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lint-beetle4 · 3 months ago

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For obvious reasons would brother hood Macaque have anxiety around men?

Follow up could he have some female friends or sworn sisters that he can feel completely safe and comfortable around like iron fan and Chang'e?

Wind-Tossed Flames

I had a similar ask to this, so I'm using this one to answer both!

Long story, short: Yes!

Long story, Long: Down below

Content warning: Allusions to sexual abuse and abuse in general, traumatic flashbacks

He wasn’t sure why he was feeling this way, so twitchy.

Macaque’s skin had been oddly sensitive, the slightest touch singing his fur like the old brand that flared during odd days. He hadn’t felt the sensation in centuries. Anger boiled in his body at the distant, yet still burning memories.

There was smoke in the air.

“Hey Mac, what do you want for lunch?” Wukong called out, his voice ringing through the shadow demon’s ear like a tuner straight to his bone marrow.

Macaque sighed, his claws lightly tapping against his skin as he tried to calm him. His tail audibly slapped against the couch, his body urging for something that felt…dirty, impure, disgusting.

The smell of smoke persisted, gripping Macaque’s neck like a collar that had bound to his essence like a leash.

It burned his lungs, ash choking him, the sounds of despair and anguish through the air as heaven sent another barrage of flames. But, the fire wasn’t there–Macaque knew this–the fire was long gone. Yet, there was smoke in the air.

Older monkeys looked at him for guidance, yet they could only watch their temporary replacement with a strange expression, filled with age and wisdom that Macaque couldn’t comprehend–Pity, pity, pity.

Ants crawled through his fur, blood-stained soil under his nails and the cold sensation of concrete still persistent in his mind. Macaque growled faintly, his leg tapping on the floor as Macaque tried to crawl through the memories that scratched at his brain, the sensation of freshly healed bruises and scratches tickling his neck and ribs.

Macaque focused on the sound of his leg against the floor, the rhythm consistent and loud enough to cover over the rest of the increasing buzzing in his head.

“Mac–Plum?”

Macaque snapped his head to Wukong, the ginger monkey staring holes into Macaque’s eyes. Macaque lowered his head, feeling those disgusting urges rise in his as Wukong continued to examine him with a sickening amount of softness and worry–Pity, pity, pity.

Macaque couldn’t speak, his tongue was weighed down by lead and the dark stain of his past.

“Hey,” Wukong’s voice was sweet. “Are you doing alright?”

It was too sweet.

Wukong took a step forward, Macaque’s heart stuttered. Another step, his heart raced–Danger, danger, danger. His fur pricked, shivers being sent down Macaque’s spine. Wukong paused, his eyes softened–danger, danger, punishment. Macaque waited for those dreadful words, something went wrong. In those precious seconds, something must’ve happened. He must’ve made a mistake.

Brothers gathered together, war heavy on their shoulders, subjects in turmoil. The war hadn’t started yet, but Macaque felt like they’d lost already.

The contract wasn’t supposed to be a leash. Yet, the brand that no longer displayed on his back with its bright, neon glow still tugged on his neck. The collar was still on, yet the leash had long been released. Macaque’s body prepared for pain that would never come, lions that lingered close yet never arrived. His knees felt weak, his arms shook. He was a pathetic display, and the comfort afterwards would lead to him still used and fragile.

Wukong stood in front of Macaque, staying close to his right side in a gesture of kindness.

Macaque was only partially aware of the snarl his mouth wore, the fearful darting of his eyes and the way his hands nearly dug holes in the couch.

Animalistic, is all Wukong would’ve seen. Simply a creature to be used, a contract to be held.

The brand burned, carved itself into his skin, into his own soul. It was heavy on his neck, a pit in his stomach that never left, a stain on his being that could never be cleaned.

“Macaque–” Wukong whispered, his eyes flickering to the side of the shadow demon’s head. Macaque’s ears lowered in partial shame, mostly apprehension. “--Hey, do you need space? Do you know where you are?”

Macaque knew damn well where he was–he wasn’t that far gone yet. With Macaque’s jerky, growl-filled nod, Wukong smiled weakly, backing away slightly before sitting on the floor.

What was this fool doing now?

Macaque’s heart still stuttered, his body screaming at his legs to move, to service, to be forgiven. Instincts turned to impulses turned to survival, Macaque forced his chest to breathe, to stop holding back air as if it would be the last he would get.

It would be nights, days, any time they could find. Mistakes were made, so many mistakes. Macaque doesn’t know what he did wrong, but they did, therefore, he deserved it. It was correction; it was attention. He was useful; he was finally a part of the team.

The smell of smoke lingered, invisible in the air yet clear in his nose.

“You’re safe here,” Wukong began, his voice still sending waves of fear and bitter pleasure through Macaque. “I won’t touch you. I won’t even be in the same room as you if you need it.”

Macaque huffed, still trying to calm his heart while keeping Wukong in his peripheral. Hatred, hatred, hatred filled the shadow monkey, for his stupid contract, for his stupid death, for his stupid loyalty to Wukong. Claws dug into his palm, the stinging pain that threatened to weep with blood grounding Macaque.

“Can you do something for me?” Wukong’s soft voice dug him out of the growing spiral, keeping him in place for just a moment as Wukong raised a single hand. “Watch my hand for me, alright?”

Macaque’s eyes stared at Wukong’s palm, his mind fogging away in an uncomfortable bliss, familiar yet still filled with danger, danger, danger. Hands ghosted around him fur, pulling and tugging at his main while voices whispered filth in his ears. Macaque’s eyes felt wet, his throat closed up ever so slightly. He knew he was losing control, and briefly, Macaque looked back at Wukong who remained still, patiently nodding to Macaque.

Wukong–the only light that would shine during his correction–tender and soft, abiding to the contract willing yet with respect. Never violent, never cruel, soft. Danger, danger, danger–Macaque’s worth was the contract; everything was for the contract.

“It’s alright. I just need you to answer one thing for me, alright, Macaque? I’m right here, rose bud, okay?”

Macaque swallowed harshly, his head continuing to fill with fog as his body stung with the sensation of static. The dark monkey growled lowly, a mix between a threat and a whimper. Wukong’s face dropped, a mix of pity and panic layering his voice.

Hatred, hatred, hatred–How dare the sage look upon the warrior with such cruel eyes, such sorrow in them–Pity, pity, pity? It wasn’t fair.

“Six-Eared Macaque, do you want me to leave? Yes or no, just one answer.”

Macaque’s eyes flickered emptily through the room, its appearance shifting through his mind as the demon’s hands covered his ears, shutting his eyes tightly as he grasped at the little control he had. Macaque nodded with nothing more than a restrained whine, the question ringing in his ears as Wukong muttered something, incomprehensible to the pure chaos and blood rushing through Macaque. His footsteps left the room, Wukong’s voice joining the static before his voice returned again, closer.

“--Other room, don’t—I love you, alright?”

Danger, hatred, pity.

Macaque whined lowly, his head burying itself further into his hands as the sensation of wind tickled his fur, penetrating through his skin. Another pair of footsteps approached him, steady, calm and light. Macaque felt his ears twitch at the new sound, before he jumped at the low, steady voice that called to him.

“Liu-Er, dear brother, lift your head.”

Macaque sniffed, forcing his head up, meeting the hardened eyes of his sister-in-law. She stood out in the graying static, her appearance a beacon of light in Macaque’s rapid spiral.

Iron Fan–someone new, someone safe–stood further away. Her posture straight, undisturbed, as if smoke wasn’t filling the mountain, burning subjects and destroying the fragile bond of the brotherhood.

There was no smoke, everyone was safe.

“Liu-Er, answer me. Who am I?”

Macaque’s tongue still weighed heavy with sorrow, but Iron Fan was waiting for an answer. The monkey’s cheeks felt wet, warm yet stinging with a strange line of icey cold.

“Princess Iron Fan.” Macaque spoke slowly, his eyes still looking at Iron Fan as if she held the answers to the crushing weight in his chest. “You are Princess Iron Fan–my sister.”

“Where are you, Liu-Er? Where do you currently sit?” Iron Fan inched closer, Macaque didn’t feel his body jerk, instead it grew heavier as the buzz wore down.

He was on a couch, soft as ever despite its age. Stains lined some of the sheets, memories of sleepovers and quiet conversations emerging through the fog. Iron Fan waited patiently, her face showing no signs of anger or irritation.

There was no correction, only questions.

“Home… I’m home.”

Iron Fan moved closer, sitting beside the startled monkey as she watched him carefully.

“Are you currently safe? Is there any danger here?”

Macaque shook his head dumbly, fingers clenching at his hair as he curled up slightly. “No…No–I’m–”

“Brother. May I touch you– your hair, I mean? I wish to hug you and touch your hair.”

Macaque paused, the question settling in his mind briefly before his body reasoned for him. Iron Fan wasn’t them;her husband wasn’t them. Iron Fan was safe; there was no danger. He was safe.

The Brotherhood was gone, the contract broken. Macaque was free.

Macaque nodded, feeling strong, nimble arms embracing him gently, fingers worn with time and battles stroking his hair with tenderness that had tears returning to Macaque’s eyes. Before he knew it, he was sobbing into Iron Fan’s shoulder who simply whispered words that would never leave the two of them.

“You are safe here, Mihou. You are hurt, but you are safe.”

“Your body screams in fear, but I am here to ward away what ails you.”

“Do not think of anything else. Pain must be tended to before we truly heal.”

In solidarity, the two mourned the past, mourned what could’ve been. Shared pains of the same coin bled and wept for a past that had stolen away a bright future.

After minutes of silence and stuttered hiccups, Macaque lifted his head, wiping his eyes as his head lowered in shame. Iron Fan lifted her hands to cup Macaque’s face, cold against his flushed, tear-stained cheeks.

“You’ve nothing to lower your head for, Mihou. Your scars are proof of the battles you’ve lived through, the years that have scorned you brutally.” Iron Fan smiled gently, filled with pride and sorrow. “You have survived so much already. Let your body realize this as well.”

Macaque nodded blankly, melting into Iron Fan’s touch.

Slowly, the static had faded, turning into an empty, hollow feeling in his chest. The noise that rumbled loudly in his ears, now an echo of the air outside and the sounds of heartbeats through the island–nearby, Wukong yawned, contrasting the stone monkey’s fluttering heart.

Macaque had let out a final sigh, sitting up straight as Iron Fan left some space for him. Looking around, the shadow demon had found that nothing changed–not surprising to him, Wukong rarely changed the room around him during flashbacks. The kitchen filled with the smell of semi-burnt food, failed attempts at pancakes sitting on the counter, abandoned and most likely cold.

Pancakes, how humorous.

Macaque shuddered, looking around the room once more. “Wukong?”

Immediately, Wukong had exited from a nearby room, his steps loudly announcing their way to Macaque. Wukong seemed to be frazzled, Macaque couldn’t help but laugh amused.

Iron Fan stood up, nodding to the two before leaving with brief parting words. “Red Son misses you, so do we. Please, come over for dinner sometime–the both of you.”

Wukong grinned at Iron Fan before taking a seat by Macaque, opening his arms in a silent question.

Macaque fell into Wukong’s embrace, nuzzling against his fur with a sigh. “Sorry, peaches. I should’ve–”

“Stop,” Wukong interrupted quickly, a kiss to the crown of Macaque’s head. “There are many things you could be sorry for, but this–this isn’t one of them.”

Wukong’s voice muffled slightly as he held Macaque a bit tighter, the pressure a comforting blanket around the shadow demon. “You–You communicated everything. You did everything you needed to. I’m so proud of you.”

“You did great too, peaches.” Macaque chuckled wetly, wiping residual tears on the ginger monkey’s fur with increasing sobs. “I couldn’t appreciate it then, but…Thanks for remembering everything. Thanks for–for not getting too close.”

Wukong purred against Macaque, nuzzling against the crying monkey while avoiding his own quickly emerging tears. “You’re alright. It’s over now. Everything’s alright now, okay? You’re safe. You’re safe with me–with us.”

Macaque nodded against Wukong, his response a sob that had Wukong chuckling slightly.

“I love you so much, Mihou.” Wukong sniffed, burying his head into Macaque’s hair. “You deserve so much more.”

“Don’t go being cheesy now, Wukong.” Macaque laughed softly, “You’ll ruin my appetite.”

Wukong ruffled Macaque’s hair, pulling away from the embrace with a sheepish smile. “Pretty sure I gotta reheat lunch–well, brunch, I guess it’s called now?”

“You mind if I help? I feel like your technique could use some tips.”

Wukong laughed loudly, playfully shoving Macaque as the two walked into the kitchen with tear-stained faces and shaky smiles.

“Sounds good, but I’ll have you know. Your cooking isn’t much better than mine.”