[seapurses]

there’s something to be said about feeling as if your home, your safe space, is being invaded. alejandra thinks that may be happening right now (she wouldn’t know, not really — it’s not as if she’s ever had privacy in her considerably short life).

a fake avenger @godlighter sits at a grand table in a private room, both designed to offer a sense of diplomacy to outsiders in a mansion full of mutants. typically alejandra doesn’t mind being there, often shoved into the uncomfortable role of being what an outsider would call a “good mutant”. her skin crawls — she didn’t expect them here. lips pull down into a frown, “…so did they just send you to fend for yourself?” typical if they did, distaste barely concealed in her tone.

[godlighter]

impatience runs all over her as she bounces her knee, fists clenching and unclenching as she pointedly looks at anything that isn't the only other person in the room. a heavy sigh heaves hunched shoulders up, down again. she considers ignoring what is clearly an attempt to bait her into an argument and manages to do so for all of ten seconds before she decides there's no fun in that. head whips to the side, cocked at an angle as she narrows her eyes. "what, you need a babysitter every time you're assigned a mission?" flips a lighter between her fingers for something to do with them aside from fidgeting; she refuses to give alejandra the satisfaction of seeing her nervous. "sorry my team actually trusts me to get things done on my own."

a smug grin pulls the corner of his mouth to one side as his body shifts in the blink of an eye. "who's here to keep you safe this time?"

[isabelopaque]

i dont headcanon anything i simply know the truth the characters told me

[norgodly]

all you had ever wanted to do was run away.  you didn’t belong, a jagged piece amongst smooth cookie-cutter stamps that surrounded you–  a ghost in the background of high school pictures that you didn’t bother bringing with you.   of course,  your life in the before wasn’t all bad,   as time neared graduation you had begun to forge new bonds that had never been in the question,   solidifying your life in hawkins as if it was a lifeline that you clung too,  a belonging not once known in the solitary of your youth.   but that urge didn’t go away,  too big to remain in a small town,  live and die in the place you were raised was like your own personal hell,  not when there was so much world to get to see.   [there are other reasons for your leaving.  sewn into friendships that threaten to twist themselves into something more–   a stolen glance,  a lingering touch]    it wasn’t that that scared you so much as to who it was with:   nancy freaking wheeler.   someone who, to your knowledge, had only ever dated boys.  nancy wheeler, who your best friend had been in love with.   nancy wheeler,  your friend(?) once.    so you made up excuses,  you had read enough books to collate experiences as a result of some shared trauma,  desperately gripping onto that explanation,  and further again as communication became static; a familiar tone on the end of the phone as life pulled you in different directions;  college,  your hesitance in returning to the paper town you knew hawkins as.

it’s 7am in new york when your phone rings,   shrill against the warm hue that had slowly begun to engulf the lingering shadows of the apartment.   it’s a curse as it rouses you,  body bent at odd angles to match the shape of the couch.   when it dies on the second ring,  you were already up and on your way to where it’s hung beside the refrigerator.   it was easy, in these moments before, to assume a wrongful dial,  before it starts up again.  you were half-tempted to just let it ring,  put off facing the day if only for awhile longer.  but you were already up,  already standing right by that you could answer and return to bed if only for an hour.     “hello?”     silence follows.   tempted to hang up now, some prank call or issues with the line.   until you hear the voice speak up on the other end,  and you think you stop breathing.     i think i have the wrong number;  but you would recognise that voice anywhere.

“—nancy?”     it’s half whispered to the point where you weren’t sure if she would even hear you through the crackle of the audio.   you weren’t even sure if it was her or if you were still asleep.  you half-blink as to clear eyes of residual dreams;   there’s static playing on the television from the tape that had run its course before you had fallen asleep on the couch hours before.   your rate of your heartbeats increased as it lept to your throat.   you had lost track of how long it had been since you heard her voice,  assumed telephone numbers were just lost in the passage of time [was it selfish to say that that’s what you had always hoped?  less intentional,  the slow fade of a spark].     “is that you?  it’s robin–”    as if she didn’t know,   as if your number wasn’t dialled intentionally.    but you didn’t know that,  didn’t know that it was you she was searching for in this moment.    still,  the years of silence weighed heavy,  your concern grew in the lingering moment of silence that filled the air.    “is everything okay?   it’s early.”    because she’s in california;  what felt like a million miles away.      “nance?”

[godlighter]

nancy's name crackles over the line in a voice so familiar it seems to strike her, hand flattening over her heart in an attempt to keep it from leaping out of her chest. grasp tightens on the phone pressed to her ear, enough pressure to just bend the plastic. she wraps the cord anxiously around her index finger until the skin blanches, lets it go, and repeats.

opens her mouth and closes it again as she searches ( and subsequently fails to find ) any kind of explanation or justification behind the call. i've missed you, she wants to blurt out right off the bat -- she bites her bottom lip to hold herself back. she considers lying, making up some kind of urgent non-emergency she could only call robin for. uh, yes, some french woman is at my door and she needs a translator -- no, you can't speak to her. well, that's out. eyes squeeze closed, a huff of frustration escaping her.

is that you? it's -- "robin," she breathes the name more than she says it, spoken at the same time robin offers it. god, it's been so long she thinks she needs to reintroduce herself. the thought makes her cringe. i could never not know you. she isn't entirely sure if the tears stinging her eyes are borne from the relief it is to hear their voice again, or if it is the grief that opens up in her at the realization of just how long it's been. "no, i -- i'm sorry," so unlike her, to be speechless. or it used to be, anyway. she sits up and glares into the dark void in front of her, trying to focus on one thing at a time rather than the rush that pulses under her skin. robin's voice brings her back to herself. "i didn't think about time... i should've waited." but i might not have called if i had. she quickly decides it's best to leave that bit unsaid. "i woke you up?" nancy doesn't think it necessarily needs to be a question, but it's a sentence that doesn't begin or end with did you miss me too? and that's enough. for now.

nance? the name hits her like a gut punch, stealing the air from her lungs and stirring something unfathomably strong in the pit of her stomach. she hasn't heard that since... well, since however long it's been since the last time they spoke, she guesses. intoxication comes in many forms, but none as sweet as the way her heart swoops in response to something so ( seemingly ) insignificant. it takes her a bit too long to recover from the desire to ask her to say it again.

instead, she settles on saying something much more reasonable for the first phone call to pass between them in years.

"jonathan and i are over." she wonders if she actually managed to say it out loud. she couldn't hear anything over her own heartbeat. "been over, now..." there's a totally not bitter stint of laughter at her circumstances before she's able to continue. "that isn't why i called." isn't it? is it not? her hand drops to grasp the blanket over her lap, frustration growing. "i don't know why..." she shakes her head uselessly, sighs, and restarts. "how are you, rob?"

[godlighter]

bleary vision swims against the low light of the room as nancy stumbles through it, dropping purse and keys and items of clothing sporadically on her journey to the bed. the moment her knee meets mattress, she collapses face first into her pile of pillows. a heavy breath escapes as the feeling she's been running from all night catches up to her at last -- the knowledge that she's alone now. the thought makes her wince into her sheets, fists balling when she recalls the last time she saw him. there'd been no love lost between the two of them for months before what started as splinters devolved into unavoidable fissures in the surface of their dynamic. she isn't sure if having this much bed space makes her want to laugh or cry. head turns enough to peek to the other side of the room, expression hardening just slightly when her eyes find the half-emptied closet.

a hand dangles off the side of the bed as she tries to get more comfortable, and she's nearly already asleep when her intoxicated brain finally registers the feeling of something soft beneath her fingertips. drunken limbs wriggle until she's far enough to the side of the bed to look down, vision still swimming as she grabs onto the thing and hoists it up to her. a startled gasp rips from her throat as various clangs and thunks reverberate off the floor, and it takes her another few seconds of fumbling before she manages to turn her bedside lamp on. she takes the scene in slower than she should, an entirely new pain gripping her heart once she manages to figure out what happened. a hawkins high letterman jacket barely clings to the bed's corner, with glittering trinkets, papers and small rocks scattered across the floor after they'd come unraveled.

oh. robin.

nancy runs a feather light touch delicately over the embroidery, caught off-guard by the way tears almost immediately spring to her eyes. she takes in a sharp breath as brows furrow, an unsteady smile wavering when she reaches for one of the small slips of paper. a ticket stub to an exhibition of behind-the-scenes photos of one of robin's favorite movies. they'd jokingly drawn each other on the back of their own tickets -- she stares at her massive curly doodle hair misty eyed and tries to ignore the pang that tears through her chest. how does this hurt more than anything she's felt in the last month?

a long beat passes before she slides the ticket into her bedside drawer and clicks the light back off in a huff, settling back - first into her pillows and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. she screws her eyes shut with much more force than necessary and does her best to ignore the face waiting for her behind her eyelids.

...

her head is still swimming when she hesitantly pries her eyes open, lashes cracked just enough to read the clock blinking four am beside her head. nancy's mind is slow to process the jacket clutched tightly to her chest until an all - too familiar perfume fills her senses, and even though she's by herself she's grateful it's still dark enough outside to hide the way her face flushes immediately. one moment of contemplation passes, then another, before she's searching for her phone in the dark, palm smacking uselessly across the bedside table top until she finally makes contact and pulls the handset as far as the cord can reach from the wall. she knows exactly what numbers to push to hear their voice, even in the dark. she gets halfway through dialing before she slams the phone back down on the receiver in a panic. she does this at least ten more times before she gets far enough to hear a ring. it gets through two before she hangs up again, curses, and calls one more time. she's just about to give up again, for good this time, when the line picks up. sheer terror overtakes her for a few seconds before she's finally able to force herself to make any kind of noise.

"uh - hello? is this... um, are you..." she winces at the thought of having woken up a complete stranger -- it's been years since she last called this number. robin is probably long gone. her next words come out in one breath, in far too much of a rush. "i'm so sorry, i think i have the wrong number." ( @norgodly )