#bmw erlang shen

[lotusarchon]

Hi Lotus! If it's possible may I request an x reader scenario with Erlang Shen reacting to a reader who is studying western magic? (harry potter-way) and they come from house Hufflepuff? The differences in how magic is handled by eastern and western countries would be a fun dynamic I think. Also, I wish you a lovely day!

ermine (erlang shen x reader)

content warnings: gender neutral reader, second pov (you/your), fluff, drabble

author's notes: sorry lucky, but i don't like harry potter despite reading the books it was just...eugh for me lmfao 😭 so i'm sorry this isn't too good

“What's the purpose of even using a wand?”

Erlang hadn't meant for the question to come off as rude. He was only mildly curious, and by extension, rather intrigued, observing you walk off ahead with a small frown.

He'd by lying if he said he was only interested in your magic tricks though. Coming across you after fighting that little monkey, walking around with the world's most befuddled expression. From what he could get from you on that first meeting, you were a mortal, with some interesting talents to keep yourself from dying.

And well. Given that you could survive a yaoguai despite having a weird old stick in your hand, you were worthy enough for Erlang to fully acknowledge you.

“It kinda. Like….helps focus the spells, or something?” You replied in response to his question, but judging by your own tone, you didn't quite know why either. It seemed that wherever you came from (which was far from here), using these little pathetic sticks to cast spells was a norm, and a contrast to how Erlang had grown up learning them.

He hummed to acknowledge your answer, quickening his steps to meet yours. “And I presume you know of transformation spells?”

You made a face. “Transformation spells? You mean like disguises?”

When he shook his head, you sighed. “Naw, we don't have that kind of stuff. Least, I don't think so. I mean…” You tapped your wand against your hand. “We can do transformation stuff? But like, I'm not advanced enough for that, plus I'm sure you gotta do like potions…this that…yadda yadda.”

You waved your hand, causing Erlang to chuckle. You glanced at him in turn; “Can you do transformation spells?”

“I have 72 of them.” As if to prove his point, his figure disappeared into a puff of golden smoke. Where he once stood, there was a fluffy white ermine, sitting on its hind feet and beady black eyes gazing up at you. You couldn't help but coo, squatting to rub his head affectionately.

“Your magic is certainly something,” you commented, scratching ermite Erlang’s head. “You didn't even need to cast a spell! Just, poof! So cool!”

And maybe he didn't mind. Just as long as no one knew the cute ermine getting belly rubs in your hands wasn't the great Erlang Shen.

You continued to gush, this time, picking up ermine Erlang in your hands. Though surprised, he remained compliant, allowing you to scratch his head and rub his belly while you continued to walk to whichever destination you wanted. He'd learnt that questioning your logic would only give him a headache in response.

@lotusarchon , 28.11.2024, all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission. comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

[mehiwilldoitlater]

I was bored

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[szynkaaa]

This is my first time asking but I'm going to ask anyway (and English is not my native language) I'm curious to know how your OC and the destined one met (I mean how was their first interaction)

hi hi! thank you so much for your ask, this is the first time I have received one about my OC <3

probably something like this (read right-to-left)

Gonna use this chance to talk a bit more about my AU lol

Wrote in a separate post here that Oz has met Sun Wukong before when she was a child and he was buried under the mountain.

So when she got whisked back into fantasy ancient China, she landed where Yuan Shoucheng aka Gourd Grandpa (the old man carrying a big gourd on his back) was already waiting there for her. He foresaw her arriva. The vague gist of my AU is that the the reason why this Destined One succeeds in retrieving all artifacts and becomes SWK is because he is also sort of the manifestation of that childish promise 5-years-old Oz made that she will save SWK one day (from under the mountain but clearly that didn't happen lol). But also since her ancestor is from this world, her descendants were fated to return back here one day.

Gourd grandpa updates her on her ancestors and their roles in the Celestial Court and the shitstorm that happened that ultimately let to the clan being massacred and one person escaping to "our" world, where magic doesn't exist and all those people are just characters from myths and stories. But also her ancestor isn't the only person that traversed through the two worlds - over the centuries more have come and gone. This is also why people in her world have those myths and deities. In my AU Wu Cheng'en also escaped from fantasy ancient China into her world and then wrote Journey to the West. He took artistic liberty to change some things for his novel, hence some things in BMW are different than in JTTW (like the ZBJ and violet spider love story or how SWK had a romance with White Bone Demon).

Anywayyy, Oz task on the adventure is to document their journey together, and she is responsible for using the magical gourd to suck in the will of the defeated bosses in.

And 2-3 days later the Destined One shows up. I don't think Oz was very happy about leaving gourd grandpa and join the Destined One on his travel, but if he is her best chance to find a way back home to see Taylor Swift live, then she will do it.

The Destined One is indifferent to mildly annoyed about this, but doesn't protest too much, as long as she doesn't slow him down yadda yadda. I do think that DO did feel some sort of special connection to her, because he is sort of a manifestation of that promise. it doesn't really take long for him to get used to her and also to care for her. One of Sun Wukong's massive core trait is that he cares so much for his loved ones and does not hesitate to do the impossible for them, and I like to imagine that even though SWK senses have been split into 6 different parts, the caring part stayed with each Destined One reincarnation.

[m1nsur0]

二郎男神

[newkatzkafe2023]

The celestials (and Zhu Bajie for D.O) reactions to Goji wife and son? Makes me wonder if reader would be mad or grateful for Erland Shen telling Wukong about her. 🤭

Oh yeah #Scary Wife Privileges😈😈😈

(BMW Wukong) OF COURSE YOU WERE PISSED AT ERLANG FOR RUNNING HIS POSH POMPOUS MOUTH!!!!!!!!😡 And what's worse, he told all of heaven, too. Now, thanks to him, you had to deal with an annoying ass stone monkey fly, and no matter how much and how many times you swatted him, he won't leave you alone. Granted, he did over the months grow on you like a fungus, but like a bad rash, he's still annoyed you to the max. So what did you do? You shot atomic Energy at the celestial realms army and jade palace buring the place and Celestials down. Let's see how Erlang and heaven liked it when we burned them all to the ground. Meanwhile you wrath gave Wukong a ticket to bonetown and he wants you to come😉😉😉

(Destined one) Zhu Bajie feels he really should stop leaving the Destined one unsupervised, because Selectively mute monkey just likes to get into some crazy ass situations. You especially weren't Amused by the look the tiny pig was giving you and just Hummed in border. The Destined one bought you and JR to meet him for the first time, but he didn't expect the Destined one's newish girlfriend to be Goddesszilla and for him to have a baby. Bajie feels he is missing out on a lot info here😵‍💫😵‍💫🤕🤕😲😲

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

[lyon-77]

Erlang Shen in Traditional Chinese Painting Pt. 1

Searching the Mountains (搜山图) for yaoguais is a classic theme in Chinese traditional painting starting in Southern Song Dynasty. It exists in several versions featuring different commanders, and a major category is Erlang Searching the Mountains. One of its best preserved copies is by Lu Zhi (陆治), dated to the 16th century during the Ming Dynasty and currently owned by the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. The painting is on a silk scroll with a dimension of 61 x 806 cm (24 x 317 inches). As it's impossible to fit the entire painting in one frame here, below are the sections with Erlang (Fig. 1) and his hound, Xiaotian Quan (Fig. 2).

Fig. 1. Toward the beginning (the far right side) of the scroll.

Here is one classic representation of Erlang Shen in traditional art, where he wears a three-peaked hat (三山帽), holds an unsheathed sword, and strikes a distinctive pose, now known as the Erlang pose (二郎腿).

The three-peaked hat signals authority and wisdom, given its broad associations with nobility, Daoism, and scholar-officialdom. This is an interesting and intentional substitution for the helmet, as Erlang Shen is otherwise in a full suit of armor here.

The sword has become a staple in Erlang's image since his absorption into Daoism, where swords signal character and status, serving a more ritualistic than pragmatic purpose.

"Erlang pose" is commonly used in everyday speech to refer to any crossed-leg postures with only one foot on the ground, and it carries a connotation of casual confidence. Many native Chinese speakers are not consciously aware of its origin, just as native French speakers might not know that numbers like 86 (quatre-vingt-six) are remnants of the vigesimal (base-20) system.

The page on Erlang's right-hand side holds his hunting bow, and the guard to the page's right holds Erlang's spear. Other non-human-looking figures surrounding Erlang are part of his troop.

It is worth noting that Erlang's troop is called Grassroots Gods (草头神) because they are not formally enlisted in the Celestial Court but are recognized by Erlang. One could say that they, including Xiaotian, might've been considered yaoguais if not for Erlang. This might be why in Black Myth: Wukong, the game maker combined different lores to have Erlang's sworn brothers mentioned in JTTW be the yaoguais he previously subdued in Investiture of the Gods. As such, in the portrait section of the BMW journal, their names appear under Characters rather than Yaoguais.

This detail may open up many interpretations. For one, it shows Erlang's attitude toward yaoguais isn't simply antagonistic and the boundaries between yaoguais, humans, immortals, and gods are more fluid. Looking beyond Black Myth: Wukong's framing, the very concept of grassroots gods suggests that Erlang Shen believes in true merits—yaoguais who harm humans need to be subdued, while those who do good or are willing to redeem themselves can ascend to godhood. This is quite different from viewing yaoguais as inherently evil and untrustworthy, and is consistent with Erlang's traditional depiction as unconventional and charismatic.

Fig. 2. Toward the end (the far left side) of the scroll.

Xiaotian Quan is depicted as a white sighthound in this painting (Fig. 2). The beautiful women in the foreground are yaoguais, and their paws are showing under their gowns. This reflects another subtle rule in Chinese lore: yaoguais who look just like humans are more likely to be evil as they rely on disguises, while yaoguai-looking characters are more likely to be positive and even immortals or gods as they have nothing to hide with their true forms. It's a curious theory when you consider Sun Wukong's evolution in Chinese lore. His earliest depiction is as a lewd ape yao who often shows up as a white-robed scholar, but by the time of JTTW, he appears as a monkey throughout the story without needing or wanting to pretend to be a human.

[joshua-beeking]

After a long long pause from Discord, I made a personal Server with a Jiankong/JTTW/BMW category that will be used for an upcoming project of mine. So if you want to chat with me + a couple other people, see my works , anyone above 18 is welcomed!

Just a couple of infos before you join:

The Jiankong/JTTW section will focused exactly on that, with an open discussion/lore/art/fic section about them so as to share fanworks about Sun Wukong and Erlang Shen. There's already general JTTW servers out there, I merely wanted a place for these two in particular.

In the same vein, This place won't features other pairings or OC/Self-inserts.

it's 18+ only.

There's also a general section for general discussions about a wide variety of subjects, Danmei, video games, movies,animes,etc.

An upcoming BIG project of mine will be discussed and shown there, so if you are curious and love my works, you are more than welcomed!

[lotusarchon]

basic taste (erlang)

YOU SHUT THE HELL UP ABOUT BASIC LITERALLY NO ONE LIKES ERLANG IF EVER Y'ALL HATE MY MAN FOR BEING COOL

You know what's basic? Liking Sun Wukong (any iteration) and Macaque

Don't jump me for this Wukong likers but EVERY where I go with that cocksucker I see that man. If not him then Macaque which is fine you know I'd ride Wukong till he sobs but he's genuinely so popular atp if someone told me they liked Wukong I'd just name a user for them to be friends with because THAT'S HOW MANY WANT THAT STUPID ASS (that I also want but shhh)

Have you SEEN any Erlang fans though!? No, I feel like I'm the only one that likes that three eyed freak ☹️ finding anything for him is hard and people always make him a bad guy for some shit he did in JTTW and it's just AAAAAAAAAAH

You're basic for liking Wukong as a fellow Wukong liker. I'm not basic for liking Erlang because NO ONE FUCKING LIKE HIM IF AT ALL ABAUZHDUAUABS

Number one Erlang Shen fan is ME

Also have you heard of jiankong/kongjian :>

[hanibalistic]

#946C47 | SUN WUKONG.

genre | angst

word count | 5363

warning | violence, blood, death / potential ooc + not accurate to jttw​

note | black myth wukong shorthand is bmw haha

part | one, two, three

Befriending the group was a fascinating experience because you read about them in storybooks long ago. You were also not used to hearing pigs talk, seeing a humanoid monkey walk on two feet, and conversing with someone with human skulls for a necklace. 

They were easy to warm up to, though, and you learned a lot of things on your quest to rid yourself of 3000 lives. From the fact that Sanzang’s meat might not actually grant immortality, to finding out Bajie was a rather decent companion, to realizing Wukong was much stronger than you assumed after you failed miserably at picking up his staff. 

You figured he would be strong. He wasn’t granted the title of the Victorious Fighting Buddha for no reason. It just didn’t occur to you that he would be that strong. Enough to snicker at you while he swings his seemingly hundred thousand pounds staff with one hand while his other arm hoists you onto his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

He walked (even jogged) for miles like that—supporting the weight of you and the staff. You tried not to think at all about his hand on your thigh. He did it to secure you on his shoulder, that was all.

In addition to the trivial details, there were three things you kept to heart.

One, death is painful, but not in the way you expected it to be. 

Although, you wagered your opinion was based on the fact that your deaths were magical (having your soul sucked by Buddhas) rather than violent (getting impaled by the claws of a yaoguai). 

More than feeling your flesh tear and skin punctured, it felt like going through sleep paralysis, where you acknowledged your aliveness but were unable to act accordingly. You could see or sense a pitch-black surrounding, but your eyes felt as though they were closed. You can hear the sound of your body shutting down, such as the bursting of your cells and the cracking of bones, but you cannot feel them. 

You only knew your body was breaking down; you didn’t get to feel it. 

Desperation conjured hallucinations of your limbs moving, escaping the void, only to be frightened by the fact that you haven’t progressed an inch. 

More than physical pain, the ridding of 3000 lives felt like a never-ending torture on your consciousness through alarming paradoxes that played around with the connection between your mind and body. You always end up a sobbing mess, and the awakened ones could never continue what was requested of them. 

Two, Wukong was extremely hell-bent on keeping his dreams about you a secret. 

From the day Erlang Shen revealed to you of his intimate dreams, he had not answered a single question regarding that. 

Sometimes, he would change the topic, shifting the responsibility of keeping you occupied onto one of his friends. Other times, he would make up an excuse to flee the scene, such as a random bushes in the dark rustling or his stomach growling for food. He also blatantly ignored you several times, but that has proven itself to be an ineffective strategy. 

Bajie urged you many times to give up on this unimportant side quest, and he accused you of your stubbornness by explaining how he didn’t understand why it was important that you knew what happened in Wukong’s dreams. 

You tried to elaborate to him that you wanted to clarify what kind of intimacy Erlang spoke of. Was he talking about something sweet and romantic, such as locking fingers, touching foreheads, and revealing to each other your darkest secrets? Or was Wukong dreaming about something more desperate, like heavy lips and sweaty bodies slamming against each other in a frenzy?

He told you he would stop having impure thoughts back then, so you already have a faint idea. You just wanted to hear the details and use them as a catalyst for something. 

Three, Sanzang didn’t like you that much.

You had a feeling; a sixth sense. As a monk, he remained virtuous and polite to you. It was his sworn duty to be so. However, you have been a third-party observer of numerous friend group fallouts and been forced into one too many complicated family dramas to not figure out when someone’s likeness toward you was fraudulent. 

Avoiding being alone with you, deterring you away from the center of any conversation, and subtly accosting you for hindering their journey to acquire scriptures while patronizing your lack of endurance for death—Sanding was never flamboyant about his feelings, but if there was one thing the high school social network and holiday family dinners have taught you, it was how to fish out a phony in disguise. 

It took you a long time to muster enough courage to talk to Wukong about it, considering you understood how much Wukong came to care for Sanzang after all the hardships they’d been through. You might come off presumptuous if you went ahead and accused the monk like that, and it seemed like you did come off that way because Wukong brushed you off when you presented the problem, chalking it up to you still being relatively new to the group. 

You went to him again with examples as evidence, but Wukong considered them anecdotal. He didn’t say much besides how you were overthinking things and that everyone was happy to help you. The conversation left you dissatisfied and disappointed, so the next time you brought it up, it was a direct but gentle confrontation. Emphasis on gentle, as you knew you’d come off as if you stomped on the feet of a soft-spoken man. 

But, trying to have an adult conversation with Sanzang about your grievances was like talking to a brick wall. He calmly absorbed your words and never returned them. You were on the same page of a book, except you read from the top, and he read backward. 

Wujing tried to alleviate tension by shifting the topic elsewhere, but your unbreakable sentences mostly drowned out his voice. Bajie was acting as the voice of reason. However, he was impatient and wanted to be done with such an unimportant matter. Wukong didn’t say anything to aid either side, but when you turned to him at some point, hoping for a supportive hand, he repeated that you were overthinking and needed to let the matter go. 

You couldn’t read him. You wondered if he didn’t believe in your accusations at all or that he believed in them but didn’t think you should make a big deal out of being wronged. Bajie related an identical sentiment when you chatted with him one night.

“My master isn’t tying you by a tree and throwing rocks at you. He is only acting out a petty feud, or so you believe,” he said as he split an apple in half and handed it to you. 

“I don’t think I am being delusional,” you said after muttering thanks for the fruit. “He doesn’t like me.”

“So what if that’s true? People are allowed to dislike you,” Bajie snorted. “You don’t own a monopoly in human suffering just because a monk sees you disdainfully. Stop acting like it’s the end of the world.”

You grimaced with a strangled noise of protest, head snapping toward his direction as if he answered a question lost to the ages. Quickly chewing the apple in your mouth, you defended, “I’m not that childish.” 

“Well, I don’t like you right now. You’re whiny!”

Dropping the apple on your lap, you realized there was nothing around the area for you to grab and throw at him but the grass and dirt on the floor, so you scoffed and leaned back against the tree trunk. 

The pig side-eyed you briefly, still munching on the delicious apple. He says such insensitive things, but he knows if it had been himself who suspected anyone in the group was acting with a grudge against him, he would have reacted worse. 

It is human nature to desire likeness and to feel downhearted when it isn’t received, especially when it comes to someone one might fancy.

He weighed the almost finished apple in his hand and played around with it, the gears in his head moving to find something to say.

“忍一时风平浪静，退一步海阔天空,” he said. “Tolerance is a honed virtue. Among demons, yaoguais, the Gods, and humans, your kind most excels in it.”

“Are you talking me up, Bajie?” You chuckled. It was barely audible, but your amused smirk was out and about. “Giving me a pep talk to be the bigger person.” 

“Is it working?” 

“Hmm,” you feigned thoughtfulness, “if only I could have one of these sweet apples every day–“

“Gah! Go pick it yourself, you lazy bum! Learn how to climb a tree!”

You laughed, but the witty response hanging by your lips retreated when you met eyes with Wukong, who approached the tree to rest for the night. He paused at the unexpected attention. His fingers twitched with an urge to reach out, an absentminded reaction to seeing you, but he didn’t respond. 

You pursed your lips when he nodded curtly and turned around to find someplace else, your shoulders heaving into an illusional state of relaxation as your fingers pulled at each other awkwardly. 

Bajie shook his head incredulously at what he witnessed. 

It was hard not to notice the distance between you and Wukong, considering how inseparable you used to be. Not walking next to each other, him expressing no concerns when you ran off to look at something, you ceased your habit of leaning against him whenever you sat down at a resting point—trivial but noticeable things that Bajie brushed off as temporary ‘lover’s’ quarrel. 

He gave you two a push to reach reconciliation by concocting a plan. The point was to get you and Wukong alone and force you to talk it out so they wouldn’t have to fit through another day of melancholic eyes longing for each other. Why has the problem gotten to sharing awkward glances and contributing to a deafening silence?

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” he asked. “I thought we got you to talk to each other!”

“You did,” you muttered. “We just fought.” 

His eye twitched in annoyance. “About what?”

“I was upset that he didn’t try to understand my point of view at all, let alone not stand up for me,” you said. “He disagreed. He still thinks I’m being dramatic about Sanzang.”

“You might be!” 

“Okay,” you mused in an attempt to alleviate the tightening knot in your chest.

Bajie and Wukong were somewhat reasonable, but a fact does not equal the truth, nor are they contingent on each other. 

You could be whiny, you could be overthinking the way you were being treated, and you could be the bigger person—they could all be true, but that doesn’t eliminate the fact that you were unjustly accused of your humanity. If nobody wanted to understand that, you supposed you’d just have to keep to yourself and heed Bajie’s advice. 

“What are you doing?”

“Going for a walk,” you replied. “I’m yielding like you suggested.”

The pig sighed. “I’m not blaming you, kid.”

“I know,” you said. “I just want some fresh air.”

He looked at you, his gaze pointed as if trying to get you to tell him the truth, but you only smiled and waved him farewell.

"Get up, idiot. Something's amiss." 

Wukong clicked his tongue as he rubbed the spot where Bajie knocked him over with the trusty rake. If his long-term companion didn't sound so concerned, he would have retaliated with a kick or two. 

"It's the middle of the night," he said, pushing himself up from the floor.

Scratching the back of his head, he blinked in surprise when he noticed Wujing and Sanzang gathering behind Bajie, one of them already up on the horse while the other huffed cold air out of his nostrils in alert. Subtly rolling his eyes skyward to peek at its color, Wukong confirmed that it was still dark and the sun hadn’t risen yet. If everyone woke from slumber in the dead of night, something must be terribly wrong. 

Although, he swore he didn't feel anything in his sleep. No invisible stares from beyond the shadows, no figures hiding in tall plants, and no rattling of tiptoes on the ground. If anyone—or anything—was near with malicious intent, he would have felt it, so he wasn't sure what danger Bajie was speaking of. 

However, the precaution in his head, which took years to drape over his fearless bones, told him to get up and leave at the first sign of danger, so he listened. He dusted his sleeves of dirt and bugs and looked to his friends, subconsciously counting the heads—one, two, three. 

Wukong tilted his head. 

One, two, three. Sanzang, Bajie, Wujing. 

A sinking suspicion entered his body like a sudden downpour. "Where–" 

"We don't know," Bajie cut him off. "They went for a walk to clear their head and haven't returned since."

"You didn't follow them?" Wukong questioned, immediately pulling his staff from his ear. 

The golden glow vanished like dust in a whirlwind. Alas, it can’t reveal trails of a certain human’s footsteps. He nudged his chin to cast his sight farther, particularly to peek at where you were sitting the last time he saw you under the tree. You weren’t there. Obviously. He got caught up in wishful thinking.

"Why would I? I'm no stalker," Bajie retorted. "They said they'll just be around the area. I don't expect them to walk off elsewhere."

"That's not the point!" Wukong exclaimed. "Yaoguais are out and about at night, setting traps and creating illusions. The path they see could be a trick to lure them into a yaoguai's home–" he grumbled and stepped near Bajie–"you should know that!" 

“Watch your tone, dimwit! They wanted space, so I gave them space!” Bajie said, swinging his rake forward to poke at Wukong’s chest, forcing him back a few steps. “If you want someone to blame, point a finger at yourself. You’re the reason they needed fresh air in the first place!”

“Cut it out, both of you.” Sanzang’s voice was mellow, yet it held overwhelming authority over the group. His horse moved a few echoing steps forward. “The night will not get any brighter. For the sake of our journey tomorrow, we should set out immediately.”

“We should split up. Master and I will go up North to check,” Wukong said. “You two move Southward.”

Bajie closed his eyes with a defeated sigh when Wukong bounced off without another word. 

Blaming Wukong wasn’t technically wrong, but if there were someone to blame for your disappearance, it would be no other than the monk. He briefly contemplated your circumstance after you left for a walk and realized an egregious fact that everyone seemed to have overlooked. 

Sanzang never denied your accusations.

This would have never been a problem if Sanzang had cleared his name during the first confrontation. An apology wasn’t necessary, and no dignity would be lost. He didn’t even have to argue with you to make a point. All he needed to do was let you know that your impression of him was incorrect and that he didn’t dislike you. But he never said anything of that sort because a virtuous monk cannot tell a lie. 

He had planned to notify Wukong of the discovery in secret, but he’d have to wait until you were found. However, if Bajie’s goal was to change the trajectory of Wukong’s opinion, then monkey king has got it covered on his own.

The abrupt anger retreated from its displacement once Wukong fled in search of you. He covered his faintly showing canines with a frown as he soared through the air on his nimbus cloud. The forest trees were healthy and densely grown, leaving few gaps for him to look through. He would have better luck on the ground, morphed into a flying insect, but he'd have to sacrifice speed for the precision. 

A whirlpool of emotions fluttered over his chest at the newfound complication. Wukong wasn't sure which one to pick from the array of negative choices. Should he fear for your life? Should he act frantic and travel the forest in one sweep motion? Should he hang onto the guilt of knowing that this was his doing?

An unwanted recollection forced its way into the front of his eyes. He could see it like a vivid hallucination: you and him standing around a riverbank after the frustrating exchange. You awkwardly rubbed your arms as if to protect yourself from his disagreement, and he remembered how he didn't understand the look in your eyes. No tears, no desperation, just exhaustion and hurt. 

He was once like that, back when they got triple-tricked by Baigujing, and Sanzang tightened his gold fillet until he could barely breathe anymore. He understood the desire to be believed and the frustration of being wronged, albeit he wagered he had been much more desperate than you back then because of the physical pain that descended upon him. 

Why didn’t he hear you out? If his master were so virtuous, he would understand the need to listen to both sides of an argument.

"Where are you, where are you, where are you?" he muttered.

“[Name]!”

You perked up immediately at the holler. The back of your head collided softly with the pointed edge of the giant rock you hid behind once you realized you couldn’t outrun the yaogaui in its turf, but the pain was barely even a fraction worse than the horrible lacerations on the back of your legs. 

There were only a few things you managed to conclude at this point.

One, illusions were involved in luring you to the yaoguai's home. That was the only way you could have gotten lost when you've barely walked away from the resting spot.

Two, the yaoguai possesses sharp claws or a form of magic that mimics them. This was evident from your injuries. 

Three, you've got a concussion. You may not know how to medically diagnose if someone has a concussion, but considering you tripped and fell off an elevated temple headfirst and you've experienced numerous physical problems since then, it was safe to say you got a concussion.

Four, you have lost a copious amount of blood despite applying limited first-aid. The wounds were too deep into your flesh, and the blood continued to pour no matter how tightly you wrapped the fabric around it. The repercussions weren't apparent because you were too light-headed to think or see. 

But you recognized Wukong’s voice. 

The adrenaline pumping through your veins didn't stop the pathetic whimpers from sounding as you tried to get up from the floor. Your whole body trembled, and blood squirted out from the muscle strains, further staining your sweater. 

You dropped onto the ground multiple times before you finally allowed yourself an audible cry, in which your eyes squeezed shut, and the corner of your lips turned downwards the way they haven't turned since you were a child and scraped your knees. 

His voice echoed through the forest, seemingly coming from above. Arching your head, you looked up to find moon rays beaming down between gaps in leaves, but he was nowhere to be seen. Swallowing dryly, you pushed your elbows backward against the rock and tried to exert force with your thighs. You barely managed to lift your body up before a sharp pain bladed across your opened wounds, and your nails dug into the dirt on the ground again.

You were trying your best. It wasn’t enough. There have been countless cases of people surviving impossible injuries, perhaps from a miracle or sheer will, and you were not one of those people. Your body has its limit, and you’ve just about reached the point before death.

You muttered his name softly under your breath like a plea as easy thoughts flooded your brain in its descension to a blackout. 

You wanted Wukong to find you. You wanted to go home and hang out with your friends. You wanted him to see you all shrunken behind a rock and get you from here. You wanted to eat a meal your mom made. You wanted him to carry you in his arms so you could feel safe again. 

“[Name]!”

His voice was diminishing, as was your window to be noticed.

You jolted, frightened, and eyes wide. Squeezed a ball of dirt in your hand, you stared up at the sky where his voice trailed off and, with strength that came from nowhere, hastily and clumsily scrambled onto your feet. Your throat choked up with tears that forced its way into your voice. 

“I’m here–ah!” You bit back the broken sting in your legs and stumbled forward, your bloodied sweater sleeve dragging on the floor. “Please… I’m sorry. Come back, I’m here.” 

A black veil draped over your eyes, and you couldn't tell if you were blinking or losing consciousness. Your chances of being rescued were dramatically decreasing, and you knew that, so you pursed your lips together and sucked in a demanding breath. When you lashed out with the only chance you've got, the scream was hoarse and dry but shrill and piercing. 

“Wukong!”

Without hesitation, he hopped off the nimbus cloud to get to the ground. His feet kicked swiftly to bring him toward your voice. His speed rattled the air, leaving cuts that could open a third dimension, if possible. 

You noticed the shifts in the environment before you saw him, and that was enough for you to disregard the pain in your body so you could bolt ahead of you and meet him in the middle. 

The first thing he did when you emerged from the greenery was call your name, and the second was extend his arm out toward you. Relief washed over him despite your bloodied figure at the sight of you closing in, and just as his fingertips were about to wrap over your hand, a strong gust of wind blew across his side of the forest. It was incomparable to Raksasi's power but enough to crack a few splits on tree logs.

Wukong hopped back to avoid getting hit by its strength, but it knocked him a few feet backward. He landed on his feet in a crouching position, coincidentally startling Sanzang's horse, which had finally caught up with him. When he glanced up at his master, he found a distressed expression, so he turned to face the same direction—he gasped, his fingers curling tighter around his staff. 

“I found you!” the yaoguai mused as it brought you to its face.

A terrifying weight shut into your fragile body as the yaoguai squeezed you in its hand. It waved you about clumsily, playing with the direction of your blood like flipping around an hourglass. You thought it would feel like getting your finger caught between a door and its frame, just a quick bend of a bone, but that kind of pain was sharp and alerting. This one—slowly having your insides squeezed out of you—was anxious and agonizing. 

The injuries on your legs felt like child's play; you could barely feel them anymore as the lack of air overwhelmed you. You tried to heave through your mouth, but your chest could no longer expand with limited space. No air could travel into your body, let alone exhaling. 

"What are you going to do, Wukong?" Sanzang hurriedly asked when he saw his disciple walk toward the monster. 

“What I always do,” Wukong replied. “Kill it.”

An echoing scream rolled out from the yaogaui's entire body. It didn't just scream from its mouth, but its body followed too as it tripped and stumbled, its many arms flailing about in pain when Wukong threw the staff and pierced it into one of its two bugged eyes. You flinched at the horrifically high frequency; it was like scratching a metal fork on a porcelain plate but making the sound as invading as a gunshot. 

The yaoguai lost its grip on you during its dramatic response to being blinded, and you were flung high into the air. For a moment, you could see far and wide across the terrain, gazing down on the head of the forest as if you were a bird taking a leisure stroll. 

Your eyes invited the mass of green in different shades, life in the form of nature, the first ever to live. Your ears rang with a muffled hum. It was peaceful enough as though the moon shone its purifying light directly into your eardrums.

You almost felt bad for the yaoguai. This was its home, not yours. 

“What did you do to my eye!”

The tranquility cut open once you began to fall from the height. It was fast, like a drop in a roller coaster, but you knew even those machines were built with safety measures to control the carts’ speed. Not a second later, though, a gold glow surrounded your body like a cold embrace, and you found yourself suspended in the air. You didn’t need to turn your head (you couldn’t) to know Wukong put a spell on you. 

Immediately kicking up his feet, Wukong bolted toward your direction, his arms stretched out, waiting for the spell to wear off. 

Within a short time, he calculated the route of rescue and defeat, and his plan worked in his favor. 

It would all be over in a jiffy. He would bring you to a Keeper’s Shrine to accelerate the healing spell. Bajie was better at the spells, so he should ask the pig to help you instead. After that, he’d apologize with all the fruits he could pick from the forest. You could eat it by the river like usual or under the shade of an old tree that, centuries later, would tell the story of a human and a monkey, and he would watch you, like usual. 

Wukomg's ears perked up at the sound of hooves paddling closely, and he glanced behind his shoulder. His brows furrowed, his cheeks scrunching with confusion when he saw Sanzang following behind into the battle. 

“Master, what are you–“

“Tang Sanzang!” It was a hearty exclaim, like a fanatic meeting their favorite idol. “Have you arrived to serve me your immortal flesh!” 

“Master!” 

The horse toppled over and fell when its rider was violently snatched out of its seat. Panic. Deep-rooted panic swarmed over Wukong's head as his eyes followed Sanzang in the air, his poor monk body inching closer and closer to the yaoguai's impatiently opened mouth. 

A blush of red crossed his face to accompany the uncontrollable tremors sparking over his body. His head flipped between his master descending into the yaoguai's mouth and the immobilization spell quick to wear out—Sanzang would be chewed to death, and you would fall to your death. 

The universe was screaming at him. Pick one! Pick one!

In a spur of the moment, Wukong swung his palm out at the yaoguai as he jumped toward you. The staff still lodged in its eye expanded under his silent command, becoming longer and thicker. The yaoguai screamed once more upon its body being torn inwardly, its hasty movement causing blood to splutter out of the gaps of the staff's two openings like a fountain. You fell from a great height, your body almost meeting Wukong's outstretched arms, and then you choked. 

Blood poured out of your mouth, coating your dry lips. Sticking out of your abdomen was the unfortunately timed Ruyi Jingu Bang.

The staff shrunk immediately when Wukong realized what he’d done. You dropped from its support and fell into his arms. He cradled you, a hand timidly coming up to your forehead to wipe the sweat away before looking up.

"Help–" he lost his voice–"Master, help me!" 

He didn't need help. He merely needed to scream something. There were too many things happening—your injuries, his weapon piercing through your body, and all the blood on the floor.

With his mind set on finding a Keeper's Shrine and somehow notifying Bajie of your whereabouts, he stood up and spun on his heels, ready to run for the nearest safe place. However, before he could take five steps away from the vanished yaoguai, the gold fillet tightened around his head, and you dropped together. 

Wukong withered in pain on the ground, his hands pressing firmly against his head as if trying to scratch the headband off. 

“Master, what are you… argh…what are you doing!” 

It was less a question than it was an accusation. This—forbidding Wukong from saving you—was the ultimate evidence needed to prove your point that Sanzang didn’t like you, but why? Wukong couldn’t understand. His master wasn’t a hateful person. He was a trusted individual! Why would Sanzang betray him like this?

Sanzang’s hand was placed under his chin as he chanted the spell repeatedly. His clothes were stained with soil and the blood of a yaoguai, yet all his attention remained on forcing Wukong to his knees. He slowly approached his disciple, ignoring the desperate bargains to save your life. 

“This is for our good, Wukong. It helps the mortal, too, to get rid of the many lives they’ve illegally taken from the garden.” 

"That was my mistake! I did that! That was me! Punish me!" Wukong looked at your fallen body. You were staring back at him like a ghost, like the misery of his own making. He swallowed a difficult breath and, while leaning into the manmade migraine, crawled over to you. “[Name]–ah! Stop it, stop it, stop it! It hurts! Please!" 

His cries drowned in the loud ringing in your ears. You stared at him, given you were not sure what else you could be looking at. Your body has gotten to the point where your injuries have stopped hurting, and you were left with all the casual thoughts roaming freely in your head. You could hear them like certain people could genuinely hear voices in their heads—if you could chuckle at the notion, you would. 

You wondered if you would resurrect, courtesy to the immortal peach? You cheered that your point was proven, even though it took all the pain and violence in the world. Perhaps you could write an exciting story about this experience or help a writer by describing how it feels to be impaled—it just hurts! 

Oh, and you wanted to touch him. If it’s possible at all, you wanted to die holding Wukong’s hand. He was always so warm. 

You wondered if he was still upset with you. If he was, even after this, you'd throw a childish fit.

Wukong's headache gradually mellowed out after you closed your eyes, and your last breath was barely visible. He stayed on the floor for a prolonged while, his once hollowed eyes relaxing depressively. But he couldn't move from where he lay, close enough to see you and far enough to pretend you were only sleeping. You used to sleep next to him at each resting point. Sometimes, you'd even press up against him to fight the cold. 

His breathing became shallow and jagged as he pushed himself onto his knees and stuttered over to you. He leaned down to pick you up, and then he slumped onto the ground with you limp on his lap. He hugged you tightly to his body. Your body shouldn't feel so weak. The image of you dying by his weapon was vivid, and his eyes were rendered so quiet and dead that a drop of water would be louder.

"Wukong." No response. "They will resurrect. This death is not definitive."

“I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t want them to get hurt like this,” Wukong whispered. “Please leave us be.”

Sanzang complied with the request. 

[angies-writing-blog]

Since I took everything out of context again, here's a brief explanation.

Omg, I’m so sorry. I’ll try not to mix up JttW and BMW anymore.

And especially explain more background about what happened before the scenes.

I’m so sorry. This is embarrassing.

It should take place around the time Wukong sneaks into Erlang’s temple. There, he realizes that although Erlang looks down on other lower beings (that way i used the term 'human child' to mock their fragility and weakness), he has fallen in love with a mortal woman.

During the fight, she steps between them to stop the battle and intercepts an attack from Erlang Shen, which was meant to hit Wukong.

This is fatal for her.

To make it even more dramatic, she dies in Wukong’s arms, not Erlang’s.

And to make it even more complicated, the destined one learns about this as a memory that surfaces during a rest right before the final chapter.

Sorry that it is so confusing 😞

„A human child...“

Whispered, as if formed from the wind, the words echo in his mind. Coming from nowhere and everywhere at once, and yet they bore into his soul, accompanied by a sharp breath that is barely tangible.

For a moment, he feels a strange closeness, a familiarity, but before he can grasp it, it vanishes, dissolving like mist at dawn, and with it, the world around him.

Beneath his feet, the ground vibrates, shadows detach from the walls, reshape themselves, merge with the light, until he finds himself in a temple – magnificent, almost awe-inspiring.

Tall pillars rise, adorned with golden embellishments and intricate depictions of old and new battles.

Cold is the light that falls through the high windows, reflecting the ancient rumble of the place. Despite all the splendor, a quiet unease creeps into his heart.

And then he realizes what is happening. He sees through the eyes of another. His hands... not his own, yet familiar, hold the lifeless body of a human. She is small and delicate, her skin pale like porcelain, and her lips – her lips are tinged with an ominous blue. The splendid gown that drapes her body seems destined for a queen, not for someone whose breath has already faded.

He presses the motionless body against himself, tenderly, and then almost overcome by despair. Offering her protection in death for this final journey, or perhaps just feeling the last warmth slipping away from her.

But soon, life fades. Only the cold sensation of the spear remains, lodged deep in her chest.

His eyes follow the course of the deadly weapon until they meet a man standing across from him. Tall and commanding, he still holds the throwing stance, the gesture of attack frozen in time. Yet there is no fury burning in his gaze. Horror reflects in his eyes, as if he himself cannot comprehend what has just transpired.

His own voice then cuts through the air, with words that have been placed in his mouth.

"A human child..." escapes him bitterly.

Though resigned to the irony, the Monkey King could not entirely suppress the sharp grin that accompanied his words.

"Of all things, you... fall in love with a human child."

A whisper, a shout, a scream, a roar escapes Erlang Shen.

Maybe he is weeping.

Like smoke in the wind, the magnificent halls suddenly vanish, the celestial temple fades, and the Destined One finds himself once again before a warming shrine, ready for rest, yet with a heavy heart still bearing the shadows of this vision.

[lotusarchon]

I need Erlang content so bad rn Erlang oh Erlang please come home I promise I'll stop yapping about Nezha's twentieth back mole 😭

[lotusarchon]

in addition to lego monkie kid, i'm gonna start writing for black myth wukong now!!! :D i've been watching gameplays and oooh i love it

[lotusarchon]

i'm praying a certain someone i know doesn't see this cause i'm genuinely gonna fucking sob so please if you see this NO YOU HAVEN'T

the way I want Erlang to just dick me down so bad. No I do not give a fuck which version of him it is, be it LMK (he's canon to me + art like this I find on Pinterest is so stunning), Black Myth Wukong or fucking Furious Yama (highly recommend)

Like bro excuse me shut the fuck up and dick me down please?? Pull those pants of right now and bend me over the nearest table and rail me within an inch of my life

I have so much trauma with men that the mere thought of being seen by one scares me but Erlang Shen is one of the only men I'll allow to take my virginity because that man is SO FUCKING fine hello???

"omg he burnt the mountain-" and Wukong just as bad and I wanna ride him until he's sore so I do not CARE

It's okay that he's a bit old I can totally ride him from daybreak to dawn. Every single fucking day till one of us is pregnant type shit trust

I just want him to grab me by the neck and kiss me silly then fuck me on the spot because Wukong probably annoyed him or some shit idrc for the details I just want him so bad Erlang Shen pleasepleplsplslls fuck me one chance is all I'm asking I'll suck you dry promise I can even give you a boobjob🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Just one chance bro this man is so fucking fine any interpretation of him makes me wanna rub one out (not really but) ooihhchaiwiebd bro is soo hnghhhcb seueiejaus pleaseeee I just want him to smooch meee auiwkeododidid

Anyways uh. I'm totally normal about Erlang Shen guys :)))

[lotusarchon]

me to myself: ugh I just need Erlang to fuck the living daylights out of me 🧍idk why he's so misunderstood he's just a silly socially anxious guy :((( I'll bounce on him till he's shooting blanks omggg

also me to any version of Erlang: SLUT