marie-dufresne

[marie-dufresne]

Villain apologist? Nah, I don't apologize for anyone. What my lover does on his days off is not my business.

#big Marie energy right here lmao #About Marie

[marie-dufresne]

So Mattel literally makes a Marie Barbie. I’ve never added something to my cart so fast in my life. Look at her. 😍😍😍😍

She’s even a curvy Barbie. She’s got thighs for days.

#About Marie #thanks to my phone not loading an ad properly 👌

[marie-dufresne]

— ARE YOU OKAY?

Concerned  roleplay  starters.  Send  me... (Send  🔄  +  any  emoji  to  reverse  the  outcome.)

😭  to  find  my  muse  crying. 🤕  to  find  my  muse  with  an  obvious  injury. ❤️‍🩹  to  find  my  muse  trying  to  hide  an  injury. 🤢  to  find  my  muse  visibly  sick. 🩸  to  find  my  muse  after  they've  been  in  a  fight. 💤  to  find  my  muse  passed  out. 🥴  to  catch  my  muse  as  they  faint. 🌧️  to  find  my  muse  in  the  rain  without  an  umbrella. 😵  to  find  my  muse  half  dead  in  an  alley. 🫳  to  put  a  comforting  hand  on  my  muse's  shoulder. 🫂  to  give  my  muse  a  comforting  hug.

#fun and games 💖

[marie-dufresne]

Happy Munday! St. Jude’s Fundraiser season is in full swing for me right now! 🙌

Right now this year’s Big Blanket only sits at baby blanket size—36”, but I’ll be working every day until Easter 🐥 This year’s spinner is for time so I actually have no idea how big she’ll get. Fate dictates how long I work on it each day. 🤗

Just like last year, it’ll get raffled off when it’s completed and of course I’ll post the finish product. But yeah! That’s one of the things I’m working on now instead of plots no one asked for. 😂

#munday #mun makes stuff #crochet #crocheters of tumblr #mandala madness #crochet blanket #st jude #fundraising

[marie-dufresne]

Wrongfully Imprisoned

Seemingly needlessly shut away in her husband's mental wellness facility, Lady Devereaux struggles with her place in the institution as well as her isolation.

January 0007

There was only a brief pause in the movents of the curly blonde when Dr. Araphael Ota let himself into the suite. He watched her for a moment, making mental notes, as this was not a place for pens and clipboards. Her appearance was always of interest to him, so contradicting was the way she looked against the way she moved. 

Her youthful face didn’t pin her much older than sixteen or so with her doe eyes and soft cheeks. The unruly golden curls she tried to tame with romantic twists and braids and bows resisted all the more with each effort she put forth to keep them at bay in the way that a cheeky child crosses the threshold of a room they’ve been kept from, but no more than a few tiny toes over that line. 

And yet…when she moved it was so practiced, so choreographed and meaningful, without blunder or hesitation, as if this had been ritual for fifty, perhaps even sixty years. Her posture never faltered and though she had no servants here, Araphael knew that she saw herself exactly as she carried herself–even at a mere twenty  years of age. 

The Matriarch. 

“How have you been this week, Lady Devereaux?” 

Setting down the tea service, Lady Marie Devereaux gave him a little scowl as he reached into his breast pocket for his cigarettes. She didn’t bother to scold him when he lit it this time. Whether she had given up on the offense or didn’t have it in her today was to be decided. 

“This week has been just the same as last week,” she replied, offering the plate of individually wrapped snack cakes as if she had baked them herself, “I’m ready to go home now.”

“Are you not comfortable here?”

It was an unusual facility to be sure, her quarters in particular. Lady Devereaux, having the benefit of being wed to the founder of The Institution, was allowed a suite that spanned a square footage larger than many of the staff members’ personal apartments. Almost everything inside had been designed for her to such an extent that none of the other patients on her floor actually knew she was just the same as they were. She held tea in her sitting room, fretted over her outfits in her walk-in closet, lounged in her parlor, and though there were no restraints to be found on her four poster bed, the military grade locks on the doors and windows were all hidden by scrolling filigree and ostentatious metalwork befitting a lady of her status. 

“I don’t belong here,” she corrected, “you and I both know this.”

“Do we? You’ve only been here six months.”

As if this were nothing more than a sour business deal, Marie smiled as she added sugar to her tea, leveling her gaze with him.

 None of the other patients looked doctors in the eye or served them tea, treating them as peers or even friends. She knew this. She observed, and she absorbed. She did not behave in the manner the others did, with cast down eyes or shrinking back when she was approached. She didn’t speak in tongues or rave. She had no hallucinations or phantom friends, no paranoia or obsessive behaviors. She was not too old for her family to deal with any longer and she was not and never had been unable to maintain control of her bodily functions so no. She did not belong here. 

“I know who I am,” she told him carefully. If she got too excited, too aggressive, he would leave and her plea would be dismissed. “I have healed from the accident and I am…fine. If Colin would just come to see me, to speak to me himself, he would see.”

Araphael watched with interest as she spoke, looking and listening for hints that she was any different than the week prior, but alas, she had made no significant change. Unfortunate. A lack of progress made her boring. 

“He writes to you. Extensively.”

Lady Devereaux’s jaw set then and he watched as her eyes welled up, frustration thrashing behind them. Yes, Lord Devereaux wrote her exceedingly lengthy letters. They arrived with fresh flowers every five days and while the flowers were such pretty things, this young woman suffered from dyslexia to such a crippling extent, she was nearly illiterate. 

“He needs to see me,” she whispered, her words so frosty, Dr. Ota wondered if her tea may have frozen over. 

But Colin had no plans to see her. Instead, he enjoyed the reports of her confusion, of her despair, and of her growing irritability, for Lord Devereaux was not the doting husband he donned the mask of. The letters he sent were intentionally difficult and his absence was reasoned away with redundancies and non-reasons despite him so often being in an office just one floor above her suite while she remained alarmingly unaware.

Araphael cared nothing for this marital disaster nor did he find any joy in what was little more than psychological torture, but Colin Deveraux was the front runner in the study of the human psyche. He particularly thrived on molding it which he much preferred over breaking. There was much to be learned here and it was merely an unfortunate coincidence that Marie was a lucid specimen.  

“Why did you marry him?” he wondered, helping  himself to  little cake.

What a strange question, and a more interesting response. As if she had never been upset, Marie sat up straighter, her head tilting to one side ever so slightly, a warm smile plastering on her face. An illumination, like flipping the switch on an animatronic. 

“He loves me,” she replied, a hint of laughter in her answer, as if it should have been obvious. It was the same way she responded to the question each time he asked. Uncanny and mechanical. Programmed. Thirty-nine times since her arrival.

“I’m sure he does. But what made you decide to get married?”

Again, she repeated the motions, the moments, the response and the doctor found himself annoyed with it today, like he’d suddenly been locked out of the conversation and could go no further, could discover nothing more. 

“So…” he took a different direction, “how did he propose?”

This time he watched as her face lit up even more and she moved forward, setting the teacup down. Ah, this might prove to be interesting. Marie was such an animated character when she spoke freely. 

“Oh Dr. Ota,” she sighed, he hands splayed out in the air before her, grey eyes bright and shimmering in the glow of her lamps, preparing to regale him with one of the most romantic moments she’d ever lived. “He–” 

But there she stopped, frozen. For a few seconds, she didn’t move at all, but then she splayed her hands again, taking a breath, and when she made an attempt to speak, nothing came out. Her mouth didn’t even form a word and he could see the way her eyes danced a rapid vibration the same way they did when she tried to read. 

She didn’t remember. 

Good. 

Her memory was not yet fully recovered from her accident. Colin himself had expressed this, claiming he didn’t want to begin any projects with her until she was at her best, like a sadist who heals their victims between torture. 

Defeated, she dropped her hands to her lap, her eyes following suit for the first time.

“I don’t remember,” she whispered, “why don’t I remember?” 

Her submission did not last long, challenge rising up in time with her chest, eyes narrowed in annoyance. 

“That’s not why I’m here. One fuzzy memory isn’t why I’m here.” 

“Was your mother happy that day?”

“Of course not,” she spat, “Claire has hated me since the day I was born.”

“And your father? Was he proud to give you away?” 

“Arthur–” another stall. “he–Arthur–my–”

“Tell me about your tenth birthday.” 

He knew these sorts of questions were not productive and when she stood, he wondered if he might finally break a wall down within her. Whether it be to trigger her lost memories or to examine a facet other than the one she’d been showing the past six months, he didn’t care. The brain worked in so many ways, he’d study whatever she threw at him. 

“I don’t see how that matters.”

“What did you want most for Christmas as a little girl?”

“I don’t–”

“Your best friend’s name? A memorable vacation? The first book you read? Your least favourite relative? Your first pet? Childhood hobbies?”

“Stop it!”

“Lady Devereaux can you tell me anything about yourself that was not dictated to you after your accident? Is there anything you know about yourself that you haven’t been told?” 

He hadn’t meant to be so aggressive, but the way she deflated was oh so satisfying. Sinking back down onto her sofa, the blonde stared through the table, wracking her brain and he knew he’d made headway. 

“You are here,” he said softly, approaching the subject with apprehension and caution, “because you do not know who you are. You were not able to uncover memories on your own at home. That is why Lord Devereaux brought you to us.” 

“I’m not crazy,” she breathed, “I’m not.” 

“No,” he agreed, “you’re not crazy.”

That was enough for this week. With any luck, she would stop resisting The Institution and his work with her would be far more interesting than the idle chit-chat and lamenting he’d endured for far too long. After all, he’d been hand-picked by Edmund Hojo to run this facility alongside Colin. It was time he had specimens worthy of his stature in the project. 

Though as uninteresting as this socialite was, what had come in earlier that day to the research floor did seem to have much more merit. Hojo’s supposed ‘scraps’. 

A young blond man who called himself ‘Zack’.

#Lady Devereaux and the Institution #I have no official title for this AU yet but it's a collab effort between my irl bestie and me #might as well store them all here too

[marie-dufresne]

The New President

As Rufus rises to the presidency, Marie Heidegger isn’t quite sure where she stands.

In a place Marie had always considered a second home, she felt a stranger. It had been nearly a month since she had last entered this building, taking time to work through the emotions of the change that had taken place. The stares she received on her journey up to the new president’s office were expected. The whispers as well.

Marie Heidegger never wore black.

Even Tseng raised his brow at her when she approached, sauntering into the reception room, eyes set for the secretary’s desk, entirely lacking a secretary—and all of her belongings—the lead TURK fingering through the filing cabinet.

“Good Morning, Mrs. Heidegger.,” he greeted.

With a curious gesture with her lace gloved hand, Marie gave him a questioning glance and her ebon handbag swung on her elbow with her movements.

“Is Josie on vacation?”

Tseng let out a little humorless laugh through his nose, withdrawing the file he had been searching for and pushing the drawer closed.

“Josie is no longer with us. We are accepting applications.”

Marie clicked her tongue, giving a little pout. “Aw. Of all Artie’s lightskirts, she was my favourite.”

“Rufus is ready for you, ma’am.”

She took the hint. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk today. That was fine. Neither was she. She was here to push down her anxiety, the questions she had about her future. She’d grown so accustomed to one lifestyle, she’d forgotten it could come to an end.

She passed through the door Tseng opened for her, but when the president looked up, he gave him a little wave. He was in no danger today. He’d heard enough about Marie Heidegger’s tantrums, but he’d never seen one with his own eyes. That wasn’t the relationship they had.

He was, however, very wary of her choice of outfit.

“Black.”

Standing before his desk, she set her handbag down on one of the chairs, pulling her gloves off by the fingertips.

“I’m not making a statement,” she assured him, “I know we live in modern times but society customs are part of my DNA.”

With a soft smile, she dipped her head a bit, lowering her voice. “I’m mourning the loss of a good friend, Mr. President. That’s all. Three months of black.”

His chest rose slightly, but he kept himself in check. No scathing comments or witty one-liners about his father would be hurled at her. He stopped questioning their friendship when he was a child. She was married to Heidegger (happily at that. Blissfully, even.) so in comparison, any other relationship she fostered was simply ‘what she did’ in Rufus’ eyes.

He invited her to sit, and did the same, steepling his fingers on the desktop.

“You made an appointment, Mrs. Heidegger,” he said curiously. Marie never made appointments. “What is this about?”

“So formal,” she replied, not yet broaching the subject, “’Marie’ has always been just fine.”

In the past, yes, he had been able to be less formal with her, but he could no longer afford closeness or sentimentality. It was also prudent to keep Josef Heidegger’s temper in check. Though he had no amorous intentions towards the fifty-something year old woman before him, Heidegger was a jealous man who reacted before he thought.

If he thought at all.

“You have your scruples, I have mine.”

Marie gave a light chuckle. She could appreciate that. Sometimes she forgot he was grown and here he was, the president, calling her ‘Mrs’. and accepting her appointments.

“Fair enough,” she agreed. She heaved a deep sigh, a sadness overtaking her. No, not sadness. Uncertainty.

“Well,” she began, “where to start?” There was silence for a few moments, Marie looking for a way to issue her request respectfully and Rufus, waiting patiently.

“As you know…though I’ve never been part of this company in any official capacity, I had…I was integral in its development and its growth.”

A spark ignited in the president’s eyes, but he didn’t react just yet. Though he hadn’t been present at any of her outbursts, he had plenty of experience with seeing her manipulate. He’d learned a few of his own tricks from observing her. No one thrived in their circle without a very specific skill set so he didn’t feel disdain for her, but in this moment, he didn’t trust her presence here wasn’t on behalf of her oaf of a husband.

“But I also recognize you have…grown into your own man. You aren’t your father and I don’t expect you to be.”

Reaching over into her bag, she withdrew a keycard, standing slightly and sliding it across the desk towards him with a soft, sad little smile.

“At your father’s side, I had many liberties within these walls. But this is your time now so I will not assume I can behave in the same manner under you.”

Ah. That was it, then. She wanted to know where she stood. He appreciated that, really. Everyone else of her status had to have been put in line. She had the grace to come submit directly. Refreshing, given her spouse.

Rufus considered for a moment, keeping his gaze focused on the keycard before him. Her Golden Ticket to the hallowed halls and all the information she could fit in those ridiculous curls of hers. In reality, from a pragmatic standpoint, her track record suggested keeping her out would be unwise.

From a personal standpoint, he didn’t want to keep her out.

“You were with my mother when I was born,” he said softly, pushing the keycard back at her, “…and you stayed with me when she died.”

No longer being able to afford closeness of sentimentality, he didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t have to. Marie understood, and she took her card back, returning it to her purse. He had her fidelity; there was no need to worry about her presence in the building, no matter where she was.

“I can have that taken care of,” he said, standing and gesturing to the ugly scar that ran down the right side of her face, over her eye, twin to her husband’s. The wound was still healing and it looked angry today.  

“Thank you for offering, but no. Josef and Hojo have offered as well but…” she stood, pulling her gloves back on, “I need to live with it. It’s a reminder of what I’ve done. I deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve it.”

Everyone said that. She didn’t deserve what AVALANCHE did to her, what the stolen children of Wutai had done. She hadn’t known. She wasn’t evil. Evil or ignorant, it didn’t matter to her. She’d committed a grievous crime, then accepted adulation for it.

“You know what they say about good intentions, Mr. President,” she said, her smile turning both radiant and sardonic.

His grin matched hers and he walked her to the door.

“Yes well, at least the road to Hell is paved. It’ll make for a much more comfortable ride.”

#every now and then I need to re-read this and get feelings for Auntie Marie #this au is strong with me lately #The Warmonger's Wife

[marie-dufresne]

Byeeee off to see ACC in theatres! Three of us are all dressed as generic TURKs and look cute as heck!!

When we sat down some guy leaned over to his buddy and was like “looks like some TURKs sat down next to us.” 🙌🙌🙌🙌

#ooc #mun #I don’t care that it’s not munday I’m really hype

[marie-dufresne]

Discovering Chivalry

Surprisingly amenable to his new engagement, Heidegger rectifies an insult done to him, and a grievous wrong done to his intended. The timing, however, could have been better.

1973

Josef Heidegger had not expected to enjoy himself at the Dufresne gala. He wasn’t one for shows and charades, so having to pretend to be the beau of a girl he had met three days prior was not his idea of a good time. Rubbing elbows with people who knew they were better than him was even less of an ideal situation.

And yet…as soon as she had come to stand at his side, he found himself comfortable. Artemis joined them for a time and while Josef wasn’t the perfect conversationalist, both Artie and Marie were well versed in the social arts to speak just enough for him without making it obvious they were speaking for him.

When he broke a wine glass in his hand, forgetting his strength, his intended was neither frightened nor annoyed with him.

She was impressed.

“We make our stemware from reinforced crystal,” she explained, “to avoid breakage and save on cost.”

That he could shatter the thing with his bare hand—by accident—was no small feat and he found himself receptive to her praise. Not that he was in a hurry to do it again. It made a damn mess all over his thigh.

Though the night was generally enjoyable, there had been one exchange in particular that had…soured it. An older gentleman, drunk, with three young ladies (hired, by the looks of them) clinging to his arm, full of giggles.

“Well you’re the youngest she’s ever had!” He had laughed, gesturing to the petite woman on Heidegger’s own arm. He felt the way her grip tightened and she gracefully excused them, leading him away from the crowd.

When he questioned what the drunk had meant, she had simply smiled and gave him an affectionate squeeze, resting her curls on his arm.

“You aren’t the first time I’ve been used as currency,” she said simply, bringing him out to a balcony, overlooking the grand party. Here they could be alone without causing scandal or appearing rude.

Letting out a gruff sort of grunt, he released himself from her hold, meaty hands gripping the marble rail.

“And when were you his currency?”

Marie stepped forward, standing beside him, but not touching. “It’s nothing to worry about,” she assured him, “six or seven years ago, I think.”

Heidegger was not an educated man, nor was her a quick thinker, but even he could do basic mathematics. He didn’t know exactly how old she was, but if he had to guess, she was somewhere between nineteen and twenty-three.

Marie could see him thinking, working something out in his mind and she sighed. Placing her little hand over his own.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” she pressed, “but the world of high society and big business is beautiful only on the surface. Are you certain you want to be a part of it? There’s no room for heroes.”

Turning to look down at her, he gave her a firm once over, his eyes narrowing under his bushy brows as he wondered if she, too, was only beautiful on the surface.

“How old are you?”

Marie wasn’t expecting him to ask outright, but she supposed knowing the age of one’s spouse was helpful, so she didn’t hesitate to answer.

“Twenty-one. Plenty old enough to navigate this world.”

Twenty-one. So she’d been fourteen.

He grunted again and the next day he did what any rational man would do.

He beat the man for a solid twenty-minutes.

He hadn’t killed him, though he’d wanted to, but for the sake of his connection to Artie, Josef had held back, shown restraint, and kept it to a thorough maiming. The older man may or may not regain his ability to walk, but Heidegger didn’t really give a shit.

Artemis ShinRa, however, did.

He’d been in Heidegger’s office for ten minutes now, fuming, and unable to come up with anything to say. Finally, he let out a sigh and dragged his hand down his face.

“What were you thinking?”

Heidegger turned up his palms as if the answer were obvious, like he’d done nothing wrong. “The man insulted me.”

“Insulted you. How?”

Harold Davenport insulted everyone. He was known for casually offending and most people took it with a grain of salt and moved on.

When Heidegger said nothing, but pursed his lips in annoyance, unable to meet his friend’s demanding gaze, Artemis sighed again.

“It’s about her, isn’t it?”

When he was met with silence again, he crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, then began to pace. The damage control he was having to set in place because of this bordered on insane.

“Listen. I am…thrilled that you’re getting along with her, Josef. Trust me, the two of you happy together will make all of our plans that much easier, but for fuck’s sake, this is not the time to discover chivalry!”

Chivalry? Well, yes, he had been defending Marie’s honor or…something….like that, but Heidegger’s pride took precedence over that (an immaturity he would grow out of to some extent) so he scowled and sat back.

“He touched something that was mine, so I punished him for it. That’s it.”

Artemis stopped his pacing. Davenport had put hands on her? Not with her consent, that much was certain. If he’d done so by force, he couldn’t fault his friend, as much of a further mess that would make this entire situation. Or…had Arthur Dufresne offered her up one last time? If so, Artie would see to it that Arthur was…properly re-educated regarding the meaning of a contract and the legality that bound the parties to it.

“Last night?” he asked, a fist under his chin, brows furrowed in curiosity.

“No,” Heidegger bit off gruffly, “Before. Before….” he waved one of his hands around “before all this.”

Ah. The third option. Heidegger was a fist-happy fool.

Closing his eyes, Artemis inhaled slowly, keeping himself calm for the moment.

“You beat one of our investors to near death…because at some point in time….he slept with your fianceé. Am I hearing this correctly?”

“It needed to be done.”

“And do you intend to issue this punishment on every man who has been with your new little pet? Because I assure you my friend, the list is quite extensive. I’m on it myself.”

The way that Josef sat back in his chair, eyes glistening beneath his bushy brows, chest rising with an overly masculine need to fight told Artemis that Marie had not disclosed the information of their previous relationship to her newfound partner and that amused him. This had been a business transaction, after all. Didn’t she want all the neat little dotted Is and crossed Ts?

“If you want to take a swing at me, I’m right here.”

“It wasn’t personal,” Heidegger grumbled beneath his beard, “it’s a matter of principle.”

Artemis scoffed, letting out a frigid laugh as he waved his friend away. “Principle? I took you on because you have no principles!”

When Josef’s palms hit the desk, the chandelier rattled and when he stood, towering over his employer, the floorboards groaned and door trembled in its frame.

“I will not be made a fool!” He bellowed, red faced and seeming to grow thicker in his rage, “I will not be laughed at and mocked!”

Any other man may have pissed himself at the outburst, fearful that the man might tear him in two. Had any other man been standing before him, he might have been torn in two. But Artemis ShinRa was not afraid of his loose canon of a friend—not for his own sake—so he did not tremble and he did not assuage.

“Well. That ship has sailed, my friend. You’re marrying a whore.”

And then he strode from the room, listening as a handful of pencils splintered in Heidegger’s grip.

Marie Dufresne herself was just outside the office, just as he knew she would be, and Artemis was not gentle when he clutched her face in one of his hands, squeezing her jaw and rendering her without her ability to speak—or move.

“Get him under control,” he growled, shoving her away and storming from the building, displaying his anger to those who mattered little to him.

#Good ole Harold coming in to ruin everyone's day #The Warmonger's Wife #Heidegger ffvii #Heidegger ff7 #president shinra #ffvii fanfiction #ff7 fanfic

[marie-dufresne]

Happy munday and happy new year! I started of my year with my arm in a wall because I was the only one small enough to do it!

I’ve been literally elbows deep in a home rehab for the past two weeks. We closed on our 2nd investment property that is a total fixer upper and we will be doing all the work ourselves. 💪 Our amazing group of friends have been in and out with us lending their expertise and learning alongside us.

We’ve got a friend moving INTO the construction craziness tonight despite not having running water. 😂

Probably for obvious reasons I still won’t be around much. Having a blast learning skills and working my way towards my island home. 🙏🏻

Catch me on discord from time to time! I’ve got a million fics to write and post but they’re living in my head while I peel paint off doors and pry up tack boards. 🤭

#blog update #munday #I feel like a big kid! I did plumbing! #ooc

[marie-dufresne]

Oh nbd just picked up another hobby. 🤣

Charcuterie board for a friend burned by me. From sanding to finish it probably took about 25 hours but I learned a ton so I bet my next one will go much much faster. 💪

#ooc #munday #I’ll be back with some fics no one asked for next year probably #I’m in wholesome Heidegger land so just prepare yourselves #mun makes stuff

[marie-dufresne]

Happy Munday! My 4yo asked me this morning for a “rainbow hat with a white thing and a Frenchie tag” and I kind of surprised myself completing it in 5 hours when Mondays are a full chore day and I was making it up as I went. 🥵

Prepping for holiday knits! 😂

#munday #mun makes stuff #knitting #knitters of tumblr #rainbow baby

[marie-dufresne]

4. What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

[taken from our first verse]

Embroidery. The repetitive monotony is very therapeutic for her and has been since she was a child, even if her father sees it as something for “old crones”. She knows she can ask for supplies and they’ll be granted to her, but she already feels like a horrible burden to the inn, she hasn’t been brave enough to do so yet.

#now you know 💖 #stingslikeabee

[marie-dufresne]

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

[taken from the merc-verse]

Photography. It was one of the things she was actually allowed to do almost with no limitations. Her favourite subjects were things forbidden to her: indulgent foods, families—mothers with their babies in particular.

Once she hired Cloud, she’s been far too on edge to even consider being able to relax and hasn’t touched her camera in ages.

#now you know 💖 #spec-b

[marie-dufresne]

17 - What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them? 18 - Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?

17 - What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?

Marie notices her weight first. She’s never been overweight but across just about any verse, her parents are extremely critical of her appearance, particularly her weight. She has thick thighs and she’s busty. Her parents never took into account the uniqueness of body types. Claire is rail thin. Her daughter is not a wooden plank and therefore she’s fat. Arthur has no real concept of scale number to reality so anything over 100 to him is fat.

I think our AU is the only time this doesn’t apply too much, but she will take the beauty standards of the time and apply it to herself even if she is literally immortal perfection.

The first thing others notice about her is generally her hair. If her hair is put up or swept back, definitely her boobs. I’m not going to pretend she doesn’t wear them like an accessory. She knows what she’s got.

18 - Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?

Just about everyone, to be honest. Well, everyone she gives her love to, that is. Though she usually interacts with people who give themselves to almost nobody, Marie doesn’t believe in conditional love. Since she was raised with conditional tolerance, she gives love freely and without condition which is….not always a good thing. It’s usually a pretty terrible thing tbh. Her unconditional love makes her blind to the reality of the types of men she goes with, or provides justification for their actions almost 100% of the time.

#now you know 💖 #poeticphoenix

[marie-dufresne]

WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS

What’s the lie your character says most often?

How loosely or strictly do they use the word ‘friend’?

How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?

What’s their favorite [insert anything] that they’ve never recommended to anyone before?

What would you (mun) yell in the middle of a crowd to find them? What would their best friend and/or romantic partner yell?

How loose is their use of the phrase ‘I love you’?

Do they give tough love or gentle love most often? Which do they prefer to receive?

What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?

If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

When do they fake a smile? How often?

How do they put out a candle?

What’s the most obvious difference between their behavior at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they’re alone?

What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?

What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?

Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?

What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don’t like the person?

What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?

What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

What do they feel guilty for that the other person(s) doesn’t / don’t even remember?

Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it?

What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?

What’s the worst gift they ever received? How did they respond?

What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?

How do they respond when someone doesn’t believe them?

When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?

When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?

How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?

How do they greet someone they like / love?

What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?

Who do they keep in their life for professional gain? Is it for malicious intent?

What’s a secret they haven’t told serious romantic partners and don’t plan to tell?

What hobby are they good at in private, but bad at in front of others? Why?

Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there?

How do they respond to a loose handshake? What goes through their head?

What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?

If invited to a TED Talk, what topic would they present on? What would the title of their presentation be?

What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?

What language would be easiest for them to learn? Why?

What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately?

Are they a listener or a talker? If they’re a listener, what makes them talk? If they’re a talker, what makes them listen?

Who have they forgotten about that remembers them very well?

Who would they say ‘yes’ to if invited to do something they abhorred / strongly didn’t want to do?

Would they eat something they find gross to be polite?

What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?

What’s a phrase they say a lot?

Do they act on their immediate emotions, or do they wait for the facts before acting?

Who would / do they believe without question?

What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?

What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?

If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?

What’s a simple daily activity / motion that they mess up often?

How many hobbies have they attempted to have over their lifetime? Is there a common theme?

#fun and games 💖

[marie-dufresne]

A Surprising Discovery

Rookie TURK Vincent Valentine discovers something bizarre in the basement of the old ShinRa Manor {Marie Dufresne & Vincent Valentine Role Reversal AU}

It wasn’t as grotesque as he had imagined it would be. When Tseng had put Vincent on a retrieval mission at the old ShinRa Mansion on behalf of the science department, he had expected more roadblocks. More…creepy crawlies.

He did find a key. It was an interesting looking key and he pocketed it, thinking to add it to a collection he gathered of finds on the job, but when he came across a door that looked just as fascinating as the key, he wondered if they were companions.

As it turned out, they were. With the document disc retrieved as ordered, he pushed the door open, allowing himself for a little exploration before he made his way back to the inn, then home to Midgar.

He was met by a room of coffins and lowered his weapon, crimson eyes surveying the room for a moment. Nothing to see here, he supposed. An old family crypt, perhaps. There wasn’t much interest he had in a bunch of dead ShinRas, but before he turned to leave, he felt an interesting energy coming from one of them.

Against his better judgement, he lifted the top of it, his gaze met with the sleeping form of a young woman. If she hadn’t been dressed in rags and bizarre golden armor, he would have pegged her for a fairy tale princess.

He might have kissed her to awaken her.

But Vincent Valentine was young and awkward with women still, so he did not kiss her.

He didn’t have to, as she stirred and muttered a bit before one of her clawed hands came to grip the edge of the coffin, sitting up and raising her hands up, stretching as she yawned. Frozen in confusion, he was still holding the top of her sleeping place open.

When finally she became aware of her surroundings, she took his arm in her golden clad hand, gripping him with a fierceness no woman of her size should possess.

“Who are you and why do I want to rip your throat out?”

The saccharine innocence of her tone clashed against the violence of her words and he stepped back, the coffin cover crashing down as he did. He aimed his weapon at her. He wasn’t afraid to kill a woman. Or a thing disguised as a woman.

The lid didn’t crush her. In fact, it barely hit the matted curls nested atop her head before her arm snapped up, deflecting it and sending it flying across the room.

He shot her.

Once. Twice. Three times. He was right to be on alert here.

“Oh will you stop that?” she asked, little more than irritation in her voice, struggling to climb out of her prison, catching on her impossibly pointy shoes.

“What even are these?”

Was she even speaking to him? He didn’t shoot her again, but stood, guarded and armed. Ready to make another attempt on her life. This might require magic.

She was looking at her shoes, making little annoyed sounds when she couldn’t grip them properly with her gauntlet.

“I am not going to kill him,” she hissed and Vincent wasn’t entirely sure who she was talking to, “just…just be quiet for a minute. I need to figure out what psychotic game of dress up I think I’m playing.”

When she stood, it was awkward and she twisted this way and that, observing the way she was dressed. “Oh this is awful,” she sighed, taking the ragged cloak between two of her fingers and dropping it with a look of disgust. When her eyes caught sight of said fingers, she cried out again. How horrifying! Her fingernails, always so perfectly manicured, were grown into unrecognizable body parts. Like a crusty old Halloween witch!

Her chest began to rise with panic. How…how did she get this way? Who was the last per—

Hojo.

With her claws to her chest, she gasped, and Vincent lowered his gun. This woman was probably more of a danger to herself than to him. He’d have to bring her back with him. The department could decide what to do with her.

“He shot me!” “I shot you three times,” he corrected, “and you’re fine.”

“No,” she pressed, throwing her ‘hands’ out in front of her, making a ‘stop’ motion at the ground. “Professor Hojo shot me.”

Ah. Vincent placed his gun in his holster. That made this entire situation very very clear.

“He shot me and then he—“

With another horrified, overly feminine gasp, she threw her gauntlet over her mouth, grey eyes wide as the realization of truth washed over her.

Marie Dufresne, former Science Department Secretary and Deepground Office Assistant, had been murdered.

She had been murdered, and then Hojosynthesized.

#I think about this ficlet too often and it’s now very relevant again #I mean did y’all see how the top of that coffin just went flying

[marie-dufresne]

Heidegger’s Cats

Please enjoy this entirely unnecessary headcanon I have come up with as well as the time and download slots of my adobe stock account I have wasted.

Sniper: There’s nothing in his brain. Nothing at all. He’s a ball of fluff and love and fear. He’s the smallest and the fastest. Zoomies 24hrs a day. Loves belly rubs but his soul will leave his body when the toilet flushes and the phone rings. Wants to play all the time, too dumb to understand rules of engagement.

Gatling: She’s a bitch. She hates everyone and everything except for Heideigger. Would eat Sniper if it wouldn’t make dad upset. Intentionally flips over the food and water dishes of the other cats when she thinks they’re getting more attention. Plotting to kill Marie, doesn’t cover her poop.

Tank: Way too chill to deal with Gatling. Was a stray and like Heidegger, looks older than he is. At 32lbs, he often serves as Sniper’s shield. Loves people, animals, and being alone equally. Won’t often seek out affection but welcomes it when it comes to him. Has no idea what a zoomie is.

#friendly reminder #The Warmonger's Wife