#leona ogg

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 29: A Witch*

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Read on AO3

*There are actually multiple witches in this chapter, and at least three of them would be more than happy to assert that she is the Main Witch. Not necessarily the Head Witch (which of course, witches don’t have. Granny Weatherwax can’t be having with leaders, and every other witch in the Ramtops does what Granny Weatherwax says) but certainly the Most Interesting Witch in this story, which really should have been a lot more about witches anyway, if you ask them.

(Terry Pratchett’s Discworld books are noted for their extensive use of footnotes. It may be possible to use footnotes in AO3, but for convenience’s sake, I’ll be copying the effect with parentheticals.) 

Through the infinite vastness of space, the turtle moves. 

Great A’Tuin, the Star Turtle, swims from one end of a particularly implausible pocket of the multiverse to the other. Fins the size of continents push through the currents of a vacuum. (The laws of mythology are more important than the laws of physics). The serene, chelonian face is pockmarked with impact craters from several millennia of unlucky comets. The turtle’s eyes are as black as the void through which it travels, each a hundred miles across. Every year or so, it begins the slow process of blinking.

On the planet-spanning shell of the Great A’Tuin, four elephants stay firmly rooted. They are not immobile. (Occasionally one of the elephants is required to cock its leg to allow the sun to make a full orbit around the underside of the disc.) But the elephants certainly aren’t going anywhere. There was once a fifth elephant. Its removal from the shell and subsequent plummet into the Disc reshaped continents and created entire mountain ranges. And that sort of thing is far too messy for any self-respecting world-elephant to allow to happen twice. 

Spinning on the mighty shoulders of the four elephants, is the Disc itself. Oceans pour out endless waterfalls over the Rim, leading back to the various continents toward the Hub. Roughly a third of the Rim has a man-made protective barrier known as the Circumfence, used to catch wayward sailors and see how much they would pay not to be thrown over the edge of the world. For the rest of the seas, it is widely accepted that once you’ve gone close enough to know you’re at the edge, you’re close enough to know you should have stayed home like a sensible person and have no one to blame but yourself.   

Travelling toward the Hub, the observer is treated to the expansive, dune-laden deserts of Klatch. This is the land of philosophers and astronomers, and the origin place of quite a few major religions. (It’s the landscape, you see. When there’s nothing to look at but sand and stars and sun, the mind has a lot of places to wander. This is also the place where they invented algebra, so you can imagine how much wandering those minds had to do.)

Past the deserts, at the edge of the Circle Sea, on the excreting end of the mighty River Ankh, sits the city of Ankh-Morpork. (Well, “squats” might be the more appropriate word here. Or “hunches.” Or “lurks in a dark alley and waits for unsuspecting rubes to walk by so it can steal their wallet.”)

Ankh-Morpork is a place as full of life and industry as a dead dog on an ant hive. It is the home of the Unseen University, premiere college of wizards, as well as the guild headquarters for every major profession. (Such as the Alchemists, Stonemasons, Fools, Beggars, Assassins, Thieves. There’s even a guild for Seamstresses, or at least women who call themselves seamstresses when the local Watch asks them who they are and why they’re out late at night in the company of men who don’t have trousers on.)     

Above Ankh-Morpork are the quiet, cabbage-filled Sto Plains, which exist mostly as a place that people grow up in and try to get away from as early in life as possible. 

Further Hubward, the landscape begins a sharp transformation from farmland, to forest, to sheer rock. These are the Ramtop mountains. 

A series of valleys and moors dot across the mountains like limpets clinging to a coastal boulder, determined to keep on living, no matter how impractical it may be for themselves or how inconvenient for anyone else. There are a thousand tiny nooks and hidden crevasses where, against all common sense, people have been living for hundreds of years. Piddling farms and forest huts and villages that are barely worth the name. 

The largest collected area (that is, a space that has the largest ratio of horizontal land to vertical) is known as the Kingdom of Lancre. It’s a proper kingdom, too. They have a castle and everything. All right, so the castle might be a bit crumbly and have a terminal case of slowly-falling-off-the-cliff-edge, but at least they have a place for the king to live in. Sometimes they even have a king! 

The kings are usually decorative. The people of Lancre are serious and slow to change, not the sort to obey any orders that didn’t fit in with what they were planning to do anyway. The current monarch, King Verence II, will regularly descend from his throne to issue Royal Proclamations that are carefully thought out to enact social change for the people’s good. Anyone who happens to hear him do this will nod gravely and touch their forelocks in respectful acknowledgement--and then go off and finish whatever brought them near the castle to start with.

But it was good to have a king. It meant you were a real kingdom, and therefore better than all those upstart little towns and provinces that had something stupid like a mayor or a baron or, in one very weird case, a parlimentarily elected civic ordinances board. Kings were a luxury, but they weren’t important. They didn’t have what anyone considered real power.  

In Lancre, the people with real power didn’t live in castles or mansions or even dread fortresses of terror. They lived in cottages. Alone in the forest, or within walking distance of a cluster of farms, or in town near the pub. 

These cottages were mostly indistinguishable from the homes of ordinary people, though there were some notable differences. There tended to be more books in these cottages than in any other dwelling. Often they were neater than most places--though sometimes much more disorganized, with a far more exotic array of things to be disorganized with. There are as many types of witch’s cottage as there are types of witch. And there are as many types of which as there are people who are drawn to the craft in the first place. 

One cottage in particular is of note. This one is isolated, though the path through the woods off the main road has been well-trod by many desperate feet over the years It is small, and spare. Not so much neat as barren. The owner of this cottage has never heard of “minimalism,” and probably wouldn’t hold with it if she did. But she is a firm believer in having nothing but what is absolutely needed at all times.  

The owner of this cottage is a witch named Esme Weatherwax. She is called Granny Weatherwax by the people she takes care of, and Mistress Weatherwax by most other humans. In the troll language, she is known as Aaoograha hoa (translated, “She Who Must Be Avoided”). Dwarves in the area refer to her as K'ez'rek d'b'duz (“Go Around the Other Side of the Mountain.”)

She’s worked hard, over the years, to earn titles like that. For a witch, how good you are is measured by how much respect you’re given. Granny Weatherwax is the best witch in the Ramtops and the respect people give her borders on abject terror. 

She tries not to get cocky about it.

****

On one particular morning, on a Tuesday in the month of Grune, sometime late in the Century of the Fruitbat, Granny Weatherwax woke up with a headache.

This was unusual for Granny Weatherwax. As far as she was concerned, aches and pains were the sort of thing that happened to other people. A good bit of her trade as a witch was in helping people get over their sicknesses. She wasn’t one to fuss around with herbs and potions, not when all most minds needed was a stern talking-to to get their bodies under control. Usually, Granny Weatherwax was much too busy to get a headache. Now that she had one, she was much too busy to let it bother her. It would go away eventually. 

The headache did not go away when she went out to the water trough to wash her face. It did not go away while she weeded the vegetable garden before it got too hot. While she milked the goats, the headache remained. (This was doubly annoying, because interacting with goats is a headache in and of itself, even for a witch.) Taking a luxurious breakfast of bread and butter did nothing to help. Even stopping by the beehives and telling the bees about her headache didn’t relieve it, though she was sure they were glad to know. 

It wasn’t a usual headache, Granny Weatherwax knew. Even if she had those fancy concoctions with willow bark and poppy seeds, they wouldn’t do any good. This wasn’t the result of an injury or a hangover. It might be mistaken for sinus pressure--if the sinuses in question were roughly the size of a house.

In her core, Granny Weatherwax was a practical woman. She wasn’t the sort to ascribe supernatural causes to unusual phenomena. (If only because she didn’t know what a phenomena was, or how a person was supposed to go about ascribing things with them.) But part of practicality was knowing not to let being practical get in the way of understanding what was really going on. If something impossible was happening, it was no good to go around saying, “That’s impossible!” when there’s something you might be able to do about it instead. Granny Weatherwax had been alive long enough to know better than to jump to conclusions. But she had been a witch long enough to know when a conclusion was jumping out at her.      

With that in mind, she took the only sensible course of action: She went inside her cottage, pulled closed the shutters, and lay down flat on her narrow bed. After a moment’s thought, she sat up and took out a small card, on which was scrawled the words, I ATEN’T DEAD. Lying back down, she held the card over her chest, and allowed her mind to go places. 

An hour later, the headache was gone and Granny Weatherwax was on her broomstick, wearing a pointy hat and an urgent expression. 

****

 Further down the valley another witch, named Nanny Ogg, was taking care of someone with a headache. She was doing this by drinking all the tea and eating all the biscuits that Mrs. Peony Thatcher would serve. Mrs. Thatcher, the carter’s wife, was rounding out the end of her pregnancy (so she was very round indeed.) She was a young woman, having her first baby, and a headache was but one of her complaints.

“Cor, it’s awful, Nanny! I can’t hardly move for getting around my belly!”

“You’re doing well enough to bake, it looks like,” Nanny Ogg said with her mouth full. “Macaroons too, that’s fiddly.”

Mrs. Thatcher was not encouraged and kept rubbing her stomach. “And I can’t breathe in this heat and I’m in the privy ten times an hour and I’m snappish and moody with everybody and I think I’m going to die!” With dramatic emphasis, Mrs. Thatcher sank into the other chair around the small sitting room table.

Nanny Ogg took a moment to set down her teacup and dab her mouth with a napkin. Then she reached over and patted Mrs. Thatcher’s hand. “That’s about normal,” she said. “Let me know when it gets worse.”

Mrs. Thatcher looked blankly at the old woman. “What?”

“When it stops being that you think you’re going to die and instead you know you’re dying, that’s when you have that ‘usband of yorn pop round to my cottage. If I’m out, any other midwife will do. Mrs. Paternoster is pretty good.”

Mrs. Thatcher stared at the empty platter, and the crumbs where just minutes ago there had been a dozen coconut macaroons. She had been feeling quite miserable in herself for the past nine months, certain that all the discomforts of being pregnant would come together and result in catastrophe. But if Nanny Ogg wasn’t worried, maybe she shouldn’t be either.

“How are things with young Thatcher, anyway?” the witch went on. “Is he helping you? Keeping you on your feet when you walk and such? Or if you wake up in the middle of the night all queasy, does he fetch you a glass of water?”

Mrs. Thatcher nodded, and slowly succumbed to the unstoppable smile of a happy newlywed. “He’s an angel, is my Dickon. He’s so excited for the baby. He wanted to be here now, to talk to you, but I told him he had to go on down to the cart shop.”      

Nodding sagely, Nanny pulled out a pipe and began to smoke. “That makes it easier, when the dad gives two figs. When our Jason was born, the first Mr. Ogg was pleased as Punch. I always said that was why our Leo came around only the next--”

“Blessings be upon this house!”

Nanny Ogg recognized Granny Weatherwax’s usual greeting. It was a good way for a witch to start a conversation--particularly one where she showed up uninvited to someone’s back door. It never hurt to remind people that witches were a blessing. Or that they could be the reason a house might need a blessing.  

 Because she had been raised in Lancre, Mrs. Thatcher knew how to respond to a sudden additional witch at her doorstep. 

“I’ll go put a fresh kettle on, shall I?”

She waddled back into the kitchen, leaving the two witches alone in the sitting room.

Granny Weatherwax sat down across from Nanny Ogg. 

“Your girl isn’t with you?” Her voice was tenser than normal, Nanny noted, though that could have been the natural result of Granny trying to fire up her reliably unreliable broomstick. 

Nanny Ogg refilled her cup with the dregs of the tea in the pot. “Who, Leo? Nah. I tries to keep her away from anything to do with babbies. She says it doesn’t bother her, but it breaks my heart to see her lookin’ at ‘em, and at the mothers.”

Granny Weatherwax frowned. In her opinion, a witch losing out on learning something as important as midwifery just because of sentiment was a lot of nonsense. But Leona Ogg was Nanny’s apprentice, and Nanny’s own daughter, so it wasn’t her place to voice that opinion. 

“She’s getting on well,” she said instead. “I thought you taking her on was all neppytism, but when old Tarney Fortin up in Creel Springs fell under his horse, she did a good job fixing him up. Leastwise, that’s what Granny Hopliss said.”

Nanny Ogg gave Granny Weatherwax what would be called in other cultures “the side-eye.” The two of them had been best friends for almost seventy years. She knew that Granny Weatherwax would sooner give a person one of her own teeth rather than a compliment. A young witch would have to save at least a hundred lives at a time before Granny Weatherwax would give her so much as an approving nod.

Leona was doing well as a witch, Nanny Ogg knew that. It had started out as something to keep her mind off of her troubles, but the natural Ogg talent for magic had won out. The girl could probably have her own cottage pretty soon. She knew all the healing and farm lore that was needed in a rural area. She knew how to talk to people and how to listen (including listening to what they weren’t saying.) And with all that traveling she’d done with her young man, she had a bit of mystique to her, which was very important. 

But if you were a Lancre witch, doing well was the bare minimum. And Granny Weatherwax didn’t let people know she was thinking about them without a reason.

“Are you looking for her?” Nanny Ogg stirred her tea. “I sent her up by way of Mad Stoat to learn some herbin’ with Magrat.”

“Magrat is good with herbs,” Granny said distantly.

Now Nanny Ogg knew that something was up. Granny Weatherwax’s disdain for Margrat Garlick was as limitless as Magrat’s collection of shiny and expensive occult jewelry. (Which is to say, not actually limitless at all, but still rather more than there needed to be.) If Granny was too distracted to find fault with the very idea of how Magrat did witchcraft, then something very big was happening.

“Esme, will you tell me what all this is about?”

Granny Weatherwax looked at her sharply. “Do you mean to tell me, Gytha Ogg, that you don’t know? She’s your own flesh and blood. This is happening on your own turf. You don’t feel anything? You didn’t, say, wake up this morning with a headache?”

Nanny Ogg shrugged. “Course I did. I fort I had too much beer last night.”

Granny rolled her eyes. “How much would you have to drink that you’d get a hangover from beer?”

After a moment of calculating introspection, Nanny Ogg’s eyes went wide. She stood up, just as Mrs. Thatcher came back with another platter of macaroons. Without skipping a beat, Nanny Ogg emptied the porcelain dish into a brightly-colored drawstring sack she always brought along when she went visiting, just for occasions like this. 

“Good day to you, Mrs. Thatcher. Everything will be fine, but we must be on our way. Mind how you go! Come on, Esme. I left my broomstick back at the cottage so we’ll have to go back before we find out what Leo’s going to get herself into.”

 ****

At that moment, all Leona Ogg had gotten herself into was an unruly thicket of greater peahane. This was a wild-growing plant that thrived in the dark and didn’t mind the wet, so it was mostly found at the very bottom of Lancre’s many crevasses, growing in--as Leona was discovering--knee-deep mud. 

Magrat Garlick was younger than Leona in many ways, including chronologically, but she had been a witch for longer. Leona was on her turf, coming to her to learn, so it fell to her to do all the unpleasant tasks--including falling. She had been trying to climb down on a rope they had tied to a rock, but sometimes her body decided that falling was so much easier. 

“Do you see any flowers on them?” Magrat called down from a higher ledge. 

“No,” Leona shouted up to the frizzy-haired figure above. “Do the buds do anything?”

“Not much,” she answered. “But they don’t kill people like the rest of the plant does.”

With lightning speed, Leona snatched her hand away from the leaves she had been rubbing between her fingers. “I thought you said the greater peahane is good for the bowels.”

“The flowers are,” Magrat explained. “When Goodie Whemper trained me, she said that a tisane of  the flowers will open the bowels, but the roots or leaves or stems will open up the bowels all the way to Hell.”

So it’s a good poison, Leona thought as she began to climb up the rope. Wonder who will pay how much to know that?

It was an automatic thought, honed from the years she had spent traveling with her husband. Jefferson made his living by going from world to world and offering people things they couldn’t find at home. She’d joined him once they got serious about each other. It was a good trade for people with keen observation skills and a knack for getting along with strangers. And the steady stream of souvenirs they gave to her mother kept them in her perpetual good graces. 

That was all a very long time ago. Not as long as it could have been, perhaps, but long just the same. Leona tried not to think about her husband too much anymore. She tried to keep from thinking about her daughter, Grace, as well.

 Witching helped. Her mother had been right about that. At first it had just been something to do with her hands--a way to keep her body busy and her mind quiet. Then, over a few more years than she wanted to think about, it became a way to occupy her brain. Taking care of your body and your mind was good enough to live on, if there wasn’t anything you could do to fix what ailed your heart.

Granny Weatherwax said that some people were too romantic for their own good. Of course, she was a woman who had always been independent. Leona had always wanted to belong. She’d never been happier than when she was with Jefferson and Grace. She’d never been stronger or smarter or more sure of herself than when she was doing something to make their lives better. That didn’t feel like airy-fairy “romance.” It had felt like the realest, most solid thing in the world. 

And once they were gone, it was like her life had no ground anymore. For the first month or so, after that horrible morning when she had woken up to discover her husband and daughter had vanished from their beds, Leona had done nothing but fall and fall. She had periods of stunned disbelief, or frantic, fruitless bursts of activity. A lot of crying, in those first days. So much drink that even Nanny Ogg had gently cut her off. (“You can have a drink with dinner, but not a drink for dinner.”) 

There had been days when she couldn’t get out of bed, or she got up at ten and then took a nap at noon. Even surrounded by her family and the people she had known and loved all her life, Leona had curled up in on herself, like those little bugs that live under fallen logs.

Things were better now. Now she had witchcraft. She had facts to learn, people to talk to, things she had to do whether she felt like it or not. Every day, people died and animals were sick and edges had to be guarded. None of that cared that Leona’s heart was a thousand aching pieces. There was good that she could do in the world. She had jolly well get to it. 

Climbing up from the ravine, Leona pulled herself over the cliff edge and onto the meadow. Huffing and puffing rather more than she would have liked to admit, she fell back onto the grass and closed her eyes. Warm sun beamed over her face. She let it dry out her muddy boots and stockings. 

Beside her, Magrat had taken out a small journal and a stubby pencil. “So that’s a ‘not yet blooming’ on the greater peahane. And we already got the bloodwater lily. Now, tell me where to find old man’s trousers?”

“Usually on a young woman’s bedroom floor.” Leona sat up and stretched. “Or an old woman’s, if the man gets desperate.” 

Magrat snapped her book shut. “You’re as bad as your mum,” she sniffed. 

Leona snickered. She wasn’t usually the sort of person who liked making people feel uncomfortable. But it was so easy with Magrat. She was the sort of person who would blush and avert her gaze from a suggestively-shaped carrot. She did a good job as a witch, but there was a reason that people came to Granny and Nanny for any trouble with matters of the heart (and other related organs.)

“How’s your young man, anyway?” By way of unofficial apology, Leona opened the floor for Magrat to ramble on if she wanted to. 

“Who, Verence?” Magrat’s cheeks went blotchy and pink. “He’s, um. He’s doing well.”

“Bit of a funny turn, isn’t it, him ending up the dead king’s real son? Especially after we went to all that trouble to have the other boy find his way up here from Anhk-Morpork?”  

Forcing her nose into her book, Magrat began to wander through the meadow. Leona stood up and followed her. This was one of the added perks of being a witch--the ability to be nosy and pushy and border on the edge of rudeness. 

“Did that cause problems for you, that Verence is the king?” Leona kept after Magrat with feigned innocence. “Only, I haven’t seen him hanging around you as much as I used to.”

“Well he’s very busy!” Magrat snapped. “And so am I! We both have careers, you see. I’m not going to lose everything I’ve worked for as a witch just because of some soppy man in a silly hat!”

Leona blinked.

“Oh,” she said slowly. “That’s it, is it? You don’t think you can be a queen and a witch at the same time.”

“I know I can’t!” Magrat took note of a batch of flowering dogsbreath with so much force she tore the paper. She slammed the book shut and crammed it into her satchel. Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She seemed to be mentally counting to ten. Or possibly a much higher number. “I can’t marry Verence, and I can’t be Queen of Lancre. Being a witch is far too important.”   

Leona looked at the younger woman with sympathy. “But you love him, don’t you?”

Now Magrat’s entire face went red. She began to sputter. “I--It’s--He--!”

“Do you think being married three times and having fifteen children ever stopped Mum from being a witch? And she’s one of the best out there.”

Magrat bent down to pluck dogsbreath petals off the flowers and place them in a glass jar. She didn’t talk, and Leona had enough sense to keep quiet until she did. 

“It’s not just about not being a witch anymore,” she sighed at last. “It’s--I shouldn’t have to be with a man just to feel like I’m a whole person.”

“Course not,” Leona said. “You could be with a girl if you wanted.”

Magrat stiffened, but seemed to push down her shock at the suggestion. Lancre wasn’t as backwards as some places, even on the Disc, but it wasn’t as much of a free-love paradise as some of the worlds Leona had gone to. Besides, she was pretty sure Magrat was as heterosexual as a pair of pleated khakis.

“Point is,” Leona went on, “just because you’re good enough on your own doesn’t mean you won’t be better with another person. Most people are better with other people.”

“Are you going to say we’re like socks?” Magrat made a halfhearted effort at a sneer. “A sock is a whole thing on its own, but it’s so much more useful when it’s part of a pair?”

“Actually, I think people are like yarn. A piece of yarn is only good for anything when it’s pushed together and connected with a bunch of other pieces. That’s what makes a sock, a whole bunch of little things coming together to keep each other warm.” Leona shrugged. “I dunno. That’s how I feel. I’m not gonna try to stop you if you feel different.”

They walked on a little farther, going sideways along the cliff edges until they got to another clearing. 

“It’s just--” Leona almost stopped herself. Shit, she was getting sentimental. “If you want to make it work with Verence, you should give it a go. Life’s too short not to be happy if you can be. Cause you never know what might happen. King or no, he’s a decent sort. And he likes you.”

Magrat opened her mouth to answer, but when she looked over Leona’s shoulder, her watery eyes went wide and then narrow. 

“What are they doing here?”

Leona turned around. Two figures on broomsticks skittered to a landing on the meadow. 

“Glad they found us when we were somewhere flat,” she said. Then she moved toward the two witches and began to shout. “Mum? Granny? What are you doing here?”

“Is something wrong?” Magrat wrung her hands.

“You tell us,” Granny Weatherwax said to Leona. “Has anything been going on around here?”

Leona and Magrat shared a quick glance, then mutually shook their heads. No, neither of them had noticed anything.

“Must not have happened yet,” Nanny Ogg said. 

She put her hands on her hips and looked up at the sky. The wide brim of her pointy hat shielded her eyes. Leona and Magrat soon followed suit. There was nothing unusual, as far as any of them could see. One sun, patches of blue, just enough clouds that it didn’t look suspicious. 

“There’s no storm, Mum,” Leona said after a minute.

“No, but Esme feels something in her water.”

“And my water’s not usually wrong.” Granny Weatherwax glared at the sky like she suspected it of intentionally hiding things from her. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. 

“So are we just going to stand here like bloody lunatics?” Leona asked. “Only my boots are wet and--”

She stopped. There was something. She didn’t see it. She didn’t hear it or feel it. But she knew. She knew it was there. 

Leona looked around at the other witches. Her mother and Magrat were still looking up at the sky, squinting and confused. But Granny Weatherwax was looking at her. Her expression was one of smug triumph. When their eyes met, she nodded.

“Told you it was something, din’t I?”

Heart in her throat, Leona looked up into the sky again. Now she saw it. Faint wisps of purple and orange darted back and forth against the blue sky. They started moving in the same direction, swirling together to form a long shape. 

Leona’s mouth went dry. The colors became darker and more vibrant. Everyone could see it now. The three other witches stood by the side of the mountain to give her all the room the clearing had to offer. 

“Please.” Tears in her eyes Leona Ogg whispered to any god that might be listening. She didn’t dare say what she wanted out loud. “Please.” 

The magic swirls came together to form a column, a tunnel in the air that connected one world to another. Slowly, the column compacted and shrank, until it was no bigger than a top hat.

And underneath the top hat, there was a young man holding a little girl.

Leona was not normally inclined to run. She had a lot of body, and gravity had a strong hold on it. But there was daylight under her feet as she raced across the clearing with her arms spread.

“Jefferson!” she cried. “Grace!”

“Mama!”

Her daughter, her Grace, so little and so big, bolted from her father’s arms to run up to her. They met, and Leona grabbed her. She held her as close as she could. She’d never let her go again.

“Leo.”

Jefferson’s voice sounded like he had been crying, like he had been crying for years, like he was crying still. With Grace still clinging to her neck, Leona opened her arms to her husband. He hugged them both. His long arms wrapped around Leona’s wide shoulders and he held her tight. 

“I thought I’d never see you again. But you’re here.” He broke away from her just far enough to cup her face in his large hands. “You’re still young. Even after all this time.”

“Yeah, there was a thing where we had to move the kingdom forward in time about eighteen years or so to make sure the land didn’t get messed up while we waited for a baby to become old enough to be king. It’s a long story. But look at both of you! You haven’t aged a day!”

“Papa says there was a curse,” Grace explained. “That the bad queen put us under a spell for--how long was it, Papa?”

“Twenty-eight years,” he said. “Twenty-eight years in a land without magic, a land where everything was--horrible.”

Leona gripped his hand. “That was why we came home in the first place. That friend of yours said we’d be safe here!”

“I know.” Jefferson held her. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “The Dark One was wrong. But I found him in the other world. He was able to summon enough magic to send us back.”

“And did you remember to bring me any souvyneers, young man?” 

“Gran!” Grace leapt out of Leona’s lap to hug her grandmother. Nanny Ogg squeezed the child and fished a macaroon out of her drawstring bag to feed her. 

With the easy good-humor that had always been his best quality, Jefferson extracted himself from Leona and reached into his breast pocket. “I would never forget my favorite mother-in-law.”

The object he pulled out was a bright red tiny plastic lobster, affixed to a small rectangle of black stone. Underneath the lobster, the words GREETINGS FROM STORYBROOKE! were printed in a manic font that was probably supposed to look cheerful.

“And if you stick the black part to the side of an iron stove, it’ll stay on.”

Nanny Ogg gave Jefferson a nod and put the trinket in her bag. She clapped him on the back. “Good to have you home, my lad. Don’t be away so long next time.”

“Never,” Jefferson turned his eyes back to Leo and Grace. “I’m never leaving my girls again.”

Off on the sidelines, Granny Weatherwax brushed off her hands. “That’s that then. We can all get back to work.” She saw Magrat edging down the path back to the road. “Where are you off to?”

Magrat had a linen handkerchief with lace edges that she was using to surreptitiously dab at her eyes. “The castle,” she said. “Verence and I have got to talk--about a lot of things.”

The girl went one way, and the reunited family went the other. Granny Weatherwax stayed in the center for a moment, watching the edges like a witch always did. This clearing held the end of one story and the beginning of another. 

Then Granny Weatherwax took her broomstick, walked over to the edge of the cliff, and let herself fall until she flew. Back to the cottage. Wait until the bees heard about all this!

[kelyon]

What? WHAT?

You drew FANART??! OF MY OC???

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

I love it so much!! Leo would absolutely rock some leather pants! (And be very vocal about chafing)

This is so awesome and I love it so much!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!!

Do I know how to draw? No

Have I even attempted to do so in over a year? No

Will that stop me from paying tribute to Leona Ogg? Oh, hell nah

These are my very clumsy attempts to draw @kelyon ‘s character from her fic Golden Cuffs. I hope you like the drawing and that it isn’t too far from what you pictured her as!

I know Leona is usually described as wearing a dress, but I thought her thighs looked so cute! So I decided to put her in leather pants in the main picture. Let’s just pretend she raided Rumple’s wardrobe. I didn’t find any description of her hair other than her being blonde, but I thought braids would look pretty on her! I also don’t think I did justice to her lovely curves, but I did what I could!

On the bottom right sketch, her hands are supposed to be folded on top of her dress, that’s why you can’t see them! And on the top left sketch (which was done very quickly and kinda lazily, I must admit) we have her putting a flower crown on Belle’s head, and she doesn’t have feet because I didn’t have space. Yes, this last one is specially bad, but I really wanted to give you at least one sketch of her with Belle.

I really hope you like this, kelyon! I’m always looking forward to your updates!

[[MORE]]

[tastycitrus]

Bullet: Seriously, why do I still have to use Vanishing Trooper as my theme?

The other Alpha protagonists: It's okay, Bullet.

Ryoto: The Mk-2 is gone, so you can use the theme all you want.

Rio: Yeah, it's not like anyone else is going to use it.

Bullet: THAT'S NOT THE PROBLEM!

[kelyon]

I don't know if anyone, (or even I for that matter - my brain is mush), have ever asked about your inspiration for having Jefferson's wife be from Discworld in GC and GR, so if it's already been asked, forgive me, but... curious minds wish to know :)

I don't think anyone has asked me this before, and if they have, I'm happy to repeat myself!

So the origins of Leona Ogg start all the way back in 2018. Three years has never felt so long ago. Because Golden Cuffs was my first "real" fanfic, I wanted to make sure I would have the whole thing done before I started posting. (My thought was that I could just do all my writing in 2018 and lightly edit as I posted once a week for the entirety of 2019. For the record, none of that happened.)

In "Draft Zero" of Golden Cuffs, I knew I wanted Rumple to have a party. I knew I wanted Jefferson to be there, with his wife, and that they would also be some kind of kinky. Originally Leona was going to be Lyona (pronounced the same, but in a gratuitous reference to myself.) In the first draft, Lyona is... nice. I think I was trying to write her as a straight man to offset Jefferson's wackiness. Sort of a Gomez and Morticia thing. Lyona would be very deadpan, very dry. She was also skinny in this version, and probably had come from Wonderland.

Also in the original draft of the party sequence, I had Madam Mim from The Sword in the Stone. Her "gimmick" was that she had come to the Dark Castle while a glamour to make her look young and beautiful (like in the movie), but she still had the spirit of a nasty old witch. Throughout the evening the magic started to wear off, and Mim kept getting fatter and older and uglier.

(There was also a through-line of how Belle didn't know how to feel about all these people being around Rumple and how Mim especially made her jealous. Belle had this kind of schadenfreude as Mim's glamour wore off. It was a very petty "I knew those boobs were fake!" kind of cattiness.)

So the stuff with Madam Mim didn't really work and I cut it. But it did help the scene a lot to have a very loud, happy drunk in the midst of all these grim and serious villains. And I wasn't super thrilled with the characterization I had given Lyona. I mean, Jefferson can go to any fictional world, why not expand from what the show had set up?

What fictional world did I know of that also had a merry old lady of flexible morals who could get along with anyone and really liked a drink? Oh, so I just really wanted Nanny Ogg to be at this party. Might as well make up a young woman who more or less filled that character function and have her be Jefferson's wife! And might as well make the spelling more comprehensible, or else people are going to be calling her "Lie-o."

And thus was the beginning of Leona Ogg.

[kelyon]

Golden Rings Leona! How was your first night back together?

It was very nice. Mum and Grace went over to our Doreen's for supper, but Jefferson and I ate out. A lot.

[kelyon]

I have a question but I don’t know if you are going to talk about it later in the story, and it’s too much of a spoiler. Leona, how are you? How old are you? Have you remarried?

(AN: What Leo's been up to will be more fully addressed in the first Epilogue, after the Happy Ending)

Hello there. I'm... as well as I can be, considering what I've lost. Been keeping myself busy, you know. Making myself useful. Trying to keep it together.

I've been one to fret about my age. You're as young as you feel, right? In that case, I don't feel very young at all.

Remarried? No. I--no. Jefferson is still alive out there, somewhere. And even if he weren't... No.

[kelyon]

Trio Leona! What was the worst sexual experience you and Jefferson had with other people?

I heard somewhere that sex is like a cheese-and-tomato pie: Even when it's bad, it's still pretty good. So obviously, the worst sex is the kind you don't have. And that's this story:

After the wedding, Jefferson and I went on a grand tour of all the worlds he knew. It was our honeymoon. We heard tell of world where it was always winter and thought that maybe we could warm the place up a bit, if you know what I mean.

No chance.

First off, the world was mostly animals and they kept asking who we were the son and daughter of. They didn't seem to like our answers.

Now Jefferson and I don't discriminate much when it comes to pleasant company. All you really need is an imagination and a willing spirit. But in this world, no one seemed to want us around. The dwarfs were mean, the fauns were frightened, the dryiads and nyiads were sleeping in the cold.

We even went so far as to present ourselves to the ruddy queen of that place and she just looked at us like we weren't worth spitting on! I was so put out, I told Jefferson we should just leave.

He agreed and we spent an extra week in some hot, islandy place I forget the name of. We spent most of our time there taking tea with this General fellow. An older gentleman, but sweet and *very* firey where it counted.

[kelyon]

Golden Cuffs 41: The Gifts

Cover art by @paradigmparadoxical​

Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU

Read on AO3

Jefferson and Leona head home

When Belle woke up she was sticky, and delightfully sore. The night before she had been used more thoroughly and by more people than she’d ever had in her life. Even as she emerged from sleep, part of her was still exhausted from everything the four of them had done together. Another part of her was awake and alert, excited for what more might come.  

She kept her eyes closed for a moment, savoring all the different sensations her sleepy mind could discern. The cushions and pillows beneath her were soft--downy feathers and silky fabric. She was warm underneath a heavy blanket, snug and cozy between Jefferson and Leona. All three of them were still naked. Belle could touch the other two with both hands, brush her fingers against the smooth, soft skin of their arms and legs. Jefferson was sprawled out on his back, snoring. Leona had rolled over to her side, her breathing deep and even. Belle was tempted to snuggle up against Leona’s round back, to fit around her like a spoon in a drawer. But then she became aware of a noise. 

It was a whirring. Steady, but some distance away. It was a familiar sound, but she couldn’t place it at first. She listened for a while, but it didn’t go away. Belle knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she determined the source of the sound, so she opened her eyes and looked around. 

Pale, gray light filled the room, coming down from the glass dome in the ceiling. They were in a tower, Belle remembered. Everything Rumple really cared about he seemed to do in towers. Belle rubbed her eyes. Was the weak light because it was so early, or were the clouds heavy with rain? Or was it still too early in the year for rain?  Would it snow? This winter had felt endless, surely it would be springtime soon.

Careful not to disturb her bedmates, Belle sat up and looked around. Immediately, she found the source of the whirring noise: Rumpelstiltskin sat on the padded bench that bordered the pleasure-nest. He was fully dressed, with straw in his hands, and a spindle wound with gold at his side.

Belle rested her arms on her knees and watched him. He always looked so intent when he spun, so serious. She knew he used the time to think. What was he thinking now? Was he reliving the night of pleasures he had orchestrated? Was he planning some other new adventure for them? He might not have been thinking of her all. He could be thinking about his magic, or his lost son, or the curse he had created to find the boy again.

She sighed and he must have heard her because he looked up from the spindle. His face was serious for a moment, but then he gave her a silent smile.

Belle reached her arms out to him and waved her hands, beckoning him to join them in their warmth and rest.

He shook his head with a rueful smile, as if to say, I would if I could, but I cannot.  

Well, why not? Belle flopped her arms down in exasperation. If he wasn’t going to come to her, she would have to go to him.

She looked down at the couple sleeping on either side of her and calculated how to extricate herself. Setting her hands firmly on the ground behind her, Belle crawled backwards up from the blankets, over the pillows, and out from in between Jefferson and Leona. 

Even in sleep, they reached out for each other. Once Belle was gone, both of them individually moved to close the gap made by her absence. Leona rolled over and wedged her head under Jefferson’s chin. One of Jefferson’s long arms rested in the ample curve of Leona’s waist. They sighed together, their breathing deep and even.

For once, the sight of those two loving each other didn’t hurt Belle. Looking at them still filled her heart--they were still so beautiful and their love seemed so precious and rare--but this time she felt no twinge of sorrow for herself. In that moment, she could admire them without envy. She could be happy for them, without feeling sad for herself. Perhaps it was because they had so freely shared their love with her. Or perhaps it was because she was finally able to go directly from their love to the man she loved.

Rumple was still spinning, though his eyes stayed steady on her. His hands moved of their own accord, his fingers mindlessly twisting the straw. He was wearing lighter colors today, what Belle thought of as his “at home clothes.” His waistcoat was cloth instead of leather, red brocade over a cream-colored shirt. His trousers and boots were both brown leather, worn into supple softness. He looked comfortable, at ease with himself and his own body.

Belle sat down at his feet and wrapped her arm around his leg. The whir of the spindle faltered for just a moment. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” he murmured, looking at his straw. “I’m sure you need your sleep.”     

“I was awake anyway,” she answered. She rested her head on his knee and let her fingers trace the outline of his calf.  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to sit with you like this.”

It used to be that she only ever saw him from on her knees. When they first started, he liked nothing more than for her to kiss his boots. She would sit at his feet and grovel before him, thank him for his minor mercies, show him her fealty. He used to use her back as a footstool while he read by the fire. He used to watch her eat her meals off the floor, and she would make a show for him. She would try to please him by degrading herself. It had been no small surprise to find that she had enjoyed those games as much as he had. 

Now that felt so long ago. He hadn’t allowed her to kiss his boots since the night of the party. The action was supposed to be their signal, the sign that Belle wanted everything to stop. But when Regina and Maleficent had said they would take her away, when she had begged him not to let them, when she had tried to kiss his boots to make herself his again, to feel safe again--he had ignored her pleas. He had neglected their agreement. When it had really mattered, all her trust in him had come to nothing.

Belle closed her eyes against the memory. As terrible as her time with Regina and Maleficent had been, the fact that he had allowed it was worse. And since she had come back, the distance between herself and Rumple had only grown. They couldn’t be together the way they once were--and that was the cruelest heartbreak of all. Belle had never realized how much she needed closeness and understanding. She thrived on the intimacy Rumple was hesitant to offer even under the best of circumstances.

 Before they had become close--before Belle had started acting with love even when she couldn’t name it--the games of pain and degradation were the most intense connection they’d had. She understood why he didn’t want to play with such things anymore, but he wasn’t being loving either. If she couldn’t have his love, Belle was willing to accept his mastery. But he wasn’t offering her anything.

And he wouldn’t even let her tell him how much that hurt her. Again and again he had cut off conversations, walked away from her when she needed him most. Belle could believe that Rumple thought this was a way to protect her. He thought that he could only hurt her by his actions. Either he didn’t realize or didn’t care that he was hurting her just as much through his inactions. Doing nothing when she needed help was every bit as damaging as deliberately hurting her.

But no more, Belle resolved. Last night had given her a chance to reaffirm what she was worth. She deserved lovers who were attentive to her emotional needs as much as to her physical ones. Leona knew when to be gentle and when to push her, and when to listen for the things Belle couldn’t put into words. Jefferson introduced her to the concept of limits. Though Belle was willing to put her body through any trial, she now knew that she needed to be cared for afterward. Closeness and comfort were not mere desserts she could go without--they were essential needs. She wouldn’t let Rumple get away with not giving her the things that really mattered. Not anymore. 

“Rumple?” She set her hand on his thigh to get his attention. “How much longer will Jefferson and Leona stay with us?”

The spindle stilled as he looked at her. “Why do you ask?”

“I want to talk with you,” she answered. “But it should wait until it’s just us again.”

His hand reached down to pet her hair. “As you wish,” he murmured. “I don’t imagine they’ll tarry here for much longer. They’ll want to collect their daughter and go home.”

Home. It was lovely to think of Jefferson and Leona going home, of them having a household and a domestic life with their child. It appealed to Belle, the thought that people could live adventurously--do the sorts of things that they had done--and then go home and look to all the world like an ordinary couple. Perhaps that was why Jefferson and Leona wore their collars all the time, to show the world that they weren’t ordinary. Even when they weren’t acting on their desires, they always burned for each other. They always belonged to each other.

The spindle slowly filled up with gold. When there was no more room for thread, Rumpelstiltskin set the spindle aside and stood up. He offered his hand to Belle. 

“I think it’s time for breakfast, don’t you?”  

She took his hand and he helped her up. “I am a little hungry.”

He grinned. “Last night you worked up quite an appetite!” With a wave of his hand, he produced three bundles of neatly folded linen. One was dark red, the second was yellow, and the third was bleached white. “Make sure everyone is dressed and then I’ll feed you all.” 

Belle took the bundles and the cuffs pulled her over to Jefferson and Leona. She crouched on the blanket over them and shifted the clothes into the crook of her elbow. She used her other hand to shake them gently. 

“Wake up,” Belle whispered. “It’s morning.”

Leona opened her eyes first. As she saw Belle, a slow, sleepy smile broke like a sunrise over her face. “Hello, luv,” she yawned. “I almost thought I dreamed you.”

Belle shook her head. “Last night was a dream, but I’m pretty sure we’re all real.” She offered Leona the white bundle. “Rumple wants you to wear this.”

But when Leona unfolded the cloth, she discovered a shift that was clearly much too small. Frowning, she looked over to Rumpelstiltskin. He was standing outside the pit, by the little table with three chairs.

“If you want me to wear this, there’s going to be a fair bit of magic involved.”

Rumple turned away from the food he was creating. “That one is for Belle,��� he said. “But the yellow should fit you comfortably.”

“Why didn’t he just say so?” Leona muttered as she and Belle traded bundles.

Belle clutched the white fabric to her bosom, but didn’t put it on yet. This was for her? Rumple wanted her to wear real clothes? Why? She shook her head, refusing to ponder the questions. It was too much for right now. She bent down and shook Jefferson again. 

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Why is it morning already?”

“Because the boss man says so.” Leona popped her head out from the yellow shift and pulled it down over her naked body. It fit her perfectly, with long sleeves and a hem that stopped just short of her feet. The cheery butter yellow was a perfect match for her hair. Leona took the red bundle from Belle and tossed it down to Jefferson. “Now get dressed.”

Still groggy, Jefferson unfolded the linen. Instead of a shift, he was given a long-sleeved shirt. Though the garment was long enough to cover his manhood, his legs were still bare as he finally stood up. 

“I smell breakfast!” he declared. 

From near the table, Rumpelstiltskin gave a showy bow. “Everything is in readiness, as soon as all of you are properly dressed.” He looked at Belle as he said that.

Belle still held the cloth over her breasts, a covering that was not nearly as effective as just wearing the shift. It was strange to think that Rumple wanted her in clothes. Not her robe, not a costume, but real clothes. Exactly the same as what he gave to Jefferson and Leona. 

It troubled her in a way she couldn’t quite name. As awkward as it might have been to be naked while the other two were dressed, it was a game she could have played, if Rumple had asked her to. When they were alone, he had often acted like she was less than a person, that was a typical game. She was his whore, his pet, his thing. But now he was asking her to be the same as regular people, people who didn’t belong to him.

But--Belle reminded herself--he wanted her to wear the shift. He wanted her to be the same as Jefferson and Leona. And she still wanted to give him what he wanted. So this was fine. They would talk about it later, once the others had gone. For now, Belle obeyed his unspoken order and pulled the white linen over her head. 

Her shift was shorter than Leona’s, ending in the middle of her calves. The sleeves were short as well, little caps that puffed out over her shoulders. The neckline was low, and the fabric was so white it made Belle’s pale skin look as rosy as Leona. She looked pretty. It was fine.

Trying not to let her troubled thoughts show, Belle walked up the steps out of the pleasure-nest and joined the others at the table. There were three places set, and Leona and Jefferson had already claimed their chairs. Rumple stood off to the side and gestured for her to take a seat.  

“Eat up, my dear.”

She looked at him. He wanted her to eat with them? To sit down with his guests and act like she was their equal? Only the evening before, he had taken the place as the third of the table, while she had served. What was happening now? What had changed so much in Rumpelstiltskin’s intentions for her?

Jefferson called over to her, his words muffled by the food in his mouth. “Come on! You gotta try this etouffee!”

Belle looked at Leona. “What did he say?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “But this stuff with the shrimp and rice is delicious, and there’s more beignets. Come join us!”

Why did it feel wrong to be normal? Why did sitting in a chair and eating with a fork in the company of friends now feel taboo? Did Belle honestly not want this? Did she think she didn’t deserve it? Would she feel differently if Rumple was sitting with them?

Her stomach grumbled as much with hunger as with worry. She needed to eat, and this was what Rumple wanted. With a last look at him, Belle pulled out the third chair and sat down for breakfast. 

The three of them ate their fill while Rumple stayed apart. He kept by them, answered their questions, accepted their compliments, but he never joined them. At no point was he ever a part of their company. He stood by like some kind of butler, as though he were the servant instead of Belle. The reversal unnerved her, but Belle didn’t want to mention it in front of their guests. So she bit her lip and said nothing.

After three helpings, Jefferson finally pushed his plate away and slapped his stomach in satisfaction. “That was an amazing meal,” he said to Rumple. “It’s hard to believe, but I think the food here is actually better than the sex.”

“Oh, bite your tongue!” Leona teased him. “The food is good, but the sex was much better.” She winked at Belle. “At least it was for me. Maybe you weren’t trying hard enough, boy-o.”

Jefferson just laughed. “I tried plenty hard! And I had a great time with the sex, don’t get me wrong. But this food, Leo! You can’t get this food outside of Maldonia, and Maldonia is not a hospitable place for people without magic.”

“Alright,” Leona shook her head, her eyes shining with laughter. “You say the food is better, I say the sex is. Belle, will you break the tie for us? What did you like better?”

“The sex,” Belle blurted without thinking. As soon as the words were past her lips, she covered her mouth with her hand and burst into giggles.

Leona sniggered and Jefferson burst into laughter. “I love a woman who knows her mind!”

“And that’s why you’re stuck with me forever!” Leona leaned out of her chair and grabbed her husband by the collar. She pulled him in for a long and thorough kiss.

Belle sobered, as she watched them kiss. The three of them were having a good time, but they would be leaving soon. Jefferson and Leona would go off together, back home. They would leave Belle alone with her questions and her worries. They would leave her with Rumple and all his mysteries and contradictions.

Looking around, Belle saw that Rumple had stepped away from the table area. He had gone back into the pleasure-pit, gathering up the belongings that had been scattered around the night before. After neatly folding Jefferson and Leona’s clothes, he packed them into Leona’s leather bag. Then, he conjured three more bundles of cloth--one black, one pink, and one blue. 

“What are you doing?” Belle asked. She stood up, and the motion was enough to pull Jefferson and Leona’s attentions away from each other. 

Rumple looked up at them, his smile polite, distant. “It would be rude to allow our guests to walk away empty-handed.”

Jefferson grimaced and climbed down into the nest to talk to Rumple. He put his hand on his shoulder, trying to face him man-to-man, while Rumple looked at him with amusement. 

“We talked about this when we first arrived: you don’t have to pay me and Leo for this sort of thing. I have a legitimate business now, and it’s going well. I don’t need a benefactor anymore.”

Rumple patted Jefferson on the back. “If you’re so successful, then your time is valuable. You shouldn’t undercharge for your services.” He gave Jefferson the black bundle, all but forcing it into his hands. “Take it, my boy. Times may not always be as good as they are now.”

Leona stood over the edge of the pit. “What is it?”

With a resigned sigh, Jefferson shook out the black fabric. “It’s a coat,” he called over to his wife. But the more he examined the garment, the more impressed he appeared. 

Belle watched Jefferson’s face as he touched the fabric. He examined the seams, the cut, the embellishments sewn into the sleeves and around the shoulders. When he put the coat on, he all but gasped at the fit. He looked at Rumple. “This is the finest piece of tailoring I’ve ever seen.”

Rumpelstiltskin gave a bow. “I’m glad you like it.” His eyes trailed over Jefferson’s still-bare legs. Was he admiring Jefferson’s body or his own handiwork? “There is more, if you’ll have it.”

Rolling his eyes, Jefferson held out his empty hand. With a wave, Rumple gave him the rest of the suit: A dark leather waistcoat and breeches, and a silk cravat the same dark red as his shirt.

“You know I want to hate this,” Jefferson said to Rumple once he was dressed. “But damn, you make me look good! And this is good for my work, too. Important people will be more likely to talk to me if I’m dressed to the nines.”

“See?” Rumple said. “I’m merely investing in your future.”

Slyly, Leona climbed down and joined the men. “I notice that there’s more than just my husband’s clothes there.”

“Right you are, Mrs. Ogg!” Rumple said brightly. He offered her the pink bundle.

Leona took the package as though it had always been hers and Rumple was merely carrying it for her. The fabric she shook out was a gown. Yards of shining satin, so light it seemed to float in the air, flowed down from her hands.

Her mouth fell open. “Oh,” she said simply.

“Leona Ogg at a loss for words,” Jefferson shook his head. “The Dark One really can do anything.” 

Leona waved him off, refusing to be distracted from the gown. “This is beautiful,” she whispered. She looked up from the dress to Rumple. “Thank you.”

Another bow, this one perhaps a bit more genuine in its humility. “Never let it be said that I take people’s talents for granted. And there is more to that as well.” He produced a corset, and stockings and petticoats--everything needed to complete the ensemble. 

With a wide grin, Leona waved Belle over to her. “Will you help me?”

Nodding, Belle descended to join the others. She laced Leona’s corset over the yellow shift, arranged the petticoats over her hips, and fastened the ties at the back of the gown. The bodice was decorated with white and pink pearls. Edges of the yellow linen peeked out through the satin, making the pink look even softer and warmer.

The dress fit Leona perfectly, enhancing her curves and smoothing them out at the same time. She stood up straight, her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. Leona always had a look of power about her, but in this dress she was something between stately and ethereal. The dress was still soft and feminine, but it also displayed strength, the leather and iron that were as much a part of Leona as the linen and satin.

“Oh Leo,” Belle whispered when it was all put together. “How lovely you are!”

Leona blushed as pink as her gown. Now she looked shy and girlish and beautiful. When she turned around and Jefferson saw her, he let out a whoop of delight.

“Hot damn!” he said. “I’m married to the goddess of spring!”

Leona snorted and blushed again. “I’m more like the goddess of things that get stuck in drawers.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist, dipping her down for a kiss. “You can get things stuck in my drawers any time.”

They kissed for some time. Belle watched the couple come together, break apart giggling, and then start kissing again. She stayed where she was on the sidelines, holding her arms over her chest.

They were such a handsome couple, especially when dressed in such finery. Belle could imagine them travelling different worlds together, dazzling everyone they met. They would make friends and make love and make memories, but always come back to each other. Belle’s heart beat with a dull pain. Once again, it hurt her to see her friends so happy, so in love.

Quietly, Rumple came up beside her. He handed her the blue bundle. “This is for you. I imagine it will be some time before we’ll have their attention again.”

Belle made herself smile at his quip and unfolded her bundle. It was a dress, as blue as the sky on a sunny day. Simpler than Leona’s, the dress didn’t require a corset. Brown laces hung from eyelets in the bodice, so Belle was able to fasten herself in without assistance. It fit over her white shift, the hem of the dress ending just below her undergarments. 

Once she had the dress on, she twirled the skirts, marvelling at the strange familiarity of doing something perfectly normal. She looked at Rumple, who was looking at her, expressionless.

“Why are you giving me clothes, Rumple? Is it just because of them?”

He looked away before he answered. “You’ve been in need of a proper wardrobe for some time. This was just an… opportune time to give it to you.”

“But why?” she repeated. “What changed? Did you just get tired of my robe?”

“We’ll talk later,” he said softly. “I think they’ve finally remembered we’re still in the room.”

Oh yes, they would talk later, Belle thought with a clenched jaw. Once the others were gone, she and Rumple would talk about everything that had been going on lately. 

“I have something for your daughter as well,” Rumple said loudly, just in case Jefferson and Leona started kissing again. “To repay her for this time separated from her parents.”

Leona scoffed. “She’s not missing us. There’s no place in any world she’d rather be than at her gran’s.”

“Then perhaps this is for you then.” Rumple conjured up a brass spyglass and held it out to the couple. 

Jefferson picked it up and extended it, but didn’t put it to his eye. He looked at Rumple. “I’d bet my house that this doesn’t just make things far away seem close.”

Rumple grinned. “When one of you looks through the lens, you will be able to see your daughter, wherever she is, on any world with magic. And if your girl uses it, she’ll be able to see you, no matter how far apart you are.”

Jefferson’s mouth opened. He looked down at the object in his hands. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He looked up and put on a smile. “This is quite a gift to give a little girl you’ve never met!”

Leona took the spyglass from Jefferson. “Let’s see if it works.” She looked through the glass and her face fell. “Oh gods, she’s chasing my mother’s cat.”

“The cat that fights bears?” Jefferson took the spyglass from his wife and looked for himself. His face matched Leona’s in dismay. “We should go.”

“She’ll be alright,” Leona assured the room in general. “Greebo knows better than to set his claws on one of the kiddies. But if she tries to cuddle him when he’s not in the mood for it, there will be tears.” She picked up her bag, checking the contents. “Where are our shoes?” 

“Over there,” Rumple pointed to the floor outside the nest. He watched calmly as they got ready to go. “If you’re going back to the Disk World, I have an errand for you to run.” He picked up the spindle he had been working on earlier and handed it to Jefferson. “See what happens to this, in that other world. Report back to me about it. You can keep it when you’re done.”

Jefferson sighed, and pulled up his boots before taking the spindle. He looked down at it, and then at Rumple. “You know this is more gold than the King of Lancre has in his entire treasury, don’t you?” 

Leona examined the spindle. “That’s more gold than they’ve got in the Royal Bank of Ankh-Morpork!”

“Unless it turns into straw,” Rumple said with his hands raised. “Or dust, or a pigeon. Magic doesn’t have the same rules in every world. That’s why I want to know what happens.”

Jefferson put the spindle in his pocket. His hands lingered on the fabric of his new coat. “Do you know what will happen to these clothes?” he asked. “There isn’t much that will shock my mother-in-law, but it might be rude to show up at her house naked--at least this early in the morning.”

Rumple shook his head. “Your gifts are not magical,” he answered. “Real cloth, real leather, real work and craftsmanship. I did it the hard way for you, my boy.”

Jefferson grinned. “You know that’s the way I like it.”

Without a word, Rumple reached up to pull Jefferson down to him. Jefferson bent easily, and the two men kissed. It was a simple kiss, soft and tender. Belle had never seen Rumple so gentle with someone besides her.

His eyes opened slowly. He stroked Jefferson’s cheek.  “It’s always so good to see you,” he murmured. 

Jefferson mirrored the action, so the two men held each other. “You don’t need to be such a stranger.”

“Especially if you’re always so generous.” Leona hoisted her bag over her shoulder. It was considerably heavier than it had been when they had arrived. 

Breaking his contact with Jefferson, Rumple stepped away from the couple. “Naturally!” he said brightly. “I can hardly expect anyone to tolerate my company without compensation.”

Jefferson opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. He just shook his head and went over to Belle. He opened his arms and she gladly stepped in for a hug.

“Take care of yourself,” he said into her hair. “Don’t let him be too much of a pain in the ass.”

She squeezed her arms around his neck. “I had a wonderful time with you, with both of you.”

“Oh let me in!” Leona reached her arms around both of them. She kissed Belle warmly on the cheek. “Mind how you go, luv. And know that we’re around if you ever need anything.” Her dark eyes poured into Belle, emphasizing how much she meant those words. 

Belle nodded. “Thank you, really. But I’ll be fine.” She lowered her voice. “I’m going to try to make some changes around here.”

“Get him to throw more parties,” Jefferson winked as he broke the huddle. “I would be happy to introduce you to a whole new set of friends.” 

Leona’s face lit up. “Oh! Like that potions bloke at the school!” She turned to Belle. “He’s very grumpy, but whip-smart, if you know what I mean. I’m sure you’d both like him, if you’re ever interested in sharing again.”

“Thank you,” Rumple said with a tone that signalled the end of the discussion. “I will keep such matters under advisement.”

With a wry grin, Leona looked Rumple up and down. “And maybe the next time we meet, you and I will become more intimately acquainted.” 

His look was placid, amused. “Anything is possible, Mrs. Ogg.”

Jefferson looked around. “Where’s my hat? I swear, I need to get a case for that thing.”

“I have it here, my boy.” With a quirk of his finger, Rumple called the hat from where it had been joyfully flung the night before. He held it in both hands and offered it to Jefferson.

Jefferson’s face looked strangely sad as he took in the sight. He put his hands on the brim to take it, and for a moment they lingered there. Fingers brushed against each other in a moment of heavy silence. 

“It’s been a long time,” Jefferson said, “since you first gave me this hat.”

“You’ve used it well,” Rumple answered. “I knew I could trust you with its powers. Now, safe travels to you both.”

With a tight nod, Jefferson straightened up and took the hat. He put it on his head just long enough to take Leona by the arm. The couple stood side-by-side in their new clothes. Then, Jefferson removed his hat and twirled it to the ground. Spinning magic erupted from the hat, creating a portal big enough for them to step into. With cheerful waves, they walked together into the magic and disappeared. 

For a moment, after they left, Belle and Rumple were silent. Both of them stood on opposite sides of the space where the portal had been. 

Then, Belle took a deep breath and gathered up all her resolve. She looked Rumpelstiltskin in the eye, and her voice did not quaver as she said, “We need to talk.”

It took another moment before Rumple looked up from where he had been staring at the ground. When he did look at her, his eyes were dull, but his face was determined. “Yes, I suppose we do. But not here.” He crossed the distance between them, offered her his arm. “Shall we converse in the dining room?”

Belle took his arm, so they were linked together. “Yes, I think that would be lovely.”  

[kelyon]

Cuffs Leona! Can you come save Belle?

Oh gods, what did that sparkly bastard do this time?

[kelyon]

Jefferson Sim

Cuz you knoooow I made Jefferson and Leona a household (and you know they woo-hoo on every flat surface in their house)

He’s a dapper young man

And something of a himbo. Just, complete eye-candy. (You can see his collar in these pictures.)

These are his pajamas #realmenwearpink

Cold weather

Grace hasn’t been born yet in the Sims world, but they do have a cat named Cheshire

He makes her laugh

And they love each other

[kelyon]

Leona Ogg Sim

Let me tell you about my OCs...

Honestly, I wouldn’t be doing this if I hadn’t gotten an anon asking about what Leona looked like AND ALSO @nerdcafeolatra​ coming out of hiding to post her fanart OF MY OC, which still blows me away. It’s their fault for encouraging me!

Special thanks to @wayamy​ for A) asking me to make original sims for her to play with and being okay that I designed them off of my fanfiction characters, and B) getting these screencaps off of the game for me.

This is Leo. Obviously a modern look, though I tried to make her look as in-character as she could be in the Sims world. That necklace is as good as I can get to a collar.

Formal wear, with flower crown 

Leo would wear a bare midriff even if she didn’t have abs

Pjs, featuring sex hair

The Hot Weather outfit (bottom of this set) is probably my favorite 

Cold weather

[kelyon]

GC Leona! So did the dark one live up to the hype?

He has potential, I'll give him that.

I only got a taste of what he's capable of (and he only got a taste of me!) But I get it. If you're interested in a lover that's intense and thorough and something of a mystery... He could have appeal. I wouldn't mind spending more time with that man, see just how far we can push each other...

And then we'd send ourselves both back to the people who really love us.

[kelyon]

GC Leona! Being a woman of a bigger size have you ever been body shamed and if so how did you handle it?

Where I come from, it's more often the skinny girls who get the short end of the stick. A sensible farmer wants a wife who can carry a bushel of hay under each arm!

Now, since I didn't marry a farmer, I've been places where the fashion is more about the thin and willowy. But I've also been places where beavers talk and have sewing machines, so I don't let the standards of one world bother me too much.

That being said, there are times when I forget how wonderful I am and get a bit down on myself. When that happens I'm usually lucky enough to have Jefferson around to remind me of how much he loves me. Or Grace is good for that too, she'll always give me a big hug when I need one. Or I can just look at her and think about how good she is, how I must be a pretty decent mum to have raised such a fearless and gentle little girl.

Looks help, I can't pretend they don't. But the people who love you don't care about what you look like. And the people who care about what you look like... aren't people who love you.

[kelyon]

GC Leona! What will you and Jefferson do with all that gold?

We'll definitely keep it until we get back to the Enchanted Forest. The Dark One's golden thread is worth more than its weight in real gold. Buyers think it has magical properties, and maybe they're right.

Jefferson may also want to keep a bit of it, some kind of memento or something. Might also be a good present for Mum. She always likes getting souvenirs.

[kelyon]

Golden Cuffs Leo! Will you and Jefferson spend the night at the dark castle or will you go back home before morning?

After the spread that wizard put out for dinner, there's no way I'm going to skip out on breakfast!

It's going to be a late night anyway, so we might even stay for lunch, which I don't mind at all.

[kelyon]

In your mind what does GC Leona look like? Any actress you have in mind?

I don't actually *like* Rebel Wilson, but that's the first blondish white bbw that comes to mind. Just head-swap her with someone charming and likable whose sexuality isn't treated like a joke. Leo is going to look like a woman you actually know more than a Hollywood type.

You can also Google images of Nanny Ogg from the Discworld books and imagine that woman as 40 years younger, with all her teeth.

I actually made Leona and Jefferson Sims. I'll post those images when I get to a computer. In the meantime, check out @nerdcafeolatra 's kick-ass FANART of Leona.

The most important part about Leo is that she is beautiful not in spite of her size, but really because of it.