#[[ your Rick was probably trying to entice mine ]]

[countlessrealities]

send a number + an emoji to bite my muse || Accepting !

@advnterccs sent: 13. thighs + 🐈 bored, to be noticed { To your Rick from my Rick fdshjk }

Lazy days were something that Rick rarely allowed himself. They were a relic of another lifetime, back when he was a different man, with different goals and priorities, without all the aching scars he bore now. He had hardly had any during the forty years he had spent chasing after the man who had blown his life to pieces. He didn't feel like he deserved to rest while the bastard was still gallivanting around the multiverse, merrily and unpunished. And he probably couldn't have done it even if he had tried, in any case.

Things had changed a bit once he had settled down with Morty and his family. Afternoons spent watching Interdimensional Cable had become part of his and the teen's shared activities, and so had the days at Blips and Chitz, devoted to wrecking everyone else's scores. He had rediscovered what having fun truly meant.

Not that he hadn't had with Squanchy and Birdperson and their band back in the days. They had had crazy adventures and even crazier party life. However, with Morty, the enjoyment came unburdened by the need to lose himself in alcohol and drugs and adrenaline, to stop thinking and to forget.

Yet, he had found himself experiencing real domestic bliss only after he and his counterpart had met and properly gotten together. As rocky as the start of their romantic relationship had been, and still was at times, for the most they had found their balance with each other and that allowed them to have times when the world disappeared and they were left, alone and undisturbed, in the warm comfort of their bubble of intimacy.

That day was a perfect example of this new addition to his routine. He had slipped out of bed a little earlier than he normally did, to make them breakfast and serve it to his boyfriend in bed. His other self loved that sort of gestures, so Rick jumped on every pretext to spoil him. It was one of the too many ways he showed his counterpart just how in love he was and how the feeling wasn't showing any sign of fading. On the contrary, it got more and more solid with every passing day.

They had taken their sweet time with the pancakes, even feeding some to each other as if they had been starring in some cliché romantic movie. At some point, by chance or on purpose, some syrup had dripped onto warm skin and that had been the perfect excuse to build up the heat between them until they were tangled in each other and quivering in pleasure.

Once their appetites had been satiated, they had lounged in bed, elapsing in a comfortable silence. His boyfriend had eventually dozed off, while Rick had started to tinker with a device he had built the night before.

As it happened more often than not, he had gotten so absorbed in his little project that he didn't even notice his counterpart stirring next to him, nor how those ice blue eyes had locked on him, in the vain attempt to get his attention. He had remained oblivious to it all, deaf to the low purring and the bore sigh that had left the other's lips. At least until his boyfriend's teeth had found the flesh of his inner thigh, delivering a quick but harsh nip.

The stinging that the bite left behind startled him back to the present and Rick almost dropped the tools he was holding. The confusion that had filled his expression, however, quickly turned into amusement as soon as his gaze landed on the pout that his counterpart was sporting.

Shit, he has no business being so fucking cute.

"B-Baby, what the hell?" He asked, but the tone of his voice was fond and his eyes were sparkling with laughter. "D-Damn, you really can't wait f-for me to finish?"

When the only answer he received was another nip, he made a show of shaking his head in fake exasperation, setting the device and the tools back on the nightstand with a theatrical sigh.

"F-Fine, if you really can't do without me...c-c'mere, lover."

The time of letting out a snort and his boyfriend was in his arms, bare chests pressing together and lips meeting in a slow, lazy dance of tongues.

Rick let out a hum, sinking a little deeper into their embrace. Who could have imagined that happiness tasted like hard liquor and sugary pancakes?

[ricksanchezfics]

For the Sake of the Band- 2/?

Part 1

thanks for reading guys! to be honest, i’d imagine any drugs that Rick would have procured on tour would have been fucking crazy so strap in for a wild ride lol it just got mature up in here. enjoy...

Stuffing the songs in my notebook, I groaned. 

These songs had to perfect by now, right? Instead, I was this close to throwing out two of the three I had written. Why couldn’t I just leave it be?

“I can’t leave anything be,” I muttered ironically to myself. “And you’re just a big dumb idiot for going to this party.” Sighing, I shoved the notebook away. I had a bad feeling. Like an inevitable, enticing shit-storm was rolling my way and I didn’t know if I was ready for it. 

One more deep breath, and I got ready to go. Might as well make the most of it.

Anyway, what did Rick bring me? My mind wondered conjuring up nothing. We were friends, sure—but we’ve only been touring for 3 weeks now. There’s no way Rick’s been seriously paying attention to what I’ve been saying these past few weeks. So, what could it be?

Either way, I practically ran away from the deafening silence. Damn, how long had I been working?

Laughing and singing rose to greet me as I walked into the parking lot of our hotel. It felt more like a motel, with all the rooms facing out. Like a tall beach hotel. Made it easier to host random parties, I guess. Whatever. I was itching for a drink.

My converses squeaked on the metal stairs as I made it to the third and final floor, and tried not to skip down to Rick’s room. Don’t ask me how I knew where it was. I’ve just... been paying way too much attention to where Rick Sanchez was staying nowadays. 

Something fluttered against my ribs as I peered down the hall to find Rick leaning on the railing, puffing on a cigarette. His blue tattered shirt rode up his abdomen a little, revealing taunt muscles, and his ass wasn’t easy to look away from either. Jesus, fuck, this was going to be harder than usual. 

A grin slipped to his face when he turned to see me. “I knew you’d show up,” He called down the hall with a belch. “Couldn’t resist me, huh?”

I shrugged, trying to mimic him from earlier. His smirk didn’t bulge, so I rolled my eyes, grinning as I got closer, “Well, you did say you had a surprise for me.” I poked him in the chest.

He shrugged back. “Nah, baby. You’re gonna have to work for it.”

This time, I cocked a brow. “You’re kidding me right? I just worked like all day. I’m getting a drink, baby.” Baby? God, why does he have to call me that? 

It’s not the first time he’s called me baby or anything. It’s just... Something had changed recently. His touches transformed into delicious fire. When he was near, I wanted him closer. He was fucking dirty. And an ass-hatt most of the time, but I could joke with him and never think he’d take it to heart. At least, he understood that I loved what I do.

Reaching in the fridge to grab a cold bottle, I shook my head. Nope. I’m not catching feelings right now. And lose my only friend? Popping the top and gulping, I drank to my decision. I couldn’t get caught up again. 

“Good to know that you can make yourself at home,” Rick said from behind me. 

“It’s what I do best,” I sang with a flourish of my beer. He was frowning. “What’s up?”

“Krysti is so annoying.” When I went to look around me, Rick stammered, “dddon’t do that, ya damn idiot. You want her to know we’re talking about her?”

I titled my head. “You mean that you’re talking about her. What’s she doing anyway?” I didn’t really care. Krysti was my least favorite. She was just so predictable. “Wait, I know. She’s staring at us with the shittiest look on her face because you couldn’t keep your cock in your jeans—”

“—their tight—”

“—and now she’s pissed as hell because she thinks you want to bone me now.”

“So?”

I stared at him. “Are you saying ‘so’ because you could now care less, or because you want to bone me?”

Rick sighed, exasperated. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Well?” I took a swig of my drink, ignoring him. “Where’s this surprise?”

He paused. His eyes bored into me like the universe for only a second before he drooped and shook his hair. “That’s all you want me for,” he muttered, and I clucked my tongue at him. 

“Quit the theatrics.”

He snapped his head up with a quick glare then patted the pocket on his chest with a smirk. “Right here, sweetheart. But we gotta go to my room—alone.”

I coughed on my spit as attractively as I could manage. I totally failed because Rick smiled. 

“Don’t choke.” Grabbing two more beers out the fridge, he added, “Yet. Follow me.”

Recovering, I attempted my signature eye roll but Rick was already leading the way without caring if I followed or not. Sighing, I pushed through the throng of people with dyed skin of reds, purples and blues to catch up to Rick as he pressed his fingers to a sensor on the door. 

“Wait,” I paused looking around, “this isn’t your room? There’s always parties in here—I thought it was yours.”

He chuckled. “Nope. It’s Squanchy���s. He’s... squanching somewhere. Either way, I never have the parties. I like the option to escape.”

I nodded, completely understanding. I missed my own bed with it’s privacy and window that looked out to the backyard. “Lucky.”

When the door opened, I was surprised to find nothing out of the ordinary, except a metal cube with green veins of light pulsing through it. “What the hell is that?” I went to reach for it, but his hands snatched mine out the way.

“Don’t go touching things that don’t belong to you, sweetheart,” He showed his teeth. “You might get hurt.”

Cocking an eyebrow, I tried to step away from his scent. The musk was mixed with sweat and a touch of steel. So interesting...

“You ever smoked out of a zong?”

The word made me want to laugh. “We call it a bong where I come from.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know what a bong is, dumbass. I’m talking aabout a zong. It’s completely different.” Pulling open the closet door, whipped out a contraption that had glowing rings and blue-ish liquid in the middle section.

“Is there a mushroom in there?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, but seriously. Is this thing going to fuck me up more than usual?”

“Probably.”

“Then let’s give it a go.” With a laugh at my willingness, he led us outside to the balcony. The sounds of the party rose and fell as people went in and out the door on the balcony beside us. Over the railing were rows of houses mostly built into trees. We were at the top of a cliff that over overlooked a bay that stretched out like fingers from the ocean and the never-ending stars. Rick packed the bowl then handed it to me. 

“You get first greens.”

I giggled, then coughed at the cringing sound echoing my mind. “Hm. Thanks, though I must say this contraption is a bit out of my league. How should I take it?”

“Just be easy. It’s like taking a GB, except smoother.”

“Dabs. Got it.”

“What the fuck is a dab?”

I shook my head with a smile and just took the hit. The light intensified on the rings, blue liquid gurgled and glowed as I inhaled the smoothest smoke ever. I held it in, though it was hard. The smoke surprised my lungs—I wanted to cough so damn bad—but I held firm. When I blew up, the smoke was a thick as fog.

“Holy fu—” I started hacking, but caught my breath enough to calm myself. Rick was stuttering with laughter. 

“Holy... shit. That... that was a huge hit. Oh, you’re gonna be feeling that one soon.” 

I found I could only sink deeper into my chair. Then I just said, “Don’t leave me hanging, Sanchez. Come join me up here.”

Stars were so close here. Or maybe the atmosphere made it look that way. I didn’t care. It was the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. A hand covered mine. 

“When you gaze at something like that, it makes it hard for me not to kiss you,” Rick said, suddenly. I looked over at him and he stared right back. 

“Then kiss me,” I told him, surprising myself, but leaning closer anyway. I knew he would do it, I just didn’t think I would.

Swiftly, he scooted his chair closer to mine. When he was close enough, one hand grabbed hold of my knee, pulling our bodies nearer. His face inched towards mine until his nose gently nudged mine up so he could get a better angle. When our lips met, I gasped softly into his mouth.

His lips were hard, but soft when they cupped my own. I felt like I was going too slow—I wanted more. Even though a muffled part of me was yelling at me to stop doing this rightthefucknow.

My fingers laced through his thick hair anyway, grabbing the blue strands by the nape of his neck eliciting a groan from his mouth. I hummed around his tongue, catching it around my lips. Fuck his hand.

His hand was massaging my thighs up and down, hard then softly tugging. He wanted me out of that seat, but it felt so good I didn’t want it to stop. 

“Fuck it,” I murmured against his teeth, pulling away then swooping in to plant myself in his lap. As soon as I was close enough, I launched my lips at him. He grabbed my ass, sending shivers up my spine. I wanted to howl.

“Yeah, baby,” Rick purred when my core rubbed on his crotch. “You’re getting me—keep doing that.”

I obeyed all the while devouring his mouth, nipping at his neck and jawline, and relishing in each praise he gave to me. 

“Fuck,” he moaned, “Baby, I want to taste you.”

Pleasurable arrows shot straight to my groin.“Yeah?” 

He slapped my ass urging me to get up and follow him inside. “Yeah, baby. I gotta have you laid out on the bed so I can see all of you.”

Trembling knees followed him to the foot of the bed. Surprisingly without falling over, I toed off my converse and quickly kicked them and my socks to the far side of the room. No reason to mess the mood up by stinking shoes. Honestly, it didn’t matter. All I could think about were his lips. 

“Come here,” I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair and tugging again.

We fell back on the bed, sliding our bodies against each other and up until our heads met pillows. My tank and his shirt had slithered up during the process and I sighed loudly when my bare skin finally touched his. My hands wanted to explore. Like fire, my fingers sizzled against his hot torso, scraping over muscles and sensitive areas with my nails just to feel him gasp in my mouth. I was dizzy from it. 

His hands weren’t idle. Not at all. While I explored his body, he was gently grazing his fingertips along my jaw to eventually grasping my throat enough to rasp my breath. One of my hands laid on his, telling him this was okay. 

Pulsing his grip while we kissed, Rick slipped his other hand down between my legs and cupped me fully through my jeans. 

I was hot, I knew it. But, fuck, how was I supposed to know it would feel like that when he finally went down there? I pressed against his hands, needing more friction.

“Pants, off,” Rick commanded, “now.”

I immediately obeyed, but had trouble taking them off. “Help,” I pleaded with a whine. “They’re too tight.’

Rick chuckled and stood to help me shimmy out of my jeans by pulling the foot-ends. When they were finally off, I chuckled with him and thanked him. That’s when I saw his erection. Fuck, he was huge. He smiled slyly as he dropped down on the bed  to crawl up my body. He ground his hard-on against my thigh. “You want this cock, baby?”

“Yes,” I admitted, closing my eyes against the thought of Rick sliding it inside me. My pussy ached with the image.

“I gotta make sure you’re ready for me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping of honey. Rubbing his fingers across my clothed slit, he hissed. “Fuck, you’re wet, aren’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” I told him since I couldn’t really speak words at the moment. Rick stroke my slick panties until I was grinding on his hand. I whimpered when his applied pressure lifted for the second it took him to tear my underwear off me. 

“You better replace those,” I murmured, though I doubt it sounded like anything but lustful breaths. A bolt a pleasure shot through me when he pushed a finger inside of me.

Slowly and deliberately, Rick twisted and curved his fingers until I was panting. With his thumb, he rolled over the hood of my clit, trying to find the slick bud. He whispered, “So beautiful—such a beautiful—pretty pussy.” When he found it, my back arched on it’s own.

“Oh, that’s the spot, huh?” He rubbed the pad of his thumb around my clit, making a come-hither motion with his other two fingers. “What about right t-there?”

His middle finger found the rough button of my g-spot and each time he pressed it, my pussy clenched around his fingers. 

“Come for me, baby,” he pumped his fingers faster, “can you come for daddy?”

“Oh, mmmfuck.” He said ‘daddy’? That... that was new. And damn if it didn’t shoot bullets of pleasure straight to where his fingers rubbed against me.

He slowed his pumps. “Say it, baby. Who’re you gonna cum for?”

He wants me to call him daddy, but I could barely say anything. The only sounds coming out my mouth were moans and tiny mews that were just loud breaths. My legs were shaking, and fuck, I wanted to cum so bad.

“Come on, baby.”

He nudged against my clit, swiping it with the pad of his thumb and I blurted, “fuck, daddy, yes finger fuck me, yes oh fffffuck”

My release lifted my body towards the stars, letting me drift into the night while my legs shook and my pussy clenched around his still pumping fingers.

Finally, he pulled out and I flushed, watching as he brought his fingers that were slick with my juices to his mouth and sucked them dry.

“Mmmm,” he purred with a smack, waggling his brow at me, “I could eat you all night, baby girl.”

That’s when I knew, for sure, that I was done for. I had fucked up. Not only was this definitely going to cause some riff within the band—but I could genuinely care less when Rick was solely focused on my pleasure. 

[violetmuses]

Grey || Chapter 13

Dedications: @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing - Meet Richardo!

_________

2023

Richardo Fernandez

“Hi, Rick.” Her well-known voice tickled my earlobe as soon as I picked up this phone call. Dionne Charles, one long-ago ex of mine, had typically initiated this ploy while enticing anyone who caught her eye or attention.

“Hello, stranger.” I played along, sitting on this bar stool as a tequila shot slid towards me. Music played quietly in the background as I hid among locals.

“What are you doing?” Dionne asked me, giving small talk to make this chat normal if feds listened to us. D had already known exactly where I was in the first place, but we both kept another secret away from Sharon Carter.

“Just took a shot. Care to join me?” I smiled, laughing and winking towards the bartender who worked across from me.

“I’m eating lunch right now, but please don’t drive.” Dionne offered her kindness and genuine concern. For once, she didn’t resemble the title-hungry millionaire who could go almost everywhere undetected when needed be.

“I walked here myself. Don’t worry.” I nearly blushed, remembering how sweet Dionne was beyond the anger. Even I knew what happened once Russell Perkins abducted her in Madripoor. My voice then sighed with relief following his death.

“Zemo’s back in prison. If he stayed with me any longer, I’d probably be shot by now.” Dionne changed our subject.

“Even after everything that’s happened, we still would both die for you.” Please understand that.” I admitted.

“I know.” Dionne lowered her voice, as if she heard a similar question beforehand. Maybe, maybe not.

We met each other for the first time during one of her yacht parties, back when this world hadn’t lost half of its population. She had looked extremely gorgeous, sporting this bodycon dress. Onyx hair curled perfectly, scaling onto both shoulders.

I’ve never believed in love at first sight, but Dionne captured me in ways that rivaled Hollywood films or cheesy romance novels. And yet, I made that fatal mistake of leaving the angel who still purred her damning voice into my ear all these years later.

“I miss you.” I admitted here in real time, although my voice had no business showing these emotions again.

“Please don't do that. I’ve already felt the same way about Zemo.” Dionne said. As I feared, Z had love her all over again, making her happy despite his return to imprisonment.

“Can I at least see you myself?” Changing the subject with Dionne, I paid the bartender and slid off of my stool. Cigarette smoke wafted towards my nostrils as I headed out of the cramped yet lively building. Saltine air reached me soon after, wrapping my nose with peace.

“Not until tonight. Please dress well too or you won’t even make it past the security detail.” Dionne warned, insinuating that the incoming “meeting” would be upscale as usual.

“Got you. I’ll be there tonight.” Hanging up my cell, I slipped Aviators back down, hiding my eyes from that blistering sunlight found right above my head. Sweat drenched my shirt, giving even more incentive to shower before the party.

__________

“Uh-uh. Sorry, but I told you to dress well, Rick. How did you even bypass security without wearing better clothes?” Dionne snatched the cigarette between my lips without even thinking twice and took her own drag.

“C’mon, Baby. It’s called negotiation.” I said in return, tucking away the Aviator sunglasses. Red lighting casted over our faces. Here, as Dionne smoked, orange flames of the cigarette burned forward.

“Be grateful that you’re still useful in my corner right about now. How’s everything back home?” she tucked the cigarette between the still nimble fingers of her healed left hand.

“I don’t have a home anymore. After five years, I found out that someone else had moved into my apartment. I’ve been living out of suitcases ever since.” I sighed, giving the truth as a server handed over this tumbler glass of Scotch to me.

Even though we met during one of the yacht parties, I didn’t come from an extremely wealthy family like most of her other guests. At the time, I just lived comfortably in the financial sense and affluent friends had dragged me along.

“Do you need any help finding a new place? I could definitely make some phone calls and hook you up with a real estate agent, Rick.” Dionne asked out of concern and stubbed out my cigarette.

“No, Dionne. I’ll be fine.” I said, trying to remain optimistic.

“All right. Just remember that you know how to find me.” She reminded me as usual. I nodded, understanding that as long as I kept my loyalty in check, she’d do anything to help me out, no matter what.

“How’s Big Poppa handling himself back in The Raft? I heard that he bombed those Flag Smashers right from the comfort of his cell.” I smugly questioned Dionne once more and took another drink of this Scotch.

“First of all, his name is Zemo. Secondly, you’re really late to that news. Thirdly, watch your mouth. Some of his goons could be lurking around.” Dionne trained her eyes on me, but I wouldn’t flinch, unlike Sharon Carter or others my ex crossed.

“Oh, please. I’m sitting across from someone connected to the Power Broker. Zemo’s so-called henchmen might earn chump change now compared to my paycheck, and that’s saying a lot because your ex was a Baron in the Sokovian monarchy.” I gestured between myself and Dionne. She knew that I was right.

“Bitterness looks ugly on you. Get out of my face.” Dionne drank from her own glass of Moscato after answering me.

Fed up, I stood up from the rounded table that we shared and grabbed my jacket, leaving.

She had won this battle, but not the incoming war.

[patrickbowienewman]

My Uncut Love for “Blade Runner: 2049″ Hasn’t Diminished (And Probably Never Will)

It’s been months since Denis (Sicario, Prisoners, Arrival) Villenueve’s sequel to Blade Runner was unveiled to American audiences, and in an unfortunately surprising twist of fate, many of us Yanks didn’t show up to watch it. 

As soon as those first exhilarating trailers struck social media, I fully expected Blade Runner 2049 to be the instant cultural phenomenon Ridley Scott’s original film never was - vindicating Blade Runner’s decades-long crawl from cult curio to global ubiquity, and reviving the moviegoing public’s obsession with replicants, spinners, origami, steaming food truck noodles, and Johnnie Walker sipped from those gorgeously sculpted tumblers.

If you’ll indulge me while I do a little bean counting, Blade Runner 2049 cost in the ballpark of $150 million to make. In those first few weeks of release, audiences eventually bought enough tickets to raise the domestic total to $83 million. This disparity lead many to construe Blade Runner 2049 as a box office bomb and all-around disappointment, even though foreign box office handily netted producing partners Warner Bros., Alcon Entertainment, and Columbia Pictures an additional $142 million. I haven’t a doubt that it’ll break even when the dust finally settles.

At the risk of sounding trite, I’ll assert that matters of business and budget have zero to do with Blade Runner 2049′s cinematic merit, no matter what trades like The Hollywood Reporter might suggest. The essence and quality of any movie need only be valued by the sound and picture flickering from within the big bright rectangle. Everything else is just noise.

When the nerd holiday of Blade Runner 2049′s opening weekend finally arrived, I watched it on the best and largest screen I could, joined by a little fellowship of family, friends and coworkers. The verdict? 

Few would deny that 2017′s timeline has been a non-stop deluge of terror and portent. Everything from politics and national tragedy after national tragedy to my own personal quagmires had left me craving the escape of Blade Runner’s unmistakable brand of sci-fi super-noir. Villenueve’s lavish sequel couldn’t have come along at a better time.

Once a certain father met his long-lost daughter and the movie cut to black and credits, the lights went up. My party went their separate ways, and I sullenly returned to a life bearing little resemblance to the vivid landscapes in which I had swam for three blissful hours of lucid dreaming. 

The best films establish permanent residency in our creative imaginations. We long to inhabit them, even after the theater is empty and the ushers are sweeping stale popcorn away from our feet. 2049 was one such experience for me.

Despite the enormous volume of criticism already generated, I thought I’d offer my detailed take on it anyway.

In an effort to keep this essay wide-ranging and interesting, I’m going to have to spoil much of the narrative. Please watch the movie already, so we can diffuse any risk of ruining the movie’s many delightful surprises...

The advertising campaign for 2049 was brilliant at both enticing hardcore Blade Runner fans with throwbacks to the many things that made that film so iconic and unforgettable, while also giving the curious uninitiated a comprehensive tour of the countless appealing visual and thematic qualities that could be enjoyed separate any primer or context.

Each trailer seamlessly obfuscated practically every aspect of the plot that had the potential to be a narrative surprise - Except, of course, for the presence/return of a grizzled-as-hell Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford).

I was thrilled to discover upon first viewing that Ryan Gosling’s “Officer K” is himself a replicant - a cop working for icy LAPD Lieutenant Joshi (Robin Wright, unsurprisingly perfect) to snuff out certain older model replicants who managed to slip into lives of anonymity before their corporate overseers put out a product recall.

It’s easy to draw parallels between Gosling’s Officer K and today’s American ICE stormtroopers. 2049′s first onscreen replicant (played with gentle grace by human redwood trunk Dave Bautista) is brutally “retired” by Gosling while a pot of garlic boils on a range top nearby. This jolt of an opening scene deftly introduces us to a robot humbly trying to adopt a simple human life, eking out a peaceful existence in solitude, living off the grid as a protein farmer.

Using Gosling’s K as the button man, Bautista’s character Sapper Morton is brutally gunned down by the technical arm of 2049′s despicable government, crystallizing the black-hearted fascism of this future vision of LA. By the end of the sequence, 2049 manages to both brilliantly depart from and add to Ridley Scott’s established world of monolithic corporations and their mutinous android labor force. 

As a movie obsessive who has always believed Rutger Hauer’s Roy Batty (the antagonist from the first film) had Blade Runner’s most charismatic screen presence AND emotionally involving story arc, the decision made by Villenueve and Ridley Scott to tell 2049′s story through the eyes of a replicant instead of a human is an inspired one.

Gosling’s Agent K is a Good German whose only extra-professional pastime is the oddly touching Stepford-meets-Siri romance he carries out with “Joi,” a holographic fellow AI. Joi adds compelling new layers to 2049′s preoccupation with the line (if we decide there even is one) separating humans from replicants.

According to blind zillionaire industrialist Niander Wallace (Jared Leto, adding another tic-filled personality to his growing gallery of loathsome weirdos), the continued and assured inability of replicants to conceive children is essential to keeping his legions of android slaves subservient. In the world of 2049, Wallace is a sort of God (or Pharaoh, as his incredible pyramidal fortress seems to signify), and replicants who reproduce of their own free will would be a mortal threat to this Pharaoh’s monopoly on slavery and world expansion.

The ideas surrounding Wallace are articulated in a violent and disturbing scene that completely repelled me upon first viewing (men’s prodigious violence towards women is a subject I’m frankly exhausted to see dramatized during these dark days), in which Leto pontificates about his ambitions while sterilizing a newborn replicant by taking a knife to her uterus. 

Wallace has built - and continues to expand - an empire to rival Alexander’s, and that God complex seems to have allowed his absurdly grandiose ego to eclipse any considerations of morality or human compassion. He’s a creep.

As Wallace leaves his chattel bleeding and naked in the same spot she was minutes-ago conceived (presumably to be shuttled to some salt mine or brothel "off-world”), Wallace’s personal secretary Luv (an advanced model replicant played by Sylvia Hoeks), sympathetically regards the brutalized woman from a sentry position nearby, tears streaking across her otherwise stoic, painted face. So much is already happening beneath the surface in this film.

Through Luv, Villenueve continues contrasting human characters with scant empathy and monstrous cruelty with replicant characters who have deep reverence for life’s creation and preservation, be that human life or the lives of other replicants.

Luv's attitudes lie somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. A scene-stealer from minute one, Luv is first introduced as an HR cipher sent forth to meet K as his investigation takes him deeper into the halls of power. When she needs to be, Luv is a polite charmer and the world’s most attentive and fastidious secretary, but she can also be an asset when a coroner's head needs to be squashed like a melon, or when the chief of police requires violent interrogation at knifepoint or with shattered glass. 

Luv’s finest moment of effortless aggression might just be her casual drone-bombing of a junkyard Gosling’s K investigates during a crucial sequence - she has a manicurist do her nails on one hand while she fires a volley of mortars via iPad with the other.

The crux of the film is the gradual unveiling of K’s identity, followed by an interesting subversion of what I initially assumed was a fairly predictable twist. K’s chief assignment is to kill the hidden offspring of Rachael (the replicant played by Sean Young in Blade Runner) and the long-absent Rick Deckard (Ford). 

K finally deduces that he may very well be Deckard’s son, which throws his entire code of ethics and sense of purpose into disarray. He goes on the lam from his oppressive LAPD handlers to find Deckard and determine whether this whole “being half human with actual, non-implanted memories” bombshell revelation has genuine merit.

There are several amusing scenes seeded throughout the movie in which Officer K has to take a psychological evaluation or “baseline test” (conducted by an asshole robot, of course). In the early part of the film, K suffers zero identity crisis, so he passes the test with flying colors. But as his case begins to unravel the assumptions he had long held about himself and the system he serves, K’s answers to the robot’s questions become more erratic and threatening to his handlers. 

A transcript of the first test might be worth printing verbatim here...

Interrogator: "Recite your baseline."

K: "And blood-black nothingness began to spin... A system of cells interlinked within cells interlinked within cells interlinked within one stem... And dreadfully distinct against the dark, a tall white fountain played."

Interrogator: "Cells."

K: "Cells."

Interrogator: "Have you ever been in an institution? Cells."

K: "Cells."

Interrogator: "Do they keep you in a cell? Cells."

K: "Cells."

Interrogator: "When you're not performing your duties do they keep you in a little box? Cells."

K: "Cells."

Interrogator: "Interlinked."

K: "Interlinked."

Interrogator: "What's it like to hold the hand of someone you love? Interlinked."

K: "Interlinked."

Interrogator: "Did they teach you how to feel finger to finger? Interlinked."

K: "Interlinked."

Interrogator: "Do you long for having your heart interlinked? Interlinked."

K: "Interlinked."

Interrogator: "Do you dream about being interlinked... ?"

K: "Interlinked."

Interrogator: "What's it like to hold your child in your arms? Interlinked."

K: "Interlinked."

Interrogator: "Do you feel that there's a part of you that's missing? Interlinked."

K: "Interlinked."

Interrogator: "Within cells interlinked."

K: "Within cells interlinked."

Interrogator: "Why don't you say that three times: Within cells interlinked."

K: "Within cells interlinked. Within cells interlinked. Within cells interlinked."

Interrogator: "We're done... Constant K, you can pick up your bonus.”

- - 

Such is the cross the obedient replicants of 2049 need to bear.

The movie is long and weighty, but never a chore to watch or difficult to follow. If memory serves, top-billed Harrison Ford (as iconic replicant killer Rick Deckard) doesn’t even appear onscreen until two hours in, but his applause-worthy arrival enhances the movie without drawing any interest away from Officer K. Once Gosling’s investigation brings him to the doorstep of Deckard’s booby-trapped casino hideaway (itself contained in a stunningly radioactive, vacant and dust-caked future vision of Las Vegas), the movie’s costars initially face off as adversaries before finally forming an uneasy partnership to speak truth to power, and - on a more human level - reunite Deckard with his long-lost progeny.

I suppose it’s in this last stretch of the film that director Denis Villenueve’s soul bares itself in a way that distinguishes this new film from its famous predecessor. Instead of culminating in any kind of epic conflict affecting global change, or placing the replicant vs. tycoon class war center stage, the movie narrows its focus on what Gosling chooses to do as he contemplates whether he is human or not, and what the distinction really means to him.

The finale’s centerpiece is a vicious physical contest between replicants K and Luv on the shores of future LA’s “Sepulveda Wall,” where a spinner/prison transport vehicle has crash landed and sinks gradually into an onslaught of crashing waves. As the warriors clash nearby, a handcuffed Deckard watches patiently and waits for what could just as easily be his demise rather than his salvation. 

By rescuing Deckard from certain death, K liberates himself from his previously programmed destiny, as well as any selfish baggage we can agree is very key to the human condition. Lying in the snow, bleeding out in 2049′s poignant final moments, K finds peace in having healed the only part of the world he could.

I couldn’t end a review like this without tipping my hat to the genius DP Roger Deakins, who I would insist is as much an author of 2049 as Villenueve or Ridley Scott. It was wise to select a cinematographer whose visual ambition matches the subject and content of a movie so epic and complex, and the result - hyperbole be damned - is one of the most gorgeous movies I’ve ever seen. 

In a movie designed from the ground up to convincingly plunge us into an endless procession of jaw-droppingly unique and visually stunning environments, Deakins never fails to precisely, carefully discover inspired new ways of capturing the work of his similarly gifted production designers, costumers and effects artists. If there’s one aspect of 2049 that would be obvious to anybody from frame one, it’s the confident belief that the visual experience of the movie ahead is going to be unmatched and unprecedented.

“Blockbusters,” which I suppose describe any kind of film made with a large budget, featuring movie stars and wielding all of the trappings necessary for worldwide distribution, can be a tiresome proposition for those of us that consume movies frequently and ask a little more from the cinema experience than some of our less-discerning peers.

Blade Runner: 2049 accomplishes everything movies of this scale and pedigree tend to attempt, does so with perfection, and then reaches for (and attains) even higher levels of technical, narrative, and performance ambition. This truly is a tentpole Harrison Ford action movie that is also without question an “art film,” entertaining from the surface to the core, and dense with subtext, intriguingly unanswered questions and hauntingly iconic images. It will stand the test of time as all great movies do, and impressively earns its proud place alongside the revered sci-fi film that inspired it.