aviphilia

[curtain-caller]

So I'm looking forward to seeing all the interpretations and headcanons people make for The Lucky Contestant (who I will also join in calling them "Lucky"), but I'm curious... Okay, raise of hands, who else here also pictures Lucky as a crafty, greedy, overconfident, sassy, morally bankrupt little shit (affectionate)? Or is that just me? Idk I just get those vibes from their choices in the game (elaboration below)

Like... the implications that they were combing through hundreds of boxes to get a tape to join the show??? That they were counting the boxes and keeping track??? The fact that the only way to escape at the start is to run PAST the giant fucking beast mauling another contestant instead of running AWAY from it??? Not to mention them leaving the other remaining contestants behind in doing so.

The fact they didn't hesitate when Deputy Duck pecked at them, fucking grabbing him by the neck and throwing him against the wall??? That screamed "I'm not fucking around, are you going to cooperate or not?" kind of energy. The way they barely move when they come across the Real Frankie in front of the monitors??? Like, I know you can't move during that segment probably so you don't just miss the cutscene, but in-universe, Lucky has ample opportunity to turn and fucking run, and we know damn well their fear response isn't freeze, it's flight.

Just. The entire noob noob section. I feel like they flinched one time during that and that was when they caught the first one, but only because the explosion caught them off guard. That slowed them down for 1 second, maximum. Hell, I've seen a few players laugh at that part, I feel like Lucky would too. The fact that there's no objectives to even try to escape Frankie's great value Parkour Civilization??? Like, in a game like this, I'd expect at one point for there to be an attempt to just escape the game entirely once shit hit the fan, only for the protagonist to realize the only way out is to begrudgingly play along and win. But nope. Lucky came here for the money, and they're getting that money. AND THE FACT THEY DO??? AND THEY'RE THE FIRST EVER ONE TO DO SO??? The way they just strut back into Frankie's office after their 57th near-death experience and look him right in the eye??? The whole ending segment where they go for another season??? It's not framed at all like they were forced to go again, because the Real Frankie just offered his hand out, and when we cut back, Lucky is casually looking at the ratings screen while standing on top of a pile of corpses. There are open gaps on the floor they can be standing on instead! But nope, just chilling on top of some dead bodies. Obviously we can't tell what their facial expressions are with the mask on, but they don't seem afraid or even all that tense about their situation either. To me, Lucky is the type of guy to go "I'm not gay, but 20 bucks is 20 bucks". Lucky is the type of guy to go "No, I'm taking the 5 million" only to sprint through that fucking door when Frankie whispers "Double or nothing". Lucky is the type of guy to walk past an old dead competitor and mutter "skill issue" under their breath. Lucky is the kind of guy to roll around in the glass money ball for enrichment like a hamster in a hamster ball. Lucky's the type of guy to keep going for season after season, for more and more money, until eventually they're not even doing it for the money anymore, relishing in the adrenaline rush and the glory instead. I just really love the idea that the reason why Lucky made it to the end so successfully was not only because of their skills and quick thinking, but because they also match Frankie's freak. Frankie was right: They need each other. They compliment each other. They enable each other in the worst ways possible. One wants to put the other through gradually more elaborate and deadly situations to increase ratings, and the other runs headfirst into those situations with the same energy as someone going cliff diving. It's like enrichment for them.

[planetsam]

omg i just found your blog and i love it!! please please write a mike x eleven story kali goes to hawkins and reunites with el and that’s how mike, hopper, and the rest of the boys find out el has a sister

Kali doesn’t believe in miracles anymore.

Not if she’s one of them.

She believes in 011 though, so she goes after her. Back to Hawkins. She sends the others off to do it too, not sure how this will go. If she was odd before she’s a freak on another level now, with her painted appearance and her shadowed eyes. She shouldn’t be surprised to find 011 has done the same things she has. Built a family, carved a life, drawn what she needs into her sphere. It looks different, it still has the shine Papa liked so much.

“What are you doing here?” 011 asks quietly when she sees her.

“I came to see what all the fuss is about,” she says with a flip of her hair, “didn’t realize I was interrupting third period and homecoming,” she sneers and 011 at least has the grace to turn pink in the ears before her face hardens.

“I’m sorry I’m not robbing a bank,” she shoots back and Kali glares.

“Well not as the daughter of the police chief. Though you’d have an easier time of it. No surprise there.”

It’s a cruel thing to say but she’s cruelest at her most vulnerable. 011 grabs her wrist and yanks her over to the phone booth. She pulls out a quarter, jams in a number and talks quickly. Quietly. Then she turns to Kali.

“Stay here,” she orders.

“Going to be late for fourth period?” Kali demands, making her voice high and girlish.

She rolls her eyes as 011 storms away, rolls them again as she runs when the bell starts to ring. It was a mistake, she thinks. Coming here was a mistake. Next time she’s going to someone else. She bets 01 has a way cooler life than this town. Running away from here makes more sense than whatever the hell is happening here. She rolls these thoughts in her head, enjoying them as she waits as instructed. Trying not to wonder at why she’s waiting at all. The car that pulls up comes dangerously close and she almost has to slam on the hood to get it to stop. The driver has the grace to look surprised but then his eyes narrow, like this is just a regular day for him.

“Are you Kali?” he questions, opening the door.

“Depends on who you are,” she says giving her best devil may care smile. He lets out a long suffering sigh like this is just what happens now. “you are?” she prods.

“I’m Steve,” he says, “Jane called me.”

She appraises him, all slim lines and chiseled jaw. He looks like one of those boys that Dottie likes seeing on her magazines. Or Axel sometimes stares at a little longer than he should. His clothes are good quality but have seen better days. Unless he’s just been gardening, in which case, he’s not like the boys on those magazines at all. She wonders if 011 has been stupid enough to tell him the specifics, or if she’s just told him to stand still like Kali’s some wounded, skittish animal.

“Are you my babysitter?” she asks and he smirks.

“Yeah, so get in the car,” he says without missing a beat.

She looks back at the high school and shrugs.

Can’t possibly be worse than where she’s been.

He actually is a god damn babysitter.

It floors her when the day lets out and there’s a dozen rugrats 011’s age scurrying around. For all the things they can do, she forgets how young 011 actually is. And yet no age can make this better as they talk about things they shouldn’t know about like they’re discussing the weather. Steve has snacks ready to go and somehow gets the circus that’s happening under control while she stares at it with a mix of frustration and exasperation. 011 seems to be steadfastly ignoring it, looking down at her textbooks like a coward.

“Does this happen every day?” she demands rounding on Steve.

“Uh, most days,” he says.

“And what are you doing here?” she questions.

“Identity crisis,” he says without skipping a beat.

She lets out a noise of frustration.

“Screaming room’s there,” the one called Dustin says pointing his pencil, “we killed a Demidog in there so it’s got bad vibes. Get it all out.”

She’s going to kill them all.

Steve makes up the sofa because, again, he’s a babysitter. And a maid. And a chef apparently, which seems like a lot for someone going through a crisis. He studies a lot too and she finds that even stranger. She remarks that one day, flopping on the couch and watching some dumb gameshow she’s never seen.

“You’re very busy for someone in the middle of a crisis,” she says.

“I multitask,” he replies.

She swings herself off the couch, dressed only in a long t-shirt and saunters over to him. He glances up once and then looks back down, focusing intently on a book until she grabs it out of his hand, spinning it back towards her. She glances at it and then looks at him, raising an eyebrow as he suddenly finds the counter interesting.

“This is a chemistry text book,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“You graduated didn’t you?” she asks and he nods, “so why are you—“

“I’m taking a year off,” he gets out, clearly embarrassed and she rolls her eyes, shoving the book back at him.

“I didn’t even go to high school,” she says airily and retreats back to the couch.

011 has told her boys everything. Kali’s been smart enough to keep her band at an arms length, not telling them everything. 011 hasn’t extended that courtesy. They aren’t even surprised to see her, though she supposes that one can go to straight old logic as the labs were kind enough to number them chronologically. Her 008 has caused her a lot of frustration over the years but now it feels obvious. Like a marker everyone is aware of in ways she doesn’t want them to be. Irrationally she wants to hunt Terry Ives down and demand to know if the crazy bitch has more plans to ruin everything. Or maybe her sister does and can meddle some more.

“I cried when they tattooed me,” she tells Steve one day when it’s raining out, “they said it wouldn’t hurt but it did,” she fingers the numbers, “at the time.”

“You get any since?” he asks and she turns over her shoulder to flash him a wicked smile that makes him shift his weight.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says. His eyes linger just a fraction too long on her collar bone and she rolls over, gets to her knees, “do you have any tattoos?” she challenges and he laughs.

“Not the type,” he says.

“What type is that?” she asks, “the dangerous type? The rebellious type?” she closes the distance between them, “the delinquent type?”

“I was gonna say the kidnapped and imprisoned type,” he says and she purses her lips.

“No, I suppose you’re not the type at all.”

She really can’t place him which becomes a source of frustration to her. They’re known for drawing in people who are useful to them—which he isn’t—or who please them—which he doesn’t—or who are trustworthy. He offers nothing, pleases no-one and he might be trustworthy but she doesn’t trust people. 011 trusts too many it seems. She corners the bowl haircut one with the sad eyes. Not to be confused with the bowl haircut one with the goo goo eyes and questions him. He coughs up the answer with minimal prodding and she saunters over to Steve.

“So,” she says, “you got your heart broken. Trying to win back fair maiden’s hand?”

“No,” he scoffs. She leans forward and he pulls back.

“Your ears are red,” she says, curling a piece of hair out of the way as if to show him. He jerks at the touch and she grins, “you know being a stay at home dad is kind of a libido killer. You should be out there showing how desirable you are.”

“Thanks, but, I’m not taking romance advice from—from—“

“Someone who can make someone do anything they want?” she asks, “I could win Nancy faster than you,” she says, wicked ideas occurring to her, “I could win her back for you,” she says, “make her want to see you instantly.“

“That’s not love,” he says and she laughs.

“They can’t tell the difference.”

“Yeah, but you can.”

It’s an obvious statement. Her laugh is edged in brittle all of a sudden, sharp edges clawing out. Brittle doesn’t have a place here. Not in this storybook kitchen, not in the lives of people who haven’t been ruined. She knows she’s the oddity here, but just how odd seems to hit her with the unexpected look in his eyes. She knows that look, the scientists used to give it to her all the time.

“It’s all the same to me,” she dismisses, pushing away from the table, “when you want me to get your girlfriend back, you let me know.”

She lays awake that night seething. It’s been a long time since she turned a conversation over in her head like this. She’s not sure why. Steve Harrington is a loser, in the kindest sense of the word. A bright star who fell fast and he’s now reduced to this shit town with his shit job and babysitting these shit kids. She hates this town. She never should have come back here. She starts to formulate a plan to leave.

She must talk in her sleep because there’s a lot of waffles for breakfast.

She stares at them and then at the one responsible.

“Don’t win my ex-girlfriend back,” he says, “not loving someone back isn’t a crime. And she has someone she loves so, just, leave it.”

She stares at him.

“Are you really that good of a person?” she questions.

He shrugs.

“Nah, i’m not.”

“Thats what a good person would say.”

She takes the peace offering, realizing what it is. When she’s done she sets her silverware down and stands up, coming in front of him. He follows her with his eyes as she gathers the hem of her shirt in her hands and pulls it over her head, turning her back to him. He stares at the tattoo and she gathers her hair up for the full effect. He swallows tightly and she drops her shirt back on.

“They marked me with their name, so i marked my own.”

She enjoys the look in his eyes maybe a little too much as he watches her sit back down and dig into another waffle. Steve stares at his plate silently and she feels a shiver of delight at a power that she rarely gets the chance to use. When color comes back into his cheeks, he clear his throat before getting up and walking away, shifting his too tight jeans as he goes.

Running away taught her a long time ago that men come in all shades of monster. There’s all kinds of violations your body can go through, all kinds of walls you need to keep them out. Steve could easily be one of them, he has the constantly frustrated look of someone who spent a long time thinking the world was one way, only to find out it isn’t. There is nothing malicious about him though, but Kali has been wrong about that assumption before. Trusted too easily, paid a price in a long line on her right breast that will never go away.

She resolves to try it, just a little push to see how he reacts. Little is often easier with proximity and darkness so that night she goes to his room. She closes her eyes and reaches for his mind. It’s pliable and soft, he’s no great genius nor does he have a wealth of defenses up against her. The goodness is there, somewhere deep in all of this but deeper still is the determination. The grit. It catches her off guard, slips her control and she’s wrenched back to where she is, standing above him. His eyes open and he jerks awake, looking at her with wide eyes. She chokes on something that she’s not calling emotion, waiting for the anger. But he just reaches over to the side of the bed and pulls out a tissue.

“Your nose is bleeding,” he says. When she makes no move to take it he presses himself to his feet. He towers over her but maybe for the first time in her adult life, this is simply a fact. “Here, lemme.” He touches the tissue under her nose and takes her hand, guiding it there. She goes to tilt her head back and he shakes his, “lean forward,” he says. She looks at him doubtfully, “just trust me?” She doesn’t move, “what do you have to lose?”

At the moment? Nothing.

She doesn’t want that to change.

She tips her head forward anyway. The bleeding stops quickly. He hands her another tissue and she takes it, careful not to touch any of him. He sits back on the bed as she tosses them into the bin. He looks up at her and she feels unsettled by how calm he is.

“You okay?” He asks and she starts at the question, “you wanna sleep here?”

She waits until his breathing is deep and even before she risks looking over at him. He’s curled on his side, his back is to her and she wonders what else Dottie said is a lie. Or if Steve is just different. She doesn’t like either option. She closes her eyes and lets out a long breath, trying to steady her pounding heart.

She has to get out of here.

“And go where?” 011 demands.

“Nowhere you need to worry that pretty little head about,” she says.

“Why did you come?”

The question stings and makes her feel embarrassed all at once. None of which she’s willing to show. She looks over her shoulder. Steve is pretending to read, but his eyes are fixed on one word. It stings across her mind like a brand and she hates him for it. Especially the intent behind it.

“I was looking for my sister,” she says, “if you ever find her, tell her I was here?”

She walks out as Jane’s face collapses. As the book slams shut. As Steve catches the door she throws open and follows her out. Venom floods her mouth as she turns, ready to burn the last thing she has here. The stupid, fragile thing that will ignite with nothing from either of them. That’s how the world works.

“Hey!” He says, “you can’t talk to her like that! She’s just a kid!”

“I was a kid once too, that didn’t stop anyone from talking to me like that!”

“That’s your excuse?” He demands and she feels her hackles raise, “someone did it to me so I’m going to do it to someone else?”

“I’m sure that’s not easy for you to understand with people giving you everything and you just passing it along. I’m surprised your parents aren’t worried with you playing house like this, surprised they’re so willing to share their precious boy.”

She knows she crossed some kind of line, knows it a moment too late at the look on his face. Amidst her crashing stomach she consoles herself with the fact that she made him angry, which was always her plan. The anger is there, but it’s mixed with something far worse and she rails against the pity. She doesn’t want anyone’s pity. She wants his fear, she wants his respect, she wants–she shoves away the alarming number of things she wants and glares up at him.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” he says and she laughs cruelly.

“I don’t need to,” she says, “you’re just like everyone else.”

“Spoken exactly like someone who shaved half their head,” he snaps, “you think standing in the corner makes you unique? Or better? Everyone has their own story. Their own past they’re trying to deal with.”

“I’m sure you had such a hard life,” she sneers, “delaying growing up playing house with all these kids. Going for Dad of the year like yours was?”

“And you’re doing the exact same thing the lab did.”

She slaps him.

Not with her mind, with her hand. Slaps him and feels the sting of it in her had.

“Take that back,” she hisses. He says nothing, “take it back!” She yells and reaches for his mind.

He screams through gritted teeth as she digs in. Everyone’s yelling and she hears them coming as he drops to his knees. The bastard still throws a hand out to stop them. She ignores it and digs through his thoughts, his emotions. Past the goodness to the determination, to the core. She sees parents who aren’t there, parents who don’t care. A mother who laments her son losing a great girl without knowing he was lied to, a father who shakes his head and never sees. She sees bruises under his skin, pain that isn’t the kind you can stop but leaves a much deeper scar. She sees a boy sitting forgotten on the steps of a school, his pain indistinguishable from a girl who goes to sleep with no one to tuck her in.

“Let him go!”

The boy who tackles her ignores him and though she catches him, she’s not quite fast enough to catch 011 who severs their connection. Steve’s bleeding too, his eyes going in and out of focus but he still staggers up, catches Dustin in his arms.

“It’s okay, man, I’m okay,” he says, “let it go.”

“Leave!” 011 roars at her, the moment they’re in the house, “I want you gone. Steve did nothing but be nice to you and you hurt him. We might be sisters but you–you are not welcome here anymore,” she looks at her, “apologize first, fix it, then you leave.”

Kali stares at her quietly, unable to find her anger.

He really is a good person, she thinks dully, too shell shocked to push the thought away. She trails down the corridor to the bathroom. Steve’s hunched over the toilet, Dustin, Lucas and Max all arguing above him over a bottle of aspirin. Steve’s trying to wave them off. She feels the memory of no-one doing this for him. They all look at her and she feels rightfully embarrassed, but it’s been a long time since she has and she refuses to give into it around them. Steve’s head moves up and she rolls her eyes, realizing she’ll have to get over it.

“Can I fix him? Please?”

“Hey screw you, you’re not going in his head again,” Dustin snaps.

“Fine, he can stay like that,” she says as he hurls again.

“Let her in,” Steve groans and she moves in, sticking her tongue out when he isn’t looking. She kneels down by the toilet, ignoring the smell, “can you–” he begins miserably before being sick again.

She’s not good at this, it’s on her tongue to say so, but he looks like he wants to die and the three kids behind him look like they want to go with him. She has to try. This is her fault. Taking a deep breath, she reaches forward and flushes the toilet. Her hand comes out and pushes through his hair, finding the spots on his skull. She closes her eyes and nudges again. Steve chokes and she bands her other hand around his chest, stabilizing his jaw. She feels and pulls, soothing the sharp edges of their connection she forced. She tries to cling to his determination, his goodness, all the things that seem so miraculous to her and are so natural to him. After a long moment, she releases him and they collapse onto the tiled, staring at each other.

When she goes to push herself up, his hand covers hers and he shakes his head.

She looks back at 011 who raises her chin and then turns, walking away. She pulls her hand back, knowing that he may have seen things that she didn’t want him to. She’s embarrassed, suddenly. Even though she doesn’t think she should be. She is. She licks her lips and tastes blood. He pushes himself up and grabs toilet paper. Instead of giving it to her he looks at her and she nods, letting him touch the paper to her upper lip. He tosses it into the bin and lays down. After a moment she scoots over, pulls his head into her lap.

“I don’t want to be like them,” she says, “I don’t want to be like this,” she shakes her head, “I don’t want to be stuck.”

“Me neither,” he says finally.

Kali closes her eyes and lets herself feel ashamed.

Steve grasps the hand she has settled on her shoulder.

For the first time in a long time, she feels fear.

She wakes up with a stiff back and a Steve snoring in her lap. She’s as stuck as he is in a completely different way. She doesn’t know why she cares or even if she should. She probably shouldn’t. No, she definitely shouldn’t. The thrill it sends to her is dangerous on every level. Dangerous in a stupid way. She really does have to get out of this shit town. She folds a towel and replaces Steve’s head on it. She throws another one over him in case he gets cold and goes off to find his protector.

“We need to talk.”

A few hours later Steve comes out as they’re finished packing. He rubs at his eyes which are less bloodshot. His head still might be sore but he’s just going to have to deal. Dustin elbows her and she steps forward, handing him the two aspirin and the water. He takes them both silently, looking at her with confusion.

“So, I am sorry again for psychically attacking you,” she says, “they don’t make an apology card for that.”

“This works,” he says hoarsely and takes the pills.

“And,” she continues, “I’m leaving,” he pauses and sets down the glass. Her mouth goes dry at the stab of disappointment and hurt in his eyes. Emboldened she puts her chin in her hand, “but I can’t get there in time by myself, so, you’re going to have to come with me.”

He drops the glass.

“What?” He croaks, looking at the fragments on the floor, “I can’t just–”

“Drive off with a mysterious stranger?” She asks, “that’s odd because they say you can.”

Dustin grins and holds up his duffle bag. Steve stares at him and he nods encouragingly. He looks at her and she meets his gaze. They are both stuck, that’s been admitted even if it was under duress. She’s stuck in a way that she’s not sure she can ever undo. Even wants to undo. He’s stuck in a different way. One that seems so easy to fix for her. Maybe some part of him hopes that the way she’s stuck might be easy for him to fix too. She can see him thinking everything over and realizes she doesn’t want the embarrassment if he says no. She’d rather lick her wounds alone. She picks up her bag and slings it over her shoulder, stepping out on the road and shading her eyes. She flits with the idea of stealing his car and dismisses it. Though it would be a good lesson. By the time she turns around, though, it’s too late.

He’s there.

Something in her chest gives. He looks nervous as hell and she can’t blame him after the past day, but that stubborn look is in his eyes. This is why he’s not like his parents, because he refuses to be. It’s not the kind of thing that can be taught, not in time. But she can marvel at it anyway. He opens the trunk and puts his bag in, looking at her for a second before nodding. She drops her bag besides his and smiles daringly up at him, squinting in the bright light. Whatever catty thing she’s about to say is lost as he settles a pair of sunglasses on her nose.

“Better?” He rasps.

She stands on her toes and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. Electricity shoots through her in a way it hasn’t before and her seems to jump with it too. For a moment she considers their connection might still be there, but she’s out of his head. The only thing that’s done this is the part of her that is very much like everyone else. She gets her smile up just in time, pressing her finger to his jaw.

“We’ll see.”