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lowkeyaesthvtic · 4 years

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Not So Devilish Pirate

Pairings: poly!Sea Three (Harry x Uma x Gil)

Summary: In his own drunken stupor, Harry gets a little bratty towards his captain. He soon learns that is not a good idea.

Word Count: 3,489

Warnings: underage drinking/partying, choking, sub!Gil, brat!Harry, dom!Uma, this is also on AO3 so if you want all EXPLICIT tags then you can check it out there.

Author’s Note: Requested by @theamericanjewitch and follows smut dialogue prompts #8 and #79, prompts will be in bold

The music roared throughout the dorm halls. Pumping like the blood roaring through all of their veins. They never thought that, after the life they had lived so far, they could be so happy. So elated, so excited for what’s to come. So...so...so DRUNK. It started out tame at first, the three of them took a quick shot with all of the other pirates to celebrate not only their admission into Auradon Prep, but the permanent banishing of the barrier and their successful attempt at getting all of the pirates roomed in the same hall. Then, music started playing, pirates started playing ‘Vodka Pong,’ and the next thing they knew, Uma, Harry, and Gil were getting pretty close to shit-faced.

Due to her incredibly high tolerance for alcohol, Uma doesn’t change much when she’s drunk. She may slur her words a bit or stumble on a stair step, but her mind remains relatively normal other than a pretty large increase of confidence. Anybody who thought that Uma was arrogant on the Isle likely got said impression because they either let Mal’s rumors about her stick in their head or their first meeting with her was while she was drunk. When Uma’s drunk, she truly sees herself as the walking sea witch goddess that Harry and Gil (mostly Harry) make her out to be on a daily basis. She can be found proudly dancing and singing on tables or challenging anybody and everybody to a shotgunning contest. Drunk or sober, she’s always young and wild, but when she’s drunk..she finally feels free.

Contrary to most of the Lost Revenge crew, Gil doesn’t drink very often. He either doesn’t like the taste, doesn’t see a reason, or just isn’t in the mood for it. The bad news about this is that it causes such a low tolerance that the pirates never let it go. The good news? Gil is the best person to be around when you’re drunk. Either he’s sober and helps you get home safe or, if he’s drunk with you, he gets 100 times more protective and compassionate. At drunken times like this, you’ll find Gil stopping fights between the pirates, hyping up his partners as they engage in their own alcohol-driven stupor, or cheering up the crying drunks in a nearby bathroom.

But Harry? Harry gets horny and bratty as all hell.

The three pirates were happily dancing in the middle of a joyous, chaotic clump. Uma swayed her hips, singing and laughing with her boyfriends sandwiching her. Normally, it’d be way too crowded for her taste. But tonight was a celebration, one that they’d never get to experience fully ever again. She flipped her long hair behind her and let any kind of problem fall away as she grabbed Gil’s hands and raised his arms to the air, waving them around. Harry danced behind her, taking in every curve and sway he saw. It was already enough that he saw her as this goddess with no physical flaw in sight on a normal day. But with the alcohol flowing through his veins like blood, it was hard to keep his hands off of her. He placed his hands on her hips and leaned in close, hoping she’d be able to hear him over the bumping music. “I hope you don’t mind me getting this close, Captain.” He whispered, leaving a couple of small pecks up her neck and looking up to Gil with a seductive smirk.

“Of course I don’t mind, especially when it’s the two of you.” Uma answered, leaning her head back against his chest as she began to grind her hips a bit closer to his. She took Gil’s hand and pulled it so he was mere inches away from her. With a grin, she pulled Gil in for a passionate, heated kiss. Their tongues quickly intertwined like a gorgeous pirate’s knot as Harry could do nothing but nibble Uma’s earlobe as his pants began to grow tight. Usually, it’d be easier for Harry to contain himself in public settings like these. But, with the rum flowing through his veins so rapidly and Uma and Gil looking as beautiful as they did, it didn’t take long for Harry’s fingers to find their way around Uma’s neck. His long digits roamed across her skin like a hand eager to turn the page of an old book. In response, Uma quickly turned around and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“You know the rules, Harry. No playing in public. Get control of yourself.” Harry quietly whined as he began to move his hand back down to her hips. As he lingered, however, a smirk spread across his face as his hand trailed up Uma’s thigh.

“Why don’t you make me, hm?” The pirate chuckled as he placed his hooked hand under Uma’s chin, tilting it up as he leaned in for a heated kiss. Before anything could get too passionate, however, Uma moved to his ear to whisper once more as she nibbled on his earlobe.

“What did you just say? Don’t forget who’s in charge of you.” She let the words flow smoothly from his ear to his mind. Harry loved belonging to his Captain. But at the end of the day, he was a villain kid. He was a rebel. He did like to stir her up every once in a while. Sometimes, Uma didn’t mind that. But if she were to let go of her power over him, it’d be on her terms. He knew that.

“You heard what I said, Uma. You want me to control myself so badly...why don’t you make me?” Harry snuck his fingernails into Uma’s thigh, leaving tiny little marks that would be there the rest of the night. Uma huffed out a quiet, evil laugh in response as she grabbed both Harry and Gil’s free hands, leading them away from the party.

The three of them stopped when they found an abnormally large closet. Once the light was turned on, the male pirates were shocked to find all of Uma’s special toys that she had previously kept on the Isle, along with some new ones they hadn’t used before. Gil stood slightly confused but excited at the idea of a hot round with his loves. “Not that I’m complaining, but what are we doing in here?” Uma almost immediately pinned Harry against one of the empty shelves of the closet, quickly snaking her hand around his throat and putting it in a tight grip.

“If you’re going to act like a little brat then I’m going to treat you like a little brat. Strip. Now.” Uma hissed, seething with a sensual anger that made Gil’s pants grow tight. Harry slowly obliged, attempting to tease the pirates while still obeying his Captain’s order. Gil ate up every bit of it, taking in every pale crevice of Harry’s chest and nearly falling to his knees with hunger once Harry presented his thick cock. It was sexy for Uma, too, but she wasn’t thinking about that nearly as much as she thought about the punishment she was about to give him. “Good, now turn around. Hands on the top of the shelf, do not move them.” She barked to Harry before turning gently towards Gil. “Sunshine, can you hand me the red leather paddle from the black box? Our little devil needs to be punished.”

“Of course, Captain. Can I...um..”

“Spit it out, sunshine.”

“Can I watch? Please? I promise I’ll keep quiet.” He whimpered, looking hungrily at the both of them. He wanted that cock all inside his mouth, but he knew his Captain had other plans. Maybe if he could watch quietly, she’d let him have a reward. After all, it was only Harry that was acting bratty, right?

Uma smiled and pointed to an empty spot beside her and Harry. “Sure, sunshine. Kneel over there and you can watch all you want. But keep quiet, alright? I may need your help with our little brat here.” Gil walked over to Uma with the paddle in his hand, then knelt down on that empty spot beside the two of them after handing it to her. Harry waited in anticipation, his naked body slightly shivering from the cold air in the closet. But he didn’t worry about the cold air too much, he knew he’d be warming up any moment now.

“A little bit of leather? Is that all you got?” He whispered out, his inner brat craving as much sensation as possible. His craving was suddenly satisfied as the paddle hit his back with a strong wack, leaving a sting on the area. Uma left little time for any more of his bratty remarks as she came back with another, and another, and another. Each smack on a completely different area of his backside, all increasing in intensity. With each hit of the paddle, Harry’s breath got heavier and his cock grew harder, leaving him near uncomfortable with his own arousal.

“You would want the wooden paddle, wouldn’t you? You dirty..dirty boy. The idea of a punishment is that you’re not supposed to enjoy it. I bet you’re wanting something more, aren’t you?” Uma cooed as she snaked her hand around and glided it down Harry’s chest to grip his rock hard cock. At her touch, Harry near bucked his hips into her hand, hoping she’d pump and stroke it fast enough to drive him mad. As quickly as her hand gripped it, Uma took her hand away and gave his ass another smack with the paddle. As she revelled in his pained hiss, she glided the leather down his back as she spoke. “Look at you, grinding against everything, you’re really desperate for it. Aren’t you? Normally, I’d let our little ray of sunshine here suck you dry. But, you had the nerve to break our rules.” Uma swiftly turned Harry around, his body near weak and limp from her touch. She pinned him up against the shelf, his naked cock lightly brushing her clothed bliss. He leaned his head back in a whine, begging to do more, to feel more.

“Uma, please. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. Just give me something. Please.” He gasped, tempted to run a finger along her beautiful braids. But, at this point, he couldn’t risk getting punished even more than he already was. Uma scraped her nails along his chest, leaving long, red marks. She moved her hand up towards his face, but misled Harry as she put away the paddle on the shelf behind him.

“Alright. I’ll give you something. Go stand against that pillar over there. Face me. Hands around the pillar behind your back.” She ordered, smirking as he eagerly followed. Uma looked down at Gil, hoping he didn’t feel forgotten or ignored as she focused on her devilish brat. He felt nothing close to ignored. His breath was hot and heavy and his pants clung tightly to his stiff cock. He loved to watch, especially his captain and first mate. Seeing Harry’s naked body tighten and turn red with every smack of Uma’s paddle made him near dizzy with pleasure. “You can stand up, Gil. We’re gonna give our brat here a little show.” Like an obedient dog, Gil stood right up and waited for what was to come. His eyes grew wide when he saw Uma pull a pair of black fuzzy handcuffs from the shelf behind him.

“A-are those for me?” He gulped. His last experience with bondage was ecstasy, but in his drunken state, he didn’t know if he’d be comfortable with something so physically restrictive.

“Oh, no. These are for him.” She sweetly spoke as she walked over and cuffed Harry to the pillar he was wrapped around. “Now I know you won’t be able to touch yourself. You’ll come when I tell you to, not any moment before. So lean back, relax, and enjoy the show.” Harry used every drop of will in his body to hold back any whines or groans, knowing that they’d only piss her off even more and make the punishment longer. All he had to do was lean back, watch the show, and keep quiet. It’d be like watching porn, right? Just porn without any masturbation. Easy. Simple.

Nope. Not easy. Not simple at all. Harry watched longingly as the two quickly engaged in another passionate kiss. This one was rougher, more heated, and filled to the brim with lust. Uma slowly removed her jacket and top, letting them fall to the floor as she revealed her ocean blue bralette to the blonde-locked pirate. She tilted her head to the side, giving him access to her neck as she swiftly took off his brown leather vest and orange tee. Gil took this access to his advantage, branding her brown skin with multiple nibbles and love bites. Gil leaned his head back and let his jaw drop just slightly as Uma began to leave hickeys on his chest, slowly snaking lower and lower. He was so needy. Needier than anybody could ever be. And since he behaved, he was going to get exactly what he wanted from his Captain. With swift and efficient hands, Uma took off his belt and threw it to the side as she knelt down and took off his pants. Gil’s cock sprung up eagerly, longing to be engulfed by Uma’s beautiful mouth.

There was something so beautiful to Harry about seeing Uma on her knees. Something so unbelievably about seeing her immediately devour his boyfriend’s cock, leaving long licks along the veins as she bobbed her head up and down. Gil was already drifting into a dizzy euphoria as her warm mouth took him in. If Harry were in his position, he’d be reaching his hand down to grip Uma’s braids tightly, begging her to go faster. But Gil could never do such a thing. Unlike Harry, Gil was never one to break his Captain’s rules on purpose. Harry and Uma both loved him for that. They felt a little guilty at first, seeing that they had someone they could constantly make putty in their hands. But after a while, they realized that letting go and doing whatever they told him to was what made him feel so great. Because it was Harry and Uma telling him to do it, and he loved them.

Due to his drunkenness, it didn’t take very long for Gil to explode inside Uma’s mouth. He reached his peak quickly after enduring the hellish heaven that was Uma’s warm mouth and wet tongue. She quickly swallowed every last drop and stood up, looking admirably at Gil as she did so. “Are you okay? Do you want me to get you water real quick? Harry can wait.” Through his high, Gil looked behind Uma at his raven-locked boyfriend. Harry had been practically humping the air, rubbing his thighs together at an attempt to get some sort of friction. Gil chuckled and shook his head, his smile peeking through amidst his post coital high.

“No he can’t.” He said, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the poor, horny pirate across from him. Uma jokingly rolled her eyes and gave Gil a small kiss on the cheek before walking over to where Harry stood. God, he was a mess.

Harry eyed Uma’s near naked form up and down, taking in the way her curves were locked into the ocean blue underwear she wore. If he could get out of the cuffs she’d place him in, he’d find a way to indulge her right then and there. A small whine slipped through his throat and off his lips as his mind raced with thoughts of how Uma looked under the clad fabric. “God, you are killing me.” He said.

“You’ll get what you need soon. But first, I need you to admit something.” Uma tightly wrapped her fingers around Harry’s throat, forcing his head back against the pillar. “Admit that you’re a brat. Admit you’re a brat and promise that you’ll never break one of my rules again.” Another pained moan left Harry as he felt his head slightly dizzy itself from Uma’s grip, a feeling he worshipped. But not as much as he worshipped his Captain.

“Please, Captain. I’m a brat and I swear on my life I’ll never disobey you again. Please, Captain, I need you.” His voice rang out despite being hushed by the beautiful brown confine around his throat. At this point, Harry would do absolutely anything to get inside his Captain. Her mouth, her glistening sex, it didn’t matter. Uma, both proud of her submissive beauty and excited for what was to come, smiled sweetly and sauntered behind Harry to undo his restraints.

“See, baby boy, was that so hard?” She gently took Harry’s hands and led them to a desk in the back of the closet. She propped herself onto the desk and slowly spread her legs open, showing the small glisten that had been growing on her underwear. She was needy too, and now that Harry’s punishment was over, she could finally show it. Harry immediately cupped her face as he kissed her with all the fire he could. He missed the feeling of her skin against his. He longed for the feeling of her hand gripping and tugging at his hair. As he slowly broke the kiss, he looked down at the lacy, blue pair of underwear screaming to be removed and tossed to the side.

“Can I take these off, Captain?” He asked quietly, scared the question would cause another punishment. Uma smiled and placed her fingers under his chin.

“Don’t be shy, Harry. What’s my name?” Harry smirked as he ran his hands slowly up her smooth, naked thighs.

“Uma, please.” He spoke her name like he was praying to a shrine. With a nod from Uma, he slowly removed the underwear and brought the tip of his cock closer to her. The shine from her wetness entranced him more than any drop of alcohol ever could. He leaned down to mark her neck as he slowly entered her, wrapping himself in her ecstasy. Moans escaped them both as Harry started to thrust in and out of her, each movement heightening the pleasure even more. Their moans and slowly quickening breaths began to fill the closet, likely letting people at the party know exactly what was going on in this dim, abnormally large closet.

Mere minutes pass before Harry’s pace picks up to a rough thrusting. Uma’s fingers are permanently interlocked in his hair, gripping and pulling at it as a form of praise for his perfect pleasure. Uma used her other hand to stabilize herself on the desk as she leaned her head back and lost herself in Harry’s thick, pounding cock. As she began to near her peak, she pulled Harry’s head down to lock his eyes with her as she attempted to speak through her persistent moans. “God, Harry, I’m close. Come for me, baby. Come for me like you know who’s in charge.” It didn’t take long for Harry to obey that order. He thrusted into her rough and deep, making sure she came hard and long before pulling himself out of her. His orgasm came powerfully and fast as he let his release cover Uma’s chest and stomach, screaming out her name like he knew she wanted.

Harry leaned up to the closest shelf, attempting to balance himself despite the dizziness and wobbliness of his legs. For just a moment, the two stayed in their spots filling the room only with the sounds of their breaths. “Wait...shit..there’s no towels.” Harry muttered as he finally caught his breath. Uma’s eyes widened as she realized the situation the two were stuck in. They both looked at each other, hoping their minds would click on a solution. Then, as if they were psychically connected, the pair landed their eyes on Gil. By now he had fully redressed himself, and was knelt down on the ground once more, watching it all go down.

“Hey, Gil, there’s a bathroom somewhere down and on the right. Do you think you could bring us some towels?” Like an energized bunny rabbit, Gil jumped up to his feet and smiled.

“Yeah, sure. Do you guys need anything else? You two are going to need some serious aftercare.”

The two laughed as they noticed the other’s exhausted euphoria. Uma locked eyes with Harry as she responded. “We can go back to our place if you guys want to. We’ve got blankets and water and stuff. And I could use a shower.”

Harry had trouble holding back a low chuckle as he replied. “Mind if we join in?” To which Uma narrowed her eyes and regained enough to throw a seductive glare at the not-so-devilish pirate.

“Only if you do as you’re told.”

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merryfortune · 4 years

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A Fear Unfounded

Ship: Forte/Margaret

Fandom: Rune Factory 4

Word Count: 2,004

Tags: Love Confessions, Light Angst, OOC

Forte was stunned when she arrived at the lake to the west of town. Margaret seemed to relish her surprise as Forte, clinking armour and swishing dress and picnic basket and all, drew in closer to where Margaret had set up not a camp but a picnic.

She looked the perfect picture of hedonism, sprawled out as it were on a check stripe blanket, light and cottony with interlocking colours of white, pastel pink, and cherry red. She also had a woven straw picnic basket nearby, as well as her lute, all entwined with flowers and her love of music. She laughed blithely when Forte lugged her own basket towards her at the glistening lake’s edge; delicately so, her delicate hand in front of her lips.

“I couldn’t stop Kiel; the moment I mentioned that you wanted to go on a picnic, he insisted on making some treats for me to share with you.” Forte sheepishly explained as she knelt down awkwardly and joined Margaret on the picnic blanket.

“Now we definitely have enough to feed an army.” Margaret joked.

“As Selphia’s sole knight, I will certainly prove that. I won’t let a single morsel go to waste.” Forte sounded as though she were taking some grim vow upon saying that but her earnestness only amused Margaret further.

It also endeared her further. That was her ever so serious Forte, alright. She wouldn’t have this young woman any other way.

“May I?” Margaret asked once the moment had cooled off from the japes and the like.

“Of course.” Forte replied and she let Margaret have at her picnic basket. Meanwhile, almost gluttonously, Forte made her move on Margaret’s picnic basket. She glanced back towards the elf. “May I?” The words barely left her mouth, she was near soundless as her hands grappled the vine-stricken handle.

“Yes, of course.” Margaret replied

“Thank you muchly.” Forte beamed; even her happier expressions grave.

Margaret was quick to find cupcakes stocked in Forte’s larder of a picnic basket. She was all to overjoyed to peel back the waxy casing and eat it. The plush cake’s sweetness danced on her tastebuds and was quick to disappear as Margaret had a swift appreciation for the flavour of it.

“Simply scrumptious!” she crooned, clasping her cheek in her hand, crumbs splayed over her chubby cheeks. “My compliments to the chef.”

“Kiel will be pleased to hear that, though let’s pray that he doesn’t develop an ego over it, I adore him but I’m certain he would be insufferable.” Forte smiled.

“All boys - even men - are like that though but I truly do love Kiel’s baking, it is a very narrow second to Porcoline; he will be an excellent chef once he matures a bit more.” Margret continued to gush.

“Yes, I agree.” Forte murmured, head dipping slightly as she contemplated whether the accent taste to the egg sandwich that she had taken from Margaret’s picnic basket was mustard or not.

Unlike Margaret, Forte has opted for a savoury option first. She thought it was gauche to have sweets before something decent, but for once, not to protect her image. Margaret knee her too well for that which was why she could eat freely, without prettiness or essential etiquette making that maybe the order of food eaten didn’t really matter. But it was probably, no, almost certainly, mustard in her mashed egg sandwich which really was delectable.

“It’s a splendid afternoon, don’t you think?” Margaret asked Forte quietly.

“It is. Your foresight to pick today of all days for this get together is impeccable, Margaret.” Forte said.

“Thank you. I did put a lot of thought into it. I chose today because it’s still summer but is nicely on the cusp of autumn, making for beautiful sunshine and crisp weather without being painfully warm.” Margaret explained; her face drew lines of concern. “I worry about you in summer, seeing you in all that armour. I understand why but still. I worry.”

“I know but my constitution is vast.” Forte assured her.

That bittersweet grimace didn’t disappear from Margaret’s face. That, in turn, concerned Forte. Margaret’s fist clenched by her side and Forte suspected that this wasn’t the saccharine outing which she thought that she had been invited out onto. It was just like Margaret to play games like this; to set the mood right, create a lull of false sense of security so that she may exploit emotional and conversational vulnerability. She didn’t like open confrontation, after all, as it was too violent for her. And it was just like Forte to fall straight into such a social faux pas of a trap. That was how she played Margaret’s games, after all. After all, she didn’t like underhanded means of working out aggression, preferring the simplicity which came with the swing of a sword against a foe.

“I want to support you and your endeavours as a knight, but I worry about you.” Margaret said.

“Fear not. I am strong.” Forte said with her chest puffed out. It wasn’t a boast, she possessed far too much humility to boast but it was not arrogance to be rightfully confident as her abilities as a swordswoman were without match, in Selphia at least.

“I know. You are very strong but...” Margaret murmured. “But I’ve been thinking, with Frey as our acting princess, I fear that your glory is tarnishing as more people rely on her rather than you to keep our town safe. You patrol every night and just looking at you fills people with ease. People who are not me, at least.”

“Margaret...” Forte didn’t know how to reply to that.

“You work tirelessly, thanklessly. At least I, when I busk or when I perform at Porcoline’s, I get tipped but no one ever does so much for you.” Margaret continued.

“I don’t mind. I don’t need to be paid or thanked. My pride is all that I need.” Forte gently rebuked Margaret.

“I can wait endlessly, you know, but can you?” asked Margaret, tears shimmered in her eyes.

Her sudden shift in conversation caught Forte off guard. “Can I wait for what?”

Margaret was silent. Thinking. Grimacing. The sunlight overhead seemed far too sharp, all of a sudden, with an unbearable heat gracing them thickly. Yet a breeze blew around them, cooling them, nonetheless. It rustled the leaves of the trees and the grass too, toyed with their hair as Forte waited for Margaret to come to some explanation both in her head and in her voice.

“Elves are very long lived compared to other humans...” Margaret murmured. “But normal humans are so short lived compared to Elves. I can wait, wait for you to retire so that I don’t have to worry about you being injured, or worse, but can you?”

“Margaret, I do not follow what you’re asking of me.” Forte sounded like her heart was breaking, she was fighting back tears.

“I love you, Forte.” Margaret confessed empathetically, placing a hand on her breast.

Forte’s eyes widened as the words continuously rang through her head like an echo. Over and over. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“Oh.” she murmured, gaping, really.

Margaret looked away from Forte, “I love you now, I know I will love you in many years to come, but I just fear that our circumstances might keep us apart. I find it unideal, to merely pine for you until your duties are done.”

“Why… Why do you think my duties as a knight have to be concluded for us to be together?” Forte asked.

“Selfishness, mostly. I can’t distract our most dependable knight, after all.” Margaret was lying; though, there was likely a nugget of truth in what she had said, the way more tears streamed down the side of her face betrayed her. She pawed at them, hopeless. “You were an illicit affair, yes? Your mother had Kiel at an advanced age, compared to you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry for your losses. Even all this time later, I am.” Margaret said. “But from them, I assumed that it was wrong for a knight to show that much emotion, attachment to people like that. I thought a knight, especially one as prominent and dear to us as you, were expected to uphold all values and virtues, including chastity.”

Her explanation followed to reason. The underlying implication that Margaret perceived Forte as just and noble flattered her. But it was in that explanation that Forte saw where her dear companion faltered. Ever sure of her perceptions of her the world, it took a lot to convince her of contrary evidence and the like, completely unlike another elf who shall not be named, Margaret prided herself on the vision she carried and sometimes exerted over others.

“Whilst it is true that a knight ought to be a paragon of virtue, there is no rule disallowing fraternising with the general populace. We have codes of honour for that too, my lady.” Forte told her.

Margaret prickled to hear that, her lips pursed in surprise. It appears that she had wasted tears but Forte thought otherwise. She leaned in and wiped away what remained of those shed tears in Margaret’s forget-me-not coloured eyes. She smiled gently beneath her choppy and blunt fringe.

“Thank you kindly for your consideration but you are mistaken, I am afraid. Your observations, whilst keen, have misled you. Though I will admit, I find it rather romantic that you are certain that you could wait for me but fortune smiles on your field, you do not have to wait a single second longer for me if you wish to court me.” Forte told her.

Perhaps Margaret should have been embarrassed for coming to such conclusions, but she wasn’t. Only relief coloured her cheeks pink as she found her empathetic reply, replying with her whole chest.

“I truly don’t want to spend a second longer, Forte, thank you, I love you.”

Her words were sweet but her kiss sweeter. She caressed Forte’s face as she kissed her so swift to cross the middle of the picnic blanket, over the basket and over the distance of all those years alone that Margaret had envisioned would divide them, so lonely.

Margaret kissed Forte ardently. Her passion was dulcet, and Forte could not crave it more. Margaret’s kiss was divine. Experienced and yet new; for the first time, in a way. Forte became intoxicated on the floral perfume which drifted around her lover. Her lover. It felt sublime to acknowledge that, even quietly in her own mind, as she was kissed. She felt as though she had become a new woman with a renewed sense of what she heroically owed her dear hometown.

Forte broke the kiss. She wished very much that she didn’t have to but alas, she needed breath. But this was a breathlessness like she had never known before. She often felt satisfied with how she painted after a particularly challenging round of training, but this was different. Though it did set her heart racing, quite similarly. No, this was something more tender than steel blades and broken hilts. It was more precious, like flowers and cakes. She smiled though, unguarded and somewhat grateful.

“I really enjoyed that, Meg.” Forte said.

“I did too.” Margaret chortled. “Though you tasted like mustard and egg salad.”

Forte blushed. “My apologies.”

“You’ll just have to fix that then.” Margaret told her, both playful and uppity. So, on Forte’s behalf, she retrieved another cupcake from the picnic basket bearing sweets.

Forte received it graciously and without her usual, and forced, bellyaching. “I suppose I shall.” She then sank her teeth into the treat.

She smiled a little wider, a little bigger, as she ate the cupcake. Seeing that made Margaret happier than Forte could know, but what made her happiest of all was knowing that this was all happening in the present. And not some precarious far off future. It was good, even great, she thought, to enjoy things in the moment.

#rune factory 4 #rf4 #forte (rf4)#maragret (rf4)#forte x margaret #margaret x forte #writing tag #i might have some more rf4 fics up my sleeve depends #i've only beaten arc 1 lol

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pass-the-bechdel · 5 years

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Marvel Cinematic Universe: Doctor Strange (2016)

Does it pass the Bechdel Test?

No.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Two (16.66% of cast).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Ten.

Positive Content Rating:

Three.

General Film Quality:

A mediocre story that mostly relies on its special effects in order to appear interesting.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel:

The only time that Christine and The Ancient One share the screen is when the latter is unconscious and dying, so the failure here is particularly unsurprising. For that matter, you could even argue that ‘The Ancient One’ isn’t much of a name for a named character to have...

Female characters:

The Ancient One.

Christine Palmer.

Male characters:

Kaecilius.

Stephen Strange.

Billy.

Nicodemus West.

Etienne.

Jonathan Pangborn.

Mordo.

Wong.

Daniel Drumm.

Dormammu.

OTHER NOTES:

Kaecilius produces two blades simultaneously for the beheading of the librarian, but the head is removed in a single slice, which means that one of those blades was being waved around purely for the Cool Points of dual-wielding. All about that aesthetic.

Someone sure did enjoy Inception, huh?

Remember that thing about how Iron Man balanced Tony Stark’s initial self-absorbed asshole behaviour really well with his journey to heroism in order to make him palatable enough to watch in the first place? Strange categorically does not get that treatment. He’s just an egotistical jerk who is tedious to watch, and while his arrogance is variously addressed by other characters, him going through an emotionally redemptive process is presumed by the script rather than actually being included.

If they really, really wanted Benedict Cumberbatch for this role, I feel like they should have just allowed him to be a British doctor living and working in the States. The guy cannot do accents.

My sister saw them filming the scenes in the streets of Kathmandu. Small world.

I understand that The Ancient One was an Asian man in the comics, and while I applaud the decision to make the character female in this film (especially considering that the only other significant female character is the awkwardly-included personality-lite love interest Christine), they shoulda done it without the white-washing. Tilda Swinton is great, though.

...Mister Doctor.

in an altogether lacklustre film, The Ancient One’s final moments are a highlight.

Also a highlight: the reverse destruction in Hong Kong, a much better use of the bountiful reliance on special effects in this movie, where so much of it previously had been empty spectacle.

So, let’s talk a bit about that well-known writing rule: Show, Don’t Tell.

While this movie certainly does a lot of showing in the showy sense of the word - the frequently-empty spectacle of special effects as mentioned above - that’s not the type of show from whence story comes, and it leaves the thin plot to be almost exclusively told, without active support in the content of the film. Having characters charge around in the mirror universe doing weird spatial warping shit may be visually entertaining enough to hold the audience’s interest (at least the first time around), but it doesn’t help us to comprehend any aspect of the plot, its rules, what drives it, what matters, etc. It’s just...empty spectacle. Doctor Strange doesn’t pretend to be complex or deep storytelling outside of that anyway, and that’s ok insofar as there’s no reason it has to be or even should be, but what it is, when you set that spectacle aside, is...kinda nothing?

The game of ‘recount the plot as simplistically as possible’ goes like so: arrogant doctor suffers a seemingly incurable injury, searches for a cure anyway, finds a temple of the mystical arts, learns some mystical arts, fights some rival magicians, thwarts their evil plot, the end. As I’ve noted before, the ability to distill a plot to its simplest form is not in itself proof that the plot is somehow bad or lacking; the question is what does the actual film do to make that simplistic plot work for it? When the answer is ‘...kinda nothing?’, that’s a bad sign, and particularly unfortunate here because the whole mystical arts and magicians and the freakin’ multiverse thing has no excuse for being this boring. As a simplified plot, Doctor Strange still sounds like it could be intriguing, it’s brimming with potential, and yet the only thing it exploits that potential for is an excuse to over-indulge in special effects. It’s a waste of story ideas, to start with, and considering the cast, a waste of actors, too. If you’re not gonna make the most of their skills, you might as well cast a horde of unknowns and save the casting portion of the budget for, I dunno, another gravity-defying skyscraper battle?

It should come as no shock at this point that I’m about to make this about the greatest resource of any story: the characters, both because that’s what I always do, and because damn, did they forget about characterisation being, y’know, a thing you actually have to write into the script? You can cast the greatest actors in the world if you want, and they’ll do their best to make a symphony out of the single note you give them to work with, but even then all they can do is make thin material look its best; they can’t magically generate story action and development in the places where their characterisation should have been. Let’s talk about Kaecilius as an example, because as the plot’s antagonist, he’s the most egregious of the lot: why is Kaecilius the villain? The part where he’s positioned opposite the protagonist characters and their ethos is an indicator, yeah, but why is he there, doing what he’s doing, what are his motivations? The basic answer is that he wants to bring Dormammu and the power of the dark dimension to Earth because he thinks it will bring peace and life everlasting. How do we know he wants that? We’re told so in the dialogue. Why does Kaecilius think this is a good idea? Don’t know. Turns out Dormammu’s bad news, but we don’t know how or why Kaecilius was misled on the subject. Power from the dark dimension is apparently bad news too - we know because we are told so in the dialogue - but why exactly this is and what the consequences are is unclear. We don’t have the information we need in order to understand why Kaecilius turned so severely, why certain rules exist or why they are being broken; everything we know, we know because it’s delivered to us in plain speech, not because we see it demonstrated in the events of the film, and considering that the core of the conflict seems to have come from distrust in The Ancient One’s teachings, it’s pretty ironic that the narrative then expects the audience to know or believe the truth in anything that she or her acolytes utters. If we were shown the truth of it, or at least shown the reasons to doubt or contemplate alternatives, we might be able to build a story out of this, but instead, we get ‘fuck you, it’s like this coz we said so. He has metallic purple eyeliner, isn’t that enough?’

This lack of character building spills out to impact the rest of the characters too, naturally; the criminally-underused Mordo suffers especially as a result, since everything from his reason for coming to Kamar Taj, to his supposed rigid outlook on life, to his disillusionment with the cause, all relies on the audience simply shrugging off the idea of being shown the evidence in behaviour, the influence of the past, how it shapes his perspective in the present, etc, just forgoing anything that could be considered characterisation (and therefore, fodder for character development), and settle for ‘he’s like this: we know because another character said so’. Functionally, Mordo is hardly a character at all, he’s just The Other Guy that Strange sometimes interacts with, and big revelatory moments for him - Strange outing The Ancient One’s use of dark dimension power, Mordo grappling with his shaken faith - fall flat because we haven’t seen why this should matter, why Mordo can’t bring himself to see shades of grey in a situation, why The Ancient One has kept these secrets in the first place etc. The Ancient One herself fairs only marginally better as a character because the only thing we know about her (mostly because we’re told) is that she’s secretive; that said, ‘she’s secretive’ doesn’t work all that well as a sneaky way to avoid actually fleshing out a character, and the fact that instead of having any more meaningful secret revealed other than her power usage (which, again, isn’t that meaningful really because we aren’t shown a genuine reason to attribute it meaning, we just know that the characters are saying upset words about it), The Ancient One simply dies without ever becoming less enigmatic, means that we’re still left with more of a shell of a character than a real one, just the concept of a person, not an actual person with motivations and decisions we are privy to or could understand (and therefore, could judge or attribute meaning).

Strange, at least, is shown to be an arrogant jackass, but, as noted, that personality template is presented in a very cliche manner that - in the context of the MCU - reads much like a Tony Stark knock-off, only without any of the character nuance or developmental arc to pull it off in a palatable or entertaining fashion, and part of that problem is the fact that while Strange’s initial personality is shown, his process of change is...not. Like anything else in the film that should have been dynamic, it’s told to us in words more that it is demonstrated in actions. The earlier portion of the film is somewhat slow and low on intrigue or tension due to the fact that Strange doesn’t know the extent of the world he has become involved with, and he’s wholly occupied with his quest for a cure (though, frustration with his progress or with the fact that none of his training seems relevant to it is pretty light-on, as are any moments of struggle with his own self-interest vs the greater good - Strange’s hands are just a means to an end so that he has a reason to find Kamar Taj, rather than a sustained part of his struggles on a physical, mental, or emotional level). As soon as Strange learns that there’s a bigger battle out there, Kaecilius attacks (very convenient timing), and the story changes gears to launch headlong into its final act, with only time for The Ancient One to tell Strange that this is not about him (though, again, his self-interest has not remained centralised enough nor created continued strife necessary to make this declaration seem revelatory) before Strange is faced with either playing the game, or letting Kaecilius bring Dormammu and end the world. As such, Strange deciding that endless dark dimension torment is a bad thing isn’t really a big forward step (or even a selfless one - he could still be 100% focused on returning to his old life and leaving the multiverse to the pros, he just obviously can’t achieve his own self-interest with Dormammu around). Technically, we never see proof that Strange has given up his old ways, bettered himself as a person, or made any kind of decision that isn’t about his own ego (sticking around to become a universe-saving time-lord sorcerer is, um, a distinct step up the power trip ladder, after all). The idea that this character has actually gone through anything more than a career shift is just kinda assumed, rather than being demonstrated, and consequently, the idea that this is a character worth rooting for now is also, just assumed.

Ultimately, the moral of the story is pretty obvious - ‘show, don’t tell’ doesn’t have to mean ‘never provide exposition to explain anything’, but it does mean that you should try to demonstrate essential things like worldbuilding and characterisation as often as possible, if for no other reason than because letting your audience see that something is so is much more engaging and powerful than just telling them how it is. If all you’re gonna do is tell, you might as well just stick with reciting the plot aloud, it’d be cheaper and less time-consuming, and while it wouldn’t really take advantage of the fact that film is a visual medium, just churning out a bunch of special effects shenanigans without a plot to underpin them doesn’t take as much advantage of that as you might think, either. Imagine what an interesting, dark, twisty film we could have made out of this story if, say, questioning The Ancient One’s teachings (or cleaving to them unflinchingly) had been made a prominent concept, so that rifts in trust and the shaking of core beliefs about the universe were more meaningful developments? Imagine if Dormammu was a more significant idea about which we heard conflicting information from unreliable sources, imagine if we could see how tantalising Kaecilius’ perspective was, if Strange struggled at all with who to believe and how to reconcile his ego with the smallness of his existence in the vast multiverse, etc, etc. Imagine if the plot had some sort of core concept instead of just empty spectacle and placeholder characters. Imagine. What a waste.

#Marvel Cinematic Universe #Doctor Strange #MCU #Bechdel Test #female representation

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