Okay, I Did A Thing! Little Snippet About Mary's Death, Because I Love To Suffer.

Okay, I did a thing! Little snippet about Mary's death, because I love to suffer.

@acrossthewavesoftime tiny gift for you.

At first, you did not notice me. A playful child, full of hope, mother’s beloved little girl. She, who still wept for her lost ones. Little Charles, James and the ones that will follow. But you do not know it yet. Too carefree. Too enchanted by the world that surrounds you. And mother will not cry in front of you, father will not acknowledge her feelings. You grasped your sister's hand, when they put your siblings one after another into a coffin. Tiny bones and a pale face, fire left their eyes. “They are sleeping, and God will greet them in heaven. It is his will.”, you told her. But she did not understand and started to cry. You hated black. Foremost you hated black on your mother. She did not deserve such sorrow.

“How can someone this graciousdamn her?”, you asked yourself one night after a prayer. A blasphemous thought that you immediately discarded, because everything is God’s will. But do not fret, my love, you will not remember their voice and laughter. Sometimes it is best to forget. But I, dearest Mary, will not leave your side. I was there when your far too young mother took her last rasping breaths. She, who loved you the most. The sixth death in your fledgling life. And not the last one. The day you loathed the way they light candles. I, who cradled you, when you thought about me, as a monstrous being. You have built up a façade. A mask you put on when life strangles you. Like that one fateful day, you had to marry him. So young, so frightened. Fifteen years is not an age one should endure this much. But neither your uncle, the king, nor your father, the duke, cared. Your father almost did my job, you know. You cried like a banshee when you saw your soon-to-be wedded husband. Smaller than you, crooked, with a hooked nose and an ugly moustache. Shipped off to an unknown country with a language you did not speak and a husband who could not love you, yet. And soon you will know how your mother felt when she lost her children. Miscarriage. You have tried so hard, my sweet. Cried and shouted for dear life, your mother, your sister and even your father. All were absent. Even Willem, who should have held you. But no. You met me again. And I almost got you, when I dried your tears and caressed your cheeks. But you grew stronger. And before I knew it, I had lost sight of you. I have met many others in your family. Poor Maria, who wanted nothing more than to join a convent and instead suffered one failed pregnancy after another. The same fate your sister was about to face. I gave the king his last glass of wine. Watched, as the doctors drained him of all his strength, all the glory of Old Rowley, the greatest stallion in the whole of England. But in the end, he has wished for nothing more than to be reunited with his father and lost siblings. Your family was replaced in my hands by lonely soldiers who died fighting for your husband, screaming out for their mothers in their last breaths. I gave them the most tender kiss. Kissed them like Willem kissed you. I admire how you have created love out of estrangement. My soul shattered when I saw your husband crying his heart out. “Nee, niet haar, niet haar alsjeblieft. Ze is nog zo jong!”

I saw how his body cramped, how his breathing became more laboured and convulsive, how he collapsed and was considered dead sooner than you. But, dear Mary, now I am with you again. But you do not detest me like you did the last time we met. You see me as a friend who pulls you into a long-awaited hug and strokes your hair. I dry your tears again, but you cannot stop them from flowing. You once told Willem that you wanted to die sooner than him because you would not be able to bear his death. And here I am, keeping my promise. Your feverish hand touches my cheek, for you know there is no compromise. And you kissed me, like you kissed him in the January rain.

But Mary, do not weep, for I will sing your song.

happy july 4 to all tumblr dot com blorbos

Mary II, Govert Bidloo and James II for the ask game

Okay damn uh

James gets beheaded. Revenge for Monmouth 👏👏 I guess I'll bed Mary and wed Bidloo <- me and him out here taking care of William's ass together. We would love science together sm

Put 3 names in my ask and I'll bed, wed, or behead them

henry clay, john calhoun, daniel webster

john breckenridge, stephen douglas, jefferson davis

william seward, charles sumner, thaddeus stevens

Omg tysm for this

I suck at giving explanations 😭

Seceding Calhoun's head from his body 🔥🔥I mean what were we expecting here

I strUGGLED so hard deciding between wedding/bedding Clay and Webster but the verdict is wedding Danny boy and bedding the Blond Bitch Extraordinaire™ I'm just Webster biased okay.. he needs to be my husband NOW

I confess I do not know about the other trios as much as I should.. 😔so tbh I'm just gonna skim their wiki pages and also keep an eye out for their ✨looks✨

Aight so I have decided to wed Douglas because I love looking down on people teehee

I'll bed Breckenridge. He's good looking yah and I would've wedded him but then i wouldn't know what to do with Douglas

Beheading Davis 😞 there can only be one illegitimate Calhoun kid

Anyways trio number threee

I already know I'm gonna wed Seward. Okay he's literally Lincoln's wife he's mine now

You know what It'd be funny if we beheaded Sumner (youre welcome Preston Brooks) and bedded Stevens. yeah lets go with that

You know what? Shy James is my favourite thing. He sounds so cute.

I'm making shy James a thing from now on.

AU where he blushes and glances downwards while stuttering when any of his wives or mistresses appear.

With the tiniest smile like that would be adorbs.