𝖓𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖞 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖗 @nancyonpaper - Tumblr Blog

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢 𝐚𝐦

𝖓𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖞 𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖗: 𝖆𝖓 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

NATALIA DYER KEIRA KNIGHTLEY, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER When’s the last time anyone heard anything about NANCY WHEELER? Old friends remember them as INVESTIGATIVE & BRAVE but also UPTIGHT & METICULOLUS, no wonder they’re still known as THE DETECTIVE around town. Today, in 2006, they are THIRTY-NINE and some people say they remind them of A FRESHLY INKED PEN DABBING ONTO A NOTEPAD, RUNNING AWAY FROM HER OWN PROBLEMS, & KEEPING A HANDGUN ON HER AT ALL TIMES…. JUST IN CASE.

#vr:intro #* 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢'𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | INTRO.

𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐍.

starter for: katherine and anyone! location: spincity laundromat

things hadn’t been going her way for a while now. but, katherine couldn’t complain considering her children were safe and sound. she just wished the washing machine hadn’t gone out… and the last person she wanted to ask to fix might be one of the only people she knew who could. gathering a load of the children’s clothes from the dryer she began to fold them and put them in her basket. there was a flicker of white paper blowing from where it was pinned to the bulletin board. the oscillating fan blowing the corner of the paper and the bolded font caught her eye. missing child. katherine felt her breath hitch as she froze, looking at the picture of luke wheeler front and center. god, her heart ached for mike. she couldn’t imagine that pain, the fear of the unknown. she couldn’t imagine it. she didn’t want to. willa and ward were her world. she loved them so much and to have either of them taken away from her or go missing with no explanation. she couldn’t even stand the thought. the sound of the washing machine timer buzzing jumped her out of her thoughts and she dropped ward’s shirt from her hand. “shit!” she cursed under her breath as she grabbed it from the floor. she looked around and spotted someone, “they really couldn’t make those things any louder.” she said trying to recover from the slight sting of embarrassment she felt as her cheeks flushed red.

— ✎ —

Nancy felt like she was going insane. Correction, she was going insane. In many ways, Luke was like her own child. Sure, Cindy gave birth to him and Mike had done some raising, but there was a bed getting cold at her house. An array of Gushers and Doritos in her cabinet, passing their best by date with every passing moment. When she found out about Joyce, her sleep schedule had been thrown out of whack but now? She was surviving mostly off of coffee and two hour naps.

She had worked on cases like this before. Kids running off and showing up a few days later. There had been the handful of cases that turned cold or the two she didn’t like to think about. The cases that ended in children being found buried elsewhere. But that wouldn’t happen. Not to her Luke. He was strong and there was the logical part of her brain that knew that maybe it was linked to the night they dug up the capsule. It was all too coincidental. She just didn’t know what it could mean yet.

With tired eyes, Nancy posted up another poster on the glass of the laundromat. There wasn’t much for her to do. She was leaving the case up to the police department (fuck them), knowing she shouldn’t get involved in something so personal, but it didn’t stop her from running around town to put up posted and question citizens. The sound of a dryer going off jumped her out of her thoughts. She barely knew where she was. Turning her head, she chuckled softly. “Tell me about it,” she agreed. “By the way, if you ever don’t feel like spending money here, I have a washer and dryer you can use. Just a thought,” she offered. The small talk was nice. Better than everything else going on in her mind. “I know it probably starts to add up when you’re washing for a whole family.”

#tw murder #* 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 | INTERACTIONS.#katherine ohannan | 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

carolina-pines

a closed starter for @nancyonpaper | lunch !

Evan had reached out to Nancy the moment he knew his trip to Hawkins was set, wanting her know he would be in town, wanting to connect with her in person. It was so easy to get wrapped up in his job, to focus so much of his time into the professional connection he shared with her. Certainly beneficial in both directions. So many interesting inquiries would have gone unanswered had she not been able to set him up with a few of her contacts ( and Evan was certain it was the same vice versa ). Now that he was in Hawkins again he wanted to expand their connection beyond just sharing intel and phone numbers. It felt like he was meeting with a colleague he had known for years and years, but also like he was meeting someone new for the first time. It really was nice to make friends. Evan needed more of those.

He purposely arrived early to the lunch spot in the hopes of jotting down a few ideas in his journal. Evan ordered himself an iced coffee and then spent the next few minutes looking out the window. Hawkins hadn't changed a bit since he left, and yet it was a completely new town. He didn't know if this was how towns changed with the sudden onslaught of modernity and technology, or if he'd just been gone so long he forgot what it was like. The Hawkins in his mind was quieter, more — well, the Hawkins in his mind had been before all of the chaos. So did it really count ?

nancyonpaper

𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐓𝐓.

a closed starter for @nancyonpaper | lunch !

Evan had reached out to Nancy the moment he knew his trip to Hawkins was set, wanting her know he would be in town, wanting to connect with her in person. It was so easy to get wrapped up in his job, to focus so much of his time into the professional connection he shared with her. Certainly beneficial in both directions. So many interesting inquiries would have gone unanswered had she not been able to set him up with a few of her contacts ( and Evan was certain it was the same vice versa ). Now that he was in Hawkins again he wanted to expand their connection beyond just sharing intel and phone numbers. It felt like he was meeting with a colleague he had known for years and years, but also like he was meeting someone new for the first time. It really was nice to make friends. Evan needed more of those.

He purposely arrived early to the lunch spot in the hopes of jotting down a few ideas in his journal. Evan ordered himself an iced coffee and then spent the next few minutes looking out the window. Hawkins hadn’t changed a bit since he left, and yet it was a completely new town. He didn’t know if this was how towns changed with the sudden onslaught of modernity and technology, or if he’d just been gone so long he forgot what it was like. The Hawkins in his mind was quieter, more — well, the Hawkins in his mind had been before all of the chaos. So did it really count ?

— ✎ —

Nancy was delighted to hear that Evan was coming into town. Although, it was under unfortunate circumstances, she was glad that they’d be able to spend some time together outside of their professional relationship. Between the week leading up to the funeral and the funeral itself, Nancy had seen him in passing but there was really no time to sit down and have a chat. It seemed like they were both too preoccupied that day to do so. She walked into the restaurant, onlooking inside until she spotted Evan. She slid in the seat in front of him, setting her purse to the side of her. “Hi, it’s so good to see you,” she greeted, her hands outstretched in excitement. For once in a long while, Nancy had a genuine smile on her face.

When the waitress came back around again, Nancy ordered a coffee with cream. With years of working long nights and late night traveling, Nancy had grown used to the taste of bitter black coffee, but it was nice to treat herself every now and again. “I’m glad you came out to support Joyce as well. I know Jonathan appreciated that. Did you know Joyce very well?” She questioned, the journalist in her wanting to pry Evan for information about himself. “I’m sorry if that’s a lot to unpack,” she quickly apologized, feeling like her father was in the back of her head, chastising her. “Just merely a curious soul.”

#* 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 | INTERACTIONS.#evan beckett | 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

PLAYER, THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION IS TOP SECRET AND NOT TO BE SHARED WITH ANY PLAYERS IC OR OOC FOR THE NEXT WEEK! YOUR CHARACTER, HOWEVER, MAY ALLUDE TO WHAT THEY ARE ABOUT TO EXPERIENCE. FOR THE NEXT WEEK, THEY MAY EXPERIENCE INCREASED PARANOIA, EXTREME MISTRUST, FLASHBACKS, NIGHTMARES, SORE THROAT, AND RESTLESSNESS. WELCOME HOME!

#night one: before the funeral.

𝐖𝐇𝐎: Nancy Wheeler & @hcllywheeler

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: Nancy and Holly bonding hours!

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: Nancy’s house

It was like Nancy blinked and suddenly twenty years had passed her by. Little Holly wasn’t a six year old girl who she thought of more as the sitter of than a sister. It wasn’t until Holly was older that Nancy really developed a relationship with her. For most of Nancy’s life, she was lightyears older. Nancy was busy deciding between Steve “The Hair” Harrington and Jonathan “The Weirdo” Byers while Holly was still learning to use the big girl potty. The caliber of their relationship was distanced, mostly on Nancy’s side, until Holly went off to college. It was then that Nancy could finally look at her as an adult.

Still, their in person time together was few and far between, with Holly in the city and Nancy traveling for work. It may have been sad to say it out loud, but with Holly in town for longer than usual for Joyce’s funeral, Nancy wanted to use the time to have one on one time. Something they weren’t always awarded when it was family time. Nancy sat on her couch, passing a glass of wine to Holly. “God, I need this,” she expressed, tilting the glass into her mouth. The funeral and subsequent antics following were enough for Nancy to need an entire bottle of wine to decompress from that.

“Okay, I don’t want to hear about anything sad or depressing for the next....” she hummed in thought before concluding, “thirty minutes.” She pulled the Afghan that rested against her couch over her legs as she turned to Holly. “How about you tell me all about that loverboy of yours in Indianapolis?”

#* 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 | INTERACTIONS.#holly wheeler | 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐑.

𝐖𝐇𝐎: mike wheeler & @nancyonpaper 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: mike is an annoying younger brother, luke is a loving nephew 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: nance’s place <33

mike and nancy did their best to keep in touch. even when they fought, even when they were mad at each other, even through the sad times. after so many left, and dad took holly to indianapolis, mike felt oddly closer to nancy. like she was the only one left. and of course, mom was around. but mom was mom, and she worried, and there was only so much mike could tell her. that didn’t mean life was perfect though. they still fought, and borrowed each other’s cars, and did laundry at the other persons house and left it there!!! mike wasn’t usually very picky, but it had been about two weeks since nancy left her laundry, for whatever reason, and he was fed up. he planned on taking a quick drive up there, but luke of course, wanted to see his aunt so he tagged along. once they arrived at nancy’s, luke didn’t bother helping his dad with the laundry baskets and instead sprinted up to give nancy a hug, “aunt nancy!” he exclaimed, seeming much younger than thirteen when he saw her. luke wrapped himself around his aunt, watching his dad struggle with the two laundry baskets. “he’s mad at you.” he snitched, quieting down by the time his dad got to them. “your shit?” mike scoffed, setting both of the baskets down, he refused to carry them any further. he continued babbling on, “hey, i totally get it. we all forget things, but weeks?” he was skeptical, “what’s going on with you?” mike’s tone read one part angry, the other concerned, but he leaned more into worry when he asked, “you doing alright?” joyce had been difficult. for everyone. had anyone checked on his sister before now?

— ✎ —

The last few weeks had been... well, a lot would be an understatement. Nancy had been working her ass off, like she always was when news broke about Joyce’s passing. Then there was the wake. The funeral. Everyone coming home. Up until a month ago, Hawkins was quiet. The chaos wasn’t something she had been familiar with in years. It was overwhelming. So much so that she had neglected most of her chores at home (and by that, it meant her house was spotless, she had just forgot she left some laundry at Mike’s).

Nancy was in her kitchen, chopping a potato when she heard her front door open. Peering around, it took a second for her to clock Luke hurdling towards her. “Luke!” She exclaimed with as much enthusiasm as she tossed her paring knife onto the counter. Her arms wrapped around her nephew, bringing him in for a hug. Nancy loved kids, especially her nephew. She never had much minding about having her own. God, she’d have to marry herself off for that to happen and she had no intention of that. Besides, her mom never failed to mention that Nancy’s biological clock was up. Her only hope for more grandchildren was either through Holly. Or hope that someone would like Mike enough to take on that burden. “Why is he mad at me? I never do anything wrong.”

Then her eyes landed on the laundry baskets. Right.

"Your son?” She countered, towards Mike’s usage of colorful language. She was sure Mike was already using curses that Luke heard regularly at school, but still! He should set a better example! When Mike asked her if she was okay though, her face softened. “I’m... managing,” she wasn’t about to unload years worth of trauma in front of Luke. The adults in his life needed to pull it together. She bent down to Luke’s level, which now that he was growing like crazy, wasn’t very far down. “Why don’t you go to your room for a little bit? I’m making a roast,” which earned a groan from Luke. His room being one of Nancy’s guest bedrooms that she turned into a bedroom for Luke to stay in during his visits.

When he disappeared down the hall, Nancy grabbed her laundry baskets, “I’ll take these,” she said, carrying them to the best of her ability into her laundry room. They could live there until she decided that they were of importance. Back in the kitchen, she picked up her knife once again. “If you don’t help, you’re not eating,” she called over her shoulder to Mike as a loud chop echoed through the kitchen. “I’m fine,” she reiterated from earlier. She didn’t know who she was trying to convince. They were all upset. Nancy hadn’t even had to motivation to curl her hair in rollers in weeks. “Are you doing alright? I know this could be resurfacing things,” Will and El, she didn’t even want to mention their names out of fear that Mike might spiral. “Because it’s okay if you’re not.”

#this is long for no reason as per lexi usual #* 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 | INTERACTIONS.#mike wheeler | 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

bubblegumpcp-deactivated2023082

She had not made a lot of friends at the funeral. Heck, most of the attendants seemed close to despise her. Had she behaved prissy perfect in response? No. But how could she possibly have done so when being pushed like that. It was not an excuse, though. Sarah had enough self-reflection to understand that even she had a part in all of this. But she could definitely do without the judgement. Something that had only seemed to have enlarged since the funeral. Nostrils flared as she huffed in frustration at another glance. She was fed up.

"It strikes me that there is a considerable amount of bullshit going on here and there's just a few things I'd like to clear up: It's not my fault that my dad is lousy, okay? It surely isn't my fault that he caused that scandal and the sooner you get over that piece of soap opera, the better off we're both going to be. And I don't happen to fit the role of sneaky, insensitive, rich girl --- you've all been trying to lay that crap on me ever since it happened and it's not a look I am going to wear!" she inhaled, chest heaving in the process, stepped back and swallowed as she straightened her jacket, feeling like her point had been made. She straightened her posture and said in softer tone: "I don't deserve this."

;; open ( for those looking for a bit of drama 0,0 )

nancyonpaper

𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐇 𝐊𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄.

She had not made a lot of friends at the funeral. Heck, most of the attendants seemed close to despise her. Had she behaved prissy perfect in response? No. But how could she possibly have done so when being pushed like that. It was not an excuse, though. Sarah had enough self-reflection to understand that even she had a part in all of this. But she could definitely do without the judgement. Something that had only seemed to have enlarged since the funeral. Nostrils flared as she huffed in frustration at another glance. She was fed up.

“It strikes me that there is a considerable amount of bullshit going on here and there’s just a few things I’d like to clear up: It’s not my fault that my dad is lousy, okay? It surely isn’t my fault that he caused that scandal and the sooner you get over that piece of soap opera, the better off we’re both going to be. And I don’t happen to fit the role of sneaky, insensitive, rich girl — you’ve all been trying to lay that crap on me ever since it happened and it’s not a look I am going to wear!” she inhaled, chest heaving in the process, stepped back and swallowed as she straightened her jacket, feeling like her point had been made. She straightened her posture and said in softer tone: “I don’t deserve this.”

;; open ( for those looking for a bit of drama 0,0 )

— ✎ —

Tensions were high. Anyone with a brain could decipher that and it was only normal. Most of the people in attendance had known Joyce for decades and those who didn’t know her, knew of her impact on the community. With people flocking back to Hawkins for the occasion, she knew that someone was bound to get upset. That’s how funerals worked after all. Someone getting pissed they didn’t make a cut in the obituary or that someone from way back when owes them a sum of money. Yet, that wasn’t the problem here. There was just too much history to unpack and Nancy was trying to keep those tensions lessened. It was Jonathan’s day to mourn his mother and here was Max Mayfield bitch slapping Dustin Henderson for being... Dustin Henderson?

She needed a cigarette. And vodka. And maybe some weed. None of which she would consume underneath the roof of Joyce Byers home, but one of the three were calling her name come time she made it back home. Instead, she entered back inside, tousling her hair to the side. Everyone seemed to have dispersed beyond their own. Then she heard that shrill voice. Sarah Kline. Maybe it was disrespectful of Nancy to write someone off based on their family member, but Larry Kline was a despicable human. If it wasn’t for his operation with the Soviets then they wouldn’t have been in Hawkins, Hopper, Joyce, and Murray would have never ended up in Russia, and maybe in some weird domino effect way, El and Will may have still been here.

So Nancy felt totally and utterly justified.

“Oh, do not start with that,” Nancy essentially shushed Sarah as she yanked on her arm, gently, but firmly enough to pull her into a secluded hallway so Sarah could unleash her hysterics without alerting anyone else. If Sarah wanted to make a stance on how she wasn’t like her daddy, there was surely an open ad that she could pay for in the Hawkins Post to make that statement. “You know who doesn’t deserve this?" She seethed, her voice barely above a whisper. She pointed a finger behind her, "Jonathan. That man has gone through more pain than you could ever conceive so either quit the crap or get the hell out of here. Because quite frankly, Sarah, I’m not putting up with this.”

#* 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 | INTERACTIONS.#sarah kline | 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.#sarah kline | 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇.#there is no need to match length i just needed to go into detail #so no one thought nancy was being a cunt to be a cunt

nancyonpaper

𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐄.

it’s difficult to be in hawkins again – it seems only death could ever pull her back here. everyone feels the despair that permeates the town, but serena feels like some an outsider. there’s something she doesn’t know. she’s been to many funerals. her parents, her uncle. I SHOULD BE AN EXPERT BY NOW, she thinks, but this is different. she knew joyce for a moment in time, but these people have known her most of her life… and each other. serena isn’t really sure if she wants them to recognize her or not…

serena’s is broken from her reverie only to hear the barista call her name. she takes her coffee and sits by the window, with a soft sigh.

— ✎ —

The only sense of normalcy Nancy had felt in the past week was that of going to get a coffee. Sure, her espresso maker could make a better cup of coffee but then she’d have to go through the process of grinding the beans and making it herself and well, it was no secret that the entire town was grieving and Nancy was not an exception. She may have been able to pull it together better than the rest of her childhood friends and colleagues, but even simple tasks just seemed... too simple.

Cup of coffee in hand, Nancy made her way to a table to catch up on some work for The Watcher. Investigating didn’t stop for no one, not even the death of Joyce Byers, no matter how much Murray and Hopper liked to think it did. That was until her eye caught a somewhat familiar face. Blonde and petite. If she had only glanced at the girl, she would have thought it was her younger sister. Nancy approached the seat the girl was near and cleared her throat as to not startle her. “I’m so sorry to bother you, you just look so... familiar,” Nancy was usually so good with faces, a detective had to be equally as good with names and faces, yet she couldn’t place anything. “Do we know each other?” Before behaving completely rude, Nancy stuck out her free hand, “Nancy Wheeler.”

nancyonpaper

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐄.

blue eyes turn upwards, and serena gives the other woman - nancy - a soft smile. she takes her hand in her own. “serena carlisle is my name. nancy… we probably met when i was much younger,” she says. nancy wheeler does sound familiar… the name rolls around in her brain a few more times… “i was only in town for a few months. i stayed with the klines family as an exchange student.” the lie comes easier to her now than it did when she had to tell it at seven. wheeler… maybe she was related to the little girl she used to play with sometimes? her name was wheeler, right? or was it something else?

“oh, i think maybe i used to play with your little sister. well… it’s lovely to see you again.”

— ✎ —

Serena. The name meant nothing to her. She tried to scrounge her brain for some semblance of where the name could have came from. Serena’s face seemed familiar, but other than that, Nancy didn’t know if they had ever even spoke to one another. Until Serena mentioned Holly. Of course. There was a glaring 13 years standing between Holly and Nancy. At times, Nancy felt like more of a mother figure or a babysitter when Holly was growing up. Plus, when she spent most of her adolescence solving murders and destroying monsters, the names of young children were bound to slip her mind. “Serena, okay,” she nodded, deciding not to pretend like that rang any bells. “It’s nice to see you again too. I have to admit, I never thought to keep tabs on any of Holly’s childhood friends,” she halfway apologized. “Are you back in town for anything important?” Always the one to put her nose in business that wasn’t hers, Nancy was curious. The obvious was Joyce’s funeral, but she couldn’t think of much of a reason why someone who was in Hawkins as a child would have a connection to Joyce.

#* 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 | INTERACTIONS.#sarena carlisle | 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.#sarena carlisle | 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇.

last-standing-byers

Who: Jonnie + Anyone

Where: Bradley's Big Guy Supermarket (before funeral)

Why: Idk the man's grieving!!!

Jonathan looked like shit. There wasn’t a nicer way to put it. If it weren’t for the fact that he physically couldn’t tolerate another meal of eggs & toast, he’d be heading off to bed right now instead of Bradley’s Big Guy Supermarket. His stuffy suit jacket had been abandoned before exiting the car, leaving him in a wrinkled dress shirt - rolled at the sleeves – with an oversized tie looped around his collar. A scraggly beard and mop of tousled hair weren’t doing him any favours either. The last few days had been hell - sorting through boxes of family relics while periodically darting from his house, the bank, and back to his mom's place to appraise the family home. Cooking comprehensive meals obviously hadn’t been a priority.

The pasta aisle was his last stop before check-out and reading labels on the shelf felt like work. He spent a solid minute considering his choices, picking up a box to get a better look at the label. Dwelling over instant pasta brands was a pretty pointless conundrum in the grand scheme of his life right now, but the shelves were stripped of his current lifeline: Kraft White Cheddar. Fucking fantastic. With his eyes still narrowed on the box of pasta in hand, he caught a glimpse of someone in his periphery. Jonathan figured that it was a store clerk. “Hey -” it was an automatic greeting to get their attention, something lodged deep in his brain. Once he finally glanced over and realized the person didn't work here, the box immediately dropped from his hand into his basket. He turned his body away from the shelf to face them. "Oh, uh - sorry, I thought you were ..." He paused, averting his gaze down to the contents of his own basket. The frozen pizzas and 6-pack of Pepsi looked like something a college student would pick up in preparation for a hangover. "I guess I thought you worked here." Jonathan's next comment left him faster than he could register it. “They're out of white cheddar." He ran a hand upwards to scratch the back of his neck, basket now nestled in the crook of his other elbow. Fuck, that was weird.

nancyonpaper

𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐒.

Who: Jonnie + Anyone

Where: Bradley’s Big Guy Supermarket (before funeral)

Why: Idk the man’s grieving!!!

Jonathan looked like shit. There wasn’t a nicer way to put it. If it weren’t for the fact that he physically couldn’t tolerate another meal of eggs & toast, he’d be heading off to bed right now instead of Bradley’s Big Guy Supermarket. His stuffy suit jacket had been abandoned before exiting the car, leaving him in a wrinkled dress shirt - rolled at the sleeves – with an oversized tie looped around his collar. A scraggly beard and mop of tousled hair weren’t doing him any favours either. The last few days had been hell - sorting through boxes of family relics while periodically darting from his house, the bank, and back to his mom’s place to appraise the family home. Cooking comprehensive meals obviously hadn’t been a priority.

The pasta aisle was his last stop before check-out and reading labels on the shelf felt like work. He spent a solid minute considering his choices, picking up a box to get a better look at the label. Dwelling over instant pasta brands was a pretty pointless conundrum in the grand scheme of his life right now, but the shelves were stripped of his current lifeline: Kraft White Cheddar. Fucking fantastic. With his eyes still narrowed on the box of pasta in hand, he caught a glimpse of someone in his periphery. Jonathan figured that it was a store clerk. “Hey -” it was an automatic greeting to get their attention, something lodged deep in his brain. Once he finally glanced over and realized the person didn’t work here, the box immediately dropped from his hand into his basket. He turned his body away from the shelf to face them. “Oh, uh - sorry, I thought you were …” He paused, averting his gaze down to the contents of his own basket. The frozen pizzas and 6-pack of Pepsi looked like something a college student would pick up in preparation for a hangover. “I guess I thought you worked here.” Jonathan’s next comment left him faster than he could register it. “They’re out of white cheddar.“ He ran a hand upwards to scratch the back of his neck, basket now nestled in the crook of his other elbow. Fuck, that was weird.

— ✎ —

Hawkins didn’t feel the same. Nancy never thought she would stop saying that. It wasn’t the same when she had her childhood ripped away from her, fighting for her life on several instances and losing friends in the process. It wasn’t the same when she came back home, her brother institutionalized, nearly all of her friends were gone either because of the aforementioned or because they had enough sense to get the hell out. Then Hawkins got a McDonald’s and started expanding. At least there was still Bradley’s.

She entered the store, a pang in her chest. Ever since hearing about Joyce’s passing, the pang hadn’t gone away; a mix of heartache and nausea, feeling like she was going to cry and throw up simultaneously. That was the feeling of grief, after all. The familiar pain that would only go away with time, yet still creep back up from time to time again. And Nancy’s best way of coping was pretending that everything was normal. She had neglected her weekly grocery shopping for far too long and in recent years, Nancy had become quite the cook. With turning her hobby into a career, she had to find other outlets to wind down. It’s not like she had a partner to come home to or children to care for, which might have sounded sad to others, but it was how she liked to operate. She could come home on her own time, make herself a hot meal, settle down with a glass of wine, and pop on the TiVo.

Nancy had gathered mostly everything she needed. Bagels, eggs, granola bars, things for her to eat before she had to walk out the door in the morning and the necessity of various vegetables, meats, and handfuls of other ingredients to get her by for the week. Her last stop was the pasta aisle. She didn’t even notice Jonathan, her mind seemingly elsewhere other than thinking that Jonathan Byers would be doing any grocery shopping considering Joyce’s death. She looked him up and down. He looked awful. Granted, Nancy wasn’t donning her Sunday best either. “It’s fine, promise,” she said, holding a hand up as if it was a peace offering. Nancy’s face contorted into confusion. "You’re worried about... white cheddar mac and cheese?” Then her eyes scanned to his cart, full of sodas and frozen pizzas. While a seventeen year old Nancy probably wouldn’t even be able to look Jonathan Byers in the eyes, a thirty-nine year old Nancy was just concerned. Of course he had no motivation to cook.

“I could make a lasagna,” she suggested. “It’ll be better than,” she paused her sentence as she reached around to grab one of the pizzas, “whatever this is,” then she tossed it back in the cart. “It’ll reheat and last you a few days and honestly, it’s the least I could do,” she spared the details about Joyce, especially the thoughts of she wouldn’t want you eating like this. “I can drop it off too, if you need to be alone.”

#ah shit here we go again #* 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 | INTERACTIONS.#jonathan byers | 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.#jonathan byers | 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇.

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃.

.

“nancy, wow.” max blinked, taking a deep breath. yeah. this was super fucking weird. and she honestly felt kind of sick. not because of nancy, she couldn’t help who she was, and she couldn’t help the neverending all consuming vortex of hawkins. max had to set her coffee down as she admited, “i’m afraid i can’t say the same.” she laughed a little, fiddling with her cup now, twisting it from side to side while they spoke. “um, just till the weekend, short trip.” she nodded, making uncomfortably long eye contact with nancy. after the discomfort simmered away, she understood why people were suckers for reunions. there were so many questions teenage max was shouting at the back of her mind, did she end up with steve or jonathan? what was nancy doing for a living? did she have kids? was she happy? did she ever let loose a little? it was both exciting and overwhelming and max had to take a second to catch her breath, “are you in town or…do you live here?” max asked, willing to talk about pretty much anything other than the funeral. was that impolite when nancy could’ve potentially just lost her mother-in-law? fuck, max didn’t know how to navigate this shit.

@nancyonpaper

— ✎ —

She wouldn’t be in long. Of course. Nancy couldn’t blame her. In fact, she had been just like her at one point. She had no desire to ever come back to Hawkins once she graduated high school, a sentiment that she was sure most of them shared. Unfortunately, adulthood proved to be more difficult than she had initially thought and tucked her tail back home after a decade. “I live here, can you believe it?” Nancy snickered, vocalizing that statement out loud. “Lived in New York after graduating and that was hell and Mike had Luke, so,” she shrugged her shoulders to save Max the entire spiel. It wasn’t exactly her place to air out the situation that happened with Mike and if Max stayed in long enough, she’d eventually hear about it through the Hawkins grapevine.

Suddenly feeling like there was a clawing at her chest, she gripped at her blouse, fanning herself with it. As more people rolled inside, the more warmth she felt. “Do you smoke?” Nancy practically blurted out. In recent years, it had become a nasty habit she picked up. One she didn’t partake in often, but funerals were an obvious exception, and she’d keep telling herself in the back of her head ‘it’s what Joyce would have wanted’! “We could head out back and use it as an excuse to catch up.”

@maxmayfieldlaw

#bestie never apologize for not matching my ramblings #* 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 | INTERACTIONS.#max mayfield | 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.#max mayfield | 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇.

adahgio-deactivated20230624

it's difficult to be in hawkins again -- it seems only death could ever pull her back here. everyone feels the despair that permeates the town, but serena feels like some an outsider. there's something she doesn't know. she's been to many funerals. her parents, her uncle. I SHOULD BE AN EXPERT BY NOW, she thinks, but this is different. she knew joyce for a moment in time, but these people have known her most of her life... and each other. serena isn't really sure if she wants them to recognize her or not...

serena's is broken from her reverie only to hear the barista call her name. she takes her coffee and sits by the window, with a soft sigh.

nancyonpaper

𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐄.

it’s difficult to be in hawkins again – it seems only death could ever pull her back here. everyone feels the despair that permeates the town, but serena feels like some an outsider. there’s something she doesn’t know. she’s been to many funerals. her parents, her uncle. I SHOULD BE AN EXPERT BY NOW, she thinks, but this is different. she knew joyce for a moment in time, but these people have known her most of her life… and each other. serena isn’t really sure if she wants them to recognize her or not…

serena’s is broken from her reverie only to hear the barista call her name. she takes her coffee and sits by the window, with a soft sigh.

— ✎ —

The only sense of normalcy Nancy had felt in the past week was that of going to get a coffee. Sure, her espresso maker could make a better cup of coffee but then she’d have to go through the process of grinding the beans and making it herself and well, it was no secret that the entire town was grieving and Nancy was not an exception. She may have been able to pull it together better than the rest of her childhood friends and colleagues, but even simple tasks just seemed... too simple.

Cup of coffee in hand, Nancy made her way to a table to catch up on some work for The Watcher. Investigating didn’t stop for no one, not even the death of Joyce Byers, no matter how much Murray and Hopper liked to think it did. That was until her eye caught a somewhat familiar face. Blonde and petite. If she had only glanced at the girl, she would have thought it was her younger sister. Nancy approached the seat the girl was near and cleared her throat as to not startle her. “I’m so sorry to bother you, you just look so... familiar,” Nancy was usually so good with faces, a detective had to be equally as good with names and faces, yet she couldn’t place anything. “Do we know each other?” Before behaving completely rude, Nancy stuck out her free hand, “Nancy Wheeler.”

#* 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 | INTERACTIONS.#sarena carlisle | 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.#sarena carlisle | 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇.

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃.

𝐖𝐇𝐎: max mayfield & open! 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: max is avoiding seeing Thee coffin. 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: @ the wake i suppose!

max hated funerals. she’d been to enough to last her a lifetime, and they never got easier. she never understood why they were so drawn out, the wake one day, the ceremony the next, and the overpass after. what were they even supposed to do during all of the social events? talk about how sad they were? no thanks. max hadn’t even seen these people for thirty-some years, let alone share her feelings with them. at this point, she thought they should rename the town: hawkins, home of the funeral home! max arrived promptly an hour late, dressed head to toe in black, to avoid being detected and planned on sticking to herself, paying her respects, and getting out of there to mourn alone. immediately, she slipped towards where the coffee was set up, trying to buy herself some time before she entered the viewing room. beyond the blatant disbelief that she was back came the disbelief that joyce was gone. she watched cheap coffee pour into her styrofoam cup, deep in thought when the hot liquid spilled over and scorched her hand. “shit.” she grumbled, shaking it off. when max felt a presence beside her, she proceeded to tear open a sugar packet and dump it into her drink, but when the person didn’t leave, she sighed and spoke, “this shithole has a holiday inn now, but the only place i can get free coffee is a wake, how fucked is that?” with a shake of the head and a sigh, max secured the lid over her cup then sipped. she finally faced the other, unable to help the natural quirk of her brow when she clocked who it was. “oh…” a breath, “hey.”

— ✎ —

It had been nearly two decades since someone close to Nancy had died. How Ted Wheeler was still kicking when his cholesterol problems should have taken him out years ago? Well, it beat her! Nancy felt like an idiot as she ghosted her way between each person at the wake, introducing herself to the few people she didn’t recognize (no doubt Joyce’s family from another town or Hawkins residents who hoped to get a free meal out of someone’s tragedy) and making small talk with those she did know, passing out condolences like candy.

That was typical of Nancy. To pretend like she was okay. She barely even looked at Joyce in her casket, deciding that she wanted to remember her how most would like to. Her bangs cut into lopsided pieces, a cigarette dangling from her mouth. But Nancy knew how to cry alone in the bathroom, wipe herself off, and put a fake smile on for everyone else.

It didn’t take long for Nancy to spot the back of Max Mayfield’s head. For a moment, she looked like just another stranger, until Nancy watched as she burnt her hand. As she caught a brief look at the stranger’s face, it settled in her that Max was actually in Hawkins. Nancy braced herself for any reaction she’d receive, moving closer to the coffee station, deciding to bide her time by picking up a Styrofoam cup and filling it up. “Hey,” she turned and rested her back against the table, taking a sip of coffee. It was bitter, far bitter and cheap than she liked it but she didn’t expect anyone to shell out good money for some coffee beans.

“I’m glad you’re here, shitty Holiday Inn and all,” in most cases, Nancy might have brought Max in for a hug, but deep down she knew that neither of them were quite the physical type. Besides, Nancy knew how overwhelming it was to come back home after being away for years. She was sure the last thing Max wanted was a million hugs and questions about her personal life. “How long are you in for?”