrooke cinema, going for hikes, and discovering the true depths of Neal’s teenage delinquency. She didn’t think they’d walked by a single building he didn’t have at least three routes to break into or out of. It would be impressive if it weren’t a little concerning.

But today, Neal and Emma had gone for a picnic up by his dad’s old cabin, and they’d been making noises about wanting to go alone. The moment Neal, of all people, had called the spot ‘romantic’, Belle had respectfully bowed out.

Which meant that she was left loafing around Gold’s empty house, all alone, more keenly aware than she had been since their interlude in the kitchen of how scarce he’d made himself afterward. He didn’t want to see her: his absence made that perfectly clear.

Belle sighed, and glanced at the clock. One pm: Gold’s lunch hour. For the first two weeks of her stay, he’d come home for lunch every day. His shop was only a pleasant ten minute walk from his home, and so he’d claimed he preferred to come home and make something fresh and worth eating than take something that would keep, and work through lunch. The five people who actually came to shop on a given day could wait until two.

But today – like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that – he was nowhere to be seen. He left before she woke up; he came home after he knew she, Neal, and Emma had either left for dinner at Granny’s, or already eaten. He spent his evenings locked in his study. If she was lucky, Belle would exchange ten words with Gold through the whole day, which was quite a come down after enjoying whole glorious, stimulating, sometimes infuriating conversations and debates with him just days ago.

She missed him. Neal was her best friend, and Belle had always liked and got on well with Emma, but she really missed talking with Gold. She missed talking to him even more than she missed kissing him, or touching him, or stripping him naked and driving him deep inside her and –

Okay, maybe she didn’t just miss talking to him. Belle’s heart raced and her cheeks flushed scarlet at the memory of his touch, which was somehow only intensifying with the time spent apart. More than one nice since their last encounter, she had only managed to get to sleep after first finding release by her own hand, driven over the edge to thoughts of him.

She had resigned herself to the sad fact that that might be her future. He clearly didn’t want their sexual relationship to continue, and while she thought his reasoning – her youth, his age, her relationship to his son – was flawed, it was understandable. She had to respect his decision, even if she thought it was a mistake. It didn’t mean they couldn’t even speak though, right?

Even if they couldn’t have sex, their connection was worth preserving. She missed his company more than anything, and she knew how lonely he was. Even if Neal hadn’t confided his worries over his father’s relative isolation, Belle could tell from how he’d welcomed her conversation and company when she first arrived that he hardly had a thriving social life. They were compatible; he’d said as much himself. Even if that compatibility could only ever be platonic, Belle knew how valuable and rare true friends were.

If he wasn’t going to pull his head out of his ass and be an adult about this, then she would have to do it for him.

Belle set down her book, and marched into the kitchen, invigorated now she had a plan. She put together two thick BLTs, making sure to include extra mayo on Gold’s, and added two bottles of beer and two thick slices of the apple pie she’d baked a few days back, sealed in Tupperware tubs. She put it all in a large shopping bag, pulled on her shoes, and headed over to Gold’s shop.

He looked up in surprise when the bell rang over the door. “I’m sorry we’re – Belle!” his eyes widened, a rabbit caught in headlights. He swallowed hard, his eyes running over her before meeting hers once more. Belle fought the urge to sigh, or even roll her eyes. She was certain she wasn’t remotely scary enough to warrant that reaction.

“I brought lunch!” she said, as brightly as she could. His huge eyes glanced between the bag in her hands and her face, and she could him desperately seeking a way out. “I brought BLTs with beer and some of that amazing pie you made,” she continued, briskly, walking across the shop floor and placing the bag on his countertop. “I figured fresh food is always better than whatever’s been sitting in the back room for the past four hours, right?”

“I can’t take a break today, dearie,” he muttered, waving her aside like an annoying insect. His eyes were back on his work.

“Closed sign on the door says otherwise,” she replied, her voice taking on a brittle quality she didn’t like, but could hardly control. He was getting under her skin, and she hated that, because she knew this was just an act. He liked her, and he wanted her: she had more than enough evidence of both of those things. There was no amount of dismissive, arrogant cruelty he could throw at her now that would mitigate how he’d clung to her in the middle of the night, how he’d leaned into her like a flower to sunlight, or the desperation they had shared just to be close to one another. She knew he valued her, and the lie was what hurt her more than the content.

She knew full well he was avoiding her to put some distance between them. It made sense. It also pissed her off.

She put the bag down in front of him, covering his ledger. He sighed with annoyance, which she cheerfully ignored. “You have to eat sometime,” she continued, “so, do you want to keep working, or come sit in the back?”

He sighed, and finally dragged his eyes back up to meet hers. She saw the battle behind his eyes, his desire to be near her warring with his need to shut her out. “I can’t,” he said, again. He wasn’t talking about lunch.

“We need to talk,” she told him, dropping her own pretence, the brittle cheeriness she’d neither felt nor enjoyed. “And Neal won’t hear us here.”

“I don’t believe there’s anything to discuss,” he said, his voice sharp as broken glass. “Don’t blame me if you can’t take a hint.” She wanted to smack him for that little slice of cruelty. Maybe a solid slap would jolt him into resetting, bring back the sweet, funny, caring man she knew was inside his chest, the one she had been falling in love with until he vanished behind this icy veneer.

She hated this face of his, the one he showed to recalcitrant tenants and ungrateful clients, designed to inspire fear and remind everyone just who held the power here. It was all falsehood: a mask, an act, and a paper-thin one at that. He’d never shown this mask to her before, and that told her everything she needed to know. She affected him as deeply as he did her.

“Well,” she tilted her head to one side, challenging him with every word, “I would disagree with that. For starters, there’s the sex in your bed, the sex in your shower, the sex in your kitchen, and how messy and emotional things have gotten between us. And that’s without touching on how you’re clearly an idiot who seems to think that going cold and hard and avoiding me is going to solve anything.”

He swallowed, hard, and blanched a little. Belle rallied at that small victory. She didn’t usually unload like that – she valued honesty above all else, but there was a line between being honest and being brutal and blunt – but she had to get through to him. She had to make him see that there was something worth salvaging here.

She took a deep breath, “Now,” she said, with what she hoped was an encouraging smile, “Would you like to talk about this over sandwiches? I added extra mayo to yours.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she turned on her heel, and took the bag through to the back room, busying herself laying out the spread on the clear space of worktable at the end. The world’s saddest-looking tuna salad sat in a Tupperware box at the other end of the bench, and Belle smirked to herself. There was no way in hell he’d have chosen that over the fresh BLT she offered if he wasn’t purposely avoiding her.

He followed behind her, and she felt him pause in the doorway, the floorboards creaking as he dithered. She turned to face him, and sat herself down in one of the free chairs, finally looking back over her shoulder to him.

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked. He swallowed, and fidgeted with his cane.

“We shouldn’t be alone together,” he told her: the first truly honest thing he’d said since her arrival. She shrugged.

“You refuse to talk to me even in company,” she said. “Do you think we shouldn’t be together at all?”

“I don’t want this – whatever this is – to become a burden to either one of us,” he told her, and in that one sentence she heard all his gentleness come rushing back, the soft, caring man she knew replacing that cold façade in moments. A knot released in Belle’s chest. When she released her breath, it felt as if the weight of the world slid from her shoulders.

“Then come talk to me about it,” she invited, beckoning him over. “You can sit with a table between us, and I promise not to molest you in front of the bacon.”

He swallowed, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob. A small smile came to his lips, involuntary and sweet, at her little joke. “It’s not you I’m worried about,” he muttered, and she grinned.

“Then I promise to be a total lady,” she said. “I’ll fend off your fiendish advances with my parasol.”

“You’re not carrying a parasol,” he noted, but to her delight he came and sat opposite her all the same. She pursed her lips, and tapped her chin with a finger, looking into the bag on the table.

“Shit, knew I forgot something,” she muttered. He snorted. “I’ll just have to make myself as undesirable as possible,” she shrugged. Then, to prove the point, she took the biggest bite she could of her BLT, getting mayo on at least half her chin in the process. She chased it with a huge gulp of her beer, and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

She couldn’t have asked for better timing: a huge belch, the kind that would have had Neal applauding, followed immediately after.

“See?” she grinned, and hoped she had lettuce in her teeth for emphasis. He was staring at her, his lips twitching.

“Indeed, a truly disgusting display,” he muttered. She stuck out her tongue; he ignored her, and took a dignified bite of his own sandwich.

They ate in companionable silence, Belle with significantly more grace now her point had apparently been proven. She hadn’t come here to accost him again, she had come to make peace and talk things through. She didn’t try to speak to him again until they’d finished and were considering pie, and she felt the atmosphere was comfortable enough to broach the subject again.

“So,” she said, “You mentioned something about burdens?”

He swallowed his bite of pie, and looked at her with pleading eyes. “Belle, please, we don’t need to discuss this.”

“We do need to discuss this,” she insisted, and reached out an impulsive hand to cover his on the table. She regretted it immediately: touching him sent a fission of something powerful and addictive through her, sparking where her skin met his. She inhaled sharply, but didn’t pull back. She glanced down, and tried to rally her thoughts, “I know this isn’t easy,” she said, softly. “I know there’s complications-“

“My son isn’t a complication,” he told her, and with a sinking heart she felt him pull his hand back. “Belle, you’re young. You don’t understand-“

“What?” she demanded. “What don’t I understand? What it’s like to feel alone in the world? To fear losing everything that matters to you?” She felt a lump rising in her throat, and swallowed it down hard, horrified. She didn’t need to get her own stupid messy feelings involved on top of his. “I get it, okay?” She pulled back into herself, folding her arms protectively over her chest. “I get that the stakes are high. But I’m not asking to marry you or - or even to keep sleeping with you, if it bothers you this much! I just want to be able to talk to you!”

“Belle-“ He looked helpless, sad and lost and afraid, his face crumpling and his body sagging. She watched in horror as the wind left his sails, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. The endearment was the sweetest, saddest thing she’d ever heard.

“What are you sorry for?” she pressed. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry for letting this happen at all,” he replied. “For being too weak to keep the proper distance between us.”

She stared at him. “Do you not want me, Abraham?” She meant for it to come out challenging, hard, a pointed question to which they both knew the answer. She’d asked it before, the first night they’d spent together. Despite her efforts, it came out soft and questioning, even pleading.

“I think we’ve established that that isn’t the issue,” Gold sighed. “That night in the kitchen more than proved the opposite.”

“I don’t mean-“ she stopped herself, and took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. Her meaning was unclear even to Belle herself, and she wondered when this had gotten so hard. “I don’t just mean sexually,” she said. “I mean to talk to or spend time with; I mean that I miss you. I thought we were at least friends by now.”

“Friends?” he repeated, bewildered. Anyone else, Belle would have been hurt and offended that the thought of her friendship was so confusing, as if he wouldn’t deign to be friends with the likes of her. With Abraham, she was fairly certain that his difficulty was in figuring out why she would befriend him, not the other way around. Once again, she wondered at the damage done by those terrible, shadowy women he’d been with before she came along.

“Yes,” she said, firmly. “I know I’m one of Neal’s friends, but I’d hoped we’d moved past that by now. I mean, I don’t just think of you as my friend’s father. It’d be kind of weird if I did.”

“You think of me as your friend?” he asked, dubiously.

“Among other things,” she teased, and dared a flirtatious wink. She laughed at the puzzlement on his face.

“Belle, I-“ he started, stopped, shook his head. Even he didn’t seem to know what he wanted to say.

She reached out her hand, and covered his on the table again, gentle as could be. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she said. “And there’s no need.”

“What if…” he swallowed, hard, “What if I’m no good at being your friend?” he asked. There was a vulnerability in his voice that went deeper than just self-doubt.

“What do you mean?”

He smiled, a helpless, crooked smile she couldn’t help but love. “There’s things I think about with regard to you that are hardly friendly, my dear,” he admitted. Something hot and tugging settled low in Belle’s stomach; the look in his eyes had turned darker and more intense than before.

“And you think I couldn’t fend off your advances with my parasol?” she teased. He considered the question.

“Didn’t you so carelessly forget your parasol today?” he queried. She laughed, delighted at him playing along with her silly game.

“Drat! You know, I did.” She rolled her eyes at her own apparent stupidity. “I’m so scatter-brained. Ditsy, even.”

“Hardly a word I’d apply to you,” he said. “You’re too clever for your own good.”

Belle had been told that before, and it wasn’t always meant well. In that tone of voice from Abraham Gold, however, it sounded like the highest compliment she’d ever heard. Her breath caught, and she felt her cheeks growing hot under his intense stare.

“I…” she swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Her fingers tingled and burned where they touched his, the world holding its breath as their eyes met. She could drown in those rich dark eyes, and die a happy woman.

“I was avoiding you,” he admitted. His thumb traced gentle circles on the side of her thumb, and she thought just that gentle caress would drive her insane. She wanted so much more than that from him, for him to touch her everywhere and all at once. To have what she needed localised to such a tiny place was pure, sweet torture. “Because no matter how I feel, you’re still a friend of my son’s, and he would never forgive me. Nothing has changed.”

“He would,” she told him, and hoped to God she was right. Neal worried desperately for his father, and loved him with all his heart. Belle couldn’t imagine anything getting in the way of that.

But then, Belle couldn’t imagine why anyone with a parent who was loving, accepting, and alive, all at the same time, would turn that love away.

“You’re so bright, Belle,” Gold murmured. Those little strokes of his thumb were driving her insane. “You deserve better than to be saddled with the affections of someone like me. I’d just hold you back.”

“You’re an idiot,” she said, swallowing hard around a lump that had formed in her throat. “And I’m more than capable of making my own choices.”

“I didn’t mean-“

“You don’t get to decide how I feel, or what I do,” she told him, and while she meant to snap it, to have it come out hot and passionate, to shock him out of this terrible mind-set where he saw himself as a burden, it came out soft and gentle. Maybe that was better, she thought. It meant he kept holding her hand. “I do. I get to choose who… who I feel affection for. And whose affections I accept.”

“Neal has to come first, Belle,” Gold pleaded. “Please understand that.”

“I do,” she nodded, and squeezed his hand in reassurance. “So, we won’t do anything he’d disapprove of, right? We’ll be friends. Good friends, friends who share meals and talk about books, like we were before I got drunk and made everything weird. We’ll just pretend none of this happened, right?”

He looked at her for a long moment. Belle couldn’t help but feel flattered – and another of those tugs low in her belly, her body distinctly not on board with the idea of a strictly platonic relationship – that he felt he couldn’t keep his hands off her. “I don’t think I’ll be able to forget,” he told her, his voice soft and rich like caramel, melting her insides. She felt a shiver run down her spine.

“I’ll buy a parasol,” she added, half-jokingly. Her voice had turned huskier, lower, the desire tugging in her lower belly hard to ignore completely.

He laughed, a short and gusty thing, more a release of tension than anything else. “I didn’t enjoy avoiding you,” he admitted. She felt a certain victory at his use of the past tense. “But after what happened in the kitchen… it just seemed more prudent to keep the distance I always should have. Lonely old men shouldn’t press their attentions on beautiful young women, there are words for that.”

“I might agree,” she replied, “If you were a gross old pervert who had shown up at my door wasted and slurring about wanting a goodnight kiss. But none of those words suit you, Abraham, not even for a moment. And if you’ll recall, that was my line, not yours.”

Actually, thinking about it, if Gold had shown up drunk and confessing his attraction to her at midnight, Belle doubted the outcome would have been any different. She was almost certain she’d have hauled him into her room by his tie and had her way with him then and there, as she’d dreamed of for so long. But since her proposition was platonic friendship, admitting to three solid years of daydreaming and fantasising about him didn’t do her any favours.

“I should have turned you away,” he sighed. “I certainly shouldn’t have indulged it again the next day.”

“You deserve to be happy,” Belle told him, firmly, just as she had that first night together. She vowed then and there to say it as often as he needed to hear it, until he finally accepted he deserved better than the abject misery he appeared to be used to. “At the time, you seemed pretty happy to me. I’m not going to apologise for something I firmly believe we both enjoyed, even if we agree it won’t happen again.”

“Then you’re a stronger person than I,” he said, with a small smile.

She grinned, “Just call me Supergirl,” she said. “I even have the costume somewhere.” He looked up at her sharply, and she snorted through her nose. “Comic fan?”

“What little I remember from my misspent youth,” he said. “I’m sure you looked very fetching.”

”I’ll show you sometime,” she promised. “In a purely platonic way, of course.”

“Of course,” he murmured. Her breath caught at the hot look in his eyes. She was certain friends weren’t supposed to look at friends like that.

She took a deep breath, and withdrew her hand from his at last. She missed the contact the moment she did, and had to force herself to keep her smile sunny. “So,” she said, brightly. “I brought pie, remember? We could share it and talk about something friendly?”

“Such as?” he prompted, while she fished the two containers out of the bag. He accepted a fork; she shivered when her fingertips brushed his. His fingers were so long and dextrous, so talented, so deft, and it didn’t help the heat between her thighs at all to know exactly what he could do with them.

“How are you getting on with Nights At The Circus?” she asked. He tilted his head to one side, and took the bait, launching into an analysis of the book’s conclusion that had Belle soon engaged in a genuine discussion.

The pie was really, really good. It was almost good enough to make Belle forget how badly she wished he’d throw caution to the wind, and her down onto the little cot in the corner.

Almost.

---

“They’re eating pie, it’s fine,” Emma reported, and ducked back down under the window ledge. Neal had his hands pressed to his eyes.

“I was certain they were going to have sex again,” he groaned. “The mental images won’t go away!”

Emma slumped onto the ground next to him, her back to the wall, and braced her feet on the sidewalk with her arms on her bent knees. “You’re being a baby about this, you know,” she said, matter-of-factly. Neal scowled at her.

“How would you feel if your mom decided she was going to leave your dad and run off with Graham?” he asked. Emma gave him a dull look.

“Well first off my mom and dad have been happy together for twenty years,” she said. “So I’m not constantly low-key worrying that she’s lonely and isolated. You, on the other hand, were all concerned not a month ago that your dad’s break up meant he’d be all by himself again and fall apart when you moved to Florida. So it’s really not the same thing.”

“He couldn’t have found someone his own age?” he complained, and God he knew he sounded like a whiny toddler, he knew that. He had it confirmed when his girlfriend’s hand connected with the back of his head. “Ow!”

“You’re being a brat, Neal,” Emma said, bluntly. “And like, for a few days I was okay with it, I let it happen. You’ve indulged me often enough. But now it’s time for you to pull your head out of your ass, okay? I know you saw what I just saw.”

It was true: Neal knew exactly what she’d seen, because he’d seen it too. Belle and his dad had been holding hands over the table, staring at each other like they were the only two people in the whole world. He’d never seen his dad look so soft, not like that anyhow. The only other person his dad looked at with anything like that kind of emotion was Neal himself, and it had a very different cast to it then. He’d never seen his father so tender or so lost.

Neal had first met Belle when she was with her jerk-off first boyfriend George. Neal was the one she’d run to when she found out George was cheating on her, and they’d been best friends ever since. He’d been at her side through her relationship with Ariel, and then the thing she’d had with Will in their final year. He’d been the one who’d laughed down the phone and made her stop crying and blaming herself, the night she’d nearly bitten Will’s dick off.

He knew her. He knew what she looked like when she liked someone; when she cared about them; when she wanted to jump their bones. He’d even seen what love looked like on her face, the months she and Ariel had been at their happiest, before Ariel had gotten a grant to study marine biology in the South China Sea and they’d had to break up.

It was all nothing compared to what he’d seen when Belle looked at his father.

Neal had felt embarrassed to witness it, like he was seeing an intensely private moment, even though they’d just been eating sandwiches and talking. He had no idea what they’d been talking about – with the windows closed, all they’d gotten was the visual – but he hadn’t been able to watch for long. It felt like spying on something he wasn’t meant to see.

Emma was right. He needed to get his shit together, if he didn’t want to risk hurting two of the most important people in his life.

“They’re in love, aren’t they?” he asked, rubbing his face with his hands. Emma’s arm came around his back, and she rubbed slowly in soothing circles.

“Sure as hell looks that way to me,” she agreed.

“But they haven’t been in the same room since you got here,” Neal said, finally pulling his head up and looking at her. “I mean we’ve been with her pretty much twenty-four-seven, and I haven’t heard any…” He shuddered at the memory – that would always be gross, thinking about his dad having any kind of sex life, regardless of who it was with. “Well, any more noises coming from his room at night. Do you think they’re avoiding each other?”

“That’s what this test was for, right? To see the mice would do with the cats not around? I’d say their avoiding days are over.”

“Right,” Neal nodded, thinking it over. “Fine, fine,” he threw up his hands, conceding defeat. “They’re perfect for each other, they’re clearly deeply in love, and I shouldn’t get in the way of their happiness, right?”

“There you go,” Emma grinned, and gave him a peck on the temple. “Such a smart boy, you got there in the end!”

He scowled at her; she stuck out her tongue. “It’s still weird thinking about my dad having sex with my best friend.”

“Best practice is to not imagine your parents having sex of any kind with anyone,” Emma replied, sagely. “Speaking as someone who’s walked in on her parents more than once.”

“That’s probably best,” Neal agreed. “So what do we do now?”

Emma looked at him. “You wanna know what I think?” she asked. Neal grinned.

“Always.”

“I think you can’t say a goddamn word to them,” she said. Neal frowned at her.

“Why?”

“Look, if you say you know, they’ll both panic, right? Because either you support them being together, so then they feel like they have to be a couple and get super serious to justify what might well have been just a one night stand where they caught feelings-“

“Ew,” Neal interjected. Emma snorted.

“Grow up, it happens.” She tossed her hair back. “Remember how we got together?

Neal grinned, and conceded the point. “At least they used a bed, I guess.”

“They get points for class,” Emma winked. “But we get points for creativity. Anyway, so yeah, if you tell them you know and support it, it becomes super serious and familial and shit way too fast. It means she has to decide then and there if she’s ready to be your stepmom, and he has to decide if he’s ready to give you a stepmom, and that’s way too much to put on them this early.”

Neal thought about it, and had to agree. He couldn’t imagine a way to convincingly support a casual relationship between his dad and his best friend without it seeming weird or disingenuous, and either way totally unconvincing. And she knew his papa: the moment there seemed like trouble, he’d spiral and make exactly the wrong decision, and probably drive Belle away by accident.

“I’m really lucky to have a girlfriend who’s smarter than me, aren’t I?” he said, and kissed her. Emma grinned against his lips.

“Yes, you are,” she agreed. “But if you say you know and it seems like you don’t support it…”

“Then they never speak again, Belle moves to Alaska and takes up ice fishing, and my dad becomes a sexless hermit forever and ever,” Neal nodded, imagining that conversation all too well. “Gotcha.”

“Well maybe without the ice fishing,” she said. “I mean Belle would die in an icy place. I don’t think she owns a pair of flats.”

Neal snorted, and shook his head. “So what do we do?”

Emma gave a slow grin, the grin that told him she had a cunning plan. Neal fucking loved that grin. It meant that what came next would be kinky, criminal, or downright insane, and it was always, always amazing.

“We play fairy godmother,” she said. “And get them to figure it out ‘on their own’,” – she punctuated her words with air-quotes –“and tell you themselves.”

“You wanna match-make my dad and my best friend?” Neal clarified. Emma nodded.

“Yes, I do.” She looked at him sidelong, that grin he loved so much still in place, challenging him to match her, to be her partner-in-crime once again. “You in?”

Neal felt himself smile, the idea becoming less insane by the minute. After all, he’d met the sort of woman who was usually into his dad, and they were all terrible people. Even his mother had ended up cheating on him and running away, leaving him heartbroken to raise Neal alone. Belle wasn’t like that. Belle was the kindest person he knew, and easily the smartest. Honestly, she was one of his favourite people in the world. He’d never known her to be cruel, or to lie, or to cheat. She was strong, and good, and all the shit she’d been through in her life had only served to make her more of those things, not less.

He loved and trusted her like family already. Looking at it that way, who better to become an actual part of his family than someone who already felt that way, and who he knew – even if it didn’t work out – would treat his father well?

Neal matched her smile with his own, ideas already forming in his head. “Sounds like a plan.”

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #rumpelstiltskin #belle french #rumplestiltskin #belle gold #mr gold #ouat #once upon a time #fanfiction #fanfic #fic: dutch courage #swanfire

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