Archive of Our Own ^beta

The silky red shirt looks different in her closet, shiny embroidered fabric (is it silk? satin? she doesn't know) standing out among pastel dresses and intensely colored coats. When she touches it, the material slips through her fingers like water (she can't get a good grip on it).

Marinette locks her door. She pulls her blinds and flicks the lights on, pulling her long mirror into the light.

She puts on a white undershirt, then holds tight to the red shirt (is it a shirt? she doesn't know if it has a different name) so it can't fall out of her hands. She has to pull to get it over her body; it's too tight in the shoulders but far too loose in the waist. Her fingers stumble to do up the (catches? loops? straps?) on the front (everyone else does these with muscle memory; practice doing them up their whole lives). The (silk? satin?) doesn't breathe at all; sweat immediately starts building up on her arms where the shirt is touching.

Marinette looks in the mirror. She doesn't look like she should be wearing it, the material loose in some places and straining in others, the shiny red hue and gold embroidery looks just wrong next to her (pale pale pale ) pink skin. She undoes her pigtails and lets her hair drop onto her shoulders; it's black but it's the wrong texture, fine and thin next to her mothers thick and coarse locks. Her eyes are lidded and blue, her nose is small and round, her cheekbones are high (is that right? how should she know what within her is her mother's and what is her father's).

She takes off the shirt with care and returns it to the closet. It's not like she would know when to wear it anyway (red is for new year's, right? or is it for parties? what kind of party?).

She walks into the restaurant with her family, relaxing in the familiar atmosphere. The air has the smell of delicious food, the gentle conversation in words she understands and words she doesn't, the clanging and banging of the cooks in the kitchen.

They sit at a large table, expecting some second cousins to join them. When the food is on the table Marinette picks through the dishes, taking the noodles from one and a bun from the other (her cousins' plates are heaped with everything).

She leaves hungry and eats a peanut butter sandwich at home (even dad likes it, did you see the looks your cousins shot your plate, did you forget your tea again until it was cold, did you spend the whole time staring at the fish in the wall tanks because you've long learned that you have nothing to contribute to this conversation even when they speak your language for your benefit).

In summer, Marinette spends a lot of time in front of her mirror, wondering wondering wondering if the tan she's getting makes her look more like her mother, then she opens her phone and sees the trendy white model whose skin is darker (tanner) than hers (but the tone counts apparently, is her skin yellower than the model's? is her skin yellower than her father's?). The light in the bathroom makes her look browner but the light in the kitchen makes her look so pasty against her mother (real Chinese people don't depend on lighting).

Marinette walks around the neighborhood handing out their garden fruit to their neighbors (a pleasant thing to do when you have too much). One woman complains about the Chinese couple that was handing out flyers for a petition ("Oh, those Chinese. You always have to read the fine print on what a Chinese person gives you"). Would you like to read the fine print on this plum, ma'am? (she stays quiet. for all she knows that could be true true true TRUE TRUE TRUE TRUE THOSE ARE LIES MOM IS NOT A CHEAT but who am I to say anything who am I to say anything ?)

When her family celebrates New Year Marinette bites into the moon cake and wonders if she's allowed to do that.

She learns a new word ("to appropriate") and it echoes in her mind over and over and over again.

She got some Mandarin learning books and tried to learn from Mom a few years ago but the words sounded so mangled coming out of her mouth that she put the books away and never tried again (the only words she remembers are 'little brother', 'don't want', and 'watermelon').

She knows the word for thank you in Mandarin but only nods and smiles at the people who move out of her way on the street (it sounds so broken when she says it, all twisted and messed up and silly).

Marinette looks in the mirror and wrestles and wonders 'Am I one or the other or a mixture of both?'