mike e clark

inkwellandquinn  asked:

For the prompts: "Are you drunk?" ft. Mavis and Loraine mom au and/or "You're supposed to talk me out of this" with honestly any of your E&I children.

This is quite the combo not gonna lie. Probs a consequence of pairing a sad AU with my shit boys. 


Loraine & Mavis:

Loraine is just putting her son to bed, the late Friday evening noises of traffic and people out on the town that have clearly accidentally wandered into the wrong neighborhood filtering in through the window, when she hears the first clinking tinkle of glass and quiet giggling coming from the kitchen, and sighs.

She allows herself one last look at Lance, drinking in the soft lines and slightly parted lips of his sleeping face, complete with the rosy cheeks of childhood flush and innocent smiles. He’s everything she is— Her skin, her hair, her eyes, and more. He has her own mother’s smile, Evie’s laugh, Marcie’s long eyelashes, and, either by consequence of the environment he’s being raised in or just by dumb luck, Mavis’s attitude, in spades.

She loves him. God, she loves him— More than she ever expected or planned to, and it’s terrifying, because she doesn’t know who she would be if she lost him.

Is this what it felt like for her mother, every time each of them was born?

If so, Loraine has no idea how her mother did it five times. It’s hard enough worrying constantly about something happening to Lance day in and day out, she thinks multiplying that worry would just about kill her.

She layers one last set of kisses on his forehead, quick and feather-light, and then stands, walking out and gently shutting the bedroom door behind her. Turning, she looks to the kitchen with resignation, eyes catching on Mavis’s frame as she spins idly on one of the stools next to the counter, wide eyes turned to the ceiling and arms spread out to the air. Next to her, an open bottle and a glass linger on the counter, and Loraine closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in.

One of those nights, then.

“Lori!” Mavis cheers somewhat quietly when Loraine approaches, looking to her with uncharacteristically open joy, voice low because she subconsciously knows not to wake Lance, even like this.

“Mavis.” Loraine responds in turn, huffing as Mavis swings off her barstool and flops against her, arms looping her shoulders in a sloppy semblance of a hug and sending Loraine teetering under her weight. “Are you drunk?” She asks softly, not an accusation, never an accusation, but a question, to gauge her cousin’s awareness of the situation if nothing else.

“Mmmmm… No.” Mavis hums happily, loose-limbed and relaxed and all the things she never usually is, when she’s fully aware of herself and the world and sets up all her boundaries. “…Maybe. Little bit.” She whispers it like a secret, like a treasured piece of gossip or information they’d pass along between them with cupped hands next to ears when they were young, before their worlds got so much bigger and so much more complicated.

“Mavis…” She sighs again, guiding Mavis to the couch and getting her to sit down next to her. In an instant, Mavis is curled up against her, head resting on her shoulder and fingers tangled in her long hair, and Loraine closes her eyes once more, wishing like hell that this side of her cousin, soft and vulnerable and warm, didn’t need the coaxing of alcohol to crawl out of the woodwork, that the world hadn’t taken enough from Mavis to make her feel as if being this way was dangerous.

There’s a long moment, and then the soft sounds of sniffling become apparent to Loraine. Turning her head slightly, she watches as Mavis buries her face in her shoulder, tears leaking and staining her dark skin and catching in dark brown hair, much closer to black than the shade of Loraine’s own.

“Hey, hey…” She murmurs, turning and catching Mavis’s face between her palms before she can hide it, thumbing at her cheekbones gently and wiping away stray tears. “What’s wrong?”

Mavis sniffles, bursting into a fresh wave of tears. “I’m just so happy. I’ve never been happier in my whole goddamn half-assed life.”

Swearing— Either the first sign of Mavis sobering up, or signaling a further impending breakdown.

“Then why are you crying?” Loraine asks softly, because she knows Mavis, better than she perhaps knows herself, and Mavis is not a happy crier, even with several shots of cheap whiskey in her. It’s just not a part of who she is.

“Because it’s all going to go wrong eventually.” Mavis murmurs, bringing a sleeve up to wipe at her nose as she speaks the thoughts she’d never dare voice in the daylight, where the world could see her fall as she trips over her own armor and Lance could witness the second-strongest woman in his life reveal she is not that strong at all. “Everything always does.”


E&I– Jack & Jamie & Mike: 

“If I recall correctly, this is the part where you’re supposed to talk me out of this.”

“Nah.”

“Probably, yeah.”

The twin responses ring out together, and Mike casts a weary look back at Jamie and Jack, who shrug, glancing idly at each other, before looking back to him with unnerving synchronization.

“….Nahhh.” Jack drawls again, and Mike fights a groan, knowing perfectly well if he was literally anyone else Jack would be fussing over him and demanding he get down before he hurt himself and let someone else handle it.

But he isn’t, and Jack still seems to take great pleasure in Mike’s general discomfort.

“C’mon Mike, don’t be a pussy!”

There’s a scandalized gasp and Mike looks back in time to catch Jack staring at Jamie with a gleeful expression. “Gendered language!”

Jamie’s eyes widen. “Fuck.”

“I’m telling Selene!” Jack screeches, dancing away from Jamie’s outstretched arms and pulling his phone out of his oversized hoodie pocket. “She’s going to be so disappointed in you!”

“Jack, no—“ Jamie’s voice cuts off, and Mike turns back to the task at hand with a long, tired sigh at the sounds of squabbling behind him, praying to anything that’s listening to give him strength. Squinting, he casts a skeptical eye at the tall gate he’s currently supposed to be climbing, halfway up and very stuck and currently staring down the spiked top with dread.

…He never was very good at climbing. He used to get stuck at the top of the jungle gym at the park all the time as a child and would wail in fear until Aimee came and rescued him.

“Y’know, technically…” He says idly, well aware no one is actually listening to him, “The more appropriate term here would be ‘don’t be a dick’, since the girls could have done this ten times backwards in the time it’s taken us.” Then he thinks again of Aimee, and frowns, contemplating. “No wait, that’s still awfully cis-normative of me.”

There’s no response except a muffled curse, and he turns back once more, hands fumbling with the railing he’s clinging to, to see Jamie pick Jack up, arms around his waist in a way that leaves Jack’s sweater riding up, and hold him up in the air while he squirms, the both of them poorly stifling giggles as Jack unsuccessfully tries to elbow Jamie.

Inside, something squirms low and unpleasant in Mike’s gut— Not jealousy, no, but something like a general wishful feeling for inclusion, or… something. He’s tired of Jack’s come-and-go passive aggressiveness, Jamie’s distance. The others in the group may have largely accepted his presence since Mareike adopted him into it, but these two are most definitely the hold-outs.

He gets it, really, he does. He’s a stranger, an intruder, even, on something sacred and intimate the five of them have formed on the bonds of their unusualness years before he got here. They all come from something messy, they all have fair reason to be suspicious of him.

It’s just… hard.

More than anything, it makes him miss Aimee, the easiness of their shared company and the joy of her smiles. He’s not close with any of them the way he is with her, or they all are with each other, excusing perhaps Mareike, and that’s… different.

“Hey!” He barks, perhaps a little more forcefully than intended, and the two of them startle and separate quickly, faces flushed. They glance up at him guiltily, and despite everything, Mike feels himself soften. “…What are we even doing here?”

“Weren’t you paying attention earlier, Smith?” Jack drawls. “It’s a gentlemen’s night out!”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Then why isn’t Jeremy here?”

“Because he elected to go on the girls’ night out.” Jamie says, grinning unapologetically. “Tsk tsk, Mike. Don’t be so gender stereotypical.”

“There was a choice?!”

“Well.” Jack shrugs. “There was for Jeremy.”

Mike groans, giving up and dislodging his feet carefully to jump back to the ground, ignoring the boos the other two offer at his display of conceded defeat. Closing his eyes, he wishes for a long moment he was out with the girls doing anything else. Something fun— Shopping or movies or a trip to the salon or…

“What are the girls doing?”

“Parkour, I think.” Jack answers cheerfully, and Mike blinks, turning around and staring at him as Jack flips his phone around to face Mike, displaying a photo likely sent from Selene, judging by the edge of the dark brown finger cropping off the picture, of Mareike with wind-whipped hair and a bright smile, standing on what is quite clearly the edge of the roof of a building, with half of Jeremy’s panicked-looking face visible in the edge of the frame, his wide eyes mirroring much of what Mike himself is feeling right now.

“Ooh, we should try that.” Jamie says, and Mike drops his head into his hands, wishing idly for the sweet release of death.

Bonding experience, his ass.