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monicashipslokius · 3 years

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Soulmates, Actually Pt 3

(read Part 1/Part 2)

Soulmates protect each other.

Loki paces the length of the small bathroom, turning after only two steps. On each turn they catch sight of themself in the mirror, as hard as they try not to. They don’t want to see the cowardice marring their own features. They don’t want to face themself, knowing they are standing here in relative safety at the cost of their soulmate’s.

Through the thin walls, Loki hears another pound on the front door. Mobius calls out, “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Loki stops pacing and presses their ear to the bathroom door, straining to hear outside of it.

After the creak of a door opening, Mobius says, “Can I help you?”

“Are you Mobius M. Mobius?” Thor has a weakness for Midgard and its people. Even as he speaks to Mobius now, his voice isn’t quite as booming as Loki is accustomed to.

“That’s me. Are you selling something?”

“I...? No. May I enter?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t. I’m kind of busy, you know?”

“I see,” Thor says. “Wait! I’m looking for someone.”

“Sorry,” Mobius says. The door creaks again, loud, like it tried to close but was blocked by a hard shoulder.

“I must insist,” Thor says, and there’s the booming authority Loki expected. Heavy footfalls step into the apartment. Loki instinctively leans away from the bathroom door. “Do you live here, or is this a closet?”

“Hey, why does everyone think that,” Mobius says, his following footsteps much softer. “My apartment is not that small.”

“It is,” Thor says, blunt as ever, though perhaps his own time on Midgard changed him a small amount, because he immediately adds, “But... nice. Very... brown.” A long, awkward pause. “Seeing this... I feel apologies are in order. I cannot imagine Loki hiding here.”

Loki knows that their usual love of decadent flair is what’s saving them now, but the words still sting. It’s one thing for them to think disparagingly about their new home. It is entirely another for someone else to speak badly of it. Even Thor.

Maybe especially Thor.

“It seems silly now,” Thor says. “I had heard you are their soulmate.”

“It doesn’t seem all that silly,” Mobius says, voice much softer.

“I mean no offense,” Thor says. “Only that you are not their type.”

“Oh? Too old?”

Thor laughs. “Too human. But consider yourself lucky, friend."

"I don't know, I'd think it'd be okay to be the soulmate of a god."

"Not this god," Thor says, and that familiar self-hatred claws at Loki's ribcage from the inside out. They place their hand over their chest, physically pressing down on the feeling, but it does not stop.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mobius clips his words short.

Loki braces themself as Thor continues, "They never stay with anyone for long. They haven’t met a person yet who could hold their interest.”

“Maybe they just hadn’t met the right person,” Mobius says, stronger.

"Right people tend not to hang around my brother. You may have noticed that they are..." Thor pauses and Loki holds their breath. "A villain." Thor, at least, sounds pained to say it, though that is little comfort for Loki.

The word shouldn't hurt them. It is true. Despite their glorious purpose, they will never be seen as a hero, but only ever as the one who stands in the hero's way.

“Or instead," Mobius says, stronger still. Irritation oozes from his words. "Maybe they got so used to being seen as a villain that they started to think that’s all they are.”

The scratching in Loki's chest slows until it ceases entirely. Mobius.

But the calming effect of Mobius's defensive fury does not linger.

Thor holds his tongue a moment, and in that moment, a thick dread buds in the pit of Loki’s stomach. Thor may be oblivious at times, but he is not totally obtuse. And Mobius is angry enough for even him to take notice.

“Have you seen Loki, Mobius M. Mobius?”

“I think you should leave now,” Mobius says.

“So it’s true?” Thor asks, like he still doesn’t believe it. “You are Loki’s soulmate?”

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

“They must be deceiving you. Tell me where they are, and I will take them back to Asgard. Then you will be safe.”

“Loki’s not going anywhere with you,” Mobius says, stupidly brave. Stupidly perfect.

Outside a storm brews. Thunder rumbles the walls, as loud as Thor’s voice. “Do not stand in my way, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“No, you don’t get to order me around,” Mobius says. “You barge into my home and try to kidnap my soulmate. You didn’t even do it at a reasonable hour. We were asleep!”

“I am a god.” Lightning cracks outside the window, the light so bright, it flashes under the door of the bathroom. “You are a human.”

Mobius huffs out a breath. “I’m not giving them up. You’ll just have to kill me.”

Every nerve in Loki’s body, every pulse in their brain, the very breath in their lungs - all scream, No!

The bathroom door flies off its hinges from the force of Loki pushing through. Their daggers are in their hands, their armor has replaced their silk pajamas - there is no room for softness here.

Mobius glances behind him from where he’s standing, blocking the bathroom from Thor in the kitchen. “You broke the door,” Mobius says, entirely too calm for a man who was just about to throw his life away.

“We are going to discuss your blatant disregard for your own fragile life,” Loki tells him, stalking forward to Mobius’s side.

“I had it under control,” Mobius says.

Loki sucks in a deep breath to try to tamper down their roaring rage. “No longer will you risk yourself for me.”

“No, sorry, Loki.” Mobius crosses his arms. “You don’t get to boss me around either. I told you, soulmates protect each other. And that’s that.”

“You stupid, brave, impossible man.”

“Dying for you would be worth it.”

“And what am I to do at that point? Hm? Bid your corpse a fond farewell and move along?”

Mobius startles, like he hadn’t thought ahead that far. “Yeah, I guess.”

If Loki wasn’t holding daggers, they would grip him by the shoulders and shake him. “You have no idea what you are to me. You have no perception of how long I have waited for you. For us. For this tiny little room. For everything we shared last night. And all that we will share.”

Mobius’s eyes widen. “Loki -”

“No, Mobius. You will not be throwing your life away. Not now. Not ever. Not while I have strength enough to hold a blade.”

Mobius blinks. The surprise on his face lasts a moment longer, then softens entirely into fondness. “Let’s go to the store later. Buy some stuff. Spruce this place up a little. We can get a plant or two. And maybe a new bathroom door.”

Loki exhales, and the harshest of their anger slips away. “Only if we also buy you new clothes.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my clothes?” Mobius is smiling now.

Loki almost mirrors it. Until he remembers their thunderous brother occupying the entire minuscule kitchen. Thor seems to lack his usual righteousness. Instead, he looks between Loki and Mobius like he has no idea what to make of them. His mouth hangs open but no sound comes out.

A moment, Thor tries, “Brother, you...” He closes his mouth. Opens it. “You... actually care for this little man?”

Loki’s answer comes easier than even they expected, “Yes.”

“I’m not that little,” Mobius says.

Outside the storm clears away and starlight returns. Inside, Thor lowers his hammer to his side, no longer holding it ready to fight. He stares at Loki for a long moment. “We thought you were dead. We mourned you.”

Loki’s impulse is to argue. They aren’t yet numb to the pain of Odin’s deception. Of Loki’s own monstrous truth.

But instead of drudging forward that pain, Loki draws strength from Mobius beside them. From the comfort of their home. From the promise of buying new drapes and bed sheets.

“I’m not going back,” Loki says, hating the way their voice cracks. Mobius inches closer to their side, and they stand taller.

“You cannot rule Midgard,” Thor says.

Loki glances at Mobius, who gives them a soft smile.

“Mostly,” Loki says, “I want to buy drapes.”

Mobius’s smile widens, and he dips his head, as if to hide it. Loki loses themself in the sight of such softness and warmth, until they remember their brother again.

Thor watches them, his confusion palpable. “This is not at all as father said it was.”

Loki tenses at the mention of Odin.

“A lot’s different since yesterday,” Mobius says. “Dubuque can really change a person, you know?” Mobius winks at Loki, and a fresh wave of comfort rolls through them.

“Yes,” Loki says. “Dubuque.”

“Perhaps I could return without you,” Thor says, confusion shifting gradually into something more sure. “If you hand over the tesseract.”

Loki pointedly refrains from glancing at the coat closet. As, to Loki’s surprise, does Mobius. Surely he had seen them place the scepter within. Surely he could parse together what the tesseract could be.

“You wouldn’t need it to buy drapes.” Thor’s grip tightens on the handle of Mjolnir, but he does not yet raise it again.

Loki’s body tenses like a bowstring. There is no way out of this then, without a fight. “You have no comprehension of its power, brother. Of what I could have, what I could achieve with it in my possession. With what I’ve been promised.”

“Promised?” Thor asks. “Promised by who?”

A chill creeps over Loki’s skin, inch by slow inch. They think of the creatures that invade their mind, that found them when they fell from the Bifrost.

You could have this, they whisper, even now. You are nothing without this.

“Loki?” Mobius whispers. “Are you okay?”

Shaking their mind free from the dark grasp, Loki thoughts travel instead to those same creatures wrapping Mobius in their viciousness. Tearing him down. Exploiting his deepest vulnerabilities.

The cold runs deep, all consuming.

With the tesseract still in Loki’s possession, maybe they could protect Mobius. Or, the opposite. Maybe those creatures will never stop hunting them until Loki finally does as they command.

When it was Loki alone, forgotten and fallen, following the icy commands was no question, when both vengeance and a crown were promised.

But Loki is no longer alone.

To Loki’s surprise, concern covers Thor’s face as well, and he has taken a step closer, hand half-lifted, as if in a halted attempt to reach out to them.

“The tesseract will not bring you happiness, Loki,” Thor says, and motions toward Mobius. “Not in the way your soulmate can. You must make a choice.”

“They don’t have to chose,” Mobius says. “I’m staying with them, regardless of what they want to do.”

“But they must,” Thor tells him. “I will be leaving here with either Loki or the tesseract. I’d prefer to do it without a fight.”

Mobius takes a step forward. “I already told you, Loki isn’t going anywhere.”

“If forced, I will take you both to Asgard,” Thor says.

Loki thinks of Mobius standing before Odin, of all the brave, protective things he would say to the All-Father in Loki’s defense. And Loki thinks of how fast Odin would cut him down, Loki’s soulmate or not.

“No,” Loki says.

Soulmates protect each other.

Loki disappears their daggers, then goes to the closet and draws open the door. They reach through Mobius’s brown suits and retrieve the scepter. It’s cold in their hand.

They could grab Mobius and teleport away. Together, they could go anywhere. Thor would need time to track them down. But they’d have to keep running. They’d never be able to stop.

Loki thinks of Mobius, sweating in the desert. Humans are weak, fragile things. Mobius would not be able to sustain that kind of life.

The scepter, the creatures, whisper to Loki, He will die anyway. Why shouldn't you have more?

"All my life, I’ve been in your shadow,” Loki says to Thor. Thor lifts his hammer, readying for the fight to come. “This is my chance to carve my own path. To find my own throne. The Midgardians are hapless. They are in desperate need of a ruler.”

Loki looks at Mobius and finds him watching Thor, body tense like he intends to jump in the way if Thor were to attack. He will die anyway.

“There is no happiness in the promise of a throne, Loki.” Thor frowns, and after a brief, sideways glance at Mobius, his eyes turn sad. “We have waited the same for a soulmate. You have found yours, while I am still waiting. I ask you, who lives in envy of who?”

A new feeling twists inside Loki - something like... pity? For Thor? No. Impossible. Thor has had a life filled with all of his whims being catered to. Ever the favorite. The favored.

Yet.

Thor has no Mobius of his own.

He will die anyway. But. Not yet. Not yet.

“To be honest,” Mobius says, drawing Loki’s attention. “Humans are kind of a drag. We fight all the time, can’t agree on anything. I know that’s half why you think you can fix it all, but really, it sounds like a bigger headache than it’s worth.” He shrugs. “You and I, we’ll do whatever you want. I’ve got your back 100%. But... if you were King of Earth, do you get any vacation days? Cause I got some places I really want to take you.”

Looking at Mobius, hearing his words, listening to the steady cadence of his voice, Loki warms from the inside out.

“We need to go to the beach. You saw my jetski picture, right?” Mobius turns to Thor. “You ever been on a jetski?”

Thor blinks at him. “...No?”

“You’ll love it. It’s so much fun. Out on the waves, just you and the ocean - with the wind in your hair, and the sun all bright.” Mobius turns his smile back to Loki, and Loki doubts any sunshine could ever be as brilliant as him. “What do you think, Loki?”

The cruel whispers grow dim. Thoughts of, You are nothing without a crown, are replaced with, What worth is a crown without him?

The chill burns away, until the scepter is too cold, too painful to hold.

Loki moves closer to the kitchen. Thor raises his hammer. Mobius hurries forward.

But everyone stops when Loki surrenders the scepter - the tesseract - to Thor. As soon as it is gone from their hand, Loki feels a heavy weight lifted away. The chill leaves entirely, and their mind is silent once more.

“You’ve made the right choice, brother,” Thor says. They lower Mjolnir to the ground to look closer at the scepter.

“Odin will not be pleased when you return without me,” Loki says.

Thor hums. “I will pass along your promise to behave yourself.”

“I made no such promise.” With Loki’s new weightlessness, a small, sly smirk slips onto their lips. It's shaky and unsure, but Thor doesn't mention it.

Thor slides his gaze to Mobius. “I think you will have your hands too full to do otherwise, with how quickly this one throws himself into trouble.” He pitches his voice low. “I like him. He’s small, but brave.”

Pride swells in Loki. They didn’t need Thor’s approval, but having it...

“Mobius M. Mobius!” Thor walks to Mobius and draws him into a tight hug. “Now my brother. I await the day our paths cross again!”

Mobius awkwardly pats him on the back. “Yeah, sure! Sounds great.”

As they break, Loki begins to steer Thor toward the door. Thor looks as if he also wants to wrap Loki in a hug, but thankfully thinks better of it. Instead, he simply says, "We will see each other again."

"We will," Loki says, a promise. And for now, it is enough.

Thor starts forward, when Mobius calls out, “Wait, you forgot your hammer.”

Loki and Thor both turn away from the door, toward the kitchen - where Mobius stands, hand gripping Mjolnir’s handle, holding it up off the ground. He brings it forward and hands it to Thor, who stares at him, mouth agape.

Mobius says, “Surprisingly light?”

Loki bites back a smile. They knew their soulmate was no ordinary mortal.

Thor looks at Mobius like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Only to those who are worthy. You are small in stature, but not in heart, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“Uh, thanks?” Mobius says. Softer, he adds, “I’m really not that small.”

When Thor is gone, with the slightly damaged front door bolted behind him, Mobius turns to Loki and says, “Told you I’d get rid of him.”

Loki reaches out, grabs Mobius by the shoulders, and pulls him into their embrace. They do not let go for a long time.

Mobius holds them back, nose tucked into the crook of Loki’s neck and shoulder. “I would have followed you,” he says, voice muffled. “You want to be king? We’d make it happen. You didn’t have to give it up.”

Loki will tell him of the whispers and the cold, of the dark promises made. Later. “Perhaps another time,” they say. “Plenty of life to find a throne of my own.” Though as the words leave them, they know they are only half true. Plenty of time for Loki. No time at all for Mobius. The creatures no longer whisper in Loki's mind but they still hear their mocking, He will die.

“I was thinking we could get a couple chairs while we’re out.”

Loki can’t help and doesn’t stop their grin, even as their heart aches. “See? My fortune is already changing.”

“I’ll buy you the best throne,” Mobius says. “You ever heard of La-Z-Boy?”

Loki closes their eyes, presses their forehead to Mobius's shoulder, and wonders how, with the cruel inevitability of human mortality, they will ever go on without this man.

#i wrote this #lokius #wowki #loki x mobius #fair warning this is pretty long if you pop open the readmore #ao3 link will come tomorrow #thor /#part 3 of 5 #soulmate au #avengers 1 divergence

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keets-writing-corner · 5 years

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Flaws VS Struggles

Includes minor mentions of

Toy Story

Happy Feet

If you remember, I mentioned in Intro to Character that Flaws and Struggles were frequently confused, and yet both essential for characters. This took a while to get out, but here we go, Flaws VS Struggle and what’s the difference.

Flaws

Ah yes yes. All characters need flaws, but again, Flaws are often confused with Struggle. Unlike Struggle, Flaws are completely static and do not change. They work directly with Strengths. Let’s look at two real life examples.

Extroversion. Known to be outgoing, high level of energy, social, friendly, aka what society usually favors over Introversion. Strengths include again, social, friendly, talkative, which means they’re probably great at working in groups, don’t generally keep information about themselves bottled up and are able to share, and even leaving better first impressions. Now let’s look on the flip side. If people with high extroversion are highly sociable, then they likely don’t like being alone or working alone. If they’re talkative, it could very well be that they don’t know when to stop talking, talk at the wrong times, or even talk over quieter voices in a conversation.

Now let’s look at introversion. This is the opposite of extroversion. Highly extroverted people seek company because that’s where they get their energy. Highly introverted people seek solitude because they get their energy from being alone. Introverts are known for being quiet and alone. Introversion strengths include being creative, being able to work well alone, introspective, being more analytical about the world around them, and oftentimes empathetic. Flaws of introversion include being unable to speak up to contribute an idea in company of louder people, being overly stimulated in large crowds which leads to energy drainage and need to recharge.

You can’t “fix” a person’s introversion or extroversion, it’s just how they are, and how they function. This is how flaws work. Everything in life has a cost, a flip end to it, and the Flaw is just the cost of the Strength. This also applies to physical strengths and weaknesses.

Let me offer a more personal example, on the extreme end of flaw (as in, I’ll be providing an example of something that has a lot more flaws than strengths to it). I have a blood disorder known as Thalassemia Beta Minor. What does this mean for me? At the very basicness of it, it means I’m chronically anemic, aka I get tired faster, and for longer than the average person. This means I have a hard time keeping up with people when it comes to physical activities. I can’t run for as long as most people, an entire day of work will wear me out faster than everyone else, and I’ll be sleepier a lot more often, bordering on mild narcoleptic symptoms. You know what else this means? I have low blood pressure. Sounds great in a world where high blood pressure is a frequent concern, but low blood pressure also has its cost. For one, I get cold a lot faster than everyone else, and it’s hard to warm back up (aka I’m completely intolerant to cold). Also, I’ve passed out before because I stood up too quickly, I always need to watch how slowly I stand up. It’s not the worse disorder a person can have, but definitely annoying. However, it does come with one GIANT perk. I can’t get malaria.

That’s right. You heard me. I can’t get malaria. My blood cells don’t live long enough for the malaria eggs to incubate and hatch, and so they die with my cells.

Similar to “internal” Strengths/Flaws, there’s no really fixing physical Strengths/Flaws either. They’re just kind of there, and it’s up to the character to figure out how to use it.

Now because there’s the whole “CHARACTERS MUST BE FLAWED” thing going around, this will sometimes lead to characters being randomly assigned flaws with no good reason behind them, and will at best be completely unnatural and forced. I will say this once, and probably many times again, but here we go: FORCING THINGS ONTO CHARACTERS IS UNNATURAL AND LEADS TO POOR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. Characters should NEVER have flaws forced upon them for the sake of having flaws. Aka, forcing a character to “be bad at math” for no other reason other than “they need a flaw” is an empty excuse. Why is a character bad at math? Is their brain just on the more creative side of things? It’s more natural and easier to observe a character’s strengths (which seems to be the first thing they get upon creation) and then look at the flip side of that strength.

Struggle

Now let’s look at my favorite (and arguably most important) part of characters, their struggle, and why it’s different from flaws. For starters, struggles are overcome-able unlike flaws which are static. Many stories deal with characters growing and overcoming their struggle. Tragedies are when characters cannot overcome them, and instead succumb to them. Aka, NOT A CHARACTER’S “FATAL FLAW”. A Flaw is a character’s feature, tangent with their strength, a Struggle causes them trouble. The other really important aspect of Struggle? It’s emotionally charged, Struggles make characters experience emotions, often painful ones.

Everyone loves seeing characters struggle because that’s what life is about, struggling, and overcoming them. Struggling is what makes the story real, no matter how many unicorns, and space monsters are in there. Struggles are the fastest ways for audiences to connect with characters, especially if they’ve struggled with what the character has too. There’s a reason that many heroes are orphaned, because loss, or fear of loss, is a universal experience, and immediately endears the heroes to the audience.

And the best part about Struggle? It can be anything. Now, again, *grabs megaphone* DO NOT FORCE A STRUGGLE ONTO A CHARACTER JUST BECAUSE THEY NEED TO STRUGGLE. Look at a character’s story, what makes sense for them to struggle with? For example, say a character experienced a death, now they’re struggling with grief and loss, and everything that comes with it. And here’s the thing about struggling, sometimes, it can’t be overcome, you have to learn to live with it, but it’ll still cause you trouble, like grief. Of course, when I say Struggle can be anything, I mean, it can literally be anything, and consequently has many different categories (and fret not friends! While I’m only glossing over this stuff here, I do have many posts planned for exploring Struggles!)

There are Struggles like Anxieties, Being Different, Grief, Mental Disorders, or even Medical Conditions, these are more about overcoming feelings and emotions pertaining to these struggles, rather than making sure these struggles are solved. (Note 1: Anxiety is a fickle line here, on the one hand, with proper therapy and or character development, it can be overcome, on the other hand it’s still overcome through dealing with the emotions pertaining to it that it still ties in with these guys) (Note 2: Notice that my blood disorder could fall in here, if it’s existence caused me anguish, or negative emotions, which would make it a physical flaw and a struggle. AKA, a flaw can contribute to a struggle. However, I couldn’t care less about my blood disorder and just kinda deal with it at face value, which means I do not Struggle with it).

There are Struggles like having goals, facing obstacles, being bullied. These Struggles are the ones that the source must be overcome in order to overcome the feelings that come with it.

And then, there’s Struggle’s little sister

Immaturity

Immaturity is an off-branch of Struggle. It happens often enough in stories, and is different enough from Struggles and Flaws that I feel like it qualifies as its own thing, while still belonging to both groups (closer to Struggle than Flaw in my opinion, but a case can be made for it belonging more to Flaw). Immaturity is like Struggle in that it’s one of the best and easiest ways characters show growth through overcoming it, but it’s like Flaw because usually it’s not something that actively bothers the character, or a problem they might even realize they have.

When I say Immaturity, I’m not talking about day-dreaming about castles in clouds, laughing at anything related to butts and armpits, and just overall cliché, childish things, because those are usually unique to children (*coughs* usually). When I say Immaturity, I’m talking about traits that show a person’s maturity (“No duh keet”). Aka, a child can be mature and still have childish traits, while an adult can be immature with no childish traits. Confused?

Immaturity in this sense is: Pride, Arrogance, Greed, Self-Righteousness, feeling of Entitlement, Selfishness, Prone to Tantrum/Anger, and Lack of Understanding of Emotions (for self and/or others) to name a few. Easier to understand now how an adult can be immature but not childish, while a child can be mature but childish?

Immaturity is usually where a character experiences growth. Struggle is akin to overcoming, while Immaturity is akin to growth and development. All people (and to an extent all characters) are immature to different degrees. Some people might be more mature than others, but everyone’s got room to grow no matter how mature one is.

Let’s go back to my quick mention of Woody from Toy Story in my Intro to Character post. In the first movie, Woody is selfish and jealous of Buzz. By Toy Story 2, they’re good friends, and the jealousy is gone. Woody matured throughout the movie, and out-grew these traits. Most of Woody’s actual struggles were just obstacles in the way of getting home, and of getting what he wanted. Pixar movies tend to focus a lot more on maturity and immaturity than they do on internal struggles. Which is neither good nor bad (honestly, quite important in this day and age), it’s just how they feel is the best way to tell their stories.

Let’s look at a different movie in which it’s not the main character’s job to mature, but everyone else’s. Happy Feet. Mumble is a remarkably mature character. He is selfless, polite, humble, not vengeful, and overall just a delight to be around. He struggles with being very different from his society who keeps demanding he conform. It’s his society that learns to mature throughout the course of the movie and be more open-minded.

There are multiple ways to use both Immaturity and Struggle in differently, and no single way is the right way. They are also so closely related, that it can be confusing to work with them, and oftentimes is easier to just pick one and stick with it. However, working with both together can lead to a truly powerful character.

#SFW #Can you believe this was going to be way longer?#yeah there was going to be like a part 2-ish thing with this whole analysis of a character #guess I'll be doing that for an analysis post eh?#Ive been meaning to do this post forever now #couldnt before because I was running this for a class #and my posts had...#requirements attatched to them #now Im free to ramble to my hearts content about whatever i want!#Writing #Character #FlawsVsStruggle #Flaws #Struggle #Immaturity #Strengths/flaws

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salmankhanholics · 6 years

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★ Salman on fire - Salman Khan tells t2 what being Salman is all about !

Karishma Upadhyay | December 20th 2017

By the time t2 sat down with Salman Khan on a slightly chilly Monday, it was past 9pm. He said a quick hello when I walked into his spacious blue tent, pitched next to his trailer van at Mehboob Studio in Bandra and immediately launched into his spiel.

“I had never thought we’d have a sequel until Ali (Abbas Zafar, director) told me on the sets of Sultan that he had an idea for a sequel. My first question was: ‘Isn’t this Kabir’s (Khan, director of Ek Tha Tiger) thing?’ I was told that it’s Yash Raj’s property. I really liked the plot. And once that was finalised and everything was in place, we got the best action director (Tom Struthers, who’s worked on Inception and Dunkirk) on board. We needed to make this sequel because we got a phenomenal script which is bigger and better than the first film.

“Yes, the action is also bigger. Our villain (Abu Usman, played by Sajjad Delafrooz) is very powerful, so the hero automatically has to be more powerful. The songs have been appreciated. The promo of Tiger got a lot of likes, so it’s difficult to publicise a film that’s already being publicised by fans. I am really grateful to the fans who have already booked their tickets. Katrina (Kaif) is very hard-working. She has always been,” Salman rattled off even before I had sat down in the camp chair across him.

It’s the week of release for Tiger Zinda Hai, and Salman’s down with a cold. Add to this almost five hours of back-to-back interviews and I thought I was walking into trouble. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Salman, as always, was entertaining. Over multiple cigarettes and half a glass of cola, the star spoke about Katrina Kaif (who also makes a cameo in the interview!) and plans for his birthday (December 27).

The audience loved you as Prem for years (starting with 1989’s Maine Pyar Kiya) and then fell in love with you as Chulbul Pandey (Dabangg). Do you think Tiger has what it takes to be loved by Salman Khan fans?

I think people really liked him in Ek Tha Tiger. Tiger is a Jason Bourne kind of character. He has always put his country and duty above everything else. But this time, he is torn between his love for the country and his family. He is a noble character. I think it’s important to do the right thing always. No matter how tough things get, it’s important to always stand by what is right.

During Sultan there was so much talk about how Ali (Abbas Zafar) pushed you out of your comfort zone. Did he do that with this film as well?

When you okay a script, you don’t need to be pushed to do anything. When I know I have to play this character in Sultan, I have to do everything to be like that character. I remember when foreign wrestlers came to shoot Sultan. They thought I was a wrestler-turned-actor. So, they patko-ed me like crazy. It was only on the last day someone told them that I am not a wrestler but just an actor. They were all so impressed with my moves and form that they asked me how long I had been training. They couldn’t believe I had only trained for two months!

So when you want to do something, you have to give it your all. You can’t be pushed or cajoled by someone. If someone needs to push you to do something, it means you aren’t interested in what you are doing.

[Just then Katrina, who was doing interviews in the adjoining studio, walks in. She’s changed from a green back-less dress into a white tee and paisley shorts.

“Go put some pants on,” Salman jokes when he sees her.

“They don’t look short to me,” Katrina retorts before asking me: “Do they look short to you?”

The Tiger Zinda Hai co-stars, former couple and current friends (?), spend the next few minutes mock-squabbling about the length of Katrina’s shorts.

“Looking at them won’t make them longer,” she says. “So poor you’ve become that you are compromising on clothes,” he adds.

Katrina is done with the promotions for the night and is heading home before going for dance rehearsals. “You’ll wear trackpants or something, right? Or mosquitoes will bite you and you’ll get dengue,” Salman quips with a grin, before adding: “I am not being able to concentrate.”

So, Katrina leaves, in a car. Only to return two minutes later. “Sorry, would you give us two minutes, please...” Katrina asks and the two walk off for a quick chat.

Katrina finally leaves, and I resume the interview.]

Tiger Zinda Hai, like Dabangg 2, requires you to revisit a character. Is that something you enjoy?

I don’t see it as revisiting but rather taking a character forward. Like in the first Dabangg, Chulbul Pandey had a lot of angst. In the second one, he got everyone together. Even in Tiger, the sequel of which comes five years after the first film, he is more mature. He is married and they have a child. When duty calls, he is there but he has more at risk now because he is a family man.

You’ve known Katrina since she was 17. You have pretty much seen her grow as an actor…

… I have seen her grow as a person. Usually people change but I think she’s grown into a beautiful person. That innocence, vulnerability, kindness hasn’t changed at all. She is not manipulative. She doesn’t play games. When you become older, it is possible for experiences to make you cynical but not with her. She is focused towards her work. One beautiful quality is that she appreciates whatever god has given her.

Is that what works for your relationship?

Yeah. I have known her from the first time she came to Mumbai. My mother and sisters are close to her. That relationship will always be there.

That’s lovely! Coming back to your career. When Tubelight didn’t do well…

… Tubelight made shitloads of money! It didn’t do well.…

…on the benchmark that you’ve set.

Ya… people have been saying that it’s a flop! It made 130 crores. I pray that everyone has a flop as big as this. By the way, this happened with Jai Ho as well. With Jai Ho we did 138 crores. This was at a time when people were pricing tickets at Rs 950 and Rs 650 for some films and we priced Jai Ho, on a weekend, at Rs 250.

So it’s your success that’s making people expect more!

Tubelight shouldn’t have released on Id. It is a beautiful film but it’s not what an audience wants during a festival. You see a Golmaal on Diwali or 3 Idiots on Christmas or Dabangg.... You should come out of the theatre in a celebratory mood. With Tubelight, people started crying within the first five minutes… you don’t want that on a festival. People who watched Sultan also watched Tubelight but the only difference is that the crowd didn’t go back to watch Tubelight a second time.

Your birthday (December 27) is coming up. I heard you are planning to not have a party at your Panvel farmhouse. That’s a break from tradition!

I just want to keep things quiet and spend time with my family. It tends to become a really big deal and is like a mela. I end up spending all night shaking people’s hands and meeting someone’s girlfriend or someone else’s brother’s friend. It’s all a waste of money.

You’ll turn 52 this year. Have you thought about career beyond being a leading man?

After Tiger Zinda Hai, I’ve got Race (3), Bharat and there will be Dabangg 3. There is that dance film with Remo (D’Souza) that I have shifted so I can learn dancing. Sohail (Khan) and I are still working on Sher Khan. Sajid (Nadiadwala) is working on Kick 2.

So your next three years are blocked.

Look, I don’t know what is going to happen in the next five minutes. Making plans is the best way to make god laugh. I take things one film at a time. I try to live in a moment to the fullest and righteously.

telegraph india

What’s your birthday message for Salman Khan? Tell [email protected]

#salman khan #tiger zinda hai #tzh interview #text interview #tzh text interview #telegraph #t2

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mercurygray · 7 years

Text

Go Slow, My Soul, To Feed Thyself

In the aftermath of their trip to retrieve the wounded soldiers at Chantilly, Emma considers Henry and what might have been.

Emma Green/Henry Hopkins, spoilers for 2.04. Sadly, not a fix-it fic. (Credit due to Middlemarch for the borrowing of the Dickinson title conceit!)

Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself

Upon his rare approach -- Go rapid, lest Competing Death Prevail upon the Coach -- Go timid, should his final eye Determine thee amiss -- Go boldly -- for thou paid'st his price Redemption -- for a Kiss --

-Emily Dickinso

Hell hath no fury like a mother disobeyed.

Jane Green had a torrent of invective for her eldest daughter, coming into the house after being gone two days without a note, or even the vague approval of the supervisors of the hospital - gone, it now appeared, without even a chaperone, sleeping outside and unsheltered in the company of men, of... of soldiers! Of Yankee soldiers! Of having gone to a battlefield, which was no place for women, to tend men wounded God knows where and in what ways….

On and on it went. It had been a long while since her mother had vocalized her disapproval of her daughter’s nursing, but this had been reason enough for her to do it, and now she was giving voice to a full fusillade of objections and complaints.

Emma waited while her mother railed, too tired to argue. Yes, it was true - what she had done was wrong. On that point she could not debate. (To say nothing of the money she had stolen to do it, but if her mother did not already know about it she was not about to add to her list of transgressions.) But surely - surely - her small evil was outweighed by the good that had been accomplished! Twenty men getting hospital care, twenty mothers who would not have to lose their sons needlessly, twenty families who would not now rest in fear not knowing where their sons had fallen.

But to Mrs. Green’s eyes, her daughter’s fault was still unpardonable. “Who knows what might have happened to you!” she kept exclaiming. Emma ducked her head and felt her cheeks burn at her mother’s disappointment - and her own.

Yes, who knows what might have happened?

The kiss still haunted her. How might the night have passed differently, if they hadn’t been seen, hadn’t been shot at, hadn’t been interrupted. Who knows what might have happened?

And how I would have welcomed it, she thought bitterly to herself.

When she was young and first out in society, she’d taken her lessons from her mother and her aunts about what was good and fit and proper, about what a boy should do and what a boy shouldn’t, and what a young lady could say to ward off unwanted attentions. (Of course before she’d sat through that sermon she’d been listening for years as her cousins giggled about who’d caught whom behind the ferns, and who’d walked out to the garden, and who’d crushed their gardenias or mussed their hair.) Between the two, the cousins seemed the smarter set to follow, and follow she did - there was no better flirt in Alexandria than Emma Green, nor a dancing partner more sought after.

And then came Frank - or Benjamin Franklin Stringfellow, as was, all dark eyes and sweet smiles and hair that hung just so over his eyes and gave him a kind of rakish look, like a hero out of a novel. All the girls mad on him, and he picked her. Her cousins all had married Stringfellow men, the family old and good and propertied, a plantation in the country and a house in town. Quite the catch for the daughter of James Green, who made furniture and was said to be new money. How he had made her laugh as they hid in the bushes where Belinda couldn’t find them, and made her giddy when he kissed her, and made her cry when he went off to be a soldier. (How much he and she had stretched her mother’s precepts! How often they had been the ones of whom the girls would giggle!)

A child’s foolishness. She felt that now. Frank was a boy a girl could love, and she was not a girl any longer - or if she was, she tried her hardest not to be. A child saw the world in black and white, and so had she done, but now she knew the world had shades of gray. When Frank had left she’d seen the world as he did, full of knights going off to fight a valiant battle against an unworthy foe, her heart filled up with the inherent righteousness of their cause, her eyes blind to any other way of seeing.

Then came the hospital, and the world had not only black and white in it, but red -- and where the red washed out, the gray remained. That men were good and evil both and those called righteous sometimes did unrighteous things, and likewise those on whom no good was thought to fall could at the same turn be the holiest of men.

When Frank came back, a girl would have rejoiced to see her knight returned unchanged, and hung her laurels on him. But he came back, and Emma was a girl no longer.

She’d tried to remember what she’d loved in him before he’d left, contemplating the photograph in her dresser drawer as one might study a figure in a book, searching for a hidden meaning, but none came. She’d changed, and so had he, and not, perhaps, all to the good -- his eyes slid past hers when he spoke, his words full of double meanings and half-meant promises. He’d never lied to her before. Or had he?

It scarcely signified. He’d done things she was not prepared to forgive, and she would break with him for it. Perhaps there was a childishness in that, but she could not sit by and love him when she knew what he had planned. Besides, she was too busy now for girlish parlor romances - she had work to do, and she meant to do it, and do it well.

And in the bare places in her soul left by his absence, she found other flowers growing -- strange seeds she hadn’t planted. Flowers of friendship, yes, but some that, blooming, gave off sweeter smells. She hadn’t sought them out - merely turned and found them there. A helping hand in a corridor, a kindly offered word, a complaint answered and attended to, a lantern held out in the dark, a shoulder on which to rest, and weep, and mourn.

A hundred different little moments that sewn together offered unimaginable warmth.

And when she saw what was unfolding in her heart’s garden, she did not rip it out, but let it grow, quietly wondering if she had dreamed it or if he felt the same.

A girl would have asked, impertinent and impatient. A woman watched, and waited - and found her reward.

Her heart had leaped up in her throat when he had called the Reverend Burwell to task on the issue of slavery, and God’s commandments on the same, and she had not known, truly, if it was in anger or embarrassment or love. And when he’d confronted McBurney, and raged and paced the stairwell filled with indignation that he could do nothing for these men, she knew only that she would give him what he wanted, if only to help that hurt in his soul as he had so often soothed the hurts in hers.

She didn’t know what’d made her take a stand atop that wall, or what force kept her there, and sent the bullets wide. It wasn’t duty, or the righteousness of her cause, or even faith, but in her heart a kind of tide, that, rising up, roared about her ears.

What lion was that? What war cry from what Amazonian maid?

But she had learned since beginning with her nursing that there were many things within her she did not yet have a name for. Perhaps this was but one of them.

Nightfall had come too quickly, and the roads, unsafe by day, were even more treacherous by night. They’d stopped and circled up the wagons, making shift with what they had, setting out pickets, gathering wood for fires, making food. The fear from earlier had left her, but she stayed by him still, going down to the stream to wash their hands, fill what canteens they had for the long road back.

“If they saw what I saw, I’m quite sure they’d be proud.”

How warm his hand had felt around hers, how bright his eye when he looked at her! She’d been afraid to speak, afraid a noise, a movement, even, might send what was around them running for cover like a frightened animal. How could she coax it forth, let what had been unspoken speak? And then he’d said her name, in such a way that made it sound as though he’d said it thus for years, and the night was dark and filled with noise, and he was close, far closer than she’d ever found him--

She couldn’t say who’d started it, who’d leaned or lead or followed, only that they’d met in the place between them and all the warmth was no longer her imagining, but real and in the flesh, and she wanted to drink it up and be drunk on it. Let him blame her, if there was blame to give. Let him say later that she’d played the Jezebel and ensnared him, she didn’t much care as long as it meant he would keep kissing her!

Who knows what might have happened if the soldier hadn’t seen? (Her hands had hooked around his suspenders, his fingers tight around her sleeves. Her hair was already loose and his shirt was open, their entire persons in riotous disarray, pulses high and manners stretched. We nearly tasted death, the kiss had said. Let’s drink of other, sweeter things.)

But what had come next even she could not have seen.

Emma jerked back to the present - her mother had stopped shouting, observing her daughter with a skeptical eye. “Doubtless you’re tired,” she said finally. Did she notice my mind was elsewhere? “Perhaps you ought to go to bed.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

She’d never been so glad to be alone before, to strip out of her clothes and stand before her looking glass, her dress stained with sweat and blood and the dust of the road. Each layer seemed a suit of armor all its own, wading through skirts and petticoats until, unfastening her corset, she closed her eyes and conjured him there, sitting upon her bed - shirt open, eyes bright again with praise.

Who knows what could have happened?

She’d let Frank do it, untie her gown and let down her hair and kiss her in places she did not know she needed kisses, but that had been his desire speaking then. This flame she fanned now was hers, and hers alone, and she was quite sure she would have let Henry (How good it felt to say his name! Henry-Henry-Henry-Henry-Henry!) have whatever he desired of her.

But what he desired she did not know.

The vision shifted, her bright-eyed lover gone, and in its place, the stunned, struck man who’d come out of the river soaked and shaking. He’d left her at the riverbank, going back to camp hollow-eyed and silent, too frightened of himself to speak. And she’d been frightened, too, the corpse of the dead man floating, glassy-eyed, in the water.

Had that same lion roaring in her ears roared in his, too?

He would not take her comfort, that night or the next day, afraid to meet her gaze, and nothing more was said of kissing. When they’d pulled up their wagons outside the hospital, Chaplain Hopkins had returned, but she could find no trace of Henry. “If I’ve done something,” she had begged - but he’d ignored her.

She knew he was still there, that frightened creature who’d come out of the river, hiding behind Hopkins’ impassive mask. She slid herself into bed, tucked her knees up close and closed her eyes, letting the vision come again, letting herself sit down upon his lap, and cradle his face in her hands, and kiss his brow, his cheeks, his eyes, until his hands remembered how to move and drew her close, heavy on her hips and the small of her back.

She closed her covers up tight around her shoulders, and in her mind let him complete the thing that they’d begun, ears filled, once more, with crickets and a bubbling stream, the sky above them filled with stars.

Do you know how hard it is to write Emma/Henry smut? It’s hard, especially in the wake of the trainwreck that was 2.04. So, in the absence of that, have some Emma wishing I could write Emma/Henry smut.

Someone -- who is not me -- should write this from Hopkins’ perspective.

#mercy street pbs #emmry #Emma Green #Henry Hopkins #mercy street fanfiction #fix it fic #kinda sorta not really #just lots of repressed feelings #yes emma i too wish i could write you hopkins smut #but alas #i have written a thing #henry hopkins #emma green

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