I just learned that Martin Mull died…..I’m genuinely heartbroken. 💔
During 2020, I rediscovered Danny phantom and watched it through, I instantly got back into it and improved my art throughout the next few years by using vlad/plasmius as inspiration due to Martin’s wonderful portrayal of the character. Vlad has become my comfort character throughout every traumatic experience I’ve had in the past 4 years. Thank you Martin, for inspiring me….
RIP Martin Mull and I give my condolences to his family
with a love so sweet (in your heart, in your heart)
well
what was I to do, not write a fluffy Valentine's Day fic?
yeahh not a chance. how I love writing obnoxiously in love people. and i especially love writing obnoxiously in love idiots
if you couldn’t tell, yes, I have been thinking nonstop about the Soup Sickfic universe since two days ago and I could not live without this -- it just makes me so happy to write them being happy and also dumb and also having big fat crushes on each other ✨
hope this will make you just as happy reading it as it did for me while i was writing it :)
happy valentine's day! 💕❤
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«Does- does the ice cream taste haunted, to you?»
Martin, for the second time this month, isn't completely certain about how he found himself in his current predicament, exactly.
The predicament being, at the moment, the fact he's sitting down on a park bench, eating ice cream with his boss who maybe-kind-of doesn't hate him, actually. On Valentine's Day. And freezing his butt off in the process, because parks are not places to be in February. And also panicking, a little bit, because he might be almost, somewhat, a bit in love with said boss.
Also, that isn't completely accurate, now that he thinks about it.
And he will think about it, because it's still a better option than staring at Jon as he oh so carefully eats his ice cream.
(It's one scoop of rum and raisin, an old lady ice cream order, and he's eating it with a little plastic spoon despite asking for a cone, painstakingly slowly, savouring each tiny spoonful with great concentration. Which is also very old lady-like.
Martin shouldn't find that as endearing as he does, he's pretty sure.
However. It isn’t his fault it’s adorable. He sort of feels like he's about to collapse, with the amount of blood too busy rushing to his face to attend to any of the other very important functions it should attend to.
It doesn't help that his hair is tied back in a hastily fastened bun, messy and practical, that somehow still manages to look effortlessly artsy on Jon.
There are a couple of loose strands framing the angles of his face in a way that makes Martin's heart stutter in his chest, vague metaphors crowding his mind in flashes – something about loving hands carving wood in the shape of him, and about the sun kissing his eyes golden, and just. It's a lot.
He will not think about that. He cannot.)
In fact, unfortunately, he knows how he ended up in this situation.
It was Tim. Of course it was Tim.
Tim, who has been incredibly obnoxious about prodding and teasing and needling him into asking Jon on a date ever since the Great Soup Incident, as it's been referred to since they all went out for drinks once his flu had completely relented.
That was three weeks ago.
Martin has not known any peace since.
Tim had initially pitched his theory on that first evening back, over their third pint of beer – the two previous rounds, in Martin's humble opinion, being the only reason he could ever come up with such an idea at all.
«I think Jon likes you, Marto.» he had said, casual as anything, an arm around his shoulders ready to slap his back when inevitably the words registered and he almost choked to death on his drink.
Sasha had raised an eyebrow, looking at them from across the table. She didn’t comment, even though it was obviously a sign of alcohol poisoning starting to set in and they should have gotten Tim to an hospital as soon as possible, probably. Far from letting it drop, her silence only served as further encouragement for Tim to elaborate.
«No, no – hear me out, alright? What I think – and not only I'm amazing, in general, I also know the both of you very well –, yes, so what I think is that Jon is panicking. Why, you ask? Well, naturally because he has a big old crush on you, Martin, my friend! And he has no idea how to deal with that because he's also been an ass to you!» Tim had explained, cheerful, like his reasoning made perfect sense and not at all like he was about to blackout from a concussion, which would have been the more logical conclusion.
He had turned to Sasha in despair, silently begging her to agree with him – she's so level-headed, surely she was going to see that there was no rhyme or reason to any of that, no universe in which Jonathan Sims had a crush on him. On him. It's simply unthinkable. Preposterous.
Sasha had looked him straight in the eye. Then she had smiled, light and dangerous.
«Actually, I agree with Tim. It really sounds like a Jon thing to do.» she had said. The traitor. That’s when he first realised his friends are cruel, awful people, mocking him so.
And it hadn't stopped there, either.
It's been three very long weeks of constant nudges and winking and a lot of elbows planting in Martin's side every time Jon was in the same room as all of them, supposedly doing something prove Tim's convictions.
Except it never stopped.
It was all the time, while Jon was in his general vicinity. Even in the remote, extremely unlikely scenario in which it could have been useful data to prove his point, Martin doubts it could have been an accurate analysis of Jon's behaviour anyways.
Because the thing is, he couldn’t exactly deny that something different had happened.
That something had changed, after that Thursday evening in Martin's flat.
Jon is… trying.
He apologised properly, for one.
He's less harsh on his mistakes, which makes it easier for him to relax and make less mistakes, which in turn makes Jon smile at him, now, apparently?
Jon smiling at him is a thing that happens, now.
He'll bring him his first cup of tea of the morning, as he has been doing since he was transferred to the Archives and which never prompted anything more than a mumbled, distracted thank you before. And even that only when Jon noticed him leaving the mug on his desk.
But the Monday following the Great Soup Incident he had looked up from the statement he was busy glaring at when Martin had knocked on his office door, and he had thanked him with the same quiet, delicate tone he had used while he was sitting on his bed and giving him water and medicine. Like this was a perfectly normal thing to do.
And he had smiled at him. It was a small thing – it had scrunched up his nose, a little.
Martin had almost spilled the tea, startled, and then he had stammered something about work to do and nonexistent families to contact and had rushed out of the room before Jon could register the glowing red blush on his cheeks, or the fact his eyes had very much lingered on his lips. On the way the unfamiliar expression barely pulled the corners up, softening his features, as he wondered how it would feel to kiss that smile wider. To hear him laugh, maybe.
(He's pretty sure the day he hears Jon laugh is the day he dies.
Martin just knows – it simply isn't something he'll be able to survive, not with the way his breath catches on the faint lines that appear around his eyes when he's happy, something aching and sweet tightening like a fist around his heart every time he manages to smooth out the semi-permanent frown on his forehead.)
And, yes, maybe it is a bit weird that Jon also takes his lunch break with him.
Honestly, it's really weird he stops for lunch at all – Martin has been concerned about him not eating for months, and they have all been taking turns to try and needle him into taking a break with varying degrees of success – but it's especially so that whenever he does decide to have lunch, it's because Martin asks.
That... never seemed to be the case, before.
But he can't really complain, and it eases some of the ever-present worry about Jon working himself too hard that he has to wrestle with on a daily basis.
What’s more, he gets to sit across from him at a cafe table and longingly gaze at him as he gestures wildly with his sandwich while he goes on some tangent or other about deep sea gigantism or the questionable accuracy of historical records or another surprisingly fascinating topic Martin knows nothing about. He would listen to a two-hour lecture on the merits of white rice over balsamic vinegar with no regrets, if it meant he got to witness Jon's hair bouncing happily as he got more and more animated, hands dancing in front of him, cheeks going red because he forgets to stop talking to take a breath more often than not.
Along with other evidence – as Tim keeps calling the strange little instances of Jon doing distinctly un-Jon-like things – and the fact that his co-workers are bastards, Martin really had every reason to not be surprised at all when he walked into the Archives, that morning, and was greeted by an incredibly tense standoff between Jon and Tim himself. At his desk, for some reason.
However, Martin is also an idiot, and he was surprised.
Even more so when this was somehow followed – in a turn of events that left him kind of dizzy, holding on for dear life to a world that had mostly made sense five minutes before – by Jon stammering out an unbelievably awkward you– since Tim refuses, w-we are set to investigate a supposedly cursed ice cream parlour later, Martin. Don’t leave for lunch before one, please before promptly disappearing inside his office with not but a glance back, leaving Martin to gape at the closed door like a very confused fish.
So, yeah. This – this being the fact that he just had to utter the words does this ice cream taste haunted to you and also probably the cold he will end up nursing after sitting on a park bench in February – is all Tim’s fault.
He set them up. Like. Like they’re in a corny Christmas romcom, except it’s not Christmas and also this is real life and also Jon is his boss and there isn’t one single chance in the world he would not think Martin’s embarrassing crush on him is anything other than that. Embarrassing. Tim is delusional. And also an awful friend trying to make him embarrass himself, like he doesn’t manage well enough on a daily basis.
Except.
Jon doesn’t, in fact, turn around to glare holes into him, or try to drown Martin in his single scoop of rum and raisin, or even simply get up to walk away like he figured would happen in the best case scenario.
No.
Jon does the one thing he could have never even begun to imagine would happen.
He snorts.
It’s such a small sound Martin would think he hallucinated it, if not for the fact his own body wouldn’t betray him like this, making him think up something that sends his brain into a frantically blinking blue screen error, not able to process literally any thought besides.
Jon. Laughing – and not about anything, but laughing at Martin’s awkward attempt at lightening up the somehow tense atmosphere that had settled upon them, desperately trying to ease Jon into the comfortable, playful banter he had gotten used to hearing from him during their lunch breaks at the cafe.
A part of him is really smug about it.
He was right. He died. He must have done something right in his life and also his mother’s pastor was wrong, clearly, because he died and this must be Heaven.
Jon’s laugh is, possibly, the most adorable thing about him to date.
(That’s saying something, considering Martin spends a considerable amount of time cataloguing every cute thing about Jon in a growing list in his head.
The fact every new thing he discovers usually bumps up to first place immediately, displacing the previous one, is irrelevant. So is the fact first and second place are also irrelevant per se, because it’s simply impossible to classify them objectively anyway.)
He’s really proud of himself, actually.
Not only he made Jon laugh, he also did not immediately melt in an adoring puddle on the ground next to him. He’s just blushing. A lot. If he tries very hard he can probably pass it off as rightful awkwardness at asking an incredibly stupid question.
That is, until Jon – for some unfathomable reason, that Martin cannot begin to guess and that sends his poor overworked brain into yet another shortcircuit – casually puts a hand on his arm, steadying himself as his laughter dies out slowly.
It’s just – too much. The way his fingers tighten a bit, enough that he can feel the pressure even through his coat. How Jon looks up at him, a smile still playing on his lips, and there’s the tiniest smudge of ice cream right at the corner of his mouth.
No one can blame him for losing control of his mouth.
«Jon. Is– is this… a date?» he asks, and then immediately slaps a hand over his face in despair, wishing there was a way to physically grab the words and put them back.
There isn’t.
He keeps his hand on his face because he cannot possibly face him after this – not as he immediately starts trying to come up with a good enough apology for all that. There aren’t enough apologies in the world, probably.
Hey, sorry, it’s just I’ve been pining after you for a year and you suddenly decided I was someone worth smiling at and it’s becoming really difficult to, y’know, not fall in love with you even more. Terribly sorry about all that.
Yeah, no.
Before he can do the sensible thing – which, he suspects, would be learn very quickly how to vanish into thin air – Jon starts talking instead. He… also doesn’t let go of Martin’s arm, even though currently he’s using that hand to cover his eyes, which means his knuckles are brushing against his cheek.
Martin is going to have a heart attack.
«No. No, this- this is a case follow-up. F-for an incredibly idiotic case.» Jon says, and there’s a hint of humour in his voice, irony masking something deeper. Martin can’t quite detect what it is – nervousness, maybe? But why would he–
«B-but. We could, if you- if you were amenable and you, of course only if you wanted it to be a- a date, we could. Go. On one. A date? T-together?»
Oh.
It’s enough to convince him to glance cautiously in Jon’s direction, peeking through his fingers. Jon is looking at him very expectantly, and in the sun it’s easy to see he’s blushing, too, a little.
He’s smiling.
It’s a new one, all subdued, sweet as honey. It’s also the fondest expression Martin has seen on his face yet, softening the sharp angles of him into something novel, warmer than the crisp February air could ever be. He wants to cradle that expression in his hands and memorise every detail of it.
It’s comforting, in some way, to find out Jon is also an idiot.
«Jon. Jon. If I’m amenable? I’ve– I’ve been sighing after you for almost a- a year. Yes. God, yes, I’m amenable.» he says, and it’s exasperated and yet he can’t even pretend to hide the quivering happiness in his tone, the grin splitting his face that he can’t seem to get rid of.
He doesn’t think he imagines Jon’s blush growing deeper, either, or the mumbled how would I know, it wasn’t that obvious that he muffles into his shoulder.
He isn’t even mad Tim was right.
(The ice cream tastes much better after that.
Probably because he has to hold it with one hand, the fingers of his right intertwined with Jon’s as they make their way back to the Institute.
And yes, they forget to let go of each other before entering the Archives. Because they’re both idiots and they were too busy sneaking extremely-not-subtle looks at each other to realise their mistakes, apparently.
«I told you it was going to work, Sash!!! They couldn’t possibly be that dense.»)
I’m not going to derail @taiey‘s excellent post about “What if Jon actually decided to try and travel with some of his assistants” but I want to highlight this bit:
episode 99: Georgie tells John that he should connect to people more because he doesn’t want to be a monster and John agrees he will
episode 101: Michael tells John that Gertrude used to take her assistance with her on international trips
episode 102: John leaves the country alone
And explain how utterly hilarious this is. Because Jon doesn’t just immediately fly away alone after making a resolution of Connecting To People. Oh no, this is hilarious on a few extra levels because:
1: Jon opens the season stating his goal is to make allies.
MAG 081:
Whatever is going on, this ‘Unknowing’ that S– Not! Sasha was talking about, Elias killing Gertrude and maybe Leitner as well… I need help. I need allies.
2: RIGHT in MAG 102, what happens before he flies off alone? Well, lots of things, but in particular to the “making allies” angle, Martin bursts in practically tripping over himself to try and make sure Jon is okay.
MARTIN
Look I’m, I’m so sorry, John, I – Elias didn’t even tell any of us that you’d been kidnapped. I didn’t know – No-one else was telling me – And there wasn’t any –
MARTIN
No, you weren’t.
…
But I’m sure that if you could have been, you would have.
…
Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you?
And then Martin is all 🥺 about clearly wanting to spend more time with Jon.
MARTIN
So… are you coming back or…?
ARCHIVIST
I-I-I-I don’t know. Probably not yet.
and
ARCHIVIST
I’m, I’m sorry, Martin. We haven’t… I know we haven’t talked much since… Sasha and everything.
MARTIN
Well, I mean it’s not too late, y’know. Unless the world ends.
[MARTIN LAUGHS NERVOUSLY]
So, here is what we got.
Jon, in the season where his opening statement is that he needs allies, talks to Georgie about how he agrees with her that he needs people around him. He then hears that Gertrude presumably got Elias to pay for trips with her assistants. And this his love interest comes in, fawning over him, clearly upset he hasn’t been around but saying I’m sure you would have been and it’s not too late and what does Jon do?
I was listening to ‘Nesting Instinct’ today and now I have Feelings again. that scene between Jon and Martin near the end, where Martin is bracing himself to be scolded for reading statements and then is so surprised and happy when he realizes Jon is actually worried about him and cares about his wellbeing? so sad and Soft. uu
and now of course I’m imagining a similar scene with my kink glasses on, one where Martin is ill and self-conscious about how bad he’s started to sound. so when Jon stops him on his way to the printer room Martin cringes inwardly, fully expecting to be told to keep it down, that Jon will be annoyed and disgusted by the persistent coughing, sneezing and sniffling... but then, instead of telling him off, Jon asks him how he’s feeling. stammering a bit, but genuine and gentle, a worried frown creasing his brow as he studies Martin’s face intently.
“are you alright? you sound a bit... uh. under the weather?”
“um. yeah, I’m... I’m fine. just a bit of a cold, hah.”
“you have a temperature.” it’s not a question, Jon states it as a fact without hesitation and then stops, blinks, seemingly confused by his own certainty.
oh. Martin supposes he has been feeling rather shivery for the past hour or so, though he’d chalked that up to the old, dodgy radiator in his office and him not bringing a warm enough sweater.
“here, let me just...” and then Jon’s hand is there, tentatively touching Martin’s forehead, and any chill Martin might have been feeling is temporarily swept away by a wave of giddy, knee-weakening warmth.
bonus points if this is the first time Jon has actually touched him, unless you count accidentally brushing shoulders between cramped filing shelves, that sort of thing.
flushed with fever, or blushing from being hopelessly, stupidly in love with his boss? Martin can only hope Jon will mistake the latter for the former. :’)
