#and i 100% promise i am not scoffing at the foolishness of falling for such a completely unsupported idea

[ineffablefool]

The lil corner of the Good Omens fandom that I generally see is getting more and more into publicly declaring that That Theory I Dislike Is Bad And People Who Ascribe To It Should Feel Bad, and I don't know if it's really new, or if I was just lucky enough to generally be missed with that shit the last four years.

Different people's brains work differently, which means they will notice things, form interpretations, maybe come to extremely firm conclusions, all different from each others'. Different from mine, different from yours.

I get that some people think that they have the brain which produces the Objectively Superior theories (and/or which can easily determine which other people's theories are the Objectively Inferior ones). I just really missed the memo where Your Interpretation Is Not My Interpretation (And That's Okay) was dragged out back and fucking shot.

Anyway this blog is an "I may not agree with your theory but you may trust that I won't publicly heap scorn upon the very idea of having it" zone if anyone was wondering.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 II

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The reader finds herself drawn into courtly intrigue.

Note: Here’s part 2. I’m having fun and I have so many ideas for this. Yes, this is inspired by lots of medieval shows like the Tudor and the White Queen etc. but this will be 100% gratuitous whatever I want it to be so hold onto to your panties. I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

Rose played with the pearl at her throat. You watched her fingers as she toyed with the small orb. The queen’s voice filled the small chambers as she read the poem in a gentle rhythm. You hadn’t caught enough words to string them together. 

You tore your eyes away and watched your hands smooth out your charcoal coloured skirts. Your drab attire stuck out grossly among the pale silks and rich satins. You father loathed your plainness, your insistence on simplicity. But he hadn’t enough money for seamstresses and you made your own dresses or altered your sister’s worn garments. You didn’t mind simple. You didn’t need beading or gilted embroidery. No pearl or jewel hung at your throat.

The spectre of your father loomed in your mind. You’d received a letter that morning with news of your sister’s labour. A boy. Healthy. Your father would be pleased but when he returned, your own failure would be even more stark in his mind. 

You had no husband, no prospects either. You could not spend your life as one of the queen’s pets. Especially given the events of the banquet. A day passed since but the scene remained in the minds of the court. The queen betrayed little concern but Rose was all too obvious in her newly found spite for you. You only wanted to hide behind your hood and be forgotten.

“My lady,” The queen’s voice drew your attention. She looked at you with kind eyes. Perhaps she didn’t begrudge you the king’s fleeting eye. Perhaps, you reassured yourself, she knew it was little more than a show. “I know you do prefer this ode, would you grace us with a reading?”

You stared back at the queen. She was talking to you but you wondered why. The ladies took turns at recitation but you weren’t a favoured narrator. You liked to listen and found your voice too brittle to compare to Eleanor’s refined evocation.

“As you wish, your highness,” You stood and stepped forward to take the book from her. You cleared your throat and resumed your seat as you eyed the verse. ‘Upon the morrow she waits…’

You kept your voice as steady as you could. Spoke to the room instead of your chest. Your habit of tucking your chin in threatened to lower your head. 

“Listen to her…” The whisper underlined your voice but you ignored it. “Sounds like a dying sparrow.”

You refused to look at Rose as she simpered. As she muttered her displeasure. A hush came from the other side of the room, you suspected the queen’s gentle breath. You were thankful for her diligence.

You spoke to the ceiling, not the ladies. Pretended you were some great jester regailing a tribe of travelling knights. Imagined you were anywhere but here. And when you finished, you were dragged back to the insufferable room of ladies.

You held the book open and offered it back to the queen with a small thank you. She nodded and took it. You sat and held back a sigh. Rose sneered at you from across the room and leaned over to whisper to Beatrice. You turned to watch the queen give the book to Mabel. You folded your hands together and listened.

You lowered your head and the dread rose again. Your father would return shortly and what would he think? You prayed that the voices turned to other matters. That the rumours continued to swirl around Rose and left you alone. She relished in the courtly gossip, eager to be the inspiration for such tales. You wilted at too much light and felt yourself much too exposed already.

Some time, during your ruminations, Mabel’s voice was replaced again with the queen’s. Eleanor read another lyric and closed the book. You glanced up as she dismissed the circle of ladies, bidding them to ready for the evening’s meal. No banquet that night, a simple gathering in the queen’s receiving chamber followed by your night prayers.

The ladies stood and you waited for the others to shuffle out. Their skirts filled the space and pressed against each other as they made their exit. You made to follow but a familiar voice called your name. As you turned back, another peeked too. Rose’s blue eye was sharp as she took note of the request.

You turned and smiled at the queen. Your lips quivered nervously as the skirts continued to whish out the door. Finally, the hinges whined and the wood clattered. You were left alone with Eleanor. 

“My lady, would you sit with me a moment?” She asked as she resumed her seat on the cushioned bench.

“Your highness,” You approached and sat next to her. Her green eyes shone like emeralds in her oval face. “I would be most pleased.”

“You…” She paused and her lips parted as she chose her words. “You are a sweet girl. Quiet, naive.”

You swallowed and your smile threatened to crack. You nodded intently.

“That is not meant as an abuse, you understand? I mean it as a compliment. I say it out of concern.” She shifted closer and touched your hand. “Because there are people at this court who should wish to take advantage of such a kind person as yourself.”

“Your highness, I--”

“You’re honest. I’ve always admired that in you. You speak when it is necessary, not merely to please.” The sapphire on her ring finger shone in the lantern light. “So I would ask that you are truthful with me. That you humour me and tell me what it is my husband said to you two nights past.”

“I would never lie to you, my queen.” You pled and your smile fell at last. “I didn’t--”

“I am not accusing you. I know it was not of your desire to draw the king’s eye. I shall listen without contempt.”

You breathed in. So deeply you feared you may faint. You nodded again and mustered your voice. “He...The king asked how long I’ve been at court. I answered him honestly and he… apologized for his oversight. Then he asked after my father. And then…” You thought back and blinked. “He said I did not belong here. At court.”

“Oh,” The queen considered you and her straight brows drew together. “You understand his intent, my lady?”

You stared at her. Too embarrassed to reveal your thoughts. Not foolish enough to think he truly wanted you, but too ashamed to admit that.

“Lady Rose,” She smiled venomously. “He is playing his game with her. My husband may act a stranger but I know him well. He revels in the power he holds over women. I suppose it is why he is not so fond of me.

“And so, forgive me for being blunt, but he would spark her envy by overlooking her for a much plainer lady. A more modest lady. Very unlike herself. So unlike her that she is insecure and his hold over her is reinforced. Do you understand?”

“I do, your highness. I am aware of myself. Of my shortcomings. My station is clear to me.” You assured her. You spoke evenly and without emotion. You looked into her eyes and she smiled. There was something within; a momentary commiseration.

“You’re a very intelligent girl,” She mused as she rescinded her hand. “But you don’t let on.” 

She stood and you did too. She swept away from you and twisted the ring on her finger as she thought. She laughed softly to herself. 

“I suspect you’re smarter than Lady Rose, dare I say it, the king too.” She looked to you again. “My lady, I did not intend this as remonstrance. I hold no ill will towards you, only seek to help you, should you need it.”

“Your highness.” You bowed your head.

“You may go,” She said softly. “I shall see you at supper.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

“Very well.” 

She dismissed you as her attention flitted away to her thoughts. You took it in stride and found your way to the door. You were reassured that it would all soon fade away. That your part in this theatre was done.

The corridor was airy as you strolled through it. The heavy tapestries hugged the stone and the padding of your slippers echoed along the corners. At the first corner, you slid to a halt. A figure in peach silk appeared before you. 

Rose approached you haughtily as she pushed out her chest. She looked down her nose at you and pouted her round lips.

“How amusing,” She purred.

You frowned and watched her slink towards you like an angry cat. “What do you mean?”

“The queen. Does she really concern herself with you? To think you any true contest to me?” She batted he lashes. “Eleanor may think me a fool, but I am not. I know the king was only toying with me.” She smirked. “Though I did wonder if you had wit enough to realize he was also toying with you?”

“I have no intent towards the king. No misconceptions. And no obligation to you, my lady,” You replied. A surge of anger, unfamiliar and uncomfortable, straightened your spine. “You might lay with the king but it does not make you a queen.”

She scoffed and her delicate features contorted. “Rest assured he hasn’t any intent towards you either. Be it known that it was my bed he visited last night. Not yours. Not his frigid queen’s. Mine.” She gloated and stepped closer. 

“I know as well as the rest of court of your liaisons,” You were surprised by yourself. “If you’re fortunate, some countryside earl may not have heard and may even marry you on the promise of a new mare.”

Rose’s face paled and her hand grasped her chest with a gasp. “You’re vile.” She spat. “I always knew you were a beast. You can fool the rest of them but not me.”

You stared at her. You shook your head and grabbed your skirts. There was nothing to say to this woman. So self-assured, so convinced of her own importance. Let her think what she may, it did not change what was.

“Where are you going?” She whined as you sidestepped her.

“To ready for supper,” You didn’t stop, nor did you look back. “I am much too hungry to listen to your tripe.”

👑

You were quiet at supper. That wasn’t unusual. The tension, however, was. Before you weren’t concerned enough to notice, but now you were the crux of it. Eleanor maintained her usual stony demeanour towards Rose but Rose made no pretense of restraining her irritation with you. You weren’t a queen, thus she could openly display her displeasure.

Her whispers carried. You acted as if you couldn’t hear them as Eleanor sent an empathetic glance your way. She could hear and she easily changed the discussion to the harvest celebration. The first day of autumn approached and was to be marked with yet another feast.

You were thankful for the diversion but it did nothing for your mind. You thought of your father’s reaction. He’d surely hear about his daughter dancing with the king and even if it meant nothing, it would to him. It meant that you could be the enemy of the queen. And to follow in the footsteps of a dozen women before you would ensure your failure as his daughter.

When at last the meal ended and you said your prayers, you were dismissed. You returned to your chambers with the ladies. Those yet to be wed, shared their board. There were three other girls in your room; Joan, Sybil, and Marion. Rose roomed with Beatrice and Mary. She snarled as she passed your door.

The door was barely closed when a knock sounded. You looked to the other ladies and Joan opened the door. Without, a slender man stood patiently. The king’s footman, Hugh, was short and his dark hair was laced with silver. The wrinkles under his eyes betrayed his endless duty.

“Mister Hugh,” Joan greeted, confused.

“My lady,” He bowed his head cordially, “The king has sent me to bid for the lady.”

“Have you the wrong chamber?” Joan smiled. “Rose--”

“The king does not seek Lady Rose.” Hugh interjected. “Forgive my interruption, lady, but he calls for another.”

You looked to the other women. Each of you baffled though the tickle along your spine nipped at your doubts. It couldn’t possibly be you. After such an uneventful dance. A whole day between without disturbance. It must be a mistake.

Hugh said your name firmly. He looked to Sybil, blonde and beautiful, but was surprised when you stepped forward.

“That would be me,” You said. “May I inquire as to why the king requests my presence?”

“I am merely the king’s messenger. I only know he wishes a private audience with the lady.” Hugh said dimly.

It was as if he was used to the routine. The none-so-subtle invitations. You’d seen him before at the next door as he awaited Rose; at this very door when her predecessor had slept there. You pushed your shoulders back as you sensed the other ladies listening.

“Private audience?” You repeated, “Well, sir, you can return to the king and inform him that as a lady, it would be improper for me to attend an audience with him unaccompanied. So it is, I must respectfully and regretfully decline his invitation.”

Hugh look as if he’d been struck. For the first time his grey eyes lit up and his surprise deepened his wrinkles.

“My lady?” He blinked. “You would refuse? A king’s invitation?”

“An invitation, not a command, as I understand it.” You remained stern. You thought of Eleanor, of how she would hold herself, how she would speak. “So it cannot be treasonous. But I will not risk my honour as a lady. As a maiden.”

The man frowned. Then he nodded as if only then understanding you. He hooked a thumb in his belt and bowed his head. “Your lady. I shall carry your answer to the king. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“Thank you, Mister Hugh.” You bent your head and watched him turn slowly down the hall. He walked stiffly as if fighting himself.

You closed the door and leaned against the inside. Joan was awestruck and the other two ladies shook their heads, astonished. You kept your head up and went to the chest at the end of your bed.

“You just...refused the king?” Joan said at last. “You...no one says no to King Steven.”

“It was...just an invitation,” You said as you opened the chest and took out a sleeping gown. “It wouldn’t be proper to accept.”

“Proper? It is a slight to deny the king.” Joan cried.

“My father would not approve. And as custom would have it--”

“Are you daft?” Sybil spoke up. 

“Not at all,” You dropped your nightgown on your bed. “In fact, were I to have accepted, where do you think that would get me? Even if it was not for illicit means, it would be interpreted as such. I will not marry a second son, not if I can help it.”

“You’re mad,” Marion hissed. “Absolutely mad.”

“Perhaps, but with my honour in tact.”

👑

The night was sleepless. Even after the other ladies settled down and finally blew out the candle, you couldn’t sleep. The more you thought about it, the worse you felt about your refusal. Not because you wanted to meet with the king, but because you only then considered the consequence of it. Or that you didn’t know exactly what that would be.

It was an hour, maybe two, after the ladies started to snore. What if the king was angered by your response and exiled you from court for not playing along? What if he waited until your father returned and punished him? But what if you had said yes?

A knock came at the door. Soft. You weren’t sure at first if it was truly a knock or your imagination. Then it came again and you slowly pushed yourself up. You listened, a third rap, and urged yourself to rise. You took the dressing robe from over your chest and pulled it around yourself. 

Could you refuse the king’s footman a second time or would your anxiety eat away your resolve?

You went to the door and unhooked the latch. You eased it open, just an inch to look through into the corridor. You kept your body hidden behind the door as you peered out at your visitor. You gasped as the king’s hand grabbed the door and kept it from closing. The lantern he held shone down on you through the crack of the door.

“Your highness,” You whispered sharply. 

“My lady,” He greeted coolly but something about his demeanour seemed riled. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes,” You lied. “But I would not begrudge you for it.”

He nodded as his eyes searched yours. As he tried to see through the wood that separated you. 

“Why did you refuse my invitation?” He asked suddenly. “Did I offend you?”

“No, you’ve not offended me, your highness,” You said. “Did your footman not convey my reasons? It wouldn’t be proper for me to--”

“Propriety?” He grumbled and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t the cheerful king who stomped the boards at feasts or harried his steed at the hunt. He was upset and it was your fault. “I requested an audience, my lady, not your virtue.”

You gulped at his insinuation. You pushed on the door but he held it in place. “Your highness, you must understand my need to protect my reputation.”

His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. His middle finger tapped on the wood of the door as he frowned. “Will you not come out to speak with me? I would hate to disturb the other ladies.”

“I am not in a state to come out, your highness.” You protested. “If you would wait for me to dress--”

He sighed. “You distrust me. You treat me as a lecher.”

“It is not distrust, your highness. Merely caution.” You returned. “If any, I distrust the court and the rumours they would dispel at anything so innocent as a conversation.”

His blue eyes flicked up and he thought. His jaw squared and he hesitantly removed his hand from the door. He looked at you again and the tension left his face. The sparkle returned to his eyes and he bowed his head. 

“You are wise, my lady, to keep yourself above disrepute. It is admirable.” He stood straight and his broad figure cast a shadow over you. “I apologize for my impropriety. Forgive me.”

“Your highness, I hold no displeasure towards you.” You assured him. 

“I am thankful for your benevolence,” He backed away. “Perhaps we shall meet in more tolerable circumstances...Good night, my lady.”

“Good night, your highness.” You mimicked him softly.

He turned away and you closed the door. The click was terribly loud as the dark embraced you. You leaned against the door and listened for his departure. His footsteps tarried, just a moment, before he carried on. You let out your breath and felt your way back to your bed. The ladies snored still but their soft snorts offered little comfort to your racing heart.