Captured in Time - MLB Félinette Fanfiction [DISCONTINUED]

Broken Shards

Reporters knocked on her door. Tabloid writers rang on her doorbell, model agents sent her emails. All for the sake of asking her to model for them, or to tell them about what it was like working with A. Agreste .

She answered to none, of course. She had bigger things to worry about. Bigger things being A. Agreste and her pitiful attempt at a love life.

It's been a couple of days since A. Agreste 's real identity has been on her mind, aka his cousin, aka the only guy who has semi-rights to impersonate him . Only because Cousin is the only one who can do his beauty justice, all because they looked like twins.

Either way, at least her problem of having a stalker had been solved.

At first, it was all like: 'what was with all of her worst nightmares suddenly revisiting the poor, heartbroken soul of Marinette?' There was the cat, and then there was Cousin! The same one she swore she would never talk to because first of all, if the media was 90% responsible for Ladybug's and her partner's downfall, and Shadowmoth 7% of said downfall, then the latter 3% was Cousin's.

Why 3%? Because the final battle went a little something like this:

Ladybug: [Redacted], this is the miraculous of the dog blablablabla. Can I trust you?
Cousin, pretending to be him : Of course, Ladybug!

And so chaos ensued.

Marinette sighed as the whole of the memory played in her mind again. The destruction. The debris. The dust that won't settle and plumes of smoke that came from everywhere as a building was stomped on after the other, cars thrown after the other. Paris was no longer the city of love, but the city that Shadowmoth played in order to bring his childish whims into life. She wouldn't let him have that, of course, so no matter the lives lost, she can't let Shadowmoth get the miraculouses and rewrite fate where chaos doesn't have to ensue.

At least, that was how the media painted it because they decided to ask Shadowmoth, aka Gabriel Agreste, for his point of view. Now, Marinette has nothing against this, it's okay to ask the bereaved for their point of view. It's okay to look at the other side of the penny and ask how the queen is doing, but what about the shield that worked much of its life protecting? How about Ladybug that wasted much of her teenage years, much of her sanity, protecting?

A 'congratulations' would have sufficed. A simple 'thank you' would have sufficed. Hell, if she knew that defeating Shadowmoth and losing her partner in the process would result in the city turning their back on her, then a simple 'she was only young' would have sufficed.

But none of those were offered, none of those were given, none thought. So she fled to London where she hoped to run away from all of that but now here she was, back with Cousin the accomplice, back with the media she so heavily wished the gods would smite. All because of a stalker and a black cat who happened to look like his alter ego.

And now it's all like: 'she totally should've known that he would come to ruin her life again.'

Why did he even name his contact as his photographer name instead of just his real name? What, did he think she was going to be grateful that oh my god, someone pretending to be the dead love of my life is in love with me and stalking me and taking pictures of me uploading it to some exhibit for the whole world to see! How sweet!

She sighed, feeling like her world was going to break apart as she heard the familiar chime of ABC dude's notification.

She got off from lying down depressed on her wooden floorboards. Tripped on a now cursed white shirt she doesn't remember discarding. Stepped on a puddle she didn't know existed until now, and with her socks now wet, Marinette was almost sure they were signs that whatever message she got from ABC dude was negative and that the world didn't want her to see it.

It was actually quite the opposite.

Opening her phone that sat on the bar/table of her kitchen, she took a seat on the stool, screen flat on the counter, her cheeks on the surface. One peek, she said.

She saw a photo. Her heart thumped.

She took one longer peek.

She saw a bony hand. His bony hand that wore rings which further accentuated the length of his fingers, which was further accentuated because of the shard that he held. Marinette came to the conclusion that ABC dude's hand was huge. And probably nice to hold.

Oh, to be that shard.

Well, two broken shards , and there was the glint of something gold between the two pieces that seemingly held them together. She realized he was beginning to fix her broken pot. The broken pot that Athanase the cat did.

She smiled widely.

M: 'it looks pretty.'
'i'm not really familiar with this whole kintsugi thing, but if i'm right, ure fixing it with gold?'

ABC dude was typing.

And then the three dots disappeared before they appeared again, and his message came:

ABC: 'Yeah, kind of. It's lacquer, and I add gold dust. It's pretty, no?'

Marinette smiled even more. The man messaged like he spoke, and for some reason, she found that endearing. Squealing, she picked up her phone and spun on the stool - creak - and leaned against the counter on her elbows while she freely kicked her feet.

M: 'it is. u seem to rlly know what ure doing huh?'

ABC: 'Well, I wouldn't be so confident in paying you extra if I didn't. As expensive the art of kintsugi may get, I don't waste money needlessly.'

M: 'says the one who buys my pots monthly.'
'i think ure my only customer too.'

ABC: 'That can't be true. I truly am only in love with your works that I just have to buy whenever you make a new one. Besides, they all don't get hogged by me. Some of them I buy for my colleagues. They are as enamored by your works as I am, so I'm sure your pots are worth more than I could put into words.'

Marinette blushed. In the two years that she knew the man, they never talked much save for the specifics on parcel pickups and drop-offs. And now... the man made her forget about Cousin even just for a second.

M: 'ure quite the flatterer, aren't u?'

He typed. And erased, and then typed again.

ABC: 'I am told it's my specialty 😉.'