#trafflicblr

The villies as - the league of villains !!!!

I LOVE drawing mumbo bc his design just makes me wanna experiment with colours!!! And expressiveness!!!

FIRE FIRE BABYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

did a collab with my two favourite nine month peepee girls /gnc <3 @bad12amcomic drew gorgeous joel and @corvidaearts did tim

alternate versions under the cut!

He wouldn’t be worried about it, really, except he’s always. itchy. 

He’s cold, too, but that’s more par for the course. Cleo is a zombie, isn’t she? Undead and all, it makes sense that she’s cold, makes sense that Martyn shares that with her. He’s… fine with that. He’s perfectly okay with that. 

It’s normal for soulmates to get traits from their bonded– Pearl has little stars that float around her head, and Martyn isn’t sure, but he thinks Scott’s pupils follow the phases of the moon. Tango has little wings of fire that Martyn thinks isn’t cool at all, and when Jimmy laughs too loudly his hair catches on fire. Impulse and Bdubs have shocks of the other’s hair colour on their heads. Etho looks the same, but it hurts Martyn a little to look at Joel’s face now. With too many eyes, Scar sees a cat that isn’t there, and something light blue and vex-like sits at the edge of Grian’s smiles. 

Martyn doesn’t know what about Bigb and Ren is the same. He refuses to learn. 

(He learns, later. Of course it’s the ears.)

But that’s a decent data pool! It’s a good, alright data pool, so Martyn knows that it’s normal for soulmates to share little parts of themselves with each other. Cleo shared her coldness, and Martyn had taken it gladly when the heat of the nether had burned him, and he takes it gladly now, and. 

And. 

He’s so itchy. 

And he doesn’t know what he shared with her. He watches her through his spyglass and it’s just- there’s just- there’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing! She looks like herself, like Cleo, and not one bit like Martyn. 

He’s so cold (and itchy) and not bitter about it at all. 

Or. Maybe a little bit? Maybe. 

It would be better if it didn’t feel like another type of rejection. Soulmates giving their other halves whole parts of themselves is… it’s nice. It’s special. It doesn’t mean anything because everyone shares traits with their soulmates- Scott and Pearl share traits, even! And Martyn didn’t have the choice of accepting or rejecting Cleo’s coldness, but he accepted it anyway, and. 

Cleo didn’t get anything from him at all. 

It bothers him. 

So he gives her his heart. 

Not his literal heart, although they do share several hearts, and he thinks she might kill him again if he peeled up any of those to give to her. He can’t give her his heart, but he gives her a heart. He places it in the middle of the valley, where everyone can see, and he laughs at Tango and jeers at Jimmy when they tell him to take it down. 

There’s little bumps in his skin. He stares at them, and he worries, and he itches. An allergic reaction, maybe, except they’re spread so sporadically over his body, and he doesn’t think he’s even allergic to anything. He tries not to scratch and hopes for the best. 

(The bumps hurt when he presses his hands over them, but the cold numbs the pain.) 

Cleo bridges out to him, and it’s. The talk they have is certainly a talk. 

“Invest in some heating, yeah?” Martyn quips when the conversation drifts towards Cleo’s house. 

“No.” 

“Oh. Fair enough.” 

He tells her he wants to go to the deep dark, and she gives him diamonds, and for the first time since joining this server he almost feels warm. 

Then she starts breaking her bridge again, and she’s leaving, and Martyn blurts out, “What did you get, then?” 

She pauses, looks up to him with a startled little blink. The flowers in her hair wave in the wind, and Martyn can see where their stems dig into the skin beneath her stitches. “Get what?” 

Martyn almost loses his nerve, but he’s feeling a little better now that he knows why she’s really with Scott, now that he knows she’s just trying to survive. And this isn’t something he needs to know, because it doesn’t affect their survival, but. 

“The soul bond,” he says. “What did you get from me?” 

“A hard time,” Cleo says. “What did you get from me?” 

“I’m cold,” Martyn admits to her, because honesty is a virtue and he revels, quietly, at the startled pause of silence that sits between them. 

“I’m dead, Martyn.”

“I don’t care-” Martyn starts quickly, but Cleo holds up her hand. 

“Shush,” she says, and Martyn shushes. “I’m dead, Martyn.” 

There’s another pause. “Yes?” 

Cleo sighs. It’s a hard, frustrated sound. She looks at him, watches him intently for a moment that lasts too long. Her green eyes don’t hurt like Grian’s black eyes or Scar’s not-eyes, but the look isn’t exactly pleasant either. 

Cleo cocks her head to the side. She looks like she’s made a decision. “Do you know what the point of decay is, Martyn?” 

“Uh. Sure. Recycling nutrients back into the dirt, right?” 

“Close enough,” Cleo answers. “Decay takes from the body to sustain other bodies. Other bodies. The dead don’t… take. We can’t. We’re dead.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Grian coded it special so I could eat,” Cleo says. “I’m a corpse, Martyn. Corpses are for… rotting. Recycling. Taking from me and giving to something else. Plants. Flowers.” She touches a hand to a dahlia that sits just below her ear, then gives him a derisive look. “You.” 

Martyn feels a little sick. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Cleo replies. “So I don’t get anything. Enjoy your diamonds, Martyn.” 

And she leaves. 

And Martyn is itchy. 

–

He lays in bed that night and he shivers. There are lights outside his window and horns in his ears and he feels so cold. 

–

She starts to build a bridge. Another bridge. A proper bridge. It’s broken in pieces, floating in the air, and she tells him if he apologizes all will be right. He has nothing to apologize for. 

(He wears thicker and thicker layers and tries not to scratch.) 

He has to meet her halfway. Just build to her bridge from her heart, and it’ll be okay. She’s giving him an olive branch. He just has to reach out and take it. 

(It’s too good to be true.)

He reaches out and he pushes instead.

Martyn can barely take in a full breath before he realizes the mistake he’s made and then he- she- they-

shatter.

—

Martyn is cold. 

He wakes up alone, and he’s cold. 

His items are gone. His armour is gone. His layers are gone. And- 

He’s not itchy anymore.

There are flowers where the bumps were. They wind from beneath his skin and rest delicately against his arm, small buds and soft petals. 

(He thinks his heart has stopped beating.)

taking and blaring horns in the deep dark is a powermove.