Sonic Channel- Knuckles the Echidna (AU)
Mostly the same as the show though now guards the master emerald as in game canon. Hes closer to his culture and gains a medallion of his own after forming a bond with the hedgehog siblings.
Mastermind!AU Naegi but plot twist it's because he's been inflicted with the Despair Disease.
I saw a fic once where makoto got the dd and it made him act kinda like Monokuma and i was like?? Ik people say mm!makoto is just rehashed junko/monokuma but, well if the dd makes you act like your opposite wouldn't it make sense for him to act like her? (I feel like "actual" mastermind Makoto would be VERY different, which is why my mm au is sort of an only 'kind of' one- as a result of the disease) I've seen people interpret Makoto with dd as a pessimist or antagonist, which is cool and all, but idk i just really liked the idea of fusing these two concepts instead
CHAPTER ONE. modern au wangxian ft. family feels, inspired by mamma mia. read on ao3 for end notes.
Wei Yuan's day begins, unusually, with the loud whirring of a landing helicopter.
“Don’t just leave your plate here!” Wen Qing chides, but by the time she pokes her head outside, the boy is already halfway up the hill, shouting back apologies as he crams the last of his toast into his mouth. He stops just short of the landing zone, watching in delight as the helicopter’s rotor blades slow then stop, and three silhouettes emerge from the small dust cloud their arrival created. “Good morning, uncle, auntie! Hi, didi!” he calls, waving his arms in an attempt to clear his sight.
Jin Zixuan, Wei Yuan’s gufu , lifts his sunglasses from his nose and tucks them on his collar before shaking the boy’s hand. “Hello, A-Yuan.”
“Yuanyuan, you’re growing so fast, I can’t catch up anymore!” This is from Wei Yuan’s guma , Jiang Yanli, who’s already thrown her arms around him. He buries his face in her blouse, breathing in the breezy scent of lotuses. She strokes his hair, cooing. “Seriously, you’re getting so tall. You’ll shoot past your dad any minute now!”
“Not that much, auntie,” he protests weakly when she lets him go.
“Pscht. He told me the same thing when he was little, and look how he is now. Ling-er! Come say hi, don’t be rude.”
Jin Ling, Wei Yuan’s favorite (and only) cousin, is still lingering behind his parents, airpods jammed into his ears. He looks up at the sound of his mother’s voice, though, cracks one of his rare smiles, and accepts Wei Yuan’s hug ⎯ which means he stands still enough for Wei Yuan to embrace him, though he jerks away with a muffled protest at the attempt to pat his head.
“Your luggage is already here,” Wei Yuan says, turning back toward his uncle and aunt. “I’ll help carry it to your rooms.” ( Who else could it be? No one brings that many brand name suitcases for a month’s stay, and if they did, they certainly wouldn’t be stacked in the Wei family’s own living room. )
“Thank you, darling, we’ll take care of that,” Jiang Yanli reassures him. “Do you know where your father went? I thought he’d be with you.”
“He’s kind of all over the place these days, with the anniversary coming up.” All over the place is an euphemism ; the list of things to plan seems endless, and as usual, Wei Yuan’s father doesn’t trust anyone but Wen Qing and himself to get things done.
“He’ll get here soon, though! I’m sure he heard you coming!” the boy quickly adds when a worried look crosses his aunt’s face. The entire island probably heard the landing, but then again, given its size, it’s not much of a statement.
Jiang Yanli gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “It’s okay, Yuanyuan, we know how it is, we’ll take it from here. We know our way around, don’t we, Zixuan?”
“Of course, of course,” his uncle says, then jerks his chin at Jin Ling. “A-Ling, why don’t you go and catch up with A-Yuan? Weren’t you excited to be here?”
“Don’t tease him, love,” Jiang Yanli chides, her eyes too full of amusement to truly come off as stern. “But yes, you boys go take a walk, stretch your legs a little after the flight. Don’t take too long, though! Come back to say hi to da-jiu, okay?”
“Yes, mama,” Jin Ling mutters at the same time Wei Yuan says “Of course, auntie.” With one last glance to check the adults actually did mean it, they leave Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli to give the last of their instructions to their pilot and run back down the hill, leaving only footprints behind.
---
Wei Yuan has to admire his cousin’s poker face, because Jin Ling morphs into an enthusiastic puppy the moment they’re out of earshot. “So! What’s the super duper mysterious thing you couldn’t even text me about?”
“It’s not that I couldn’t, I wanted to tell you in person!” Wei Yuan protests. They settle in his favorite conversation spot, an old, gnarled tree so sturdy it barely moves at all when the two boys climb into it and find comfortable seats where the thickest of its branches meet.
This is when the first tendrils of what feels suspiciously like stage fright begin to curl in his stomach. Don’t be stupid, Wei Yuan chides himself. It’s too late to take it back anyway! With new resolution, he forces himself to grit out : “I think I know who my other father is.”
Jin Ling gasps, clapping both his hands over his mouth. Wei Yuan can’t tell if he’s genuinely surprised or just being dramatic. “For real?”
“I said I think !”
“Well, you can’t just say that and not follow up! Spit it out!”
“You’ve got to promise you’re not gonna snitch on me. Like, I’ll be grounded for life if you do,” Wei Yuan insists.
“Pinky promise.” They both have to lean a dangerous way out of their seats to lace their fingers together, but Wei Yuan does feel a little more reassured when Jin Ling lets go.
“Okay, so,” he starts again, clearing his throat. “We were spring cleaning last year, so I was in charge of doing the attic because Dad said the rest was too messy and he’d do it himself, and I found this box with old sketches in it. I’m not gonna show you, though, it’s pretty private.”
“But you went through them,” Jin Ling points out. “That’s not very private.”
Wei Yuan flushes. “I didn’t know what they were at first! You know how dad is, he doodles all the time and leaves it all over the house.” He spares a thought for eleven-year-old Wei Yuan, who sincerely thought this was just another batch of his father’s mindless drawings. “Okay, get this, I was just sorting through the boxes because auntie A-Qing wanted to clear the space, so I had to throw things out⎯”
---
Wei Yuan blows a layer of dust off an ancient-looking wooden box and immediately chokes, waving his free hand in front of his face in an effort to clear the air. He gives it an experimental rattle, then, when the contents barely make a sound, spends a solid five minutes digging his nails into the hair-thin line that runs across it before he successfully pries it open.
He only barely keeps the dozens of stacked-up sheets from spilling onto the floor. As things are, most of them fall into his lap. Picking one up at random, Wei Yuan immediately recognizes the style. There, in pencil and charcoal, are the same bold strokes his father puts to paper every other day. He would know better than most ; the protagonists of his childhood stories still decorate the walls of his bedroom, lovingly preserved in hand-painted frames.
But while Wei Yuan's collection is a motley group of characters as different from one another as father and son could make them, all these drawings represent the same person : a young man with long black hair and a face as regal as an ancient god's. As Wei Yuan flips through the sheets, he finds the man looking back at him, bent over a book with glasses perched on his nose, tying his hair back with a cloud-patterned ribbon — even one in which he stares straight at the artist, his smile soft and lovely. Wei Yuan looks at that one for a long time before mustering the will to put it away.
Just behind it, he finds the letter.
He can instantly tell if wasn’t written by his father. There’s no trace of Wei Ying’s messy scrawl here, only script so neat it could have been typewritten. He quickly skims through it and⎯
“I can’t read that,” Wei Yuan moans, quickly shoving it in between the sketches again.
He almost wishes it was something saucy. Instead, it feels like peering into the depths of someone’s heart, so intimate he feels like slamming a non-existent door shut and leaving the words to their business.
( He can still see them in his mind. The sun rises in my chest every time I see you. I never want to look away. )
There’s a signature. There, in elegant cursive, is the name Lan Zhan.
“A-Yuan, lunch’s ready!” his father calls from downstairs. Wei Yuan trips to hide the box behind his back before the man in question pokes his head through the hatch, hair full of rogue dust bunnies and sporting a lopsided grin. “C’mon, I made sandwiches.”
When the boy eyes him warily, Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “There’s no pepper in them, I promise. Come down before your auntie gets impatient, though.”
“I’ll be there in a minute, I just want to finish this pile!” Wei Yuan croaks.
“One minute.” Despite the ultimatum, his father winks at him and disappears again. Wei Yuan waits for the sound of his footsteps to fade to let out a sigh of relief.
The box’s content seem to stare back at him. Feeling only slightly guilty, he takes the letter out again and carefully folds it, stuffing it into his pocket before scrambling down the ladder.
---
It’s an entire afternoon of chores before Wei Yuan can excuse himself from the dinner table and climbs the stairs to uncle Wen Ning’s desk two steps at the time, making sure to shut the door behind him before he turns the computer on.
Lan Zhan , he types. The half-second the search results take to load seems to last eternally. His hand almost slips clicking on the top link, a Wikipedia article.
Lan Zhan, courtesy name Lan Wangji, born January 23 1984 in Gusu, China, is a celebrated singer and songwriter. His most successful single, Inquiry , was sold at more than…
Wei Yuan's eyes derail from the text, distracted by the article's picture. There, pale golden eyes glancing away from the camera, is the man from the sketches — older, perhaps, but more than recognizable in his otherworldly beauty.
His heart rate picks up, drumming in his chest. It's him. It's really him. Dad knew this guy. Dad liked him so much he drew him over and over again.
Just like that, Wei Yuan's enthusiasm deflates like a popped balloon.
His father has never shied away from the extravagant tales of his when-I-was-younger shenanigans, as embarrassing as they can get. If he knew someone so famous - no, if he was in love with him, Wei Yuan corrects himself, remembering the letter's gentle words -, wouldn't he have at least mentioned it?
This is how Wei Yuan’s life has always been : to the million-dollar question ( who’s my other dad? ), he’s always received the same answer, be it from his uncles or his aunts.
I don’t know, A-Yuan. Maybe you should ask your father instead.
That, of course, is an inevitable dead end. Wei Ying will ruffle his hair, maybe drop a casual can’t remember, baby, and change the subject. At this point, Wei Yuan has pretty much resigned himself never to get a straight answer from his father.
The screen in front of him seems like an ancient tome holding all the answers he’s looking for, if only he’ll bother to decipher them.
His eyes drift to a cloud-shaped logo, curling around an elegant character he recognizes as the Lan of Lan Wangji’s name. Cloud Recesses Entertainment, Wei Yuan reads. After a long moment spent staring at the computer, he grabs the nearest notepad, tears a page out of it and starts to scroll down the page.
---
“So, let me get this straight,” Jin Ling says slowly. “You found the guy you think is your dad, looked up his family's company, read their entire website, made a new email to write to them like you were an actual advertiser for the hotel and now they're having their company holidays here ?”
When put like that, it certainly sounds more convoluted (and borderline crazy) than Wei Yuan intended it to be. “...Yes?”
“And you couldn’t just invite him personally? Like a normal person?”
“ No! First, I probably wouldn’t even get past his fan mail. Second, what was I supposed to tell him? ‘Hi, I know you and my dad were in love before I was born because I looked through his stuff, and I’d like to know if you’re maybe my father too’? I’d die before I managed to send that!” He pauses to catch his breath. “Maybe he doesn’t even remember dad! Would you remember someone you met thirteen years ago and then never again?”
“I-I don’t know! Maybe?” Jin Ling splutters. “Anyway, da-jiu is gonna kill you when he finds out. Well, not kill you ‘cause he loves you too much, but you did think about that, right?”
“No! I mean...maybe I'm wrong, and it's just a coincidence. But I think I'll know when I talk to him. If he's not my dad, there's no need to tell him, it'd just be embarrassing.”
“So all of this is relying on a couple drawings and a gut feeling? That's what you're gonna use to explain?”
“Do you have a better suggestion?”
Jin Ling throws his hands up. “Really? You masterminded this whole thing and this is where you’re stumped?”
“I tried, okay?” Wei Yuan protests weakly. “Besides, dad’s gonna be so busy with your mom and shushu coming over. Maybe he won’t notice for a while, I can work something out in the meantime…”
“When’s that guy supposed to get here?”
Wei Yuan squints, trying to conjure up the schedule he scribbled in-between some chemistry notes. “Tomorrow, I’m pretty sure. I don’t have to worry about it right now, I guess.”
“More time to plan for your funeral, then.”
“Hilarious, I’m dying of laughter over here,” Wei Yuan deadpans back. “For real, you can’t tell anyone, okay? Not even your mom and dad,” he adds when Jin Ling opens his mouth again.
“Fine!” Though his cousin is wearing his usual pout again, he can tell the message went through alright. “Can we get ice cream now? It’s so hot on your stupid island.”
Wei Yuan stifles a smile, beckoning the other to get up. “Sure. Dad tried his hand at some mulberry thing, it’s pretty good, actually…”
---
“Jiang Cheng! Hey, Jiang Cheng!”
Some of the locals hide an indulgent smile behind their hands as a silhouette in jean overalls runs down the pier, skillfully avoiding crashing into tourists.
At the other end of the wooden boards, Jiang Cheng runs a hand down his face. The person behind him shakes silently, as if trying to repress a giggle and failing.
Wei Ying stops in front of the couple, beaming, before holding out his arms. Despite his apparent exasperation, Jiang Cheng steps into the hug all the same, though his expression turns long-suffering when his brother gives his back a vigorous rub.
As Wei Ying pulls away, his eyes drift to the other figure and immediately crinkle at the corners. “Huaisang! So you’re the mysterious plus one! What was it like riding the ferry like the rest of us?”
“Exotic,” Nie Huaisang sighs, which sends both of them into a fit of hysterics.
A few feet away, someone whispers, “Wait, Huaisang as in Nie Huaisang ? From the Untamed?”
“Yeah, but no pics, please!” Wei Ying chirps at the tittering tourists. “Leave my guy some privacy, he’s on holidays!”
“He’s not that worried about privacy,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “I had to stop him from posting about us on every available account he has for three months.”
Wei Ying gapes. “Three months? You’ve been together for three months and you didn’t tell me about it? Jiang Cheng,” he sighs, pressing a hand to his heart as if covering a mortal wound, “I thought you were my brother.”
“He was hiding it from you in particular,” Nie Huaisang oh-so-helpfully points out, then snaps his fan open. “Said you couldn’t be trusted to keep it on the down low.” Wei Ying has the distinct impression he’s concealing a shit-eating grin.
“I’ve been mortally wounded,” Wei Ying moans, and dramatically collapses into Jiang Cheng’s arms, who pushes him back upright while swearing under his breath.
The episode might have turned into a small brawl right there on the pier, if not for Nie Huaisang’s T-shirt.
“Oh my God, you still have it!” Wei Ying all but squeals, grabbing the other man by the shoulders and pulling away his fan to inspect his outfit. “It's the original logo, right?”
Nie Huaisang proudly tugs on the lapels of his sheer jacket to show off the shirt beneath. “The one I drew in professor Hua's class? Yup.”
Wei Ying heaves a sigh, running his fingers over each ray of the sun-shaped logo. Suddenly, he’s back in college, and Nie Huaisang just texted him a rough sketch of their band’s design, oblivious to his art professor’s shadow over his shoulder. “Holy shit, I miss Sunshot. Remember that stunt we pulled at graduation?”
“My brother was on my ass about it for a whole year after that,” Nie Huaisang shrugs, then snaps his fingers. “It was so worth it, though.”
“Right? Jiang Cheng, aren’t you mad you didn’t do it with us?”
The interested party crosses his arms, glare barely suppressing the smile tugging at his mouth. “Making a show of yourselves like that? No.”
“Your loss, didi.”
Nie Huaisang snickers. “Don’t listen to him, he brought the shirt too.”
“I’ve had enough of you two,” Jiang Cheng gripes. “Is A-Jie here already? I miss having someone sensible around.”
“She and the peacock arrived this morning.” Wei Wuxian stretches languidly, shooting his brother a wide grin. “I’d come and hang out, but I’ve got some murals to redo before the next group gets here and they’re not gonna paint themselves.”
Jiang Cheng mutters something that sounds a suspicious lot like good riddance , but doesn’t pull away when Wei Ying loops an arm around his shoulders. “I missed you, though! Facetime’s not the same, you know?”
His brother seems to brace himself, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Mom and Dad want you over for Christmas. You and A-Yuan. We can see each other then.”
Slowly, Wei Ying untangles himself from their half-embrace. “They do?” The unspoken question hangs between them : even Mom ?
“Yeah. They’ll probably call you themselves, but I thought I’d give you a heads up.”
Wei Ying’s heart feels warmer than before. In a characteristic display of older sibling assholishness, he ignores the soft, marshmallow-y fondness and reaches for Jiang Cheng to ruffle his hair. “Aww! Thanks, A-Cheng, that’s so sweet of you.”
“How do I ever put up with you?”
Nie Huaisang’s voice snaps them both back into reality. The actor waves his fan at them, smile playing at his lips. “Very tender, heartwarming, yadda yadda. Can we do this somewhere with AC, though? I’m sweating bullets here.”
“Alright, alright, can’t make the superstar wait! Gimme that.” Wei Ying barely waits for assent before grabbing Nie Huaisang’s suitcases, wincing at their weight before pulling them up the slope and toward his car.
“What about me?” Jiang Cheng asks as he readjusts his grip on his own luggage and follows suit.
Wei Ying barely turns back. “What about you? You know the way, didi, carry it yourself.”
“You -”
Jiang Cheng’s outraged protests and his companions’ laughter seems to linger long after the jeep has left nothing but dust in its wake.
Three months ago
The telephone rings, shrill and ears-piercing. Wen Ning picks it up almost as second nature, mechanically bringing it to his ear as he flips through their latest batch of flyers. “Lotus Pier Resort, what can I do for you?”
A few awkward seconds of silence pass. He pats around his desk for a pen, drops it to the floor, and attempts to maintain a more-or-less steady voice as he crawls around on the carpet to find it again. “Ah, yes. Your flight got delayed? By how long?”
The scritch of his newly-retrieved pen on the nearest post-it. “If we can change your reservation? Um...it’s half a day, I’ll see what I can do. If necessary, will you mind different arrangements for the time being? I’ll talk to other hotels in the area, but I don’t think it’ll come to that...”
A pause.
“Okay, to confirm, this is Luo Qingyang, calling for Cloud Recesses Entertainment…?”
Present days
Wei Ying wipes his forehead, further smearing green acrylic across his face. He’s been at it all day since dropping off Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang in their room, but at least the mural is nearly done. The couple’s features are nothing special, but he likes to think he did a good job at depicting their emotions. One of the silhouettes smiles wide and contagious at the other, half-turning back with their hand held out.
It took him the better part of the afternoon just to paint the field of flowers they’re standing in, though. Even after more than a decade on this island, the heat’s still making him melt on the daily. Just a few more details , he tells himself, then I can go get myself a fresh drink.
The chatter of new guests making their way up to the lobby makes his head turn. Oh right, the group’s arriving today. They really do look like rich tourists, in their all-white outfits and⎯
Wait.
Wei Ying swallows thickly. This stirs up memories of another figure in white, which doesn’t hurt any less, even after thirteen-odd years.
It’s just a coincidence. Normal company-organized holidays, Wen Qing said. Nothing to worry about.
He looks again, and meets the gaze of the man at the forefront of the group. The other’s eyes (molten gold, bright as sunlight and most of all familiar ) widen ever so slightly, and Wei Ying almost falls off the ladder.
He catches himself just in time, sweaty and paint-slicked palms slipping on the rails, and resists the urge to let go again just to hide his face in his hands.
This is the worst. God, why him of all people?
Why, of all guests getting on and off the island all summer - as they have for years -, did it have to be Lan Zhan ?
