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Jonathan Sims loved Martin Blackwood.
No matter how lost his humanity, that would always be true. Jon couldn’t possibly appreciate this truth more than he did at this moment.
Martin, loyal, beautiful Martin, pressed so close to him despite his new grotesque, monstrous body. Those big, strong hands passing gently through tangled hair draped over a form much, much larger than he was used to. Jon was terrified of accidentally hurting his beloved with his newfound size and strength, but Martin still touched him like he was something delicate and precious.
Martin made him feel like he wasn’t a horrible amalgamation of limbs and hair and wings and eyes. Jon knew without a doubt that if Martin had been truly afraid of him as he had feared when he found himself changed, Jon wouldn’t have been able to keep clinging to the last shreds of humanity he had left.
He would truly be lost.
But he wasn’t. Martin was here, and he was staying by Jon’s side, despite the new and terrifying changes to both himself and the world. Jon’s precious anchor was still steadfastly tethered to his hull, keeping him in place amidst a tumultuous sea.
Dear lord, Martin’s poetic tendencies were rubbing off on him.
It felt odd, to have the body of something so animal while retaining his mostly-human mind. Aside from the parts deeply affected by the eye, his brain was struggling to comprehend the physiology change. For one, having eight limbs (and of course Jon saw the horrible irony of that little fact) was incredibly difficult to get used to.
Only four of those limbs were used for walking, and the other four were just there most of the time, hanging or folded up against his spine (the discovery of the literal spider legs attached to his back was not a pleasant few minutes, Martin could attest). Walking was a challenge, but he liked to think he got the hang of it quickly. The wings, however, Jon had not the barest clue to even begin learning to use those. He wasn’t keen on learning what crash landing after clumsy attempts at flight felt like anytime soon.
The most disorienting thing was the fact that Jon could see the world from many different angles, now (and that wasn’t including the things he could see through the Beholding). It seemed that the glowing eye markings that traced a path along his flank and emblazoned on his wings weren’t just for show. The sensory input was disorienting at best, and debilitating at worst. With Martin’s help he was able to block it out most of the time, restricting his sight to his main mode of vision: his… face. Just his whole face. A giant eye that was also a mouth.
Jon figured he should really be more upset about this whole thing, but that was hard to do when Martin was cuddled into his side and petting him.
“I can hear you thinking particularly hard, Jon.”
Speaking of.
Martin paused in his meticulous detangling of Jon’s mane to poke him in the ribs from his position snuggled up against Jon, tucked in the concave of a worryingly thin stomach, with one of Jon’s lower arms wrapped around Martin’s shoulders. Jon was curled around Martin in a way that sheltered him from any outside threats. Not that Jon thought anything was even capable of sneaking up on him, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“What’s got you all puzzled, love?” Martin prompted again, and Jon felt warm at the familiar endearment.
[Nothing important. ] Jon projected into Martin’s head. [ Just trying to wrap my head around everything that’s happened.]
And a lot had happened since they left the not-so-safehouse. It turned out that the Fears’ newfound hold on reality warped it beyond recognition, and things like time and distance and landmass were no longer a consistent thing. They weren’t in Scotland any more than they were on earth. It was all new and foreign and horrible.
The two could only take so much of it before they decided to set up camp for the night. ‘Set up camp’ meaning they found a spot that seemed relatively secluded in what appeared to be a small domain of the Buried, unpacked a few small things they might need from Jon’s saddlebag, and curled up for a rest.
“I’m surprised we haven’t seen anyone yet. Surely there must be survivors somewhere?” Martin mused as he worked on a particularly tough knot.
Jon released a sad, staticky sigh. [We haven’t been traveling for long-]
“What? But it’s felt like days ,”
[and most anyone who isn’t an avatar has been… divided up into domains to feed the Fears.] Jon continued, [The only reason you weren’t taken was because the cottage became a domain of the Eye since I was there, and you were stubborn enough to force yourself into it before the Lonely could snatch you away into one of its domains.]
Martin took a moment to absorb that.
“Oh… that’s uh- good, at least? Ah, the part about me being able to make it to you, not about the whole… other people thing.” Martin said haltingly. “B-But we’ll help those that we do find as best we can! And if we can’t, I’m sure they’ll be fine once we reverse this whole mess.”
Jon’s chest rumbled with a hum that Martin could feel in his bones. Everything about him was loud, now. All of his noises, though most of them didn’t sound the same. Even his breathing sounded like the staticky whirring of a tape recorder being rewound and then run again. Oddly enough, Jon’s heartbeat remained unchanged. It was just slower, louder, and deeper, but still distinctly organic. Martin could feel it thumping away at his side, pressed close as he was to Jon’s belly.
It was fitting, Martin thought fondly, that the most important part of Jon was still human. The rest of him might have changed nearly beyond recognition, but Martin loved Jon’s heart and soul more than his body. Martin was slowly trying to learn to appreciate Jon’s new body as well, too. It was all still Jon , after all.
Martin was brought from his sappy musings by a large hand carding sharp but gentle claws through his hair. He tilted his head to look up at Jon, humming inquisitively.
[Now look who’s lost in thought. Why don’t you get the camping stove and kettle out of the bag and have some tea, love.] Jon suggested, nudging Martin to his feet.
“But I was nearly done detangling the hair along your back!” Martin objected.
Jon chuckled, a rumbling like that of an engine deep in his chest, [It’ll just get tangled again, Martin. I appreciate the effort, but honestly I could really go for a cup of your wonderful tea, too.]
“Oh!” Martin perks up. “Of course, Jon. It’ll take a bit, though.” He said as he moved to dig through the large bag strapped around Jon’s waist. “I’ve been camping only once in my life, so it may take a second for me to figure out the stove.”
Jon watched his boyfriend rifle through their supplies fondly. They were lucky to have found the saddlebag (called a saddle pannier, the Eye uselessly provided) in the attic when they arrived at the safehouse those weeks ago. It was old and faded, and had a few mouse-bitten holes in it, but it fit snugly around Jon’s bony waist by some stroke of luck. It was obviously meant for a mule or other pack animal of some sort, any of which Jon now dwarfed in size. As strong as Martin was, carrying a heavy backpack from Scotland to London, regardless of supernatural geographical changes, would have been killer on the poor man’s back. Jon was happy to carry the weight himself.
Besides, the extra storage allowed for Martin to pack frivolous things such as books, a tin of biscuits, and the aforementioned tea. Anything good they could bring with them to stave off the fear and despair.
Martin grounded Jon to his personhood with his presence and hope, and Jon vowed to do everything he could to do the same for Martin. He wouldn’t let him fall into despair.
God, Jon hoped that he’d be enough for Martin. He didn’t see how he possibly could be, considering his new grotesque body and the state of the world he wrought. Martin continued to surprise him, however. Jon’s beloved boyfriend didn’t seem all that phased about his new appearance. In fact, he seemed oddly… endeared to it? Jon didn’t understand how Martin could stand to cuddle so close to him, and spend an hour just sitting at his side happily untangling his greasy, knotted mane.
Before the Change to both himself and the world, Jon would take any opportunity he could to touch Martin. Martin reading on the couch- He would soon have a wiry Archivist sprawled across his lap, jabbing him with all of his bony bits. Martin making tea in the kitchen- Jon could also be found right behind him with his arms wrapped around his middle and his face smooshed between Martin’s shoulder blades. Even in their sleep Jon was wrapped around the man like an octopus, sapping warmth and love from Martin’s much bigger body. They were both touch-starved after months of isolation and capital-L Loneliness, so neither wanted to be far from the other for any longer than needed.
Jon was afraid to initiate that casual touch now, though. He was so much larger and stronger than Martin, a stark difference from their usual dynamic. Martin was quick to notice this and made up for it by initiating contact himself . Martin walked alongside Jon with a hand placed against Jon’s foreleg, or even walking with his fingers intertwined with Jon’s strange human-like limbs’ hand. The touch put Jon greatly at ease, and helped ground him to the then and now rather than the misery Beholding was force feeding him at any given moment.
When they’d finally settled down for a rest just an hour ago, Martin wasted no time in wriggling as close to Jon as he could, settling warmly against Jon’s concave belly, seemingly content to be closely surrounded by tails and limbs.
He just seemed to know when Jon needed a grounding touch or comfort, and readily gave it to him when he was reluctant to ask or take it. Jon just wanted to hold Martin so close all the time, pull the human fully into himself and carry him next to his heart. That was an odd thought, but Jon found it a very comforting one nonetheless.
“H-Hey, uh… Jon?”
Jon, still deep in his sappy musings, merely rumbled a staticky, inquisitive hum in reply.
“Th-The tea is spiders!”
Jon jolted, swinging his head around to look at Martin instead of off into space.
[What?!]
Martin was shaking his arm rapidly, flinging little black arachnids every which way. A mug lay broken on the ground, where more of the tiny terrors scuttled.
“The tea turned into spiders! Spiders , Jon!” Martin sounded so incredibly horrified.
Jon leaped to his feet and grabbed at Martin using his secondary arms, easily lifting his human boyfriend away from the mass of writhing spiders. Jon quickly passed Martin up to his own pair of spider legs on his back, where he clutched Martin close upon his shoulders while he used his massive front paws to stomp at the source of the evil little things. He was practically dancing upon the shattered remains of the mug and discarded box of tea, all the while shouting,
[Why is the tea spiders?! ]
“I don’t know , Jon! I was just making tea as usual and suddenly I noticed it was spiders! ”
[Fucking hell, why couldn’t the Fears allow us one good thing?! Why did they have to turn tea into spiders ?! Why spiders?! ]
Jon continued to stamp on the ground long after the spiders were crushed to dust. After he stopped there was a long beat of silence as they both stared mournfully down at the remains of their tea.
“That was my favorite mug…”