#catch me writing puns in french. i should be drawn and quartered smh

[marvus-xoloto]

If you’re still in a writing mood I was wondering if you could write a cute drabble based on a headcanon I have. I feel like when Mallek is drunk he’s not the boyfriend that waits at the door for you in the bathroom when you have to pee, he’s the boyfriend who follows you in and sits down resting his head on the sink. 😂 alternatively for you Marvus gives off the vibes that he would watch you pee, not for a kink just cause he’s peak weirdo energy

I p much completely misremembered the prompt while I was writing lmfao; I have another post I'm drafting for you just as a lil response bc I loved this prompt. I'm dealing with my own seasonal depression so I guess that's what I ended up writing. I'm sorry this isn't my best work; this was hard to write and honestly harder to post, but hey maybe it is something! I'm really not sure; it's hard for me to judge this time of year.

Just to clarify, I headcanon that trolls go to fight the horrible space war when they're about 21 years old / ~10 sweeps.

___

In Vino Veritastic

Pairing: Mallek/MSPAR | Rating: T | Words: 1684 | Content Warnings: angst, emetophobia (briefly), mentions of alcoholism/ substance abuse, mentions of depression, Alternia is terrible | AO3 Link on @chunky-ruckus, check the reblogs!

Mallek is capital-S, complete with italics, dictionary definition Sloshed.

It wasn't apparant to you at first. The trashed hive? Mallek is a bit of a slob. The signs of stumbling around like a daywalker at midnight? Mallek isn't a morn- uh, evening person.

You noticed his shoes peeking over the top of his gamer chair.

He swiveled around like a super villan, all slow grace.

Mallek slurped on something frozen, his expression intensely blank, his cheeks hollow.

While hanging upside down in his gamer chair.

"Did you know these things are alcoholic?" he asked. And then he fell out of his chair, snorted out a half amused sound, and then, like the lusus he takes after, slithered slowly down onto the floor.

___

Your first plan ws to go to the kitchen. The best remedy for an impending hangover: ice water, your coup de glace.

But the kitchen is a complete mess: sink overflowing, fridge and freezer empty. Mallek is a bit of a slob. Mallek is not an evening person.

So now, in present tense, you are in the bathroom, waiting for the tap to cool down. It's early in the dim season: cold weather and cold blood means that Mallek's been down in his basement again, fucking with the water heater.

And now, in present tense, Mallek is capital-S, capital-everything, SLOSHED is outside the bathroom door. Pestering you.

"What are you doing drinking on a Tuesday?" you ask. Mallek is shoving his face through the gap in the door, features pouty like a sad puppy. You almost regret soft locking the door with a pile of his dirty laundry.

You hear a thump against the door and look over: he's shrugging with all of his strength, a caricature of apathy.

"It was me and Diemen," he says. "He wouldn't share his shit."

"You know he doesn't share-" you scramble for the worst meat-related amalgamation you can think of, "his Juicy Dripping Sausage with just anyone."

Mallek visably deflates. "Yeah." A beat of silence. "Well, the shady food stalls were his idea." Then he's pushing his way into the bathroom, sitting catty-corner to you against the wall. The dirty laundry sloshes against the tile floor disgustingly.

"Just going to walk in on me? What if I had been using the toilet instead of the tap?" He wouldn't be the first to see you like that. You like to pretend Alternia has beat the shame out of you by now, but you can still feel a slight flush creep up your neck.

"Guess I woulda stuck my head under the tap. Mighta been faster than whatever you're doing up there." He's not exactly slurring, but he is talking through wiping his nose on his sleeve. You add "laundry" to your mental load. God, why does Mallek bring out the Type-A in you so successfully?

"You woulda burned the shit out of yourself," you say, imitating his tone. "How do I turn this thing down?"

"Here," he says, scooting on his butt to push your legs out of the way, and then opening the cabinet beneath the sink. A bunch of hackey sacks spill out, and Mallek resolutely ignores them. You hear the mechanical clicking of something... mechanical. And then the water slowly goes from center of the planet hot to tepid enough.

Mallek wraps his arms around your legs, smiling a wobbly smile; watch out Charlie Brown. You pass him the glass of water and he drinks like a man dying. Of consumption. He's starting to look pale around the edges, and not his normal punk, barely sleeps pale.

He leans in, now, to your knees. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was trying to knock you out. But you have to admit: he feels amazing. Cool skin and solid weight. He stands, climbing up your body like a very drunken, sun loving plant. He burps into your ear.

Amazingly drunk.

"I love you," he says, dragging his mouth and his words down your cheek.

In vino veritastic.

God. The elephant that has politely standing in the doorway has just barged its way into the room. And this is a small fucking bathroom; damn Mallek and his lack of foresight. And his love for confessions in dank ass, wet ass, inappropriate places. The man is a menace.

You'd both been circling this issue for a while now. You'd been expecting, who knows, a sweet smile and a love-you-no-big-deal-haha over a clown themed happy meal at the skate park. You'd even taken to bringing a little candle with you- stolen from last month's midnight massacre- just to give him that romantic push.

You weren't expecting. This. Earnesty and alcohol and the clear signs that Mallek is going through it.

Mallek takes the rest of his icey, alcoholic abomination from inside his hoodie pocket- the man is a menace- and slurps it up with a little moan of delight.

Another sound you'd thought you'd hear in a different context.

"Marry me," he says- you're stupified, dumbfounded- before he sinks to his knees and is violently ill in the toilet.

Your fears about being walked in on are completely baseless; suddenly, you feel very much like you walked in on Mallek.

"How do you even know what human marriage is?"

"Diemen mentioned it." You have a sudden flashback to asking Diemen if you were married now, after he let you have a mustard packet he'd been saving, and the hour long explanation of human romance and customs that followed. You'd thought the moony eyed look he gave you was just... just that. His normal, moony eyed look. Guess you made an impression with that one, good going past you. Checkov's gun shoots you in the foot again.

"You know it's a, uh," Mallek interrupts you with a look up from the rim of the bowl, expression suddenly hard. The L'Ange Dechu, peering at you from behind his black, snotty sleeve. "Pretty serious. Commitment?" you squeak.

Mal'Ange Dechu does that thing again, that sad puppy visably deflating. In a fit of stressed induced hysteria, you remember that video of that pudding shaped like a little puppy, and the spoon cutting through it. Mallek is that pudding puppy, and you are the spoon.

He leans his head in the crook of his elbow. You realize the tap is still running. Out of habit, you refill the glass.

"They always leave," he says, spitting in the bowl. "After drone season."

"It's not drone season now, is it?" You aren't sure, but, hey, nobody has made the moves on you lately, so it's probably as good a guess as any. "I'm here now, aren't I?" You slink down to the floor with him, soothing him with your hand on his back. "I want to be with you," you say softly, sick of the elephant in the room. "So, I'll stay, no matter the season."

He arches into your touch, sighing. "No you won't," he says, not looking at you. You try again but Mallek is gripping the rim of the toilet like he's possessed. "No," he repeats emphatically. "You won't. Because whether you leave again-" it just now occurs to you that the same time has passed here as on earth, when you were on your personal quest to pester. You wonder how that effected Mallek; you never thought to ask- "or not, I will. At the end of my ten sweeps, I'll be sent out to space."

You pass him the water, and he drinks. Tepid trails leak from the corner of his mouth, and you wipe one away with your thumb, cupping his jaw.

"I've been known to teleport," you say, trying for humor. Or charm. Or anything- anything!- to change the tone of this conversation.

Which is unnecessary because Mallek is sick again.

"I don't want you to see me like that," he says sadly from the toilet.

I'm already seeing you like this, you say to yourself. But you don't say it outloud, just in case it hurts his feelings. Instead, you try for charm again. "I'm sure you'll be the same Mallek. Fighting with everything you've got." You wiggle your fingers at him. "Subterfuging and being rebellious."

Mallek stares at you, contemplating. "I'm tired," he says simply. You understand the shades of meaning. "You know, we only really get to be ourselves on Alternia. That's how it is for all trolls." His face falls. "Topside, it's like we're all just acting in the empire sanctioned play."

"No robo-buddies in space," you say.

"No robo-buddies in space," he repeats, but his tone is light. "Lots of clowns, though."

"You know, good plays are made great through improv." Mallek doesn't react, and you notice he's got his eyes closed.

You guess there were less shades of meaning to I'm tired than you thought.

You help him stand up, your own personal squirm-on-a-string. As you take him to his respiteblock, you have to reconsider your wording: squirm-on-a-string sounds dirty when you're stripping him down to his boxers, throwing his ruined hoodie into the incinerator.

With your combined efforts, he drops into his coon with a goopy splash. Whether through hind brain instinct or some deep need to be comforted, he immediately curls his arms around his chest, loose with drowsiness.

You stroke his hair, kiss him on the temple.

"So does this mean we're married now, since I've cleaned up your vomit, undressed you, and put you to bed?" He laughs once- a single ahuh- but it's a genuine laugh so you'll take the W on this one.

You pull back to leave, and he grabs you by the hip. He looks up at you; the dark circles under his eyes in stark releif at this angle.

"Do you love me?" he slurs, trying in vain to stay awake.

You don't have to think about it. "I do."

But he's already asleep.

You know this about people. About Mallek specifically. It's not just planets that go through seasons. As the sky turns darker, so, too, does Mallek.

Well, if you're the guy with powers from a sun, why not? Why not try?

You start with the kitchen.