Kit/Chase. Honestly I'll reply to anything if I know I'm being talked to. 30 years old. Asexual. Demi-Panromantic. Transmasc Nonbinary. This is my main blog/personal blog/fandom blog.
[Julian Thompson x Officer K, 1530 words, established relationship]
The smog is oppressive, filtering into his lungs with every breath. The impulse to cough and choke is all-consuming. Julian forces it down with an iron will, his shoulders creeping up around his ears with the tension that comes from pushing through the chaos of the city.
Once they make it inside and off of the street, it’s no better. He hates it here. Every inch of his body is screaming that it’s not safe, that danger is lurking in the throng of sweaty bodies that crowd the stairwell. He keeps his eyes locked onto K.
Julian is only here because of K. Because K lives here in this hellhole, and Julian has no better place to be than at K’s side. K, whose face is carefully blank, who cuts through the crowd with his imposing stature and long, thick coat. K’s gait is steady and unfaltering, so Julian follows after him like a loyal dog.
No, not a dog. He doesn’t belong to K, just like K doesn’t belong to him. Julian is choosing to be here, choosing to be with K, because K wants him. Not his fists, not his guns, not his body. Just him.
The humans they pass turn to stare. They know what K is, and their expressions twist with anger, fear, predatory curiosity. Julian’s skin crawls. They look at K like he’s a thing, a toy, a tool. They look at K like— like—
He clenches his fists and keeps his head down. K’s boots continue their march in front of him. Steady, soft thumps, like a heartbeat. They’re almost to K’s apartment. It’s quiet there.
Then, suddenly, impossibly, K falters.
There’s a soft thud of two bodies colliding and two quick extra steps K takes to keep his balance. Julian looks up. A man snarls, face inches from K’s.
“Watch where you’re going, skinjob.”
K ducks his head. There’s nothing to betray the pain of the insult besides the slightest twitch around the corners of his mouth and the flex in his jaw.
Julian’s vision narrows to the man who is now jeering triumphantly. He thinks he is better than K, that he has won something by putting a Replicant in its place.
K is already vanishing ahead.
Julian snaps.
His knee drives into the man’s stomach, punching out a gasp of surprise and pain. Julian follows it with a cross that catches the man’s jaw. Something cracks. He punches again. And again.
The man falls. Blood splatters across the floor. There’s someone else screaming in his face, waving their arms threateningly. He shifts his stance, ready to keep fighting.
Fighting has always been meditative for him, but this is specific, directed rage. It sits deep within him, burning his ribs and sharpening his vision. He feels no pain.
Then there are soft hands around his biceps. He flinches, whirling around. K’s brow is furrowed, eyes darting around. It’s as good as panic on a man that is usually so composed. Julian watches the way his lips move.
Come on. We have to go.
The hands are pulling him. He doesn’t want to go, he wants to finish what the man started by daring to call his— to call K that awful word. He resists, briefly, but K is inhumanly strong.
They make it inside the apartment. Julian becomes aware that his hands are shaking. Actually, his whole body is shaking with trapped adrenaline that has nowhere to go. He whines high in his throat, suddenly crashing back into his body, feeling the sting in his knuckles and the bead of sweat dripping down the traffic outside buzzes he tastes blood—
K takes Julian’s face in his hands. “Breathe,” he says.
Julian follows, just as he did on the stairs. He watches K’s chest inflate and forces air into his own lungs. K breathes out and Julian tries to exhale slowly.
K’s hands are warm. K’s eyes are warm, full of affection and concern and it’s enough to burn Julian. It’s more than he deserves.
“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s barely a statement, exhaled out on a shaky, uncontrolled breath.
K’s lips quirk up in a halfway smile. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to Julian’s forehead.
Julian is flooded with an overwhelming emotion: some awful, beautiful mixture of shame and gratefulness, vulnerability and relief. His eyes burn with tears he cannot allow to fall. He wants to crawl inside of K, to make himself small and young and hide in strong arms, and at the same time he wants to stand guard outside of K’s door and dare everyone in this fucking building to cross him. He’s terrified by the realization that K is more important to him than any other person ever has been, and he’s comforted by the thought as well.
Then K pulls back, and Julian’s heart drops in the brief moment it takes K to fetch a damp cloth and a small tube of ointment.
“‘M not goin’ anywhere,” K murmurs. He re-enters Julian’s limited awareness, guides him carefully to the table with gentle hands. Julian feels stupid for worrying. He sits, obedient. Still following.
K takes his right hand, smoothing his thumb carefully over Julian’s fingers. The knuckles are already swelling. Red is darkening into purple bruises and the skin has split open in places. Julian flexes his hand once, opening and closing it to assess his joints and bones. It’s painful, but nothing is broken or dislocated.
Slowly, methodically, K wipes the blood from his knuckles. He sprays an antiseptic on the open cuts, wincing in sympathy when Julian hisses, and smoothes ointment over top as an apology. He is so careful, so gentle.
When K finishes, he looks up at Julian from where he’s bent over the table, cradling Julian’s hand like it’s something precious. Julian’s stomach flips when he meets K’s searching gaze.
“Why’d you say sorry?” K asks.
Julian thinks. There are so many messy, complicated feelings stuffed into his body right now, this specific thread is hard to untangle and present in words. He stares at K’s soft, warm fingers wrapped around his bloodied hands.
“I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you,” he says. “I just wanted to help.” It sounds pathetic to his ears. Help? When has he ever helped?
But K just smiles in that tiny, genuine way. “Thank you,” he says. His eyes look deep into Julian’s soul and find him worthy of gratitude.
Julian has to look away. He can’t bear to make direct eye contact any longer. He can feel his lips trembling with suppressed emotion and hates himself for his lack of control.
But K said thank you, and meant it. He did something good.
K seems to recognize that Julian needs a break, because he stands and busies himself with preparing dinner. Julian is left with space to blink the tears from his eyes and scrub them off of his face, taking deep breaths to steady himself as K starts up a steady, quiet commentary on his day.
Being here in this apartment is the closest Julian has ever felt to peace. It’s simple and uncomplicated. K is there, steady and reliable, and Julian orbits around him like he is the sun. They eat, and K talks, and sometimes they listen to music or read. They work. They come home to each other.
Julian lets himself drift in the routine, bathing in the little touches of affection from K: the way his food is presented to him, K’s fingertips trailing across the back of his neck, the soft smiles.
It’s only later, much later, when K returns to the incident.
K is resting on Julian’s chest, Julian’s hand curled protectively around the back of his skull. Julian still feels the lingering need to defend K and holding him like this helps to satisfy his instincts. He runs his fingers through K’s soft, short hair.
K’s voice rumbles where his chest is pressed against Julian’s stomach. “I’ve never… no one has ever done that for me before.”
Julian knows immediately what he’s referring to. His hand tightens in K’s hair as the rage returns to harden his muscles, but it’s a generalized, useless rage this time. He cannot fight the entire world for K; he cannot take down the system that degrades K day in and day out. He can only be here, now.
“It’s okay,” K whispers, and Julian immediately feels guilty that K is trying to soothe him again, rather than the other way around.
He wraps his arms around K, pulling him close, and hopes that is enough to communicate the depth of the emotion he feels towards the other man. K sighs and squeezes back.
Julian tries out the words in his head. I love you. His heart rate rises and he’s sure K can hear its rapid beating, but K doesn’t say anything. It feels dangerous to even think about it, but the label fits the jagged bloody mess he carries in his heart as he follows K. His love is not clean or pure, but it is real.
Gracerocky have like an entire list of cheesy roleplays they want to do (mostly led by rocky. Rocky loves these corny porn concepts you cannot change my mind) and one day rocky brings up teacher/student roleplay and grace is like, "look, I don't really have a moral problem with it, but I might not be able to separate the fact I literally Am a teacher, so maybe not."
Rocky: Grace no understand. Rocky teacher, statement.
Grace:
Grace (so horny he'll faint if he stands up): ...go on
I come to you from the commentary track on the special edition release of The Nice Guys that came out last year. This was recorded I think in 2025 and it was Shane Black and Anthony Bagarozzi with Priscilla Page moderating. Here are some things I noted because I thought they were particularly interesting.
They hired an actual retired Playboy centrefold photographer to take the Misty centrefold photo
Folding the money into a shirt was Ryan Gosling’s idea, in the script he just hands him the money
Putting his cap on the nun who wheels him out of the hospital was also Gosling
He did so many things in the first table read of the script that they liked that they took time after on rewrites just to incorporate the things he added into the script
Russell Crowe added the curl in Healy’s hair because of a character background detail he came up with that Healy loved Superman as a kid. I LOVE this so much.
Priscilla Page describes Healy and March’s first scene together as a ‘meet cute’ and Shane Black and Anthony Bagarozzi are just like ‘Yeah.’ ❤️
In the scene where March and Healy talk in the booth at the bowling alley, Ryan Gosling kept accidentally blocking the shot but Russell Crowe was so perpetually aware of where the camera was that he always knew and he would just reach out and move his head back into the right place 😭 honestly such a funny thing for them to remember after so long. They talk a lot about what a pro Russell Crowe is generally
Russell Crowe picked Healy’s blue jacket (possibly from March’s wardrobe! but they weren’t sure about that) last minute before shooting started and it made noise constantly and annoyed the sound people a lot.
Priscilla Page asks a couple of times about colour use in the film and they just have almost nothing at all to say about it, it’s so funny. Particularly about blue as a colour for Healy, she points out that his jacket almost matches his car and Shane Black is just like ‘oh.’ ?? I guess it was a long time ago lol but maybe these were just decisions that other people were more involved in (also since the jacket was just Russell Crowe’s choice maybe the blue was pumped up later in the process?)
The Earth Wind and Fire situation happened because Joel Silver really wanted to use that song and insisted they get a cover band to portray the actual band at the party, but in the commentary they say it makes absolutely no sense that the actual band in 1978 would be playing at a house party ‘for a porn guy’ lol
Something they describe as ‘a catch phrase people don’t notice’ is that Healy always calls people ‘Buddy’ when he’s about to kill them/considering killing them 👀
March immediately falling in love with Tally was another thing Ryan Gosling came up with that they rewrote later scenes to work with
There are no deleted scenes and no outtakes 😭 Shane Black says in the commentary he hasn’t had access to anything since the time of filming, but would like to go back in ‘the vault’ at some point to see what there is. But there’s nothing on the disc from last year. It’s so crazy to me that this was already not a thing for a film that came out in 2016 but I guess streaming had largely taken over already
Someone they identify only as ‘our prop guy’ made the suggestion that March would miss and throw the gun through the window so they had to rework the scene from that point because they liked that so much
They talked about how Ryan Gosling did a lot of his own stunts in this including when he gets hit by the car near the end. And this is a secondhand retelling from elsewhere that the moderator brought up but she said his stunt double had also been a stunt double on Fury, and only 2 weeks earlier the stunt double had taken a bayonet to the chest??? ????? But he was there shooting this two weeks later? Jesus????
Ryan Gosling also ad libbed the fake German in the scene with Kim Bassinger at the end
They said they didn’t really have any ideas for a sequel but that Ryan Gosling and Russell Crowe wanted it to be set in Mexico and Anthony Bagarozzi wanted to set it in the 80s. So it seems like that’s as far as they got in thinking about it or at least as much as they wanted to say but they were discussing that there was a lot of interest in a sequel ‘now’ (in 2025ish when this was recorded)
[Text ID: To get home from the mall we could either go a long way around, which is the safe way, or we could cut through this abandoned construction site and hope there weren't any ax murderers hanging around there. My mom and dad have sworn to ground me until I'm twenty if they ever found out I've cut through the construction site.
So anyway, we crossed the road and headed into the abandoned construction site. It was a big /end ID]
the silvergifting brainrot is real, and @saubrimbor broke me with their beautiful art. that’s my only excuse.
here’s a short drabble cross posted from ao3.
tw: non-con touching/biting/etc. not sexually explicit.
summary: annatar is learning to play his new instrument (celebrimbor)
Celebrimbor was a new instrument, and Annatar intended to learn how to play him like a virtuoso.
Annatar had already chained Celebrimbor, locking his wrists together securely behind his back. Several shallow cuts adorned his beautiful body, some of them still trickling deep red blood onto his skin. Annatar had wielded the knife with precision and skill, tracing the designs of his mind’s eye. When Annatar played that note, Celebrimbor produced a whine through gritted teeth.
For the next piece of his music, Annatar had bound a strip of thick material securely over Celebrimbor’s mouth, to see what melodious sounds he could make through the barrier. Annatar sat comfortably on his throne and dragged Celebrimbor onto his lap. Celebrimbor struggled, but in his weakened state Annatar could easily manipulate his instrument however he wanted. He positioned Celebrimbor facing outward, with Celebrimbor’s back to Annatar’s chest.
Annatar hooked his legs under and around Celebrimbor’s ankles and pulled them wide, exposing him fully. Celebrimbor shivered and twisted but Annatar held him firmly with an arm around his chest and began to play.
Fingernails raked down his instrument’s chest brought forth a low groan. The pink furrows dug into his skin looked perfect next to streaks of coppery blood. Celebrimbor was breathing hard through the gag.
Licking along the sensitive outer shell of Celebrimbor’s ear produced a breathy moan. His instrument’s neck arched beautifully as Celebrimbor tilted his head back and away from Annatar’s face. The stretched tendons beckoned Annatar.
A sharp bite to the side of Celebrimbor’s neck caused a sharp yelp and renewed struggle. Annatar felt his teeth break skin. He licked over the wound as he held Celebrimbor in a secure restraint.
When he pinched the tender skin of his instrument’s inner thighs, he heard a chorus of whimpers. Celebrimbor twisted and writhed. Annatar played this note again, and again, and again, until Celebrimbor’s skin was reddened and warm.
Annatar ran a possessive hand over Celebrimbor’s naked body, surveying the results of his symphony. His hand crept up to wrap around Celebrimbor’s bitten neck. Annatar exerted only the lightest pressure, but Celebrimbor produced such gorgeous music. He arched his back and bucked his hips, whining into the gag. Annatar held him close and whispered into his ear.
“Shhhh, I’m not going to kill you, beautiful. I’m going to keep you.”
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