#but miffed. she thought she'd actually managed to do something this time

[incognito-lionbeast]

I posted this SY’s Sister as Ning Yingying AU meta before, decided I hated it, deleted the post, and spent the past few days aggressively editing/adding to it.

Really, all of this text to explain that poor lil Mei Mei’s character arc involves coming to terms with the fact that she is JUST one person. She can’t help everyone or “fix” them, especially those who don’t want to be helped... or refuse to help themselves. And it’s not her fault. It’s not her fault for not “trying harder” to be there for Shen Yuan before he died. She did what she could.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

During her first several months as Ning Yingying and before Shen Qingqiu’s qi deviation, Shen Mei really tried her best to help—to change things. She tried; she mostly failed. She couldn’t really protect Luo Binghe from Ming Fan. Rather, though she did better than her predecessor... boys, unfortunately, would be boys. Young, teenage, jealous boys with an even worse master. Still, she kept trying. Determined.

She appealed to Shen [Jiu] Qingqiu with her best Sad, Wet & Worried Shimei impression, and sometimes that softened the blow... but it never stopped him or them. Not for more than a few days. Maybe a week or so if she was lucky & Luo Binghe’s “offense” wasn’t too severe. She knew all the ways Shizun tried to placate her—ways, perhaps, the original Ning Yingying might have even believed were genuine. She was his favourite, after all. Yet, Shen Mei knew better.

And she was disappointed. Frustrated.

In Shen Jiu. In Ming Fan. The situation. Her own helplessness. Even if Shen Mei was older than Ning Yingying, she was still just a thirteen year-old girl to everyone else. She tried to be clever, play to her strengths and the power of a Very Upset Little Girl—and she was clever, for what it was worth—but that fact remained. No one listened to a little girl, but even less when she was soft and pretty.

It was exhausting.

Crying and Anger were exhausting. Kindness was exhausting.

(Training was also exhausting, but she was just as determined to get stronger and not be the damsel her predecessor was)

Still, she clung to her Shizun’s robes (literally and figuratively), hoping perhaps she might somehow convince him to be a little nicer... a little kinder. Even if it was just a little! Actually, once she found Airplane, she demanded to know what the hell was wrong with Shen Qingqiu. Yet, somehow that knowledge—of Qi-ge and the Qiu house—didn’t change much. It only made things more frustrating, because! She! Wanted! him to be happy... or at least Not This.

Maybe “happy” was a little too hopeful.

Still, helping Shen Jiu meant helping Luo Binghe, meant maybe... they’d all be happier. Yet, she was just a thirteen year-old girl, and while not everything was terrible? Witness to horrifying abuse aside—or at least the effects thereof—she still managed to have fun sometimes. She enjoyed meeting Liu Qingge (her favourite character in her past life). Shen Mei enjoyed the budding, fan-girlish rivalry she had with his sister, too. Yue Qingyuan was nice. Hell, she had Shang-shushu... sort of. Yet, she wasn’t, couldn’t be oblivious like the original, and she saw the world around her burning. Maybe not now, maybe not for a while. But if they refused to change, then it would. It would...

By the time Shen Qingqiu had his qi deviation, Shen Mei was at her limit. She had to draw a line in the figurative sand, so to speak. So, she made a decision—to be a little more daring, a little less soft. Shen Mei was so awfully tired of being cute, of being disallowed from being ugly and angry. It was bad enough in her past life, because though her elder brothers really just wanted to dote on, comfort and protect her… it wasn’t what she needed. Especially not after the death of Shen Yuan.

Most of all, though, she wanted to take advantage of the fact that her Shizun was going to be out-of-sorts during his recovery and insist on change. In prettier words. Maybe. Maybe she could actually get him to agree to something. Well, maybe. It seemed that he’d come out of this one softer than usual, so that was promising.

....then the scene with Ming Fan & the jade pendant happened, right on schedule.

It wasn’t that she’d forgotten, but she’d been a little preoccupied rehearsing her lines that the entire thing sort of snuck up on her. Unprepared, Shen Mei gave in to her many months-worth of pent up frustration. So help her, she’d kick his ass if he kept bullying Luo Binghe. But words first. Definitely words first. Even if they weren’t the words Ming Fan wanted to hear. She corrected him bluntly when he entreated her with Xiao-shimei. Shimei. It was just shimei, and if Ming Fan thought he was being cute or whatever-! 

“I’m not scared. Or alone. Luo-shixiong is here with me, so we’ll be fine.” 

“—but if you have something to show me, then show me already! You’ve given Luo-shixiong so much work; he barely even has time to meditate, and we’re interrupting...”

A jade pendant. A gift refused.

“Thank you, but… I know what you want. Not interested.” 

Sorry, sorry. She was so fucking sorry, Binghe. Yet, a popup from The System hovered ominously in her periphery, reminding her less-than-gently about her goal here. As Ning Yingying. As the poor, sweet shimei who, even with the best intentions, could only make things worse.

"—and y’know, A-Luo has one just like this, but I think… even if he won’t let me see—maybe especially ‘cause he won’t—his actually means something. And you– you’re just mean.”

And, well, girls. She liked girls.

Yet, admitting that would derail the unfortunate little scenario they were all sharing—completely oblivious to Shen Qingqiu lurking some ways off, who was perhaps a bit perplexed. This wasn’t what he remembered. She definitely wasn’t. In retrospect, Shen Mei would realise that she’d been a little mean, too. Ming Fan was a jerk, but he was also just a stupid teenager. Though, was she really all that much older than him? Two, three years maybe?

All the same, thus began a string of unfortunate events, one right after another. Ming Fan really couldn’t stand being compared to Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe couldn’t stand anyone touching the precious Jade Guanyin his adoptive mother had given him, and Shen Mei... couldn’t intervene. Not in the way she wanted to, anyway. Not yet. She wanted to push Ming Fang down and give him an even more stern talking-to.

Alas. Binghe’s precious treasure had to be lost among the bamboo somewhere first, plucked from his possession by a jeering Ming Fan. And she was furious about it (as was Luo Binghe, inevitably throwing the first punch shortly thereafter). Under normal circumstances, Ming Fan might have backed down; he didn’t want Ning Yingying to be angry with him, and fighting with Binghe would only make that worse. Yet, she’d made it so perfectly clear. She didn’t like him. She liked Binghe. It didn’t matter what the truth was, because there was neither time nor place for her to admit to liking girls or whatever else.

“Mean, you’re always mean! Always picking on Luo Binghe, and I can’t stand it! What the hell is wrong with you, anyway?! Is this fun for you– tormenting him?”

“If you really want me to like you... Grow up. If you won’t, then—”

On the sidelines, Shen Qingqiu stood dumbfounded. Conflicted. He held a few bamboo leaves in his fingers, prepared to step in despite his own System’s warnings. Stepping in for Luo Binghe was OOC. Of course it fucking was, but had he not a heart?! Even Ning Yingying was getting into fisticuffs for Binghe’s sake (and that was something he was still trying to come to terms with, thank you!).

However, with the fight becoming decidedly uneven in the face of Ming Fan’s superior numbers… Shen Mei begrudgingly decided that the next best punishment was whatever-the-hell Shen Qingqiu would do to Ming Fan upon finding her bruised, a little bloodied, and sobbing her poor heart out. He was bound to find out about the fight, either way. So, if she could head them off on recounting the tale? Maybe Luo Binghe wouldn’t have to suffer so much. What a mess. What stupid, avoidable mess. She cursed The System.

Rather, Shen Qingqiu had only just made the decision to help when he heard an unmistakably feminine wail. Even if Shizun wasn’t nearby—and she supposed he must still be relatively close, given how fresh the gash in the earth from earlier was—Shen Mei could have alerted the entire peak with that piercing howl. She called for her Shizun in such distress that if Shen Qingqiu hadn’t been there to personally witness the sudden shift in behaviour... he would have fallen for it. Completely. Ning Yingying was the type.

Well, System, was it OOC to ignore his beloved disciple pitifully crying for him?

The System had no comment.

Even Ming Fan was stumped, paused mid-action and nearly snapped out of his rage by her tears. Despite everything, making Ning Yingying cry... like that... again, the colour drained from his face, realising that she wasn’t just crying. And she wasn’t even just calling out for their master.

Shen Qingqiu was actually there.

The only disciple who didn’t scramble to make themselves presentable was “Ning Yingying” herself. Luo Binghe flinched, wholly prepared to take the brunt of his master’s ire. For the moment, though, it seemed that Shen Qingqiu settled for asking what the hell was going on.

And that was Shen Mei’s very special opening to air her grievances. Amidst sobs both manufactured and genuine—decking Ming Fan could only pacify her so much, after all—she avoided mentioning that Luo Binghe had technically started the fight. Shizun didn’t need to know (Shizun already knew, and he even approved!). Shizun shushed both Luo Binghe and Ming Fan alike when they tried to chime in. Poser circled poser. A story half-recounted in a more favourable light, but it wasn’t entirely unfair, was it? Ming Fan was bullying Luo Binghe. That was true. That was always true. There was a fight, and—

Shen Mei latched onto Shen Qingqiu, freezing him in place.

She begged Shizun not to be mad at Luo Binghe, as she’d done many times before. It only worked sometimes, but tonight she was acting especially Sad & Wet. Preying on his favouritism. Still frustrated, but no less determined. Rather against her character, Shen Qingqiu noted to himself, Ning Yingying had the presence of mind to admit out loud that she was the one who dragged Luo Binghe into this mess. Maybe the girl had some braincells after all. Still— to ask for punishment in his stead?

Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you sister?!

Shen Qingqiu���that was to say: the original version—had only ever dared lay a hand on Ning Yingying to try... Ahem. Either way, even in their second lives, the completely oblivious brother-sister pair still managed to enable each other. In this case, Shen Yuan’s sister enabled him to bemuse The System with a lighter punishment. All the while, he still kept up his aloof persona, stiffly extricating himself from Shen Mei’s grasp, thoroughly unsure where to put his hands, and scanning the remaining disciples impassively.

He then turned to Luo Binghe, who dipped his head in one part shame, one part ill-begotten respect. Shen Qingqiu’s heart twisted, but he could sense The System dying to send him another message in those infernal brackets of theirs. Even so, his voice still faintly softened when he addressed his poor, beleaguered disciple.

With Ning Yingying watching, of course Shen Qingqiu couldn’t be too awful to Luo Binghe. That was just science! In truth, neither his nor Ming Fan’s punishments were much harsher than finishing chores and silent reflection. Perhaps he also let slip a few scathing words to Ming Fan’s posse for their lack of form. If it weren’t for their overwhelming numbers… it almost seemed like Ning Yingying, of ALL people, could’ve beaten them.

That definitely shouldn’t happen, so the scolding was well-deserved. Something was clearly wrong. Yet, The System had no answers for him.

(Shen Mei paled, unable to enjoy any schadenfreude gained from their embarrassment. If shizun saw that much of the fight, then why–? She tried optimism. Maybe Shizun just didn’t care that she’d omitted details. Or maybe he hadn’t, she was overthinking, and Shen Qingqiu was judging things based on their collective injuries. Well, whatever the reason was…)

When at last Luo Binghe and the other disciples dispersed to accept punishment, Shen Qingqiu’s own departure was disrupted by Ning Yingying— a Ning Yingying that looked to him with renewed resolve. A Ning Yingying who had the gall not to immediately do as told. Instead, so long as Shizun was here and relatively amiable, she thought… there probably wouldn’t be a better time to try words again. So, she gripped onto Shen Qingqiu’s sleeve, holding him [temporarily] hostage. 

Didn’t she know what this man was capable of?! If the two of them were left alone, then–

Well, fine.

He, the magnificent transmigrated poser, wouldn’t do anything to Ning Yingying. So, she wasn’t in any real danger, but still-! Shen Qingqiu couldn’t help mentally scolding her naivety regardless. But what did she want? She claimed it was important, wringing his sleeve in her bruised, little hands. It was about Binghe. His heart ached.

“Shizun, I know you’re disappointed in Luo-shixiong, and that’s why you’re so strict with him… His cultivation isn’t very good, but he tries– he really works so hard! And it’s not his fault!”

She, of course, knew that wasn’t why he was disappointed. And he, of course, knew exactly how wrong her words were. Yet, assuming this was still the original—

“Ming Fan, he must have switched them… I thought something looked funny, so I asked Shang-shushu to look at Luo-Shixiong’s cultivation manual. It’s fake.”

—then she couldn’t definitely accuse the real Shen Qingqiu, no matter how much it was absolutely HIS fault and she knew it.

(Sorry, Ming Fan, but it’s not like their master ever actually punished him for picking on Binghe, so…)

Anyway, accusing Shizun would be suicide! Or murder. Probably murder. As it was, Shen Mei knew the tightrope she walked was impossibly thin, especially when she was lying about Shang Qinghua’s involvement, too. Well, she didn’t NEED to ask him. She already knew it was fake! She read the damned novel. Yet, there was no way that Ning Yingying could possibly know that on her own, so… Airplane was her backup. Hopefully, he’d “Yes, and–” her later…

Still. This was her chess match, her game of poker. Her bluff. 

And all against the wrong man.

“Please, Shizun… You have to do something! He could die!”

Even if it only meant switching the fake manual for a real one, she just wanted something to happen. One good deed… and she’d keep trying, little by little, to push for more. Maybe it’d backfire. Maybe, she lamented, he’d just take it out on Binghe again, rendering her attempt to help either of them completely pointless. Yet, she had accountability on her side this time! Shang Qinghua was getting involved whether he liked it or not. And, the truth was that Shen Qingqiu would take his anger out on Luo Binghe regardless of anything she did. He’d find a reason. But was she so wrong to hope things could get better? At least superficially? A little?

Or maybe she’d just burn herself out again.

Shen Qingqiu stared.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. How could Ning Yingying be this far off-script?! Though her information was slightly off, she shouldn’t know any of this yet. Was this some sort of bastardized butterfly effect? No, no that wasn’t possible; he’d hardly done anything in this world, and yet… Well, whatever the hell it was-! Even though Ning Yingying was woefully wrong about her [former] Shizun’s disposition, her argument wasn’t without merit. After all, what could he do? Oh, how unfortunate it was that The System couldn’t penalize him this time, either.

What could Shen Qingqiu do when Ning Yingying was imploring him like this? When there was another witness? If he handed Luo Binghe a second fake cultivation novel, then surely… Ning Yingying was nosy enough to find out. Nosy enough to ask—to enlist that greasy An Ding sleazeball to help her, apparently. Honestly, of all the other Peak Lords, why’d she have to involve that guy?

Whatever. He was involved. Shen Qingqiu fell for the lie.

It was a very comfortable lie. A very convenient one.

(Though he suspected that The System would stop accepting Ning Yingying as an excuse sooner or later, that was a problem for the future. Right now he’d accept any reason not to dig his—that was: Shen Qingqiu’s—grave any deeper.)

So, he said a few precious words.

“I see… then allow this master to handle it.”

Was it… really that easy? She’d rehearsed for several different situations, for wheedling and clinging and bartering. Yet— He’d handle it? Forgive her disbelief—frankly, she was astonished by his lack of argument—but she couldn't let it go just yet. Shen Mei insisted. He had to promise, and she wouldn’t let him go until he did! Ning Yingying was stubborn and childish like that, but that’s what worked. Mostly. Kind of. Because, as much as she’d like to, she wasn’t allowed to get visibly angry with him like she’d been with Ming Fan. She was the favourite, but how long would that favouritism last if she “betrayed” him?

(How exhausting…)

Shen Qingqiu feigned offense. “Do these master’s words mean nothing?”

Yet, he’d first need to consult Shang Qinghua to be sure. (–even if he’d rather not. Yet, he could only get away with avoiding one of them…)

—and then Ming Fan. (which he wouldn’t, but he had to say so. They both knew that.)

What actually happened, however, was that Shen Qingqiu cordially invited himself to pay Shang Qinghua a visit—not because he needed to know if what she said was true. It definitely was, save for the culprit. But because Shen Qingqiu was much more troubled that, apparently, Shang Qinghua and Ning Yingying—(he’d asked a few An Ding disciples along the way)—had become somewhat & rather suspiciously close of late. Even Ming Fan would confirm for him later that she’d appointed herself the official gofer for anything An Ding related.

Shang Qinghua, on the other hand, blithely disagreed. Not with the cultivation manual situation (though it took him a moment to catch on). His disagreement was with his alleged friendship, and it was exactly proportional to how much he didn’t want Shen Qingqiu getting on his ass for paying any sort of special attention to “Ning Yingying”… 

Yet, in the end?

It was because Peerless Cucumber wasn’t the Original Shen Qingqiu that Luo Binghe positively benefited from her meddling at all. Binghe was confused, shocked even, but tepidly hopeful. In time, Shizun would hand him a new, proper cultivation manual. Something special just for him (albeit said in such an obtuse, aloof manner that he couldn’t be docked for OOC). Shen Qingqiu made no mention of Ming Fan or the allegations against him. And so long as Luo Binghe was happy..? Neither did Shen Mei.

[gunsli-01]

just wanna say since I've been away from fixating on milgram for a month or so and came back for a skim (I got my therapist hooked, so its on the mind).. I wanna say how the fuck did this happen but I've similar enough that like, I hope you're taking care of yourself, congrats on the marriage (thats recent right?), your posts are always nice to see, I hope Organ Thief's Dance Party is entertaining for you too

I got so carried away beneath this cut that it's just a new Mu post I'm sorry in advance! Before any of that though I'll try to answer your points to the best of my abilities!

I'm so happy to hear about the therapist thing! I hope more people can enjoy Milgram so many that getting to a million views is pretty much immediate during trial three!

I think conflicts appearing in the fandom in and of itself isn't a bad thing it just means people care about the material, but I hope people can do that in a fun and respectful way. Not only to make the environment comfortable for old fans but newcomers as well. I don't believe it's good for fandoms to become exclusionary or too closeknit since that can lead to terrible forms of conflict down the line.

A fandom should be full of various people and opinions. So, I always wanna remind people to look at the views of others outside of mine since it helps form a more well-rounded opinion. It's even helped me better reflect on my own biases. I do like passion, but too much of anything in one direction can be bad, and I want more and more people to like and watch Milgram! So, regardless of what happens, I want people to see the fun in it not just from the content but its fans who do great things in a passionate way every day.

I'm taking care of myself and my dad to the best of my abilities he surgery went smoothly too! I'm still very much enjoying Milgram all the way! I hope none of what I said about the fandom comes off as pretentious or too serious because I know it'd be easy to read it that way. When it comes to the marriage, I assume you're referring to my blog description.

Ah, Star and I have known each other since late 2013! We met through Tumblr actually. That's why I was so upset to have my blog shadow banned because it has a lot of sentimental value and I'd hate to lose it. We started dating maybe three years after and we got engaged two to three years after that. Though, since we live in different countries, we haven't officially tied the knot yet. She's my best friend, confidant, and we hang out often. Even meeting up in person whenever we can manage/afford to.

Actually, she's the reason anybody even gets to see me talk about Milgram at all right now. She introduced it to me! She wanted me to look over the entire series. Because she was very well acquainted with my penchant for deductive reasoning and love of solving mysteries. Because of thar she wanted to know what I would think was going on based off the trial one music videos alone. I was a bit miffed at her at the time, so I was like, no, I don't wanna.

Though she went if I didn't want to watch all of it then she'd at least like it if I looked at Mahiru's song. Causing my response to Mahiru's first trial song to pretty much be you trying to say something about me, huh?! However, I really loved it and pretty immediately went okay I'll watch the rest. However, that was only after she asked what I thought happened and the only thing I could think was with the focus on food, probably poisoning, but other than that I'm unsure.

So, I'm very nostalgic when it comes to Mahiru's song since it's related to a person I love.

If you don't want all the personal stuff here's the Milgram stuff!

I think the thing I'm looking most forward too is hearing Shidou's cover of Delusion Tax given how the VA handled Liar Dance! Shidou's voice tends to be more reserved when it comes to singing his original songs but go hard in his covers. Mu is the exact opposite, her voice being stronger in her original songs but going to a gentle whisper in her covers.

Showing the dichotomy between how she presents herself and how she may be inwardly. That outward appearance of dominance breaking into a soft-spoken stint. While Shidou's soft demeanor breaks way into a more domineering tone with hard enunciation that's so good to hear. So, I'm really curious if that will stay in Delusion Tax just like it stayed for Mu with MKDR.

I like Mu's covers far more than her original songs because of that vocal change and the subtle gentleness like holding porcelain. Especially the scream here and how it directly contrasts with the one here. Her covers really highlight that similarity between her and Futa of putting on a tough front but having an incredibly soft interior that needs a lot of nurturing from their environments.

Something also highlighted by her being represented as Parasitic Wasp in It's Not My Fault.

One of the insects that build cocoons on a host and use the nutrients off them to feed their young. Meaning It's Not My Fault we are literally seeing an artistic rendition of a Parasitic Wasp nest being built on a beehive.

Explaining why Mu is so large in comparison to the others. It's a literal hostile takeover until she gets enough of what she needs and leaves.

This also explains why she's so quick to leave and nothing remains when she does in the end. Since they eat everything and go. Yet, it has another meaning too! Mu being a parasitic wasp can be read as her leeching off of a society of course but it can also be read as her needing external validation to support her own beliefs. Showcasing that she lacks the mental fortitude necessary to defend or rationalize her own behavior or past actions.

This is highlighted in After pain when she's literally drowned in her own negative opinion of herself. Something that used to be feeding her is now eating away at her. Because it doesn't come with that sweetness of external validation. No one else is saying that she's right so she'll always wonder if she's wrong on some level. Because she's incapable of validating her own behavior this is even shown in It's Not My Fault when she basically begs the viewers not to hate her or even look for her bad side the source of her pain.

In a, "Just keep liking me, keep feeding me, I can't do it I can't take it on my own." In a way, reminiscent to the way Mikoto freaks out when everybody, but Kotoko wishes him a happy birthday. It also feeds into why her victim ignoring her bothered her so much and she couldn't let it go. The reason she's behaving this way is perfectly illustrated at the end of It's Not My Fault where she's literally reformed by the previous verdict and breaks away from her host, in this case the hourglass.

Something that very much comes through in the tone of her cover songs. While Shidou- Ah, his are so full of that usually restrained animosity of his that I just love! So, that mixed with Delusion Tax may just get me.

[lgcxtakako]

「So why'd you go ahead and say it anyways, dummy?」 was the equally petulant reply to Yuuki's first statement, Takako daring to side-eye him and being mildly miffed that he was doing the same gaze aversion she was doing.

Did this guy ever have an original thought in his brain?!

Though the annoyed expression faded into something more akin to guilt as Yuuki spoke about the theater and finally explaining why he'd never actually pursued managing the place. Biting her lip, Takako cycled through several responses before finally deciding on the one that sounded the least inoffensive.

「You're too hard on yourself, you know. No matter what, he'd have...」 only to fall silent as she knew she'd fall into the same trap Yuuki had fallen into. Speaking what she thought was alright, only to realize how careless it was.

Sighing, Takako took a few steps to the wall and leaned against it, eyes focused on the ceiling and a semi-vacant expression on her face before she spoke again.

「You're a hopeless idiot, seriously, the most hopeless I've ever met. But I'm hopeless too, I mean, here I am trying to be an idol after I blew it the first time.」There's a short laugh, not particularly amused, but trying to lighten the situation all the same.

「So I guess we're stuck with being hopeless together, it's like school all over again, right?」 Pushing herself off the wall, Takako looked directly at Yuuki, still no smile on her face, but her eyes were a little calmer and her gaze warmer.

「At least you've admitted you won't half-ass things anymore, but that means you have to debut as a main dancer now! And I have to debut properly, deal?」

while it was very obvious that takako's facial features had taken a toll from the sudden tears, he didn't even have to think hard to realise that commenting on that was not a good idea. certainly, yuuki might be oblivious from time to time, but he didn't have a death wish. so when she emerged much sooner than he had liked, he decided to keep silent on that matter.

doing so on other matters was seemingly not a good idea though, but she had come back out way too quickly for yuuki to have thought up a good defense. instead, his head dropped and his eyes locked on the spot across the hallway where the wall met the floor. not that he had to avoid eye contact as takako was already well doing that herself.

"what do you expect?" he grumbled a response back, clearly not satisfied with the situation. "i can't just come out and say that i missed you and that i wanted to be able to support you better." although claiming he couldn't, the words left him either way, and his expression soured into a pout. "i wasn't going to try harder if i hadn't been signed, but i managed to make it so now i can't just half-ass it any more."

couldn't she just have accepted his joking for an answer? had a little faith in him? this was embarrassing. "i loved and respected my grandfather, but i don't know anything about actually performing kabuki or how to manage a venue. if i was going to take over, i wanted to have been guided by him, but that's all too late now and i'll never be able to make up for that." his expression loosened a bit with the memories, eyes glassing over for a moment in nostalgia.

"i know this is hard. i'm not actually an idiot. but i've already blown two chances at something that is precious to me, and i don't want to blow a third one either." yuuki sighed as his gaze went back upwards to face takako. "so there you have it. if you think i'm a hopeless idiot then that's fine because it doesn't matter."

[fleckcmscott]

To Have and To Hold

Summary: Y/N makes an oversight at work. The resulting extra hours with Arthur delight them both.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut

Words: 4,272

A/N: This story had been kicking around in my head for about two months, but I hadn’t been sure if I was going to write it. Then I read @sweet-nothings04‘s amazing Hand-in-Hand (which you all need to check out, if you haven’t), and knew I had to put it on paper. Thanks to her for the inspiration to finally develop this, and for the title, too!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open! 

Perhaps it was the sunshine that stirred her. Or the horns of traffic on congested streets. The hammering of a distant construction site. The chatter and occasional yelling of passersby.  The hum of Gotham awakening.

Y/N blinked in confusion - how could it be so bright this early? - and squinted at the clock at Arthur's side of the bed. No numbers greeted her, just its blank, plastic display. Stretching, she reached to her left for her watch, in its spot by the beige rotary phone on the nightstand.

"Shit!"

Nearly knocking over her glass of water, she clambered off the mattress. Arthur had warned her the lights could go off in his apartment. Not often and not for long. But enough to annoy. Naturally, his building's shoddy electricity had to mess with the alarm today. When she'd stayed up too late. When he'd had to leave ahead of her to commute to the other end of the city for a rare winter gig. When her body had chosen to oversleep in the coziness of his blankets.

Her nylons had never been yanked on with such haste. Arthur had made coffee but she skipped it in favor of brushing her teeth. Pausing on her way out, she took a calcium supplement and grabbed a note from the counter. She read it while riding the wood-paneled, graffiti covered elevator: "Your presentashin will be great. You snored a lot. Good thing your cute. - Arthur." He always signed his name. As though she wouldn't recognize his scrawl. As if anyone else wrote her sweet, sassy missives. She grinned until she hopped on the for-once punctual subway.

The presentation he'd referred to was set for that afternoon. She was expected to discuss the evidence and court file for this week's contested hearing. Last night, she'd sat at Arthur's breakfast bar to compile the case's final details and finish prep sheets. Gently, she'd rebuffed his subtle advances. His attempts to draw her attention from work to him.

Excitement had been palpable as he'd hovered near her. She was fairly certain she knew the cause because it enthused her as well. In three and a half short weeks, he'd be moving in with her. They'd officially begin traversing whatever the future held for them together. Hesitation had been clear in his posture, his drawn shoulders when (after plenty of convincing on her part that yes, she really, really, wanted him) he'd finally accepted the key to her place. But since he'd added it to his own keyring, he'd brightened. Strode a little taller. Walked a little prouder. Touched a little bolder. As though the weight he carried had lessened, at least by a couple cinder blocks' worth.

At his slight pout, she'd decided to find a way to involve him. He'd perched on the stool next to her, rested his cigarette in the pink ashtray to the left, and taken the proffered exhibit stickers with a quirked brow. Y/N had handed him papers, which he'd added labels to for her to write on. Then she'd stacked them in four different piles according to type. It had taken longer than usual - she was faster alone. But the intimacy of sharing the professional elements of her life with Arthur (besides the office wear he liked, claiming it showed how "smart" and "pretty" she was) had tightened her chest. And the curved-up corner of his thin lips had reflected how pleased he was, too.

They hadn't been able to collaborate on everything, however. It was past midnight by the time she'd joined Arthur, who had retreated to the bedroom an hour or so earlier. He'd been sitting against the headboard, half under the cover. The harsh blue light emanating from the old black and white TV at the foot of the bed had sharpened his features. Deepened the set of his eyes. He'd stubbed out his smoke as she closed the door. "I taped The Honeymoon Game. We can watch it when you're here again." A beat. "If you're not busy."

"This is supposed to be my last big project for a month or so." Sighing, she'd gotten her nightgown from her overnight bag. "I didn't mean for it to take all evening." She climbed in next to him and threw her arm across his lap. "I'm sorry."

He'd been stiff. Unyielding. The telltale signs he was miffed or upset. But he'd twined her hair around his finger, let his touch fall to her brow bone. "It's okay," he'd said lowly, adjusting to lie alongside her. "I don't want to be... I'm not being fair."

"You don't have to pretend with me, Arthur. It's all right to be annoyed." Tiredness had pulled at her as she'd fought to watch the rest of Gotham Tomorrow Tonight. The contact of his socked toes to her bare ones had made her smile, though, and she'd nuzzled his bicep. "I missed you," she'd mumbled, then promptly passed out.

The squeal of wheels on metal tracks prompted her to sling her canvas tote onto her shoulder. Shaw & Associates was a short sprint from the nearest station. She was certain she looked ridiculous, running down the street in her high heels. But she managed to slip into the office with two minutes to spare. Once she poured herself a cup of joe and straightened her blazer, she settled in her cushioned chair to get started.

It was only when Matt told her he wanted to meet before lunch that she'd rummaged in her bag. And realized she'd neglected to bring the file. Recalled it was sitting on Arthur's kitchen counter.

Fuck.

Her nails tapped the wood surface of her desk. Excusing herself to the bathroom so she could go retrieve it wouldn't fly. Matt would send a search party. She could try to discuss everything from memory, tell him documents were still being gathered. But he wasn't that oblivious. She settled on owning her error. "It's at home." Her delivery was nonchalant.

He waited until she'd loaded her typewriter with paper, then responded wryly. "You're not supposed to take files home anymore. Remember what happened last time?"

She leaned back as he stepped in front of her. "There was the slew of family cases that came in. With Patricia on leave, I'm handling all our calls and mail. Not to mention paperwork on her filings. It wouldn't have gotten finished if I hadn't taken it." Snorting, she shook her head at herself. Heat bloomed in her neck. "Not that it matters when I don't have it."

Expression softening, Matt stuck his hands in his pockets and jutted his chin at her. "How long did you work on it?"

It was hard to discern if he actually cared about the hours she put in. Or if he merely wanted to gauge the possibility of her doing investigations off the books again, something he'd explicitly prohibited. "I don't know." She waved dismissively. "Three or four hours?"

He let out a huff. "You put in enough time already. Go home at noon. We'll get to it first thing tomorrow."

"I have a lot to do." Her eyes widened at the myriad piles of folders laying around. "And I can't imagine you playing operator."

"I've managed when you've both been in court or at appointments. Besides," he continued as he headed back to his office. "You never take days off."

Straightening, she wheeled her chair to watch him plop down on his leather seat. "I'm taking three days next month," she countered.

His glare contained an unequal mix of mirth and consternation. "Y/N?"

The phone started ringing. She succeeded in making one ear ignore it. "Yes?"

"I know you haven't forgiven me for that whole Renew Corp. thing." She flinched at the casual mention of the company she loathed. Of her failure. But she forced herself to listen. Matt picked up a pen and started writing. “Rather than being stubborn, try saying, 'You're right.'"

~~~~~

Y/N stood in front of the narrow, white stove, stirring the soup she'd thrown together using bouillon, carrots, onions, and pasta. Ingredients she'd found in Arthur's kitchen. Music poured, at a respectable volume, from the radio on the windowsill. Swaying out-of-time, she added a sprinkling of black pepper, one of the only three spices he had (along with powdered garlic and salt). Wearing a content smirk, she sampled the steaming broth.

When she'd left the office, she'd been frustrated at herself. Yes, she was human. Everyone made mistakes. But she wasn't the forgetful type. Particularly if someone was depending on her. However, as she'd stopped in Burnley for another change of clothes, hopped on the train to Otisburg, and pictured Arthur's reaction to finding her in his home instead of having to call to wish her sweet dreams, her disposition had improved. Not only would he have her for an extra night. He'd get a late lunch, too.

The click of the deadbolt and clank of his keys on the entrance table came the second she turned off the stove. She listened to his heavy exhale as his bag dropped to the floor and shut the door. In her peripheral vision he froze, then approached tentatively. She reveled in his delicate hold on the dip of her waist, the peck he planted on her cheek. The smell of greasepaint wafted to her nose. "I hoped I hadn't made this up," he sighed with what sounded like relief. "But your meeting."

She angled herself towards him, gaze roving over his red and blue plaid blazer. The painted-on smile. His irresistible brown curls, mostly flattened by the wig he'd worn. Fidgeting with the petals of the squirting flower on his lapel, she scrunched up her face. "This morning went to shit." She explained the power outage, the clock, her own stupidity at leaving the file in his apartment. "I've packed it. Don't worry."

His posture grew pensive. "Sorry. Maybe- Maybe we should have stayed at your place. Your building's better."

Him thinking her error was somehow his fault had to be nipped in the bud. "No," she said. "You asked to make more memories here before we move in together. I'm happy to do that."

He paused, long enough she could have sworn she'd heard the gears in his head grinding. "Are you in trouble?"

Not unexpectedly, he had put together her mistake and her early dismissal from work and assumed the worst. "If I wasn't fired for trying to stop the Waynes, it's going to take more than an oversight to get me thrown out on my ass." Her brow furrowed. She sneaked a hand under his jacket and placed her palm on his chest. "I just hate that I wasted last night for nothing."

Soft lips, slightly sticky with red paint, grazed her temple. "It's okay," he said. "You're here now. And I got to help you."

The balm of his kindness loosened her rigid stance. His zeal to assist her, to ask questions, to learn about every aspect of her branded her heart completely. She leaned into him, kissed the squishy fold of skin under his chin, and nudged his ribs. "Food's ready. Go change. I want to hear all about your day."

Arthur emerged from the bathroom within minutes, clad in his worn, blue house pants and toweling his hair. Dimples were on constant display while they ate. The glint in his eyes was the one he usually had if his act or a job had gone particularly well, if he was pleased with himself. Was the one starting to be an almost weekly occurrence. Was the one that made his green eyes sparkle and caused her stomach to flip. He inched closer to her with every sentence.

The kids at the new children’s medical center had liked Carnival, he said. They hadn’t minded that he’d "filled in" for Gary. The magic tricks had all gone without a hitch, and the clinic had provided the balloons, which was a savings. The nurses and doctors had been nice; they’d even asked for his card. He’d had to provide a slip of paper with his address and telephone number instead. But he was sure he’d be invited to perform again. And he asked Y/N for help writing Gary a thank you note for the referral, claiming, “You’re better at that than me.”

“You’re the one who journals every day.” Her bowl and spoon clattered in the sink. “And your letter to me was beautiful. Just let me proofread it.”

Soon they were reclined on the sofa, sharing the flat pillow he’d used when he’d had no choice but to sleep there. The tape he’d recorded yesterday was playing. The Honeymoon Game had been a casual watch before, he’d explained. Not a nightly ritual like Murray. Given that he had a girlfriend and was a boyfriend himself, it had become fun to view.

She was only half-focused on the TV’s talking heads. Her mind was drifting to moving day, which filled her with gladness. She examined the plaid walls, the white cream color ceiling, the knick-knacks strewn about in the glow of the setting sun. The lantern with an owl hanging in the corner; the green, plastic drawers by the television; the curio cabinet... They were all a part of 8J, but assuredly not a part of him. How much would he be bringing with him, she wondered. And what would he be leaving behind?

“With one sugar and a shot of milk.” Arthur’s lively voice broke through her contemplation. Ah. He was reacting to the questions posed to the contestants, and making the answers about her, as he was wont to do.

She nestled back into the pleasant warmth of his firm frame. “Three sugars,” she replied, confirming she knew how he took his coffee. They continued to play along, with him showing off everything he’d memorized about her, and her replying with what she’d gathered about him.

Eventually, he shifted behind her. Raised himself on his elbow. “How did you know you loved me?”

Her hum was soft. Short. Possible responses were multitude. She’d suspected she could fall for him early on. When he’d wanted to repay her for doing what anyone should have done on the subway. And the first time he’d had the courage to call her after they’d split a slice of pie, his slight stammer revealing his nervousness. Maybe she’d say it was how slowly he’d drunken his wine during dinner, initially squinting as he sipped, his inexperience with alcohol obvious.

But she chose to go with what she believed was truest. What she assumed he’d hear most keenly. “Before we slept together, I hadn’t been with anyone for four years. And even then, it was different.” His hand splayed on her abdomen, thumb dragging along the waistband of her green leggings. A delightful ache flared in her center. “When I woke up, I felt perfect.”

“You felt like you were perfect?”

“No, silly,” she laughed, batting his forearm. “I knew I hadn't made a mistake. I reached out to your side, first thing - I’d thought of it that way, even then.” At the sensation of his hardening shaft against her rear, she giggled. “You’d made me so happy. You always do. I wanted to you to bed me again.”

The round tip of his nose skimmed her cheek, and she shivered at the dip of his fingers into her panties. “I want to again,” he rasped, paraphrasing her. The grind of his length was making her light-headed, and she twisted her torso to look at him. “I’ve been thinking about it.” Cheekbones glowing, he averted his eyes. “Ever since I woke up.”

“My monthly started,” she said regretfully. His descent halted, and a groan of frustration left him as he lowered his forehead to her shoulder. She mused. While he was becoming more apt to say what he desired, it happened rarely. But she loved it and didn’t want to discourage him from letting himself be assertive. Would he be offended by her suggestion? “I freshened up before we laid down. I have a tampon in. There are other things we can do.” She pressed her lips together, hoping she didn’t sound presumptuous. “If you’re comforta-“

“I’m comfortable.” His mouth quickly claimed hers, opening on a sigh. The tip of his tongue laved at the seam of her lips, and his messy enthusiasm made her whimper. Leaving a scorching trail in its wake, his hand traversed to her upper leg, gliding over the crease where her thigh and vulva met.

Shallow breaths caressed the nape of her neck, stoking the heat threatening to consume her. But the studio audience blaring from the television’s mono-speaker kept wresting her out of her haze. She snatched the VCR remote from the coffee table and hit the pause button.

The tease of his fingertips at her dark curls caused the peaks of her breasts to stiffen. She gasped as the rough fabric of her sweater dragged along them. His fore- and ring fingers spread her outer lips and she shuddered. The leisureliness of his fondling didn’t detract from its intoxicating effect.

Though it was a tad rough. “You’re kinda dry. Hold on.” Swiftly, he brought his hand to his mouth and wet his fingertips. Y/N blinked at him. It was clear he thought nothing of it, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering he’d confided he liked going down on her. Still. Seeing this normally reserved man improvise so he could pleasure her made her center throb with need.

Y/N was doing her damnedest to get her leggings and underwear down. Arthur snorted at her spirited, failed attempt at kicking them away. “It’s okay,” he chuckled, pushing them off her ankles with his foot. Then his touch fluttered at her swollen folds. She arched into him, already feeling as though she would burst. Bent at the knee, her leg lifted until her foot was flat on the couch cushion, allowing him easier access. He took advantage, sweeping forward and back along the rigid line of her engorged clitoral hood. She rolled towards him subtly, her moans getting louder with each tap to her sensitive nub.

Still holding himself up, he cradled her head. "Your sounds make me crazy," he said lowly. Once his hips started following hers, faintly rutting against the flesh of her backside, she closed her eyes. Hurriedly, she reached behind her to yank at his pajamas. "What?" he asked.

"I want to feel you," she whispered. There was a huff and some fumbling. And moments later his cock was settled at the cleft of her bottom. She bit her lip, savoring the weight of him. God, he felt wonderful.

His fingertips whispered over her clit, daring to follow the edge of her inner labia. She heard him gulp. "How does it feel when we're together? When- When I'm in you?"

"Warm. Full. Like you belong there," she replied with a smile. That last part of her response must have been unexpected, given that his grazes ceased and he trembled. "Don't stop," she whined, placing her hand on his. "Please, Arthur. You know just how to touch me."

Groaning, he started anew, deftly swiping quicker and quicker. The undulations of her pelvis hastened unevenly, begging both for release and for their coupling to last forever. She ran her palm up her torso, kneading her breast and plucking at her nipple. He nuzzled at her ear, grunting low in the back of his throat. Winding her fingers into his loose waves, she tugged lightly. Her belly twitched. Her whole frame tingled.

His skillful touch. The love they had for one another. The noises he was making in the crook of her shoulder. They all combined to throw her over the edge, and a wave of pleasure crashed through her. She cried his name brokenly, feeling empty without him inside her. But he kept holding her, guiding her through the crests of her climax. She was gasping, struggling to suck in air. Surely, she thought, he could detect the thundering of her heart against her ribs.

Gradually, the quivering grip she had on his locks eased. The kisses he planted on her neck were open-mouthed, desperate. And he hadn't halted the ardent movements of his hips. Y/N turned onto her other side. Gazing at him, she raked his curls out of his face, caressed his cheekbone with her knuckles. His look was hungry, darkened with need. The creases between his brows deepened as her hand trailed through the sparse dusting of hair on his chest.

There was a youthful charm to this situation, she considered. To them craving each other but not completely joining. It reminded her of being a teenager. When she'd been curious and horny, but nervous and not quite ready to go "all the way" with her ex. Being with Arthur allowed her to do all that again. To relive those experiences, to explore and make discoveries with him. To fall further in love with him daily.

She tenderly pecked the freckles at the top of his sternum, nestled against the notch above his clavicle. "I'm lucky to have you."

He didn't miss a beat, even as she trailed past the ticklish spots on his flank. "I'm luckier."

"I disagree." She outlined the slender muscles of his stomach, the v-lines leading to his cock. Played with the springy, brown curls at the base of him. "Without you, I'd only have my work. Which was enough before. But not now." After a moment, she concluded she was being sappy. She had to change it up. "And I wouldn't be having the best sex of my life."

Clearly flustered, he muffled his laugh. "Really?" His blush was prominent, his grin ecstatic.

"Really." Groans short and sudden, he rocked into her touch when she encircled his ample girth. Her fingers danced along his shaft, marveling at the contrast of his velvety skin with how hard he was. Pumping up and down, she tugged at him, trying to match the speed of his thrusts. He nudged his nose to hers, gazing at her before his hooded eyes flitted to watch what she was doing. Then she looked, too.

The sight of him fucking into her hand made her dizzy with want, even though he'd just gotten her off. The crimson, swollen head glistened, slick beading generously at the tip. Y/N licked her lips and spread it around him with the pad of her thumb. Moaning sharply, he bucked harder. Her motions quickened, flicking repeatedly at the notch on the underside.

Demand was implicit in the grasp he had on her upper arm. And it strengthened as his hips' stuttered, becoming unpredictable. Ragged pants hit her face. "I'm- I'm gonna make a mess.”

"It's all right," she soothed. Keeping ahold of him, she lay on her back. He followed and settled on top of her. Whimpering her name, he rubbed himself against her labia. But she gently pushed him onto his knees and continued palming him, her fingers teasing the ridge on his erection. It wouldn't take long to make him come. She could see it in the clench of his jaw, the tightening cords in his neck, his abrupt, needy cries...

Plunging forward, he held himself in place, grunting, clutching her urgently. His release hit her abdomen, warm and wet, and she gasped, her body curving up towards him. The feel of him spilling onto her couldn't completely distract her, though. Not from the beauty of his parted lips. Not from the relief that gradually spread across his features. Not from the slackening of his muscles as tension ebbed.

Sweat had gathered on his forehead. A droplet ran from the end of a dark brow to his jawline. Then he kissed her, his mouth groping at hers. "I love you," he said. He gave her one last peck and sat up on his knees. Holding onto the arm of the sofa, he retrieved her underwear from the floor and wiped her belly off. "That was fun." He tucked his chin bashfully.

"I concur." She entwined their hands and sat, then stretched as she pushed herself to stand and walk to the bathroom. The washcloth he'd designated as hers hung on the hook by the towels. She cleaned herself, listening as Arthur started the show again.

A new round of questions was just beginning. "When you and your spouse first met," the host started, "what was your first impression?"

Arthur's answer was instant. "Nice."

Y/N said the first thing that came to mind. "Handsome."

She popped her head out of the room to find him leaning on the entrance of the short corridor, beaming at her with hitched giggles. He was probably waiting for his turn to clean up. Like he normally did. But she couldn't stop herself from staring at him. Loving eyes met hers and his brows lifted expectantly. "Yes?"

Smiling, she wrung out the washcloth and put it back in its place. She stepped to him with a smile and smoothed his hair back. The rush of happiness in her soul, one she wasn't even sure she had, enamored her. Not only at what they'd shared on his old, scratchy sofa. But at Arthur being Arthur. At knowing soon she'd get to sleep next to him every night. Build a life with him, one she hadn't dreamed of even six months ago. Nothing she could say seemed adequate. So she went with a kind gesture, one she knew he'd appreciate. "I'll make us some decaf. And I love you, too."

~~~~~

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