Chapter Text
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
death (/deTH/)
noun
- the action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism. "I don't believe in life after death" synonyms: demise, dying, end, passing loss of life
The first hint of consciousness was brief and quickly quelled by the surrounding warmth and distant muffled sounds of soft melodies and loving words that couldn’t reach their ears before they faded away. They stayed this way for what felt like eternity, but they enjoyed it all the same. Memories played within their mindseye, bringing them both joy, sadness, anger, and deep, resounding grief.
This existence floated within the warm darkness in a deep slumber with all these churning and confusing emotions, unable to escape the memories that they kept reliving over and over.
Only the soft humming outside of where they stayed brought comfort and drove away the tormenting memories and instead brought visions of a beautiful girl with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Her hair was a midnight blue, short and tied back in two low tails; she was kind and shy to a fault, laughing with faceless people and working in a bakery with a man and woman.
The scene changed several more times, from picnics and parties to fantastical scenes that couldn’t possibly exist, then physical fights to vocal ones. Crushes and first loves and dates and heartbreaks.
One thing that stood out the most was the only person other than the girl to have recognizable features (the faceless people were both familiar and unfamiliar and eerie all at once); a boy with blond hair and emerald eyes that sparkled when he laughed, lost their radiance when he was sad, and their luster darkened when he was angry.
His entire being shone so brightly, he was hard to miss.
In the end, it settled on the girl pinning fabric to a dressform, faced away from the consciousness’ watching gaze; the pattern was a lovely pink with ladybugs scattered about.
“We’ve had it hard,” she says softly. It was the first time they heard any sound or voices from these visions. “You and I are entirely different beings and yet, that doesn’t change the hardship that each person faces in their lifetime.”
The existence startled as the girl–no, the woman was older than before, but it was definitely her– turned and looked straight into their eyes. Those blue (blue, blue, blue like the sky itself dropped itself into her irises) eyes were hard and serious, but softened when they met wide, caramel ones.
She stepped closer and reached towards them, taking their hand (thin, boney, and dry skin contrasted against pale, calloused fingers) in hers and gently guided them over to a settee. They sat together but the existence faced forward, mind reeling at being addressed for the first time in…well, since they had arrived wherever they are.
“Time isn’t linear, I learned,” the woman started, “it’s actually patterns and events scattered that eventually join together to create the timeline you have lived. Because of this, I learned that I have lived my life many times over, and yet I only ever remember this when I’ve met my end. My life–no, my fate…is predestined to play out as it does because it is my soul that inhabits this body. So I thought…what if I chose not to? What if I chose not to live this scripted life as I have been?
Do you understand what I’m telling you, M̶̧͚̪͉̯̜̰͎̘̀͋̇̀͗̍́͆̑̏͂̿̊̚ǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅǎ̴̯̀͠ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ ?”
The existence sucked in a sharp breath and slowly turned their head towards the woman sitting beside them.
Beside her.
Her brown eyes met the woman’s blue ones again.
(When had she turned to look at her?)
“I have lived all my lives selflessly each and every time, and for once, I want to be selfish and live one without having it planned for me. So I looked for a soul that didn’t have any strings attached to it. A soul free of otherworldly burdens and found you. You who have let go of all attachments to your own world because you gave up on yourself.”
The woman smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
They–she knew why.
Because this woman had people she loved; there were people who loved her just as much….and she was choosing to leave them.
“You bitch,” was the first thing she said to the woman, her voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and raspy from disuse. She swallowed, “I don’t even have a choice, do I?”
“No,” her answer was curt, and void of any sympathy or regret, “you don’t. When it was time to reenter the reincarnation cycle, I pulled your soul from limbo and now we’re both set for each other’s original bodies. This wasn’t me asking, this was me informing you.”
“You’re a fucking joke,” she spat back, her tone scalding while her volume remained where it began. “‘Selfless’ my ass, you’re the most selfish cunt I've ever met. I bet you didn’t even pause to consider how this decision would affect me– all that matters is you getting what you want at your own convenience. If that isn't selfish, then I don't know what is.”
The woman smiled almost blissfully at her, “It is, isn't it?”
“Fuck you.”
She laughed, shoulders shaking and eyes creasing.
(She was absolutely stunning.
But she would never tell her that.)
The world began to shift, blurring and fading in corners and odd parts around the room, dissipating as if it were merely an illusion.
“It's time.”
The woman stood and walked away from her, her own body beginning to fade with the rest of the room. Turning back to look at her, the soul with warm caramel eyes and a scathing tongue, her smile shifted into something more sorrowful.
“You regret it.”
“I don't,” she snapped back quickly, “I didn't make this decision lightly, despite what you may think. Sometimes…sometimes choosing yourself is more painful than you think. You should try it some time.”
“Ouch, low blow.”
A mirthful smile, “It was, wasn't it?” The room was almost gone, the only remotely solid item was the settee where the soul still sat, watching the woman continue to fade. “I should warn you, there is another soul that is always dealt the same fate just as I was, he’s…he means the world to me.”
“You have a funny way of showing it considering you're abandoning him for your own benefit.”
“He won’t leave,” she replied bitterly, “he’s convinced that he can change our story one day. But he can’t. Fate doesn’t care about your plans, it deals you the cards and you play the game its set. It’s rigged from the start.”
“A philosopher once said that fate leads the willing and drags the reluctant,” the soul ticked an eyebrow, crossed her arms and one leg over the other and leaned back into plush fabric. “You’ll get what you deserve eventually, whatever that may be.”
Blue eyes looked at her brown ones from over her shoulder, her expression hard and frustrated before twisting her own words back at her.
“I hope you have the life you deserve, too,” the last of her words becoming nothing but a whisper in the wind, those eyes burned into her mind even after they wisped away, “‘whatever that may be.’”
The soul scowled, bouncing their leg as her thought reeled over the knowledge of being thrown into a reincarnation cycle, her own form beginning to disappear along with the settee.
At least she wouldn't know she had reincarnated, right? If she did, she'd be miserable. Plus that woman said she never remembered until after she kicked the bucket anyways.
Small mercies, she supposed.
Brown eyes closed as the last wisp of their soul was pulled away and out from the warmth that had wrapped around her, body sagging in the relief that came with it.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
That thing about small mercies? Bullshit.
Tom and Sabine Dupain-Cheng were, for all intents and purposes, absolute angels. Truly the nicest people she had ever been in the presence of. They were kind, loving, fun and wanted to be part of her day, all day, every day.
Which is why she had no idea how to deal with them.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng had the consciousness of a grown (grown enough, anyway) person, much to her dismay. The small mercy she was expecting of losing her memories like the original soul was snubbed out relatively quickly.
Three months after her birth, the memories filtered in and she cried so hard that day both Tom and Sabine were exhausted and nearly pulling their hair out from stress.
Marinette supposed the ‘small mercy’ was not remembering the events of her birth.
‘Bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.’
She cursed at the original soul until she had exhausted herself to sleep, much to the relief of her (now) parents.
After that, she was the picture of a perfect baby that hardly made a fuss, never had tantrums, and hardly cried. Tom and Sabine were ecstatic and proud and constantly praised her. Granted, she did fumble at times, doing or reaching for something she shouldn’t and was reprimanded accordingly.
Sabine was Chinese and would sometimes speak or sing to her in some dialect that she eventually learned the words, though it definitely wasn’t easy. Because not only was she speaking Chinese, she was speaking French a majority of the time along with Tom. From the times she’s been burped and catching glimpses outside the window, the glaring image of the Eiffel Tower had confirmed her suspicions.
She was now a biracial citizen of France.
She didn’t know a lick of French, but she supposed like all children, she would pick up and learn as time went. Just as Rome wasn’t built in a day, learning a language (let alone multiple) takes time.
And as a baby, she had all the time in the world.
She took advantage of that when she was left in her bassinet or bouncer in the doorway that connected their home to a large kitchen with both brick and standard ovens. They were in there daily from the early hours of the day until a little after four in the afternoon. Her mother took regular breaks to check on and feed her, but otherwise left her to watch them quietly.
She could see that it worried them, being quiet and all.
Marinette didn’t fuss, cry or even babble. She snuffled and looked around and watched. But most of all…her mind raced with thoughts. She listened to her father singing a tune as he needed dough, and her mother greeted, served and conversed with customers. It was so domestic, it was nearly sickening. This was the ideal life of a loving family with a stable income and livelihood, and it screamed togetherness.
Sabine, she had noticed, was a small woman compared to Tom’s hulking figure. She had midnight hair that shone blue in a certain light. She also appreciated that instead of cooing at her, her mother would simply speak to her. This was a definite help in her journey to pick up on French, and she believes the only reason she was succeeding was because while she retained her memories, she still had the brain of a baby.
The scent of fresh baked bread brought her back down to earth, she hadn’t ever thought it could be so…captivating. What amazed her more was that even with the hours he puts into making everything, Tom would never lose his smile as he continued his merry tune as he worked on. It was astounding to watch, so enamored with this routine that she nearly ignored her stomach grumbling and aching with her hunger.
As a baby, she had limited options of communication. However, she realized fairly quickly that if she didn’t suck it up, she would likely starve. She didn’t fully break out into sobs (she did try that first, but she found it incredibly difficult to muster a strong enough emotion to pull tears) but began to grunt and kick her stubby little legs.
Tom stopped working, wiping his hands on his apron as he came scurrying over to her. He gushed out what she could only guess to be words of endearment before a clear “Sabine” came a little louder than anything else.
Her mother cooed after excusing herself (‘excusez-moi’ was a universally known phrase even in her last life) after ringing up the usual three baguettes for the nice elderly woman who lives across the street. She was by her side within seconds seeing as she hadn’t been far in the first place, and Tom went to the counter to take her pace.
Not that she minded being placed within eyesight. She really did enjoy watching Tom in his element.
Sabine began speaking to her, a pleasant smile on her face as she took her from her bouncer and carried her through the doors that lead into the stairwell and up to their home. They arrived in the kitchen and she skillfully began preparing her bottle with one hand.
(“You’re so beautiful Marinette,” Sabine spoke to her baby as she poured in the formula. She had learned fairly quickly that Marinette would not breastfeed. While she had been dejected at first, Tom called her OB and asked a multitude of questions before they were assured that this was absolutely normal. Some babies just didn’t take to breastfeeding, and that was okay. “I wonder how you’ll grow up, hm?” she sighed as she began shaking the bottle.
She worried, with Roland having stopped all communication with them. It was hard on Tom, but Marinette coming into the world has eased some of the heartache. But she knows he wishes that he could introduce their child to his father. Not to mention Gina was in the middle of one of her trips and they were unable to contact her until she returned to her residence.
She looked down at her baby with bright bluebell eyes that sparkled with such life and intellect, and her worries faded away. Because she knew from the moment her daughter had been born that she was special. In what way, she wasn’t sure, but she just knew.)
Sabine tested the temperature of the milk on a free patch of her own skin that she could reach before finally feeding that patient baby cradled in her arm and softly singing in her native language.
Marinette’s eyes fluttered with drowsiness as she drank the warm milk, held carefully in her mother’s arms. As she drank, Sabine walked back to the front, standing nearby and greeting customers and making small talk with those who were delighted to meet the satiated baby that had eagerly awaited the arrival of during Sabine’s pregnancy. She finished her bottle and was drifting off despite the bustle of people.
The best part of being a baby, Marinette accepted happily, was that the naps were the best.
She had never been able to sleep so effortlessly.
When Marinette came to, still in the gentle cradle of her mother’s arms and Tom was to the right of them and both were speaking to someone. She began a satisfying stretch, yawning and rubbing her eyes with tiny fists. Blinking her eyes open, she met Tom and Sabine’s loving smiles.
“Good afternoon, Marinette, how was your nap?” Sabine asked, tickling her chin with a slender finger. Bon was good, her mind supplied; après-midi was afternoon– it was afternoon already? Comment was how, the next couple words were lost on her but she did recognize sieste as nap. So with context clues, how and nap, she could assume that s’est passée ta was, was your. She was asking how her nap was?
Marinette grunted to give some indication that she had a fantastic nap, a little sound of ascent that had Tom and Sabine grinning ear to ear.
“Oh, isn’t she just precious,” a new, though somehow familiar, voice awed. She often heard this voice from her bassinet or bouncer in the doorway with Tom in the kitchen. She turned her head to see who the owner of the voice was, and there she was met with a gorgeous, blonde woman standing before her family. She herself held a bundle in her arms, green eyes shining like a summer forest.
She had thought that the original, grown-up Marinette and Sabine were the most beautiful people she had ever seen, but this woman was on a whole other level. Not that her mother was any less beautiful, but this woman simply had her own appeal.
“Hi there, Marinette!” she greeted, smiling at her and adjusting the baby in arms so that they were facing each other better.
Marinette was met with similar green eyes as the woman, but perhaps his reminded her more of a soft mint, speckled with gold so light it was easily unnoticed if they weren’t looking as intensely as she was. His hair was a golden blonde, just like what she assumed to be his mother, and the moment his wandering gaze fell on her, he broke out into a big, gummy smile and squealed.
She wondered, for a moment, if he was as fascinated by her as she was with him.
No, that wasn’t likely, as he didn’t have coherent thoughts as she did.
“I’m Emilie and this is my son, Adrien!” Emilie continued on, bringing her boy closer to Marinette, “you two have to be nice to each other because we’ll be coming for pastries together from now on, so you have to be friends, okay?” Adrien paid no mind to the woman’s words and gurgled a light, reaching a hand out towards Marinette instead.
Marinette looked at the outstretched hand, the little arm waving as he tried to reach her. Despite herself, she found herself reaching out to him as well, their hands hitting against each other from his flailing before she managed to wrap her little fingers around his own to stop the waving. Instead, he waved it harder with his excitement, jostling her with the movements.
‘My hand is bigger,’ she thought, hands locked onto their hands.
“Well, would you look at that,” Tom breathed as he watched the interaction.
“She likes him,” Sabine was just as amazed, “she usually doesn’t like other people or babies for that matter. She usually ignores them.”
“They could be destined lovers,” the woman romanticizes jokingly, but it had Tom spluttering.
He stressed further when Sabine joked along with the woman, “Perhaps we should get a head start on the wedding?”
“No!” Tom wailed, “I only just got my little girl, I can’t lose her this soon!” The two women laughed and giggled with each other.
But Marinette…she was entranced by Adrien. Watching his eyes close after exhausting himself with his own excitement, still hand in hand. Something about him was so familiar, yet not. She couldn’t place from where, but she had definitely seen him somewhere before. Apart from that, she could only mentally gawk at his beautiful features. He was a spitting image of his mother, with mixed features that clearly had to have come from his father.
She couldn’t help but wonder that if he were to grow up as beautiful as his mother, she might be screwed.
She was an absolute sucker for pretty boys.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵