#the fighter

[arzeron]

2002-2003 BIONICLE be like

[hold-him-down]

A prompt: Ivan has Leo strung up and is doing something unpleasant to him

tw: forced to fight, electrocution, restraints, nonsexual nudity, noncon touch

notes: somewhere early in ivan days

Strung Up

“It’s different from the collar,” Ivan says, somewhere just outside of Leo’s line of sight. He tries to crane his neck, to twist his body, to get eyes on what's to come. He can't pinpoint what exactly it will be, but he knows it won't be good. He's been in this room for what could be hours, what feels like hours, his wrists bound tightly above his head, his body hanging.

From above the door, the red light promises as much.

He isn't made to wait long. Without warning, Ivan materializes in front of him, his fingers digging into Leo's chin to lift his head.

“You know it fucking frustrates me that you make me take these measures, Leo,” he says, peering up at him through narrowed eyes. 

Leo can feel himself shaking, with every movement sending shooting pain through his shoulders. He doesn’t look away, though.

He can’t, however, form the words he knows he needs to form. The, 'I’m sorry, sir,' that he knows Ivan craves. His throat is raw, and even if he wanted to say it, he doesn't think any sound would come. He can't apologize, and he can't promise it won't happen again, because he's not sorry, and it will, he thinks. It will happen again, and again, and again. Because something in him is broken, and he's almost positive he won't make his way out of this contract, and at night, when that becomes its most obvious, his resolve gets stronger and stronger.

He's drawn back to the moment by an unexpected blow and his vision swims, and almost mercifully his head drops, and the world goes dark.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

“Come back to me,” Ivan is saying, almost lovingly. And then, as Leo forces his eyes open, Ivan says, “There you are.”

Leo's stomach turns over, and the inescapable pain momentarily overcomes him. Through dried, cracked lips, Leo whispers a nearly-silent, “Please,” and Ivan steps back.

It’s in that moment that Leo sees the long, almost definitely electrified baton, come toward his stomach, and a moment later, the world is engulfed in a fiery pain that consumes every part of him.

He can’t quite tell when Ivan stops, but he knows that it happens, because eventually he becomes aware of parts of himself. The screams that pull from deep within his chest, sending fresh flames through his already raw throat. Each thrash against the restraints that lights his shoulders ablaze. The sweat that drips from his hair, down his face and neck, onto somewhere below him.

“Easy, easy,” Ivan is saying, his voice close. “Take a breath, Leo,” he whispers. Leo sucks in as much air as he can, and Ivan laughs softly, his lips touching Leo’s forehead. “My boy,” he says, pulling back enough to see his whole face. "You are doing fine."

He’s distantly aware that it’s no longer just Ivan and him in the room, but further back, a man stands next to Ivan’s doctor.

Ivan is speaking to the man, who walks over to Leo with a hunger in his eyes.

He’s young, maybe no older than Leo himself. He rolls the sleeves up on his crisp white shirt and puts his hand out. Leo flinches as the man makes contact, first cupping the back of his neck, then running the same hand down his chest.

He holds Leo’s gaze for a moment then smiles, taking a step back.

“You think more?” Ivan asks, and the man nods.

Ivan looks at Leo then, and says, “You lost him a shit ton of money tonight.” Ivan sucks in a sharp breath, and continues, “Granted, it was fucking stupid to bet on you, wasn’t it? You are not ready for all that. Yet.”

Leo swallows, steeling himself against the pain that he knows is coming.

“I have been brainstorming with some of my guests, what to do with you.” He clicks his tongue. “A consolation prize would be interesting, I think. We have to keep the clientele happy, don’t we?” This part, he says softly; a secret between the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” Leo finally chokes out, his voice teetering on the edge of desperation.

“You say that a lot,” Ivan whispers back, with bite behind the words. He retreats and hands the tool to the other man, winking at Leo as he does. “Enjoy your time with him,” Ivan says, louder now, more a message to Leo than to anyone else. “I don’t prefer to share my boys in this way, but sometimes, it is justified.” Ivan gives Leo a once-over and Leo wonders, briefly, what he sees. How bruised he’s become, just in the two weeks he’s spent here. How thin he is, how desperate for any kind of reprieve. If he can see how he shakes, if he knows how bad it hurts. He blinks slowly, on the edge of losing consciousness and simply drifting away. He knows Ivan won’t allow it. If he knows nothing else, of that much he’s sure. Breaths come harder and slower, and he hears, distantly, “If you feel that he is dying, send Mikhail a text message. He is prepared to deal with it.”

Through heavy, salt-burned eyes, Leo watches Ivan retreat, and the doctor follows. Without warning, the man turns to him, and as instantly as a thought of mercy crosses his mind, it vanishes, and the world is once more engulfed in flames.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

When Leo awakens, he’s being carried through the maze-like halls of the basement. He tries to lift his head, to give some indication that he’s conscious, but no part of his body will cooperate. He doesn’t have the strength to hope that the man carrying him is not the same man who did this to him; he doesn’t have the strength to hope for anything.

“It’s alright,” he hears, but the sounds are warbled, the voice unfamiliar. “Almost there.”

He’s carried into one of the bathrooms and placed carefully into the shower stall. Through blurred vision, he can see that the light is yellow, and he lets himself drift away.

He's distantly aware of time passing, of being moved, of being spoken not to, but about. When he opens his eyes again, it's another worker, familiar only to him in passing, who leans over him, washing away the evidence of what was done. Leo begins the agonizing process of trying to speak, but before he can, the man says, “Don’t.” He moves the rag down Leo’s side, his touch light but not light enough to avoid reigniting the dulling pain. Leo flinches.

“Sorry,” the man says, his voice devoid of any real emotion. “Petrov won’t tolerate camaraderie.” The worker repositions Leo, rinsing away more blood and exposing more of the damage to his body. “I’d be lying if I said I knew what exactly he wanted me to do to you here.” Leo isn’t sure if the man is talking to him or not, so he stays silent. “Mikhail, the doctor, will see you once you’re cleaned up,” he continues. “You’re Leo, right?”

Leo urges himself to focus on the man, nodding.

“I’m Dante,” he says. There's silence as the worker, Dante, continues dutifully washing Leo's wrecked body. Several minutes pass in this way, before Dante says, “I’ve been here for almost two years." Dante keeps his eyes off of Leo's face, but keeps speaking. "I saw your fight tonight, if that’s what you want to call it.” He pushes Leo forward, letting the water flow down his back. Leo cries out softly, the pain in his ribs electric, and squeezes his hands into fists.

There's another silence as Leo catches his breath, longer this time.

“My best guess is Petrov wants me to talk sense into you,” Dante eventually continues, running the rag down Leo’s spine. Leo hisses in a breath, automatically pulling away. Dante pauses in his movements, briefly this time, before taking some unspoken signal that Leo is ready to continue. He moves to sit back on his heels, taking Leo’s hands in his. He turns them over, running soap over each finger, under each nail, and rinsing away all remaining evidence.

“You can’t survive this way,” he finally says, his tone colder now. “Being under a contract like this… it could kill you. He’s killed more than a few workers since I’ve been here, but he always finds a way to get new contracts. You don’t have to fight every night, but when you do… you have to at least try... or, if not try, pretend. Even if you have no intention of winning. Even if you have full intention of sticking it to him. If you want to survive, you have to figure out what you're okay with.”

Leo nods. Dante drops his hands, standing abruptly.

“He’ll make you fight again tomorrow,” Dante says. “The doctor will tell him not to, but he won’t care. He’ll do it over and over until he thinks you’ve figured things out.”

“What if I don’t–” Leo chokes out, swallowing back a new wave of agony. “If I don’t figure things out?” He closes his eyes in a desperate bid to compartmentalize the pain.

“If you don’t tomorrow, you will the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that, maybe. There’s no long term opt-out. There’s only participate, or go through this, night after night, until you do.”

Dante opens the door, then turns to look back at Leo. “We’re not friends now, we’re not coworkers, and we’re not allies. I am doing what I can to survive, and if you get in the way of that, if it comes down to my safety versus yours, I’ll choose mine.” His face, and his voice, soften almost imperceptibly, as he says, “Just pretend. That's all he wants right now."

He leaves then, letting the door close behind him.

[peachy-panic]

Luke and Sebastian Walk Into A Bar

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @hold-him-down !!! Here is this absolute chaos spin-off/crossover event.

NOTE: The characters of Luke Bennett and Leo Evans are entirely Holdy's. I am just borrowing them to play in our shared most-non-canon cinematic universe. Also, our world building details don't always align so adjustments have been made & rules don't count here.

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-adjacent, alcohol, talk of sexual content, heavy talks of slavery, asshole politicians

“Vodka soda.” Sebastian saddles up to the last seat at the bar, putting the most distance possible between himself and the next patron. 

The place is a dive; dimly lit and underpopulated, both of which are characteristics he actively sought out. It’s been a stressful, exhausting forty-eight hours in Washington D.C., and his social meter has all but depleted. This seems as good a place as any to blow of steam.

Under the bar, he pulls out his phone and types a message. 

Early flight tomorrow. Can’t wait to be home. Everything good?

As usual, the reply comes almost immediately. 

J: everything is good. we are watching a movie. ezra taught me how to sous vide chicken. 

Before Sebastian can type out his response, his phone buzzes again. 

J: I’m glad you’ll be home soon.

Something swells in his chest in the way he’s becoming accustomed to when Jaime decides to say the most casual thing that takes an emotional baseball bat to his heart. He shoots off another message, telling Jaime to sleep well and that he’ll see him in the morning.

Just as he is slipping his phone back into his pocket, a man settling in across the bar catches his eye. Not to be a cliche, but the tall-dark-handsome combination has always done it for Sebastian, and this guy is certainly no exception to the rule.

Their gazes meet just long enough for them to acknowledge each other and… Well, this wasn’t exactly the kind of stress relief he had in mind for tonight, but Sebastian isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Sebastian doesn't consider himself to be particularly good at flirting, even with the crutch of alcohol, but he has learned to navigate this sort of interaction with enough poise to get by. Usually. It was a learned skill, born out of necessity; if you’re going to restrict all intimate interaction in your life to anonymous strangers from a bar, you’ve got to get good at picking them up. 

Still, it’s been a while. Casual sex hasn’t been a big part of his life since Jaime came into the picture, and Sebastian is rusty.

The bartender places his drink in front of him, and Sebastian knocks it back in three long swigs. He slides off of his stool and saunters over to the empty seat beside the stranger.

“Anyone sitting here?” he asks. 

The man angles slightly toward him on his barstool. His dark brown eyes cast a look of approval over Sebastian and a small smile flicks up the corner of his mouth.

“Just you,” he says. 

Still got it, baby. 

“So,” Sebastian tries after a beat of not-entirely-comfortable silence. “You come here often?”

Okay, so maybe he is rusty after all. The handsome stranger raises an eyebrow.

“Zero points for originality.”

“Sorry,” Sebastian says. “I’m usually not this bad at flirting with strangers.”

This earns him a smile Sebastian chooses to read as amused. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“Trying to? I’m not usually this sober when I attempt it.”

“That, I can help with. What are you drinking?”

“What’s that?” Sebastian asks, pointing to the man’s drink. 

“Whisky.”

He grimaces. “Nevermind. I’ll take a vodka soda.”

The man waves down the bartender with the air of someone who has been here before. When Sebastian has his drink in hand, he angles his stool toward the stranger. “I’m Sebastian,” he says.

Something hesitant flickers over his expression, just a fleeting moment, before he turns to him with an outstretched hand. “Luca.”

“Wow, a handshake, huh?” Sebastian can’t help but chuckle, even as he meets the firm grip with his own. 

A sheepish smile graces his expression.  “Sorry. Hard to get out of the professional headspace sometimes.”

“What do you do?”

Luca studies him for a moment, eyes darting over his face in search of… something. Finally, he says, “I’m in politics.”

“Ah.” Sebastian nods. “Should have guessed.”

“What about you?”

Sebastian’s fingers tense slightly around his glass. He briefly entertains the idea of concocting a fake backstory on the fly, but promptly remembers he’s a nervous liar and defaults to the simplest truth.

“I’m a doctor,” he says.

“Oh. Wow.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not,” Luca lies, then concedes to a guilty smile. “It’s just… you look young is all.”

“Thanks. Pretty soon I think they’re going to let me upgrade from safety scissors in the OR. If I’m really good.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, he’s quick with the jokes, too. What kind of medicine are you in?”

Well, this is one way to kill a mood fast. “Shop talk isn’t exactly what I was hoping for tonight,” he says. 

The glass pauses halfway to Luca’s lips. He cocks an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, are you looking for?”

Now they’re getting somewhere. 

“Depends. What are you offering?”

“Depends,” he echoes. “How much have you had to drink?” 

Sebastian smirks. “If you’re into playing daddy, you could have just said so,” he flirts, and the words surprise even him coming out of his mouth. Maybe he hasn’t forgotten how to do this, after all. 

It earns a surprised laugh. “How old do you think I am, exactly?”

“I’m not saying you’re my daddy,” Sebastian argues. “Theoretically, you could have a baby at home. Or maybe you had kids young. I don’t know your life.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Luca drawls. “And I don’t.”

“No kids,” Sebastian repeats. “What I’m hearing is… your place is empty?” 

This… does not get the reaction he was hoping for. Luca's smile drops a bit, eyes averting to the bar. 

“Oh,” Sebastian backtracks, sobering slightly. “I—Sorry, did I misread this? Oh god, please don’t tell me you have a wife.”

“I’m not married,” he assures him. “Definitely not to a woman. It’s just… my place. It’s not…”

Sebastian levels him with an appraising gaze. “I’m trying to decide if you're hiding a body or a rare Barbie collection." Luca flushes slightly and Sebastian decides to take pity on him. “Lucky for you, my hotel is three blocks away.”

Luca swallows down the rest of his drink and flags down the check. 

****

As with every hot, steamy rendezvous, their night takes a brief interlude at a 7/11. 

At this hour on a Friday night, the cast of characters includes one miserable cashier, a man reciting bible verses under his breath on a loop, and a gaggle of stumbling-drunk college kids. Sebastian’s eyes catch on one of the latter: a boy with blond curls and thin wrists protruding from his cuffed sleeves. For just a moment, at just the right angle before he turns, Sebastian sees a flash of Jaime, and the comparison sends a shockwave through his gut. 

In another life, that could be him; laughing with his friends on a Friday night, arm slung around a girl with blue streaks in her hair, being slightly too loud in a public space. 

It should be him. He should be here, living a normal, happy life, not holed up in Sam and Ezra’s guest room, waiting for the owner of his contract to come home. 

“Next in line.” The cashier’s voice pulls him back to the present, and Sebastian blinks, realizing he’s suddenly a little more sober and a lot less horny than he was a minute earlier. 

They lay their items on the counter—a three-pack of condoms, travel sized lube, and two bottles of water—and both pull out their wallets to pay. 

“On me,” Luca says, pushing forward a silver Amex.  

“Chivalry isn’t dead,” Sebastian cheeks, trying to nudge them back toward the path of flirtation instead of depressive-crisis-in-a-convenience-store. 

It almost works, too, until they step outside and a voice calls out:

“Senator Luke Bennett.” 

Beside him, Luca stiffens. A man appears in front of them. He casts a look to the condoms and lube in the transparent bag, to Sebastian, then back at Luke. A smirk edges up his mouth and—wait. 

Sorry. Did he just say senator?

“Is your boy not doing it for you anymore?” The man’s breath smells of liquor and mint when he leans too close. “I hear WRU has a good return policy for unsatisfactory performance.”

Suddenly, the senator bombshell doesn’t feel all that important. Sebastian takes a step back, watching the image of the attractive stranger warp before his eyes. 

“You have a contract?” he asks. 

“Ooo,” the man chuckles. “Didn’t mean to stir the pot.”

“No, Richard, that doesn’t sound like you at all.” Senator Luca is all ice. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Richard backs off with both hands raised and a smile firmly in place. “My best to Leo.”

Luke watches him retreat with cold steel in his eyes. When he’s gone, he turns to Sebastian, halfway through an apology.  “Listen, I—”

“You have a fucking contracted worker at home?” Sebastian cuts in. “That’s why we couldn’t go back to your place?”

The look on his face is all the answer he needs.

“Jesus,” Sebastian scoffed. “I would have preferred a wife. God, I don’t know what I expected. I guess when-in-Washington, you’ve got to screen your hookups a little better. One, are you a conservative? Two, are you a fucking senator? Three, do you support the literal modern day slave trade?”

Luke’s jaw is cut in a way that might have been hot before Sebastian knew a few key details. He lifts his chin, keeping his voice infuriatingly even.

“I am in the public eye,” he says. “I have never been shy about my stance firmly against the system.”

“That’s one hell of a mixed signal you’re sending.”

And… okay. Sure. Sebastian is being a little bit hypocritical. But his situation… it’s different. Right? And highly unlikely that he just so happened to stumble upon a high ranking government official who just so happens to own a contract out of system resistance. 

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Luke says. “But I also can’t fault you for being angry. I’m glad you are. It means you’re one of the good ones. That being said…” He throws a half-hearted wave with the hand not holding a bag of condoms and lube. “It was nice meeting you.”

He’s a few steps down the sidewalk when something possesses Sebastian to call after him. 

“What does that make you?” he says.

Luke stops.

“If I’m one of the good ones,” Sebastian repeats. “What does that make you?”

He turns back to Sebastian, and the honest look of sadness in his eyes catches him off guard.

“I try to be good for him,” he says. "I do my best."

And Sebastian knows he should let it go and walk away, but he hears himself respond anyway. “Yeah, you and every other prick who thinks they’re doing these people a favor. I know how that goes. I see it every day, what that kind of ‘goodness’ does to them.”

Luke’s brow furrows. Sebastian’s brain catches up to his mouth a few seconds too late.

Shit. 

“What do you mean you see it every day?”

“I…” Sebastian scrubs a hand over his mouth, “You know what? Never mind.” He steps around him, making a beeline for his hotel. This time, it’s Luke who calls after him. 

“Wait.”

Sebastian waits. Luke lowers his voice, closing the distance again. “Do you…?” His mouth shapes and reshapes a few attempts at words. “Are you in resistance work?”

Is it really a lie to leave out part of the truth? As long as the part you do say is still true? Probably best to go for avoidance altogether. 

“If I was,” Sebastian says, “I probably wouldn’t run and tell the first government representative I meet.”

Something like recognition flashes in Luke's eyes. “You’re in town for the supply trade. A group of medical resistance workers were planning to network in the city this week.”

Sebastian takes a step back. He’s struck with the sudden paralyzing fear that federal agents were about to pop around the corner and drag him away. 

“How do you know that?” he whispers.

“I…” Luke begins. “I know someone who does some work in that area. When he can.”

Sebastian crosses his arms. “Public opposition is one thing,” he says. “Knowledge of illegal action against the system is another, Senator.”

Finally, a bit of the hardness in his expressions gives way to a smile. 

“Then I guess we know where my allegiances lie.”

[sicklyjelly]

finally drawing again and I'm thinking about Him ✨

[sarahsmi13s]

The Fighter - Javy Machado

A Fierce Soldier

What good, this heart of stone, for it to be shattered...

meet the rest of the party at camp!

[beeziewe033]

So about my vocaloid infection au

[feelingsofaithless]

I will not hide my face, I will not fall from grace I’ll walk into the fire, baby All my life, I was afraid to die But now I come alive inside these flames

[cinemajunkie70]

A very happy birthday to Christian Bale!!

[moongoblinsims]

𝖆𝖑𝖎 - 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯

for @puppycheesecake's rpg challenge

[hold-him-down]

One Day

Notes: Maybe like 9 months in?

CW: vague references to noncon, references to noncon drugging, all the typical CW for this story.

✥ ✥ ✥

Leo is shivering as he pulls off his sweatshirt; he feels another wave of dizziness wash over him and he swallows. It took three days of skull-splitting headaches and increasingly persistent nudging from Luke before he agreed to go visit Rob. They left with a prescription for antibiotics and a word of caution to take it easy for a few days. Leo waited in the car while Luke got the medicine, and, while his desperation for relief was palpable, the bottle of pills that he turns over and over and over has his stomach in knots.

The relief will be worth it, Leo tells himself, closing his eyes. It will be worth it. On the peripheries of his worry is the pain that constantly accompanies being drugged, the disorientation, the nausea. Further back is the feeling of hands on him, of not being able to lift his arms, of people looking down at him whispering that it’s okay while lower, his legs are prised apart. And then, the one where everything is dark, and everything hurts, and he doesn’t know what’s real. That one is even further, so far back that Leo blinks the thought– no, the memory– away as quickly as he can, as he swallows and puts the bottle down. Luke won’t hurt you. 

He wraps his arms around his stomach and sits on the edge of the tub, waiting for it to pass. He hears Luke’s footsteps down the hall. If he can act okay, he thinks, maybe Luke won’t make him take them. Maybe, if he can make himself feel better, or at minimum, if he can make Luke believe he’s feeling better, then Luke won’t be worried, and he won’t make him take them.

He swallows again, and his shivering fingers moving to grip to the side of the tub; he sucks in a deep breath through his nose and holds it. His vision swims as he blinks against the fluorescent light.

"Leo?" Luke knocks softly on the door before pushing it open.

Leo opens one eye, squinting in his general direction. His grip tightens on the ceramic, trying to keep himself both upright and still. He’s okay, he tries to say with an easy half smile, but his vision is a little blurry, and he’s distantly aware that unshed tears are the culprit. He can’t pinpoint when that happened, but it’s too late to do anything about it. He shakes his head, offering his best approximation of a smile.

Luke drops to a kneel in front of him, his hand brushing against Leo’s forehead.

"I'm really okay," he hears himself saying, his voice warbled in his ears. He knows he isn’t convincing– not to Luke, and not to himself– but his words come out ahead of his thoughts. “I’m feeling… I think a little better.” He swallows, pinching his eyes shut again. “I think I can… I think it’ll be okay without–” 

At Luke’s expression, he trails off. 

"Right.” Skepticism colors Luke’s tone, but he smiles warmly in spite of it. “You still dizzy?"

"Mhmm." Leo presses his head into Luke's palm, a half-hearted bid to ease the tension there, as Luke brushes the hair away from his too-warm flesh. It's Luke's favorite way to show concern, or, if he’s lucky, sometimes affection. It's become one of Leo's favorites, too. He lets his eyes close, even though he knows there’s danger there. His body, his mind, have been forced to accept this, and to find comfort in it, and to long for it. But he’s never been forced to let his guard down, and he’s never been forced to find safety in this. 

“You’re shivering,” Luke whispers, pressing his fingers into Leo’s palm and uncurling his fingers gently. When he withdraws, he places the plastic bottle in the void, then wraps Leo’s fingers around it.

“How bad is it?”

“Better than before,” Leo replies carefully. “I probably can just… sleep it off.” The bottle in his hand makes the shivering more noticeable.

No response immediately comes from Luke, but he squeezes Leo’s forearm. There’s a long silence, where Leo knows that Luke searches for the words to convince him without commanding him. 

“I don’t want to take them,” Leo eventually whispers, so soft that he’s not sure Luke even registered that he was speaking. He shrinks back automatically, his body readying itself for the pain that’s sure to follow. Slowly, he brings his eyes up to meet Luke’s.

Luke nods, but he’s not happy. 

It’ll help–You’ll feel better– Take these– It doesn’t matter if you want to or not– You can swallow them or I can force them down your throat– We gave you something to help calm you down– We gave you something that’ll make it difficult for you to eat for a few days– We gave you something that might make it hard for you to stand– Take them, Leo. 

Take them. 

Take them. 

Take them.

His head is pounding, the lights are too bright, the sounds too loud. His arms are wrapped around a bucket with doctors surrounding him, he hasn’t eaten in days. He wakes up restrained. He doesn’t know where he–

“Alright,” Luke says, wrapping his fingers around Leo’s, which are gripped tightly around the bottle. They both stare at it.

It doesn’t matter if you want to or not. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’ll– I shouldn’t have said that. I’ll take them, just… just give me a minute?”

Luke takes the medicine and sets it on the counter. The absence of the bottle in his hand is an immediate alarm bell, and he reaches out to Luke. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I want to take them.” He clears his throat, wincing as he does. He has more planned to say,  but Luke cuts him off.

“Hey.” Luke pushes his fingers into Leo’s hair. Something in Leo’s face, which, Leo suspects, is half a decade of anxiety manifesting itself in unshed tears, must have Luke on edge; he tries to fix his expression. “If you want to take them, take them. If you don’t, it’s fine. You’ll survive either way,” he says, his tone overtly lifting. He moves to sit on the ledge of the tub next to Leo, nudging his shoulder with his own. “Probably,” he amends, and Leo forces a smile. 

There’s a silence as they both stare at the pill bottle, innocent-enough looking but wreaking absolute havoc on Leo’s anxiety. 

“You don’t have to take them,” Luke says again. “Why don’t you lay down for a little bit, and once you’re in a better headspace we can reassess? I’ll grab dinner?”

Leo nods, and Luke squeezes his arm. And then, at the risk of unraveling every ounce of confidence he’s gained in the last six months, he says, “It used to be a whole thing.” He stares straight ahead, but he can feel Luke’s eyes on him. “They knew, I think. Early on, that it fre– That it scared me. So they–” He shakes his head. He swallows. His fingers tangle together in his lap. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Luke eventually responds, when it’s clear that Leo doesn’t plan to go further. “I hope you do, though. That one day, you’ll tell me what happened?”

Leo nods, taking a deep breath and blinking back the unshed tears, and stands. He picks up the bottle from the counter and turns to face Luke.

“One day,” he says, nodding. 

Luke trails behind him as he walks back toward his bedroom, and at the door, he says, “I mean that, Leo. I’ll help you, in any way that I can. But I need you to know that you can talk to me, and it won’t go anywhere you don’t want it to go.”

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[christianbalefanatic]

Christian Bale was photographed by Munawar Hosain for a portrait session at the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills, California (November 20, 2010) 

Re: Christian Bale as Dicky Eklund in The Fighter (2011) dir. David O. Russell

(christianbalefanatic edit)

[warrior-of-z]

For the other Darksiders fans out there,

[candyredmusings]

[courseyoulovemeyoudontknowme]

Best Christian Bale movies and performances:

1. The Dark Knight - Christopher Nolan (2008)

2. The Prestige - Christopher Nolan (2006)

3. The Dark Knight Rises - Christopher Nolan (2012)

4. Batman Begins - Christopher Nolan (2005)

5. ハウルの動く城 - Hayao Miyazaki (2004)

6. Ford v Ferrari - James Mangold (2019)

7. The Fighter - David O. Russell (2010)

8. Empire of the Sun - Steven Spielberg (1987)

9. The Machinist - Brad Anderson (2004)

[mr-ghost-face]

NO BUT JAMIE HAS BEEN THE ARCHER

AND BEEN THE PREY