#mary kreiburg

[andromedadotnet]

De Capo(+ Mary n Nightmare) as cats

If it looks really messy it's cause it is, silly cat doodles require nothing but pure unadulterated lack of focus

I drew these instead of sleeping lol enjoy

[prettymorgueboy]

Joseph desaulniers what if I fucking ate you.

[haosofmemoris]

🫀

[didstwt]

I'm not immune to Kuromi Mary

[subedared]

haven't been drawing much..... scraps..

[carnivalparty]

↦ Icon set of these very cute Valentine's designs 🍰 ↦ PSD: 💞

[cattatetcho]

lol

[yellow-artz]

IDV x LPS and doodles

[quirefeast]

miss kreiburg you will always be famous to me

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

In Every Reflection I Hope You Wish Me A Sweet Birthday

MY QUEEN MY LOVE MY -screams in reine qui danse playing for the 100th time-

Rated T | Warnings: None its gay

You smiled when she left you. In every reflection peering into infinite lives branching from broken shards of her perfect kingdom, you always smile when she lives.

Always days after her birthday, when she is young enough to have her beauty but old enough to be sent away to be married. You are by her side from the beginning to the end when she leaves you brokenhearted but smiling for her.

The False Hope, is what they call it when she shifts the mirrors to create her ideal kingdom. They will try to shatter her image but will only make her stronger, a broken mirror is still useful in pieces. They can reflect and cut.

In another world, she dies and you are married, you still smile when she breaks your heart and steps on it while announcing her engagement at a party you planned for her all month. When you are alone, Mary sees you crying as you cling to your chest as the heart is often fragile as glass. Mary once more leaves, and you move on to survive.

She must find you! Find you at the right moment and take you into this perfect forever paradise!

On a rainy day, you stand over her grave in the pouring rain. You have a pile of letters in your hand, unsent letters, and flowers in your other hand.

“Happy birthday, Mary. I'm sorry I… We couldn't see each other. These aren't much but… I wanted to send these… But… you know why I couldn't.”

Because it makes her face the reality she loved only you, and will only love you. There is never a world, a reflection, where she does not give you her honest brightest smile. When you would find her alone and entertain her with idle chatter of gossip or your latest painting always showing your improvement.

The unfinished masterpiece of a sculpture… Destroyed always before you could finish it. It is always a connection to her destroyed when you let go of the hope of seeing her, waiting for later, praying to see her walk through the doors of your atelier.

She finds the reflection, the long mirror you keep to the side of the room, it is used for reflecting light, making self-portraits, or using yourself as a reference for a pose.

Covered in paints, you are hard at work on a large canvas.

The commission from her husband. It had been salt upon a wound he had no idea about, though if he did he would still have you create the piece.

It is her birthday, you just now finish the piece on a grand scale, and it will be picked up to be taken to the palace. And Mary will cry over it, it becomes the only piece of art she will ever care about. Her emotional attachment to it will spark a rumor of her narcissism, few will say the artist was her past lover but none put weight to those words.

She loves you. Loves you more than you know.

It is nighttime and you are drinking cheap wine, you are sitting by the open window, the fall breeze is warm, and the sound of celebration for the queen. You have two glasses out on the small table you use to place your paints, both glasses full of cheap wine with hints of strawberry, your glass is almost as empty as your broken heart.

I found you, my love.

You rub your swollen eyes from crying, the atelier empty without the canvas of her. Your first love— True love— She stole your heart with her smile and sweet voice. Mary never once allowed you a moment to not be in the same room as her, to have her perfume linger; she was your Helen of Troy, and you the fool Paris. To be loved by a star, a muse to paint or sculpt a thousand pieces, and to be adored the way she deserved.

Look upon me once more, my love.

You laugh humorously as you swear you can hear her, the sweet voice of your Helen of Troy, God, you only have drank a glass. Looking at the bottle, you reach out for—

Name!

You stand up knocking over the bottle and spilling it all over the table and floor, in a state of shock, you stand there frozen. The voice was louder, you swore you saw her image in the glass bottle! No, you are simply delusional… You should not have taken that commission! Now you are once more miserable! Fresh tears spill, streaming down your face, you turn your head away as your lips press together to try to stop the whimper of agony from turning into an angsty scream.

My love, your fragile heart. Give me the pieces, this time I shall now shatter them.

“You are cruel,” Shaking your head, “Will you not allow me to be a broken-hearted fool in peace!” You had not meant to shout your pain, “Go away! Haunt me when you're dead!” You snap open your eyes ready to throw your glass at the mirror then stop mid-motion of your swing.

“My artist.” There she is dressed in a gown of spectacular beauty with a crown upon her head, you rub your eyes with your free hand and then blink. Her smile widened, “Come to me, allow me to free you of this pain I caused.”

You take a step forward, then another, her hand stretched out towards you. In dazzling lights you see her hand coming out of your mirror. “Are you… Please be real. If this is a dream then let death claim me now for I do not wish to wake up.”

“I am real. If you come with me now, only my love will claim you.”

Her love is like the fresh strawberries, lace stocking; her eyes locked on you as modeled for you wearing nothing but a strawberry in her mouth and lace stocking, her finger beckoning you to join her on a nest of sheets. Never has a woman charmed you to the point of enslaving your heart, her every word had you on your knees to please her.

You quickly go to her and take her hand, “Mary!” Once more you give her your heart with the pieces. She pulls you into the mirror, pulls you into her arms where you are meant to be.

Later days after the party, in the newspapers, there will be a report about an artist gone missing. There is only a shattered mirror in your atelier.

[wildragon]

History repeat itself

[cornalicious]

Imagine successfully deceiving literally everyone into believing you are the zombie of Marie Antoinette only to be undone by your younger brother/cousin/relative you were close with as a child who got disowned for being a twink addicted to project sekai.

[Image ID: Mary Kreiburg from Identity Five winking at the audience while speaking "I'm Marie Antoinette! Yes that Marie Antoinette the one who lost her head in the french revolution, you can just call me bloody queen because of course I was the queen of france" Second Panel pans to Fredrick Kreiburg standing behind mary in shock saying "Holy fucking shit is that you mary" Mary appears shocked and visilby sweaty. a very small text box saying "shit." is beside her. /.End ID]

[haosofmemoris]

тг: https://t.me/haosofmemoris

[ssspicaaa]

🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷

🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷🖤🩷

[vivaesc]

Kreiburg.

[florentz]

them to me tbh