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kadavernagh · 3 months

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Casket Cases || Regan & Erin

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Erin's funeral home PARTIES: Erin, Regan, and Diane CONTENT: Lots of death talk lol SUMMARY: Regan and Erin finally meet in person, and what better occasion than buying a casket in which to bury your things?

Regan’s interaction with Erin Nichols had always been brief. A recommendation to next of kin, a transport of a body. She mostly let Rickers handle all of the arrangements with third parties, wanting nothing to do with anything that was outside of the autopsy suite walls. But recent conversational intercourse with the funeral home director had sparked something. And it was something disturbing – awful roiling in her stomach where there should have been nothing at all, the dregs of kinship, come to remind her that she used to be someone. A proper banshee would have set that right. Get rid of the cause, or excise it out. They certainly wouldn’t have gone closer to the source of it.

It was about the caskets, Regan told herself. Over and over again. Only the caskets. She’d admire the lovely handiwork, muse over their potential uses that extended beyond the burial of the dead, and perhaps get a better idea of what Nichols was like. Surely, once Regan saw all the woman’s inevitable human flaws laid bare, whatever was darting around her stomach would be clamped off like the malignancy it was. So why hadn’t that happened yet with Elias, and Jade, and – Regan cleared her throat as she entered the funeral home, thought clearing with it. There was an older woman inside, perhaps in her 60s. Professionally dressed in dark colors, and with a remarkable jawline. Was that Erin? If so, Regan was pleased. She had expected someone younger, but Regan respected experience if nothing else. “Hello. I’m Dr. Regan Kavanagh, one of the Medical Examiners. Are you Erin Nichols? I’m here to see the caskets.” Regan hesitated for a moment, unsure if Erin really deserved what she’d brought. “I have a gift.” She raised a tupperware container in her hand, “It really should be opened and enjoyed quickly, otherwise placed in the freezer.”

Diane Nichols wasn’t prepared for the very pale, nearly white-haired who entered the funeral home that evening. The older woman had been doing this nearly her entire life. Autopilot was set to kick in and start the “how can I help you?” spiel. But this young lady wasn’t waiting around for that, she realized very quickly. Right down to business. Her name sounded familiar–it was likely she’d spoken with her over the phone at some point concerning a transfer, or had read her name on a piece of paperwork. But she’d never seen the woman in person. “Oh, hello there, Dr. Kavanagh! I’m actually not–”

A tupperware container was thrust in front of Diane and she hesitated before taking it. Her brow rose slightly, as did the corner of her lips. “You cooked for my daughter? That’s very sweet, dear. I didn’t know you two were… friends?” She lifted the tupperware though it was hard to make out the contents through the thick plastic container. Leaning back towards the hallway, Diane yelled back towards Erin’s office. “Erin! You have a visitor!”

Scuffling sounded from the hallway as Erin moved to join them and Diane motioned towards the container again. “What did you make?” She asked, curious and polite but very unsure what she held in her hands. A few seconds later, Erin appeared and a bright smile broke out on her face at the sight of the bleached blonde woman. She wasn’t sure why but a part of her was unsure that she’d actually show but she was pleasantly surprised regardless. “Regan! Hi! Sorry to make you wait, I was just finishing up some paperwork. I see you’ve met my mother, Diane…” Her eyes moved to the container, her enthusiasm giving way to curiosity. “What’s… that?”

Daughter? Wait, cooked? Friends?? Regan’s forehead knotted and she looked down at the tupperware like it now contained something offensive – food. Back at Erin’s mother. Who held it now. “You’re mistaken, but I will be understanding because I know you’re grieving. My condolences.” She bowed her head slightly, then was jostled to attention by the shout. It wasn’t a very good shout. Like a .002 on the banshee scream scale. Regan should have been offended to be in the presence of such a whimper. Erin was quick to respond to her mother, though. From the sound of it, she was good to her. The perfect, supportive daughter in the wake of such a loss, probably always with one ear pricked toward the counter.

Erin had a solemn sort of beauty that made the smile more impactful, and when Regan estimated her age as being in the late 30s, some jealousy bunched up inside of her. They were only a few years apart, probably, but Erin actually looked like she’d earned all of the experience she carried. Regan pushed that thought away. And Erin’s enthusiasm. Which sounded too real to be fake and which made something heavy thunk inside of her chest. “Hello. I – it’s fine, I didn’t know I was waiting. I–” They were both converging on her. Questions, smiles. Regan shuddered. She wished there was a casket right here and right now so she could dive into it and escape.

Miraculously, she survived. She wobbled on her feet, backing up a couple of steps. Perhaps they’d both be distracted by the revelation of what was in the tupperware. Food was horribly disappointing in comparison. They would leave her alone in their excitement. “Yes, um – Erin and I know each other. From work. Loosely. Like… we do, I suppose.” She looked at Diane. Why were her eyes so kind? Right. The gift. They both wanted to know. How absurd they couldn’t feel it, despite all of the death in this place. Regan swallowed thickly. “A dead sparrow. Wings spread and stiff from rigor. Hardly a blow fly egg on it.” There was a hint of affection in her tone she couldn’t quite conceal. She looked at Erin, expecting the woman to be glowing. She wasn’t really glowing. What was wrong? “I am willing to watch it decompose with you now – I believe my presence will be additive to the experience – but I understand if you cannot commit that time. In that case, I suggest you put it in the freezer. You have plenty here, right?” Regan tilted her head like it was a normal question arising from a completely normal situation. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I am here to see your caskets.”

“Oh–I, uh, thank you. I appreciate that,” Diane answered at the offer of condolences, already incredibly unsure of how to take in Regan. The bleach blonde was curt but polite, for sure. But something that hinted at “home-schooled”. Erin always did have the weirdest friends.

Erin was only in the room for a moment before Regan looked wholly overwhelmed. She didn’t know much about the other woman but it was clear that socializing isn't her strong suit. During one of their conversations, she’d practically said as much. So when she opened the tupperware container and saw the rotting bird, there was a part of her that wasn’t as surprised as she probably should have been. Oh, she was surprised, and her eyebrows rocketing to the top of her forehead definitely said so, but… it kind of made sense, if she thought about what she’d learned so far about Regan Kavanagh. “Oh. Oh,” Erin stuttered out, trying to hide the shock in her voice. Maybe Regan would take it as a gleeful surprise. “Thank you, Regan.” She didn’t dare look at her mother, whose face was twisted into a more appalled version of surprise.

Diane nodded, backing up slowly. “Wow. Alright. I’ll–let you two at it, then. It was nice to meet you, Regan.”

Erin shared a look with her mother, who seemed worried for her now, but effortlessly gentle and polite about it as the woman ever was. She was gone quickly, leaving Erin alone with Regan, dead bird in hand. Fingers grasping the container tightly with both hands, making sure the lid was tight, she nodded and smiled at Regan. “Why don’t we save the decomposing show for another time? I’m going to stick this in the freezer real quick. I’ll be right back.” She started heading towards the same direction as her mother had left. Only gone long enough just to pop the bird into the freezer and ignoring the very concerned look on her mother’s face, before popping back into the main area and back to Regan. She sent her another bright smile and took a quick breath. This was going to be an interesting evening, if anything. “Did you know sparrows mean good luck?” She asked, pausing for a moment. “Thank you for the gift. Really. It was sweet.”

She watched her curiously for a moment, slipping her hands into the pockets of her blazer. “But you’re here for the caskets, yes. C’mon. I’m sure you’ll find something you’ll like.” She gestured towards an open door, showcase lights reflecting off of mahogany and other various woods.

When Diane left the room, Regan could breathe again. She hadn’t seemed all that pleased. In fact – and Regan might have been reading too much into this – Diane had almost appeared displeased. If that was the case, she wouldn’t recognize a quality sparrow if it flew right into her face and died there. Even so, there was something Regan had liked about the woman. Maybe it was because she found Erin tolerable, and the two shared in mannerisms.

“Another time, but not too far into the future. My move, you know. To Ireland. Where all of the sheep are.” Regan’s tone dropped slightly; sometimes it felt like part of her was overseas already. Erin probably didn’t want to be reminded of the sheep though. “Your mother seems kind…” She studied Erin’s face, really studied it, and almost wished she could offer something in return for the smile she was receiving, even if it made her squirm. She couldn’t summon one of her own, so she frowned instead, which was close enough. “I’m not typically interested in symbolism. Why? Do you feel you need the luck?”

Sweet. The word squeezed her chest and her lungs felt like corks ready to pop. And they did. When she opened her mouth to protest that she wasn’t sweet, this wasn’t sweet, she didn’t even know the meaning of the word, the lightbulb hanging over the entryway – which was making the wood glow beautifully – rocked and then burst. Regan closed her eyes, exasperated, as glass sprinkled down her shirt. “Bás síoraí, really?” She hissed, then immediately realized that was the problem, and tamped down on that rising tension inside of her. Wait, Erin didn’t think that was addressed to her, did she? More importantly – “You should buy higher quality lightbulbs,” Regan said quickly, realizing it was suspicious not to say anything, right? How had this gone south so quickly when she came prepared with such a lovely specimen to set things off on the right foot? She brushed her hand down her shirt, wiping off errant glass and definitely getting a couple of shards in her fingers. “Enough of that. Let’s continue. Show me the caskets. I have a particular use in mind for one, and I need to ask you about burial, too.” She gave Erin a curious glance. “Do you only inter people? What is your casket with the greatest carrying capacity?”

Ireland. Erin’s smile saddened a little, which was almost a surprise to herself. She was still very much getting to know Regan, even for as long as they worked distantly with each other. But there was something about her–her quirks, social struggles, and her fascination with all things death, that endeared her to her. In a lot of ways, she reminded her of a version of herself she only allowed out sparingly, and with supervision. The little girl who played ‘funeral’ instead of ‘house’ with her imaginary friends. The same one who found it was easier to be alone than to have to explain to people why she talked to herself sometimes or couldn’t always tell the difference between who was real and who wasn’t. She wasn’t sure how but she felt like maybe Regan could understand that on some level too. In her own way. After all, she was pretty sure she wasn’t here just for the caskets, Erin was fairly certain.

Her eyes rolled playfully but she nodded and pulled a more sincere smile back onto her lips. “Right. The sheep. Can’t keep them waiting too long, huh? Or you can. They’re sheep. And I’m recently no longer that fond of sheep, so–maybe they can wait.”

It felt like Erin had only turned for a moment, starting to discuss some of the caskets that the other woman had been eyeing when a pop splintered her thoughts and the room grew a little darker. “Jesus, are you okay??” She asked, hurrying over to Regan and the glass mess that had rained down on her and the area around her, horror etched into every inch of her face. “I’ve never–I don’t even know how–” Erin was at a loss for words, though understanding how seemed less important than taking care of the shards on the floor and in Regan’s hand. “I–yes. We do but–shit. You’re bleeding. Sit down,” she ushered her gently, ignoring the bulk of Regan’s casket-related questions. Disappearing for only a few moments, she returned with the small first aid kit she kept in her office and she realized it was probably the first time she’d ever had to pop it open. “I am so sorry. That’s seriously never–” She shook her head again, completely confounded. “What happened?” She asked, kneeling in front of her to start sifting through the contents. “

Oh, Erin was more surprised about the light than Regan had anticipated. Which made sense. She hadn’t expected it. “Don’t – it’s fine, really. It’s probably a manufacturing error. Not even anything to do with the quality of the bulbs you chose to purchase.” Okay, so she felt a little bad implying this had been partially Erin’s doing before, considering how apologetic she seemed. “It, uh, happens. Hardly the worst anyone in this town had been maimed. You’ve cleaned up some remarkable injuries, I know you have.” But Erin was still fussing over this, and Regan felt a flash of panic run through her, the room growing small. That usually led to more things breaking. She decided to take Erin’s advice and sit down. Play the feeble human. Maybe if she remained cavalier about all of this, Erin would dismiss it just as easily.

Regan sighed and wandered over to a chair at the side of the showroom as Erin scurried off, presumably to get something for the glass. She looked down at her hand. Barely bleeding, almost invisible next to the puffy scar on her palm. A few dots had smeared on her regrettably white shirt, though. What a hassle. Maybe they could do this quickly so they could get back to the caskets. Which was why she was here. Obviously.

Erin emerged with a first aid kit, and Regan’s stomach clenched with distaste at the thought of compliance. She pulled her hand away from Erin, eyeing her cautiously. “I’m a doctor. I’m perfectly capable of removing glass from flesh. I have done this hundreds of times before.” But the first aid kit wasn’t the worst idea, and Regan plucked up the forceps and some gauze with her free hand. She’d keep Erin busy with other topics while she picked out the glass – which didn’t even seem necessary, but leaving it in would probably seem weirder. “You mean why do I need the casket?” Or the light? Erin didn’t think she had anything to do with the light, right? Regan was doing a stellar job of being nonchalant and unsuspicious about this. “You already know I’m leaving. I was thinking, I have… things in my possession that others may want. And I cannot bring everything with me. Burying them in a casket seems sensible.” One sliver out. “So if I wanted a casket to last for a few centuries, and avoid build up of moisture on the inside, what is the best quality material I should purchase?" Two slivers. “And do you have any plots available? When you die, what do you wish to be buried in?”

In her panic to clean up the mess and make sure her guest didn’t need stitches, Erin had nearly forgotten that Regan was a doctor. So when Regan opted to pluck the pieces out herself, Erin watched for just a moment before needing to do something with this antsy, worried energy she was stuck with. She pulled a broom from a closet and began to sweep up the glass from the showroom floor. “Yeah, I guess you get to see the worst of the worst before it gets to me.” She smiled again, excited at the prospect of being able to openly talk about this kind of stuff with someone else. The ones who could stomach it were few and far between. “You remember that animal attack from last week? The man who was missing almost a quarter of his face? It took me hours but when I was finished, you couldn’t even tell he’d ever even had a blemish scar his entire life. I was pretty proud of that one.”

Regan’s answer wasn’t at all what she was expecting. Burying her things? “Why don’t you just get a storage unit? I mean, you can bury them too–I kind of like the flair that has–but your stuff would likely be much safer in a unit. Even the most durable caskets we have won’t hold up centuries. The burial vault matters more there. But if you’re intent on the cemetery route, maybe think about a mausoleum. We always have plots available but mausoleum spots might be a bit more tricky. At least, in Wicked’s Rest, anyway.”

Regan was full of questions, wasn’t she? The last one threw her a little and she paused, even though she knew exactly what her answer was going to be. “A natural burial in a burial park. I want to be a tree or a bed of flowers someday.” She smiled, eyeing her wounds, which were starting to look better already. “Doesn’t that hurt?” She asked as she watched her pull the slivers out.

Regan brightened, remembering. “Yes, the 42 year old.” The thought of beautifying death did not appeal to her – was it not already beautiful? Why alter it? – but the impact Erin’s work had on next of kin could not be understated. “The family must have appreciated that. He had two children, if I recall. Do you take photos of your work?” That had been a strange autopsy. It was an animal attack, no doubt; she saw it. But… “His liver was gone, by the way. Completely missing, pulled out of him. I think someone found him after he died and stole it.” Stranger things had happened in this town, but scavenging entire organs from a dead man was still atypical.

“A storage unit will not work for this. So perhaps you can tell me more about the burial vaults. Do you sell any?” Admittedly, the thought of having her own mausoleum held great appeal, but it was an unrealistic notion, both in terms of available space, and that it would bring her possessions aboveground and easier to find. “I prefer something discrete and unmarked. My things are valuable.”

Erin didn’t seem to expect the next question she’d asked, which was a little amusing. She obviously had something in mind. Everyone in her profession did. There was even, Regan thought, a lightness to her voice when she spoke of this – of acceptance of her own death in a way that most humans never attained. Erin seemed almost dreamy. Regan found her own voice softening to match, which was good for all of the remaining lightbulbs. “That sounds… peaceful. I expected you to have a thoughtful answer. One doesn’t work in this field and not put deep consideration into their own death. You do not disappoint me.” She paused, seeing Erin watching her with the forceps. Does it hurt? Strange question. “No,” Regan said simply, pulling out the last visible splinter of glass. She only slapped a band-aid on her hand to appease Erin. Regan looked over the floor where the glass had sprinkled down, but it appeared Erin had sweeped all of it up already. Nothing more to be done here. Regan gestured over toward one of the caskets, eager to move on – it had polished, dark wood and beautiful beveled edges. Its place toward the center of the room made Regan suspect it was either high-end or a personal favorite. “Can you tell me about that one? And if centuries is unrealistic, how about decades?”

“Three kids,” Erin corrected her casually, remembering the youngest most distinctly from the service. No more than two or three, she guessed, and at no point did she see him without at least one of his brand new dress shoes missing. It turned into a game–a lighthearted distraction from the sorrow and despair that shrouded the man’s loved ones. A tragedy. One of thousands that passed through these walls, and of course, first through the morgue. She answered her next question, one of the many the other woman seemed to have. All as earnest and to the point as Regan was, so she didn’t mind answering as many as she could. “If the family gives me permission, I keep a record of some of the… trickier restorations I’ve had to do. No names or anything, just before and after photos and notes so I have something to reference if I get stuck again in the future.” Erin hesitated, considering the ethical implications. But if there was anyone who respected these lines more than her, more than any professional she’d ever met quite frankly, it’d be Regan. “Would you like to see it sometime?”

“Wait, why would they take just the liver?” She asked, quirking a brow in Regan’s direction, probably not as surprised as she should have been. “If you’re going to risk prison time for some guy’s organ, you might as well grab a few more things while you’re in there. Make it count, you know?” She realized how that sounded immediately and shrugged it off as nonchalantly as she could. “Just seems… weird. For too many reasons to count. That’s all.”

A vault solely for the things Regan was leaving behind here? It felt on brand for who she was discovering Regan to be, even if she was more curious than ever about the valuable items that needed protecting six feet underground. “Gotta say, this is a first for me. But whatever you want–an unmarked, discreet burial vault it is. Wood is beautiful but only lasts for a few decades at most. If you want stability more than anything, a steel casket will last you close to 80 years on average.” Eighty years. Regan and her things would likely be long gone. Or neatly hidden away in this mystery plot. “Is this… what you want for yourself?”

Regan knew it was no small thing for someone in Erin’s position to make this offer – seeing photos of such intimate work. She treated her autopsy photos with similar reverence, only inviting other pathologists or those who would understand their value, their weight, to view them. Thinking about it, she would also consider Erin as part of that inner circle. That meant there was something here, didn’t it? Trust? “I’d like to see them. Please. We can arrange for this before I leave.” The words thank you were on the tip of her tongue, but she had reminded herself not to say that. Erin wasn’t fae, but it was better to get out of the habit before being surrounded by them again. She looked at Erin with something resembling fondness instead. Like observing a favored ulcer or unearthing the delicate skeleton of a vole or a mouse.

“You have a point. Why leave the kidneys? There is a demand for those.” She frowned, “not that I understand such mutilation of the dead in either case. Keep an eye and an ear out though, won’t you?” She knew Erin would.

“People often say that I am their first for… something. I appreciate your personalized business model.” Regan circled around the room a bit, but her attention kept falling on that same central casket. It really was beautiful. Did Erin do two-for-one specials? Probably not. “Steel casket it is, then. 80 will have to do.” She’d be back by then, right? Even for a pit stop. And if she didn’t need her things, she could just… purchase a new steel casket from Erin’s progeny, or whoever would run this business 80 years from now. That thought made something sink right through her chest, down to her stomach, where it sat heavy and uncomfortable. As did Erin’s question. “It’s practical.” She waved a hand toward the dark wood, dismissing it with some regret. “Are the steel caskets as attractive as these? I prefer function over form, but form is not irrelevant. Perhaps you can show me one and I can make the purchase now. I’m eager to begin. And you probably wish to get back to your bird.”

Regan’s genuine response to the offer filled Erin’s chest with a mixture of both excitement and dread. It was a weird combination but something she should have seen coming. She liked Regan. More than she ever thought she would before she started earnestly talking to the quirky medical director she sometimes worked with in passing. There was an unspoken understanding not often found outside of their field, or even in it. Erin didn’t have to explain herself or keep the weirder parts of her passion for this job to herself and she hoped Regan felt similar. She hoped she did. The woman had gifted her a dead bird and didn’t bat an eyelash about how the organ thief hadn’t thought out their plan properly at all. Ireland loomed ominous over her thoughts now too. “Definitely before you leave,” she agreed, her smile just as genuine but tinged with disappointment and promised to also keep her in the loop about the organs.

“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re very uniquely you,” she chuckled softly, watching Regan curiously, but said nothing as she seemed to struggle internally over the decision. This mattered to her more than Erin could understand. “I know. Wood just had a more dignified, classic feel to them. But steel is nice too.” Erin gestured to a wall of samples and produced a pamphlet that offered more variety than her tiny showroom could hold.

But before she completely let go of the paper, she stopped, struggling herself. “You don’t have to answer this and I know it’s none of my business–” she shook her head, apologetic even as she continued to speak, but there was no way she could continue letting this eat at her. “You’re moving away for an indefinite amount of time to another country and you’re burying your things in a steel coffin before you go because wood won’t last long enough.” She stood straighter, making sure Regan could see the concern in her eyes. “Is everything okay?” Another pause. “Are you going to be okay?”

That is the problem, Regan wanted to say, but she knew that some things wouldn’t go over well with humans. And Erin was rapidly becoming a problem, too. Rarely did Regan have this kind of connection with someone. It was rare that she even respected anyone to speak with them for this long to begin with (the dead were different, of course – always worthy of respect and never conversational; perfect in every way). But Erin was worth her time; she had recognized that at some point even if she hadn’t been aware of it. The list was growing too long. There were almost five people on it. She didn’t like the way this realization squirmed inside of her.

She could snatch the pamphlet and be out of here. Should.

“You’re right. It is none of your business,” Regan flatly. That was the automatic answer, the one immediately launched toward Erin’s kindness. But then she thought. And the question seemed like a non-sequitur. She paused as her mind worked to put the pieces together. What did the length of time and moving to Ireland and the steel coffin have to do with things being okay? It clicked. They were both in the business of death; it probably should have clicked earlier. “Oh, you think – I’m not dying right now. And there’s no one after me.” A pause. “Well, there was, but don’t worry, we sorted it out. I am going willingly.” Did that sound more concerning, or less? What did it mean that she really wasn’t sure? She couldn’t pinpoint Erin’s specific concern so she decided to cover them all, in one breath, “I lived there. It’s familiar, more familiar than this place, in some ways, and I have family there, and the sheep aren’t dangerous, if you’re worried about that, and I can set up my clinic again; they probably went back to using that pad and tampon dispenser for band-aids in my stead, which is pretty insulting when you think about it, so I’m going to have to remind them of the value of my expertise.” And they would have far more to remind her of.

When Regan looked down, she realized she was clenching the pamphlet, creasing it in her fist. Her ears registered a faint twinkling or cracking, but she wasn’t sure what had been damaged. She let go, reeling back a little from the release of tension. She tried to be quick to recover her composure, as if it hadn’t fractured at all. “You know what,” she said, a little too emphatically – or more accurately, less expressionless than usual – “I think you should send me more information about these steel caskets online. I’m sure someone has been wheeled into the morgue since we’ve started conversing, so I should be aware of that. Or my receptionist might require me. She has been especially needy ever since she lost Wordle.” It was still unclear to Regan whether that was a boyfriend or beloved pet.

She backed away toward the door slightly, indicating that it was time to leave, but refused to just make a break for it. She was no coward. She could say goodbye. So why was Erin registering as a threat on some level? “We should… discuss those photos of your work, too. I may have some to share with you. Some ulcers to remember me by.” In one way or another. Regan cleared her throat. The only thing more difficult than staying in place was walking out the door, but with a small wave, she left someone who, had things been different, she might have called a friend.

#writing #c erin

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vrishchikawrites · 3 years

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Hello, this is the prompt I wanted to send you.

WangXian fic set during the sunshot compaign after one of their famous fights. They stumble upon an array that shows the future and It activated when WWX touched it. The array started showing glimpses of married and in love WX going on dates (yunmeng date), night hunting together, kissing, pillowtalks and aftercare, adopting children, teaching at the CR... YLLZ! WWX feeling jealous and bitter and not understanding why. The reveal that LWJ's husband is WWX, his falling out with the Jiang sect and JC's role in his death. Basically a fic where YLLZ! WWX finds out that after all these hardships he is finally going to be happy, have his own family and be with the love of his life where he is loved, cared for, respected and appreciated. And longing to have that future with LWj.

It can be a fix it fic with a happy ending please.

Posted on Ao3 here

Alternating POV - Wei Wuxian - Lan Wangji - Wangxian - A bit angsty with happy ending - Mature. Betaed by Moonyju.

I hear your heart beating in your chest

Wei Wuxian isn't the one to dwell on the past or look towards the future. He lives every day as it comes and faces every challenge without carrying burdens forward.

He has never planned for his future, not really. Some vague dreams here and there, but nothing real. Wei Wuxian learned at the tender age of four that the future is unpredictable. One day you wake up to your mother's warm smile and your father's gentle words. The next day, you have lost those things forever. Life has proven this to him repeatedly.

Future is uncertain, present is the only certainty Wei Wuxian believes in.

So, when he and the illustrious Second Jade of Lan stumble into an array while rescuing a few civilians. An illusion of sorts surrounds him, obscuring the real world outside the array. He doesn’t pay much attention to what it reveals. Instead, he focuses his attention on the array itself, carefully examining its intricacies. A single glance is enough to tell it is some sort of temporal array, a shade of what cultivators use for preservation purposes. But it also seems to have some form of an illusionary element to it. He tilts his head to the side and crouches down to study it.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls, almost in warning but Wei Wuxian is content to ignore him for once. Lan Zhan has always drawn too much of his attention and it rankles now more than ever.

Another quarrel, another needless argument about Wei Wuxian not understanding the depth and implications of his actions. Sometimes he wonders if Lan Zhan intends to sound as dismissive or haughty as he does when he confronts him about Mo Dao. He likes to believe Lan Wangji is above such petty things, but the man’s dogged refusal to accept Wei Wuxian’s path and his relentless quest to fix something that can’t be fixed is getting on his last nerve.

“Wei Ying,” He looks up at the sharp tone, meeting a pair of golden eyes in question only to be arrested by something akin to embarrassment tinting Lan Zhan’s stoic features. He glances towards the illusion and stills, somewhat stunned by the scene before him.

It is Lan Zhan. Or a version of him. He’s broader, with more mature features and a much sharper gaze. But that’s not the most astonishing thing, no.

Lan Zhan is… kissing someone.

It is someone shorter than him, with long hair tied up and away from a fairly pretty face. Wei Wuxian eyes the way Lan Zhan cradles the face and guides it towards his kisses, gentle and full of affection.

It entrances him for a moment. He can’t help but stare at the scene, taking in how Lan Zhan seems to lean in again and again, to press closer like he can’t get enough. His heart races and he doesn’t really understand why it is suddenly so…

“Wei Ying!” He drags his eyes away from the illusion and looks at his Lan Zhan, who seems increasingly flustered despite the relatively calm expression on his face. His ears are bright red and he’s pointedly not looking in the illusion’s direction.

He smiles teasingly, “Aiya, Lan Zhan, it looks like the older version of you is more relaxed.”

“It is a trick.” Lan Zhan protests immediately but Wei Ying dips his eyes down to scan the array again and shakes his head. There are several clues that highlight the array’s purpose clearly. Lan Zhan is no less knowledgeable than he is so he must see it too.

The denial is already fading from the Second Jade’s features and Wei Wuxian stands up, brushing his knees absently. He glances at the illusion and feels something strange pool in his stomach, something like dread, when he sees the pair again. Lan Zhan is pressing the strange person to the tree behind them, pinning her- no-

He peers closer, swallowing when Lan Zhan’s hand disappears into the person’s robes. Lan Zhan’s… companion is clearly not a woman, that much was apparent at first glance. But it is even more apparent when those robes fall open under Lan Zhan’s questing fingers.

Somehow, that feels worse.

He struggles to maintain his composure and fixes a grin on his face, “Well-” The scene shifts abruptly and Wei Wuxian barely withholds a gasp, his eyes immediately drawn to the older Lan Zhan’s peaceful face. He’s sleeping, his arms wrapped loosely around the same companion from before. The room around them seems like it is in Cloud Recesses, perhaps Lan Wangji’s home?

His eyes turn back towards Lan Wangji and he takes a careful breath, heart aching for some reason. He pointedly doesn’t look at the man’s companion and silently turns to look at the array again. The time element is solid, undisturbed and clean. More than a simple illusion, a clear glimpse of the future.

But…

He looks up and the scene has changed again. Lan Wangji is with that man again. They stand side by side and the man is leaning against the Second Jade brazenly but Lan Wangji doesn’t seem to mind. He has his hand low on the man’s back, a gesture that reads distinctly possessive. The scene wouldn’t be out of place in any family. There’s a husband, there’s a wife, there’s a child clinging to the wife’s robes, and there’s a young man standing before them with a smile that speaks of affection.

The array seeks to show people a glimpse of their future. Lan Zhan is seeing his life as a settled man of a good family.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t exist.

He takes a careful breath as that thought settles in his mind. He has always known his path is treacherous but something in him burns to see life move on so peacefully without him.

The world has never had much space for him. When he was a child, no one had space to let him rest. As a youth, his place at the Lotus Pier was small, surrounded by thorns. The space keeps shrinking and shrinking ever since he stepped out of the Burial Mounds. He imagines at some point it will vanish altogether and Wei Wuxian will be forced to vanish with it.

Melancholy doesn’t suit him but the ache of it strikes him powerfully now.

The sight of Lan Zhan moving on – they’re not even friends, what does he need to move on from? – shatters something in him.

He can’t summon a smile.

Wei Wuxian locks his jaw and ignores his racing heart as the scene goes on. The young boy saying something to Lan Wangji’s partner and the partner grinning in response.

Lan Wangji’s expression is soaked in affection, despite how stoic it appears. The corners of his mouth are softer and there’s a fond light in those golden eyes. Wei Wuxian has never seen something so beautiful.

He watches as the young man leans down and plucks the child off the ground and carries him away, both of them waving to Lan Wangji and his partner until they’re out of sight.

Wei Wuxian’s heart shudders when Lan Wangji discreetly pulls his partner closer and buries his nose in his hair, expression content.

Suddenly, it is unbearable.

He brings his thumb to his mouth, ready to tear into his flesh and disrupt the seal with his blood. It would take very little to get them out of here safely. Lan Zhan has seen enough good things about his life, there’s no need to linger.

No need for him to find out that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t exist during this peaceful time. He knows the man cares about him enough to be upset if he is lost.

Just as he’s about to bite into his thumb, fingers wrap around his wrist tightly.

Wei Wuxian looks up to see Lan Zhan gazing at him with wide, stunned eyes.

```

Wangji accepts what is happening almost immediately after Wei Ying shakes his head. He has always had a more intuitive understanding of spells and talismans. It is rare for Wei Ying to be mistaken in such matters.

So, this is his future. A glimpse of things that will happen a few decades down the line. Wangji is uncertain what to make of it. His ears feel warm as he witnesses the intimacy between partners. There’s enough affection written on his older self’s face to know the relationship is real.

He looks at his… companion. He doesn’t lack beauty. A delicate countenance, inky black hair, and a pleasing form. He looks almost alarmingly similar to Wei Ying, with only small differences. There’s an echo of Wei Ying in his smile and even the way he tosses his head back and laughs reminds Wangji strongly of the man beside him.

Only Wei Ying has never looked at him like that. This man’s face is flushed with passion, lips bitten red by his partner’s kisses. There’s a teasing sparkle in his eyes that makes his breath still in his chest for a moment. It reminds him of the expression Wei Ying wore all those years ago when they ran across the rooftops in Cloud Recesses.

How… is it possible for this man to be so similar?

He glances down at the array, trying to decipher what it seeks to accomplish. Wangji has never seen anything like it but there are enough familiar elements in it to deduce its purpose. It is clearly designed to show them their future, to create a sort of mirror that reflects images of their future life into the past.

Wangji tears his eyes away and turns to Wei Ying, a few questions already forming in his mind.

Wei Ying’s expression arrests him.

Wangji stills, unable to move his gaze away from Wei Ying’s face. There’s something bitter about his grimace and flinty in his eyes. He watches the scene with an almost animal expression, lips pursed in displeasure – furious – Wangji realizes with an indrawn breath.

For a short, heartbreaking moment, he fears it is disapproval, disgust for a cutsleeve relationship.

That impression doesn’t last.

Wei Ying’s hand goes briefly to his chest and something very much like open, raw pain crosses his face, wiping away the anger. The expression… is nothing close to disgust.

It is a short, unguarded moment and it ensnares Wangji completely. His heart races in his chest as several realizations happen in an instant.

Wei Ying is an ever-smiling sprite, mischievous as they come. He rarely shows any true sorrow and Wangji has only seen him show true anger three times over their acquaintance. It is easy to become convinced that nothing can touch the formidable Wei Wuxian. But standing there, looking at Wangji’s future with a bitter expression, Wei Ying seems shattered.

The expression is devastatingly open. In that instant, Wangji has no problem understanding Wei Ying better than he has ever before.

Wei Ying’s expression twists before every inch of vulnerability is gone from his face. It is wiped clean and almost cold, colder than he has ever seen Wei Ying be. He locks his jaw and brings his hand to his mouth, his movements stiff and sharp.

Wangji shoots forward, wrapping his fingers around Wei Ying’s wrist. He feels the pulse hammering under his fingers and his own heart races in an echo of it. Wei Ying’s eyes are sharp and defensive, hiding the pain that Wangji had glimpsed clearly before.

In contrast, Wangji feels almost breathless with elation, “Don’t,” he says, pulling Wei Ying’s hand away from his mouth. His hand doesn’t shake but he feels shaken. Wei Ying scowls at him, which is also something he has never done, “Don’t.”

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Ying says curtly, “This isn’t for me to see and we have seen enough. Let go.”

Wangji tightens his fingers, unwilling to let go. He studies Wei Ying’s face carefully, finding it unreadable once again. In fact, Wei Ying is uncharacteristically quiet, not teasing him about his future partner, not commenting on the cutsleeve relationship, not even mentioning his older self’s appearance.

The silence speaks loudly.

'Don't nurture foolish hope,' Wangji thinks to himself but it grows in him anyways. It is strange that a single glimpse of an unguarded emotion is enough to alter Wangji’s perspective so much, but it does and now he isn’t inclined to let the matter go.

“Don’t destroy the array,” He requests, “Something isn’t right.” Wei Ying should be present. The array shouldn’t focus on Wangji’s future only. He doesn’t know who the strange man is but he can’t imagine being with anyone but Wei Ying.

Is his heart so fickle? Can it stray from Wei Ying that easily?

It is unsettling to consider it.

“We can figure it out once we’re away from this illusion,” Wei Ying says, making a visible effort to muster his usual nonchallance but Wangji sees they way his eyes flicker away, looking at the couple in the illusion briefly before glancing down at the array like he can’t stand the sight of it.

“Wei Ying-”

“Aiya, er-gege, what are you doing to your poor Wei Ying?”

Wangji glances sharply at the illusion as Wei Ying stills, his arm going tense in his grasp.

The pair in the illusion are now closer and somehow their conversation is audible. The voice is strange but the cadence and rhythm is entirely Wei Ying, teasing, playful, pleasant.

Wangji’s grip tightens as he sees his future self pull his companion onto his lap, a spare Lan forehead ribbon in his grasp. It has the clan markings, it belongs to a clan member but Wangji’s ribbon is already on his forehead.

He swallows and feels the pulse beating against his fingers speed up as his future self wraps the ribbon around his partner’s forehead.

“Wei Ying must wear it for today’s ceremony,” His older self says and his Wei Ying sucks in a sharp breath, his hand going lax in surprise, “Xiongzhang has requested it.”

“Well, if Xichen-ge has requested it, this one must obey,” Wei Ying sounds… happy. And it is Wei Ying. The face is different but the smile, full of mischief and life, is the same.

“What… is this?” His Wei Ying asks, baffled. He looks down to study the array more keenly, trying to determine why the illusion looks different.

Wangji is hearted to see the stiffness of his features melt into curiosity, “Lan Zhan, why would the array alter my appearance and not yours?” He asks, no longer attempting to pull away from Wangji.

The illusion is still playing in the background, showing what will happen several years down the line. But Wangji isn’t curious now. The present is so much more interesting.

Wei Ying is looking at the array, the conversation in the background is cheerful, full of intimacy and affection, the pulse against his fingers is still beating rapidly.

There’s a flush crawling up Wei Ying’s neck.

Wangji observes. He sees the blush crawl further and settle on Wei Ying’s cheeks. He sees teeth digging into soft lips, anxious. He sees eyes flicker towards him, towards the illusion, before moving away.

‘How can I bear it,’ He asks himself and gives in. He pulls the hand in his grasp to his mouth, pressing his lips against the center of Wei Ying’s palm and closing his eyes.

---

Wei Ying fears his heart will fail if this continues. The lively chatter of a couple in love surrounds them and his Lan Zhan is pressing his precious face against Wei Ying’s hand, cool but utterly content. The feel of his petal-soft lips against the rough skin of his palm is enough to drive him to distraction.

He doesn’t know how to react or what to say. He doesn’t want to pull his hand away but there’s a strange, almost unsettling sensation low in his stomach, not unpleasant, but very unfamiliar. Wei Ying has flirted with people before but he has never felt any true attraction towards them.

But the longer he remains inside this array, the more he learns about himself.

Lan Zhan moves, taking a step closer, dipping his lips lower to brush against Wei Ying’s exposed wrist.

His breath trembles as he gasps. The sensation is almost sharp, knife-like. He feels his entire body change and respond to it. He feels his fingers curl, his hair stand on end, and his body lean forward.

There’s a flash of teeth.

“Lan Zhan,” His voice is shamefully raw, everything he feels is written in the tone of it. Lan Zhan reacts immediately and Wei Ying goes, helpless against him. Lips slide over his and a warm, strong body presses close. The kiss is harsh, full of tongue and teeth. Desperate like Lan Zhan has been holding himself back and has finally been granted permission.

Wei Ying sways in place, lightheaded as a tongue slides over his and licks the roof of his mouth. ‘What is this,’ he wonders dazedly. There are strong fingers around his wrist and neck, showing no indication of every letting go. There’s a slight popping sound in his ears and he absently notes that the illusion has dispersed but Lan Zhan doesn’t give him time to think.

He yelps when Lan Zhan moves a hand down his back and grabs him under his thighs, lifting him up in a smooth movement. Next thing he knows, he’s pressed against a rough surface and his lips are captive again. His skin burns wherever Lan Zhan has touched it. His mouth feels raw and hot when they pull apart.

He stares when bright golden eyes look at him, edged with heat that he didn’t think Lan Zhan was capable of feeling.

It takes a moment for him to collect his thoughts under that direct gaze but he manages, his bruised lips curling into a teasing smile, “Er-gege, how shocking!” He leans forward, confident that Lan Zhan won’t drop him, “Look at what you’ve done to your poor Wei Ying!” He lifts the hand Lan Zhan had kept captive, showing off the redness he can feel around his wrist.

Lan Zhan glances at it but there’s no remorse in his expression, not even a hint of apology.

Wei Ying feels a delighted laughter bubble in his chest at this new revelation. The reserved and taciturn Hangjuang-jun is capable of such passion! “My, my, who would have thought you’d take advantage of me like this?” He drapes his hands around Lan Zhan’s neck, bringing his lips close to a flushed red ear, “You didn’t even ask, just held me tight and took what you wanted. How bold! How shameless!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s voice is lined with warning but Wei Ying doesn’t care. He feels utterly safe, utterly content, for the first time in years. What can touch him when he is in Lan Wangji’s arms?

“Is it always going to be like this?” He teases, “Now that you know I am to be yours, probably your husband or will it be wife? Will you kiss me… maybe even fuck me, whenever you wish?”

“Be silent.”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, how can I be silent now? You have awakened my curio-” Another fierce, biting kiss interrupts him and Wei Ying laughs, delighting in Lan Zhan’s eagerness. Everything fades, all serious and practical considerations hold no meaning. Later, when he is alone in his tent, he will think about how unreachable this dream is, but now he is happy to submit to Lan Zhan.

---

War progresses as it must. Wei Ying continues to remain on his cultivation path but his touch is a bit gentler now. He isn’t as ruthless as he used to be.

It takes effort and patience. It takes many bitten back reprimands and angry words. It takes months and months of careful questioning before Lan Wangji understands the incredible, breathtaking sacrifices his beloved has made. Not even Wei Ying can stop him from seeking out Wen Qing and asking for her assistance. Not even his brother can stop him from offering shelter to her family in exchange. Not even Jiang Wanyin’s bitterness can stop Wangji from protecting Wei Ying.

He does what he must because he understands. That Wei Wuxian, the one from the array, had endured terrible strife. More strife than Wangji can ever allow his Wei Ying to suffer.

Wei Ying will survive and thrive.

Wangji will make sure of it.

#short prompts #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #canon divergance #fix-it

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