#or when he revealed his identity to scotch told him his real name tried to save him therefore risking his own cover still in early days)

[tangentiallly]

actually i love this little detail .......... earlier episodes akai’s general image tends to be colder, more calculative type, but he’s also cautious as well, all the things expected from an agent. his top priority is taking down the organization and it really shows, and i may have some complaints about him using kir’s little brother to get her to cooperate, in a way, from his standpoint, from his perspective, he’s had to escape from the organization because his cover was exposed but the organization’s downfall is still nowhere in sight, he doesn’t know if there’s any NOC left in the organization at this point, and he saw a chance here and took it. like emotionally i’m biased since i’m a kir fan but logically his action makes sense, it may be a little underhanded but they are both spies and the rules of their game is different, and when his priority is to destroy the organization this chance is too big not to take, when put into his shoes i can get it.

if his characterizations later on continues to be consistent, cold and calculative and cautious, and if spending all this effort of putting kir back actually yielded important plot development on her side, because what’s the point of stressing the desperation here, stressing the risk and effort of the plan to send her back, even faking his own death, leaving some very real just not fatal wounds on himself, if she is barely relevant to the plot since then?

he lets camel take important role in this plan here partly because he knows camel felt guilty about 2 years ago (akai & camel interactions actually highly fascinating and highlights some parts of akai’s character, i.e. the way he treats his subordinates), and obviously he didn’t want him to die in this, and if the plan goes right camel wouldn’t have to die, but akai also made sure that if, by chance, camel did die, there would be a wound on him so kir doesn’t get suspected.

and i miss this side of him .... he’s cold and calculative and can sacrifice a lot of things but he’s also damn careful, back then he doesn’t let camel wander around the city when knowing if the org people saw camel walking around that might cast some doubts on kir’s loyalty, he doesn’t recklessly reveal himself to bourbon on the train before confirming bourbon’s actual loyalty, he doesn’t go out into the city on a car without putting his okiya disguise on ....

earlier in this arc there’s a part where akai was thinking they “need a line with a bait that goes deep into the organization’s throat”, after 2 years he saw a possible opportunity, finally a crack of light at a chance to have someone on their side passing information out from the organization again. re-watching the clash of red and black arc really made me appreciate him because underhanded tactics or not, we can really see his determination and also how long things have not progressed since 2 years ago, on his side, and how he took the chance and inserted the line with the bait in, so to speak.

(i really do miss akai from this arc .............. like yes his character still appears on the regular afterwards but i miss him from earlier i really do)

[prettyandsarcastic]

when you have to be both.

herald/sidestep

1,997 words

"Can I ask you something?" 

Herald's question is whispered into the darkness of his bedroom, so quietly that January almost misses it. It's asked gently, softly, the way someone would speak to a spooked animal - and if that isn't just an apt description of January she doesn't know what else would be more fitting. 

His mind is a nervous, curious hum, almost vibrating against the walls of her mental shields. But there's a fear there as well, pawing plaintively behind the anxiety. 

She wants to tell him no. Because that's what got her into this situation, into Herald's bed, in the first place. A simple favor asked with too endearing, nerve-flushed cheeks and a bright, hopeful smile. 

She wants to tell him not right now. Because she wants to forget, just for a moment longer, about the world beyond the edges of this bed. Wants to curl up into the solid warmth of him and pretend they're just Daniel and January. 

Instead, January takes a breath and replies in the same way she doomed herself those months ago: "Asking's free."

The inhaling breath that Daniel takes is as much for courage as it is for time. His mind is now a flurry as possible reactionary scenarios to his question flit across his thoughts like a flip-comic. His best case scenario is that she'll have a similar breakdown to when January revealed her tattoos to him. His worst case is that she will leave and he'll never see her again. 

"Please," Daniel begins and January hears him lick his lips in the dark. "Don't�� don't feel like you have to answer, but… how are you different… from the — others?" 

The others. 

She knows without clarification that he means the other ReGenes. The ones who could not possibly be mistaken for anything near human with their blue-grey skin and full bodied sickly orange tattoos. Meant to stand out, be seen and feared, used and recycled or discarded when they outlived their usefulness.

Not like you. 

The blanket pools at January's waist as she sits up. And the room begins to spin as she drops her head in her hand, tries to keep the panic from crumpling her lungs like tin foil. Sweat starts to dampen her hairline, is beading on her upper lip and she's terrifyingly aware of how heavily she's suddenly breathing. Her throat is achingly dry when she tries to swallow and desperately wishes she had a drink. Whiskey, bourbon, scotch, anything to burn out the bile she can already taste at the back of her tongue. 

January is desperately trying not to feel the chill of an exam table against her back. The sharp, biting pinprick of a needle at the bend of her elbow. White noise static loss of feeling in her fingers and toes from too tight restraints. The weight of sensors and their cords attached to her skin, itching with adhesive. The too clean scent of disinfectant, antiseptic overpowering the metallic tang of blood, the sour smell of sweat. Whirs and beeps and the humming of machinery drowning out the cacophony of detached, methodical thoughts — 

Daniel's hand is suddenly warm and real against her back, splayed across her shoulder blade, the tips of his fingers fitting between the notches of her spine. "Hey," he breathes. "It's okay. January, come back to me." 

She focuses on the weight of his hand on her, the navy tinted, apologetic concern of his thoughts. The ridges of certain scars beneath the pads of his fingers as he soothes his hand across her shoulders before he cups the back of her neck. If he can feel her trembling and the sweat slick on her skin, he doesn't acknowledge it. 

"I'm sorry," he says when she seems to, finally, calm. "I shouldn't have asked." 

January shakes her head, takes a deep fortifying breath. "Don't be, it's alright," she replies, and if her voice is a little wrecked, a little brittle, well...

And maybe she says it's alright because there's no malice in his thoughts. No disgust - no, never that and never because of her or anything she would ever tell him (and if that thought doesn't just make her want to laugh out loud because he has no idea). There's a definitive divide in Daniel's mind between her and the others even without January answering his question. Just as he had made the divide between Sidestep and January. 

ReGene. January. Sidestep. 

Three faces. Three masks. Three divides. She's not sure how much more Daniel can separate the pieces of her identity before the person he says he loves isn't even her. Before that person in his head becomes something he wants her to be rather than the person she is… 

Before he starts to look at you like Ortega does. With the weight of too many expectations.

She can’t even make the distinction between her masks that Daniel can. Not anymore. There are too many threads that she has to keep separate and they keep getting tangled and twisted into knots. And one day she’s going to get caught in her own spider’s web of lies and deception. ReGene. January. Sidestep. Jane. Enyo. She is all of those and more. And yet, perhaps, maybe none of them at all because she’s never had the true freedom to discover who or what she might really be.

January can't fault him for his curiosity even though she knows that she should. After all, it's not everyday the person you're in love with tells you that they're not even human. She also knows it would be better in the long run for them both if she shoved him away with all the violence trapped behind the prison of her ribcage. 

But you tried that already. 

"I'm… valuable," January finally says on an exhale. 

She sees Daniel shake his head out of the corner of her eye. "January, it’s okay you don't -"

Her fingers, gentle against the plush of his lips, cut him off. Her hand is a ruined mess compared to beauty of him. Long fingers that would be elegant were they not crooked from fractures that healed wrong or the scars on her knuckles and the jagged, chipped polish of her nails. 

"It's okay," she assures him. 

Daniel nods, his mind going soft and golden like sunrise so overwhelmingly relieved that she hasn’t run, hasn’t tried yet again to push him away. His expression remains neutral as he takes her hand, kisses the scar on her palm that itches when she’s stressed, then lightly over the pulse fluttering beneath her wrist and the haggard scar there as well. He’s not certain he could bear to be parted from her now. 

“Okay,” he replies. “Tell me.” 

So she does, haltingly at first, then with more confidence if not with more detail. It’s more a bullet point summary because truthfully she can’t bring herself to give more details. There’s things Daniel doesn’t need to know, things January doesn’t want him to know. She doesn’t want to add even more fuel to the raging wildfire of anger his thoughts have become. 

Daniel never moves to comfort her, or try to reach out and touch her again as January speaks; just sits quietly, holding his rage softly inside himself even if she can see it hardening his eyes and tightening his jaw. And even though there’s a whirlwind of questions in his mind, he never asks them, never pushes her for more than she’s willing to give. 

Not like Ortega who asks and pushes and insists because he doesn’t know how to give up without a fight and everything he’s ever let go of has bruises from how hard he holds on. Because he wants everything to fit into the image he has in his head, wants to fix everything, fix her. And it doesn’t matter to Ortega how much he cuts himself on all her sharp edges trying to piece her back together. 

“And… that’s it,” January finishes rather inelegantly. 

“So I take it that January isn’t your real name?” 

The absurdness of the question startles a laugh out of her. All the things she had just told him and that was his first question. Relief trickles down her spine, something warm and comforting curls in the pit of her stomach like a content cat. And Daniel smiles, laughs with her, beautiful and so full of adoration for her that for just a moment she hates him. Why should he still love her even now? 

“No, it’s not. They never gave us names. It was January the first time I escaped.”

“And Moreno?” 

She shrugs. “Saw it on a highway sign.” 

“This is why you never officially joined the Rangers.” It’s not really a question. 

With a sigh, January lays back against the pillows, but turns to look at Daniel. “I wouldn’t submit myself to the background check because I knew I wouldn’t pass it.” Idly, she lifts her hand, contemplates the freckles and the scars, and her crooked fingers. “There are so many things that bear my fingerprints, things I don’t remember.”

And then there are things she does remember, like shattering Herald’s knee. 

“Not to mention,” she continues, “if I had done the background check they would have found me that much faster. If they catch me this time... I don’t think I’ll be able to escape again.”

And when it comes down to it, isn’t that why she’s doing this? Why she let Sidestep rot at the bottom of the grave they dug and rose up again as Enyo? Because January won’t let The Farm get a hold of her again and there are no limitations or rules to hold her back anymore. She’ll drag their dirty secrets through the streets with bloodied hands for everyone to see… 

And what are you willing to sacrifice to see it happen? 

Daniel’s hand finds hers, strong, warm fingers threading through hers. “They’ll have to go through me first,” he insists. 

“They will,” January answers, her voice flat. “They can and they will.” 

The bed shifts suddenly as Daniel moves and then he’s over her and January shifts until her knees bracket his hips. There’s that brief flash of instinct she has, the points on Daniel’s body she needs to hit to escape, but she forces it away and blinks up at him. His eyes are intense and so, so blue and his thoughts are all the metallic steel color of stubborn determination. 

“You don’t get it. I won’t let anything happen to you,” Daniel says. And he has that look on his face again, the hard set one that he sometimes gets when they spar. He means every single word. “I won’t let anyone or anything take you from me, January.” 

“Daniel -” 

This time it’s his fingers, soft against her lips that stop her. “No,” he tells her as his hand moves, fingertips caressing the angle of her cheekbone, brushing against the bruised circles under her eyes. “I love you.” 

January sighs, if only to keep herself from giving in to the stinging at the corners of her eyes. He’s ridiculous, but he loves her and he would do anything to keep her safe and in his arms. He won’t hear her tell him how he can’t protect her, can’t keep her safe, that he won’t have a choice when The Farm finally comes for her again. 

She rises up on an elbow, catches Daniel in a kiss that he eagerly returns with a soft sound. She’s not sure if she loves him, and if she does, how would she know what love feels like? Perhaps they made her incapable of it for all she knows. But she does know that her heart hurts, feels fit to burst when Daniel presses her back into the mattress and his hands start to roam. 

You are going to ruin him. 

… Maybe. Lover or enemy. Hero or villain. Human or monster. She has to be both.

what is more unfair than having to choose  between being a monster or being a hero?

(- when you have to be both.)

when you learn that the road to hell is paved with more than just good intentions. - you are not heads or tails; you are the coin

m.a.w 

[bluesakura007]

Undeniable - Chapter 1: Zin’s Dilemma - Khan Noonien Singh x OC

Summary: During the court trial of Khan after the events of Into Darkness, Enterprise security chief Zinalya begins to develop a realisation relating to him, causing her to come up against a hefty dilemma.  

"By the power vested in the body by the constitution of the United Federation of Planets, we call this trial to order."

It was a week after the USS Enterprise crew’s ordeal against the man previously known as John Harrison; a week after he had revealed his real name to be Khan Singh, successfully exacted his revenge upon Admiral Alexander Marcus for the suffering he’d been through because of the latter and been pursued through the city of San Francisco by a then-enraged Spock. 

Soft, cold white morning light gently shone through the tall glass windows around the room and into the court where the senior officers of this aforementioned ship were gathered, sitting in the seating stands at the back with dozens of other people in attendance while currently wearing their dress uniforms.

"Guards, bring forth the defendant."

In stepped the man of the moment himself from the doors at the very back of the courtroom, his forearms shackled together by a pair of metallic manacles and being accompanied on all sides by a group of security guards, clutching their rifles fiercely.

"The defendant will remain restrained and under guard for the duration of the trial." Said the judge. Khan was now the centre of everyone’s attention behind him, especially the Enterprise group, and even more especially captain Kirk, commander Spock, Dr. Marcus and lieutenant-commander Zinalya Hamilton, the ship’s security chief who was a half-and-half hybrid between a human and a Trill. 

She had long, dark burgundy hair stretching down behind her shoulders, hazel-green eyes and, due to this half Trill lineage, some of this race’s spots on either side of her body, from the top of her forehead down to her neck; in addition, her human parent was from Manitoba, making Zinalya herself a Canadian on this half. "Please state your full name for the record."

"My name is Khan Noonien Singh." He replied, as always in his baritone voice which felt to those around him as if it was reverberating through the floor itself. Some of these others sitting behind him in the audience felt themselves subconsciously shiver at the sound of it.

The Enterprise officers who had been around Khan the most during the previous week spent the following minutes of the trial, after his charges had been covered and discussed, being called on to give testimony as witnesses. Three of these included Spock, Carol and Jim, and then came Zinalya’s turn. "And you were the main officer in charge of overseeing and guarding the defendant, Miss Hamilton?"

"Yes, your honour." She nodded her head. "As the ship’s chief of security I kept watch over him myself some of the time and also arranged where and when he’d be guarded by the other security officers onboard."

"It says here in your report which you submitted to Starfleet command that you spent the two days during his detainment on the Enterprise visiting and conversing with him. Is this true?"

"It is, yes." Ignoring the slight but rising nervousness in the back of her throat, she answered the query truthfully while turning her head to the left to briefly look at the Augment, who was gazing back without any clear outward emotion but with recognition towards her after this time they'd spent talking, him in his clinically white brig cell and her on the other side of the glass. "I was talking to him about his motivations and reasons for his charges." 

She knew that she hadn't committed any actual crimes, but she knew that any indication of her getting friendly with Khan would be dangerous to her career and to some of her friendships amongst the other senior officers. Her social standing was one of the things she valued, and friendships could sometimes be a fragile thing indeed.

"Did he tell you anything that he revealed to Mr. Kirk and Mr. Spock later on?"

"Only that he was genetically engineered and that he’d come from very far away, but nothing that was any more specific than that." She subconsciously felt another growing lump in her throat at the memory of when he later revealed his true identity to Spock and their captain; when he told them about what Admiral Marcus had done to incur his wrath and started crying, right there and then. Zinalya would have been downright lying if she said that the sight of the tear on his cheek when he turned back around and the desperation in his voice at that time didn’t tug at her own heartstrings, even if it was just a little bit. "He was very brief during those moments when I was talking to him alone."

"So he didn’t make any clear indication to you individually that he had come from three centuries ago or indicate what he was planning on doing?

"No your honour." If she was being honest with herself, she actually felt like most of what Khan did after his prison cell revelation consisted of on-the-spot decisions: she wasn’t present to see it taking place, but from the way she understood it, he only attacked Kirk, Scotty and Carol on the bridge of the Vengeance after the former ordered Khan to be stunned, making himself, too, come across as untrustworthy in the latter’s eyes, and the following incident where he fought against Spock in the city was him taking out his rage and anguish due to being led to believe that his crew had all died when the seventy-two torpedoes were detonated, so she also couldn’t help but feel like Khan had been through quite the emotional rollercoaster.

"Very well then. Thank you lieutenant-commander, that will be all." The judge concluded his series of questions directed at her, to which she gave a nod and, after giving another brief look at the man with the smooth black hair and snakelike pale turquoise eyes, walked back towards where she’d been sitting, which was in between Scotty and Chekov, her two closest friends. "Dr. Leonard Herman McCoy, step forward please."

As this chief medical officer stood up and made his own way down through the seating area towards the witness stand, Scotty smiled jokingly at Zinalya and Pavel, who were on his left. "I didn’t know his middle name was Herman - obviously something we can conveniently tease the laddie about later." He whispered to them with a chuckle, to which they both nodded and the latter smiled. 

The female one of the trio, however, tried to smile along with them and join in but found it to be difficult, because her head was full of various thoughts and ponderings relating to the defendant to the point where it was now taking up a large majority of her consciousness itself. He briefly craned his head around and looked around the room, like a cornered animal surveying its surroundings, before his eyes came to rest on her.

"Zinalya?" Pavel’s voice caught her attention to her own left hand side, seeming to notice her expression of deep thought. "Are you alright?"

"What? Oh, yeah, yeah I'm okay, I was just miles away for a second there." She answered, temporarily bringing herself back to what was going on around her at that second as opposed to all the hypotheticals and questions racing through her mind. Khan had now turned his head back into the forward-facing position, occasionally looking at Bones as the latter gave his own testimony.

Generally subdued rock music played as the ambience of the club that Zinalya was sitting in later that evening. She had a glass of Scotch whisky gripped absentmindedly in her right hand, both of which currently resting on the bar whilst her other hand held her head, which was somewhat tilted to one side, and she was repeating the same thing she was in the middle of earlier in the courtroom: thinking and pondering endlessly on the mental predicament she found herself in.

She was torn between two viewpoints, not entirely certain which one to take and therefore keeping herself stressed as it was an unresolved issue. On the one hand, she knew full well as much as anyone else what Khan had done and the kind of things he'd gotten up to - causing the deaths of numerous people, including Admiral Pike and even the obviously now-revived Kirk - but on the other, she wondered whether he truly deserved the extent of Spock's aggression that he was subjected to during the city chase. 

It was as if she had split herself into two totally different people altogether, one telling her that there was more to Khan underneath his chilling exterior, and that she didn't properly know what he was like in actuality, and the other constantly reminding her of the people he had killed and the acts he had committed.

"Hey." She turned her head around upon hearing the voice of her captain himself speak out. Jim appeared to be accompanied by Carol and lieutenant Uhura, all three of them dressed in casual clothes like the burgundy-haired hybrid herself was. "D'you mind if we join you?"

"No, go ahead."

Captain Kirk and the other two female officers with him all sat down adjacent to her at the bar, him and Carol on her right and Nyota on her left. "I used to come here a few times too. I actually still remember a fight I got into in this place a few years back - admiral Pike called it an ‘epic beating’." He chuckled fondly at these memories, although behind his smile Zinalya could also tell that it was simultaneously a slightly poignant expression and she, too, was affected by it.

Great, she thought. I’m trying to make sense of all this, to decide what I really think, and Pike is getting brought up again. Just when I thought I was making some kind of progress in thinking it over...

"Mr. Chekov told us that you seemed distant earlier today. Is something wrong?" Carol asked, noticing her own small change of expression.

"Well..." The half Trill-half human was up against a case of trying to work out how exactly to word what she was going to say. "To be honest I’m kind of in the middle of a dilemma."

"What is it?" Said Nyota.

She paused, taking another of these moments where she formed the words in her head. "I’ve got a decision I need to make soon, and it might be one that takes me off the Enterprise and to someplace else."

"You mean like a transfer?" Said Jim.

The real reason for Zinalya possibly having to leave her posting in the near future wasn’t this and was instead something very, very different, but she could neither bring herself to tell the three the truth nor lie to them, so she simply nodded her head without giving a verbal response. "I don’t want to leave, because I still have friends onboard, and because my parents and brothers are here on Earth and where I’ll be going to is pretty far away. But it’s also a chance that means a lot to me and that I don’t want to pass up, so I feel like I’m being pulled in two different directions... and I basically have no idea which choice to make."

The trio around her thought for a second, before Carol enquired, "Have you weighed up the good and bad sides of them both?"

"At least somewhere around a thousand times, yeah."

"Then I think you should go with what your instincts are telling you - if accepting this chance is what you want to do, then you should do it." The woman with the chin length blonde hair nodded encouragingly.

"She’s right: do what makes you happy." Concurred lieutenant Uhura.

"So... you guys will be okay with it if I do choose to leave? Things’ll still be alright between us?"

"Of course."

"You’re a good friend to us and the others." Added Jim with a reassuring smile. "We’ll be a little sad to see you go, but you deserve to make that choice if you’re sure you wanna do it. We’ll be rooting for you the whole way, Zin."

This supportive demeanour that he, Nyota and Carol were making use of towards her made her wish even more that she could tell them what the true reason for her leaving was, and what she was really planning to do.

[alwaysmychoices]

“Hurt Like This”

Pairing: Liam x MC (Collins Alexander)

Synopsis: When Liam let Collins go, he rationalized that it was for her own good. He just didn’t think it would hurt like this…

Words: 2934

Part 4 of the Aftermath series ( I, II, III, IV, V, VI)

“Something that’s for my own good doesn’t hurt like this.”

Her voice rang in my ears, haunting me with every repetition. Every time I thought I’d put it out of my life, I heard it somewhere else. I heard it in the noise. I heard it in the silence. I heard it in the beat of my broken heart. The poignant phrase scarred me from the moment Collins said it in the hospital hallway, and I would never forget it.

When I closed my eyes, I saw her. I saw her broken eyes, the stunning sparkle diminished to desperation. I saw the redness staining her cheeks as tears escaped her. I saw the exhaustion in her stare and the hope she had when she saw me again. I saw the moment I broke her in a loop, a new detail sparking my attention each time. The red eyes. The tears. The hope. The despair. The way she’d handed me the ring with such confidence only for me to disappoint her once more.

But I didn’t want to see it anymore.

I drowned myself in whatever was in my cup, too anesthetized to recognize taste let alone appreciate it. My senses were solely dedicated to reliving my despair and dwelling on the heartbreak, and I sought numbness in bottles of scotch. I stared down the aged whiskey, a gift for Drake I’d yet to present him, but I couldn’t bear to open the bottle. The alcohol was meant to make the world stop moving, and I forced myself to drink coffee to make it move again. The royal surgeon surveyed my injuries and offered painkillers to compensate for my wounds, but I rejected them as unnecessary. How could I feel physical pain when I’d lost the love of my life? I’d broken her heart and sent her away, and the acute pain of that couldn’t compete with the discomfort of a knife.

The doctor prescribed fluids and bed rest, but I neglected his orders. I didn’t have the luxury of wailing in my discontent. Instead, I attended various emergency meetings, sitting with publicists and prime ministers alike to discuss the logistical aftermath of my assassination attempt, and I found comfort in the monotony of my role. It distracted me from the horrific truth that I was at fault for the night's events. The assassins aimed at my crown with loved ones in the crossfire.

As a monarch, I was apparently a disappointment. My young reign was marred by those willing to kill for their discontent, and I was disheartened by my apparent failure. My life was ruled by the opinion and approval of others. My childhood was plagued by Leo’s recklessness and was always the eager spare, hopeful to please and lacking the accolades. The monarchy didn’t need anymore scandals, and I restrained myself from life’s pleasures to be the perfect prince. My loyalty was demonstrated at every possible turn, forcing me to neglect my affection for the love of my life to meet courtly expectations.  Cordonia was a part of my identity. Now able to serve my country as king, I hoped for Cordonia to prosper, but I was met with bullets and panic instead. The assassination attempt was unsuccessful, but it would undoubtedly hinder the Cordonian economy and contribute to national unrest.  

The king may have been dismayed, but as a man, I was destroyed. My title placed my loved ones in direct danger. If they’d just never met me… Drake wouldn’t have been shot. Maxwell and Hana wouldn’t have panicked and been presumed missing for several hours. Olivia wouldn’t have had to stab an attacker with her hairpin, and Collins would have been safe.

Without me, her life was easier. I thought back to the girl I’d met in New York. She was so young and carefree, standing on the cusp of real adulthood in the city where dreams came true. Graduating in only a few short months, she was just about to embark on the life she always wanted. She told me about her life back then in small anecdotes- some about her friends and their antics and others just centered on the city she loved so much.

I was ashamed of how little I knew about her. Until a few months ago, I didn’t know how her parents died, and until my coronation, I didn’t realize they were deceased. She listened to every story of mine, and I hadn’t noticed that I didn’t return the favor. For me, she put everything behind her and showed no remorse, but she had every right to harbor discontent. My love shackled her to sexist customs and deprived her of privacy.

She left her life to follow me to Cordonia, acting on the hope that I shared her affection. Adapting to every custom and rising to every challenge, Collins became what I needed her to be. She refrained from public outbursts even when she wanted to scream. She smiled when she wanted to cry and allowed her name to be run through the dirt for the sake of poise. She accepted my offer to be a mistress during my false engagement, and she was willing to take on a life of stolen moments for me. She was magnificent and independent, and she loved me enough to do everything she could to make it work. She told me that she’d only ever tried to love me, and it was the truth.

Collins Alexander loved me, and I was the luckiest man in the world.

Her heart was in my hands, and I crushed it for her own good.

I practically snarled at the thought. For her own good? Who was I to even decide that? Why couldn’t our love affair be full of happiness and not a tragedy? Why couldn’t she have just never loved me?

I closed my eyes again, and I saw Collins once more.

She was so vulnerable, so exposed. She needed me in ways neither of us had ever felt before. She loved me and needed my love in return. She needed my protection, and I’d failed her. She was targeted because of that ring- that promise that I would keep her by my side in sickness and in health. Her strength was unparalleled, but determination couldn’t outwit a bullet aimed at her. I could give her the world, but I could never give her what she deserved: privacy and safety. The fundamental aspects of her life were altered by a ridiculous crown on the top of my head.

After the attack, I’d never wanted to abdicate more in my life. I wanted to throw away every medal and shed every title, and I wanted to run far away with Collins. But as much as I craved a world just for the two of us, we would never get the opportunity. We were cursed by the circumstances of my birth and the recklessness of the original heir.

“Your majesty?” a small voice prodded me, interrupting my thoughts, and I forced my eyes open once more. An assistant stared back at me, clutching a clipboard to calm the nerves of talking to the king. I feigned to smile to put her at ease, silently cursing myself for being so perfect all the time. What did the perfect king really get? He got shot at and lost the woman he loved.

“Yes?” I prompted, eager to end the conversation. I didn’t want to talk. It was taxing to function, let alone maintain etiquette.

“The press conference has been scheduled for noon, and I’ve been asked to inform you that your schedule allows for sleep, Sire,” she faltered, uncomfortable with the correct terms and how to converse with the king. I felt stripped of my humanity in the exchange. Tonight, I was a crown, not a victim.

It was the first opportunity to sleep, and I was too exhausted to pass it up. I offered a polite thanks, finishing whatever liquid was in my glass and leaving my office. It was a long walk through the palace to my quarters, a trait I’d designed to give myself a sense of leaving work when I left after a long day. I’d picked it when I thought about coming home to Collins and reveling in domestic bliss, but now, it was another reminder of what I wouldn’t have.

My wing was still and silent, and it was deafening compared to the chaos in the rest of the palace. Here, I was left alone with my thoughts, and I couldn’t imagine a worse punishment.

In the dimly lit room, my world looked as grey and monotonous as it felt. Collins was warmth and light, and without her, the world was lacking. Hints of her laughter echoed in the hall, a cruel illusion to a melancholy man. Shedding layers as I approached my bed, I was stopped by the artwork in the center of the room.

It was supposed to be a gift for Collins,  proof of my commitment to our relationship as we entered the intrigues of courtly life as a couple. After a magical night in Paris, I spent so many nights looking back at the selfie we’d taken together on the Eiffel Tower. Somehow, Collins captured every ounce of our happiness and love into one little photo, and I treasured it. When the plot was revealed and her name cleared, I’d immediately ordered a copy to be printed, hoping to present it to her as a reminder of how far we’d come together. Tonight, I’d hoped to bring Collins here to see it and offer for her to stay with me here until the wedding.

This portrait was so hopeful and full of affection that it stunned me. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t be angry. I could only stare and be wistful.

“You just have to come to me,” Collins’ requests lingered in the back of my mind.

I could end this. I knew I could. I could find Collins right now and take it all back. I could live the rest of my life with the woman I loved, and I could pretend that I’d never left in the first place. Neither of us had to be miserable. All I had to do was come back.

But how could I do that?

How could I run to her when I knew it put her in danger? How could I ask her to pick me over her safety when I knew she would pick me? How could I ask her to give up everything because I selfishly loved?

My breast pocket felt heavy, and I carefully removed the diamond ring. It caught a stray sunbeam, reflecting back in my face and reminding me of how happy I’d been when I put it on her finger. The night I proposed was the best of my life. Even on one knee, I didn’t know if she was willing to take the title associated with our marriage, but she’d surprised me and said yes without a second thought.

I placed the ring in front of the photo, silently appreciating the life we almost had, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. I’d hurt her so much that my body ached. My skin burned from the lack of her touch, every nerve ending scorched from the effort of staying away. Even now, I knew it would never get better. I would never stop wanting her or loving her, and I lost resolve a million times an hour.

Turning away from the photo, every step away was like walking on knives. I was walking away from her at every chance I had because I knew I had to. The moment I lost my strength, the moment I would go back and put her life in danger. Collins deserved so much more…

I shed my suit as I approached my bed, wincing from my injuries as I slid between the sheets. The other side of the bed was notably empty, and as I took a deep breath, I could smell her perfume lingering on the other pillow.

My breath caught in my throat as I reached out for it, taking a greedy whiff of the pillow and savoring the familiarity. If I thought about it long enough, I could feel her touch. I could see her blinding smile when she woke up next to me, and I could hear her soft laughter as she deliriously submersed herself in the happiness of being with me.

I never deserved her…

I forced myself to repeat it over and over, waiting for it to sink in. Collins deserved more than I could give her. She deserved privacy and safety, and she would happy again… I tried and failed to block out the image of her begging for me, and I hated myself for what I’d done to her. It was one thing to put myself through pain, but her? My protective instincts cursed myself for what I’d done.

Overcome, I sobbed into the pillow and breathed in her scent with wavering strength. I needed her. Fuck, I needed her. I loved her more than anything in the world. I loved her enough to let go, but I would never emerge from this depressed self-hate for doing it.

I was lulled to sleep by her perfume, hugging the pillow with desperation. I was doing the right thing. I was protecting the woman I loved from the reality of life with me, but I would have done anything to stop feeling it.

Alone in the palace, I was King Liam, the selfless. A year ago, such a title would have made me proud, but Collins changed everything. She made me question what I thought I knew, and she made me want things I couldn’t have. She loved Liam the Person in pure intensity, and it was her downfall. Her hope in me only brought her despair.

I wished to have her close. I longed to let her in and share my whole self, opening ourselves to the ultimate intimacy, but I couldn’t do it. My selflessness was just limiting fear. I couldn’t bear to watch her get hurt, and with me, the threats would always be present.

I had to stay away for both of us.

But I never thought it would hurt like this…

Author’s note: this isn’t exactly what I had in mind, and I wish it had been more emotional. But I hope you enjoyed it! 

@liam-chris-knights

[the-connection]

A new documentary reworks the memoir of Bowers, who boasts he paired Cary Grant with Rock Hudson and Katharine Hepburn with 150 brunettes and slept with so many actors he didnt have time to see their films

Scotty Bowers was a 23-year-old petrol station attendant on Hollywood Boulevard when the actor Walter Pidgeon pulled up to the pump and asked the dimpled blond to jump in his Lincoln. It would be the ride of his life. Pidgeon was gay, claims Bowers in his autobiography Full Service: My Adventures in Hollywood and the Secret Sex Lives of the Stars, and that afternoon they became lovers. Bowers himself transcended labels. Years later, he startled sexologist Dr Alfred Kinsey by checking off every sex act on his list (and took him to orgies to prove it). Guys, girls, spouses, kings, consorts and a three-way with Ava Gardner and Lana Turner. Bowers had done it all.

[Kinsey] came looking for me, says Bowers, now 95, on a hot afternoon in a Hollywood courtyard apartment. Things he thought impossible, I came up with. With his devilish blue eyes and thick white hair, it is easy to picture why he was popular. He burns with energy, as though he spent his retirement stoking gossip he vowed he wouldnt spill while his lovers were alive. J Edgar Hoover? A drag. Vivien Leigh? A hot, hot lady. Wallis Simpson? A real ballsy chick.

Bowers (second from left, back row) with friends. Photograph: Courtesy of Greenwich Entertainment

Bowers used to turn tricks in this same building. Today, the vintage-style pad belongs to the director Matt Tyrnauer, a former Vanity Fair journalist who recently reworked Bowers memoir into the eyebrow-raising documentary Scotty and the Secret History of Hollywood. Tyrnauer, sitting next to Bowers and gently nudging his digressions on track, confirms that he called the Kinsey Institute to check Bowers tale. They knew exactly who he was.

Everyone knew Bowers. George Cukor, Gore Vidal, Merv Griffin; Tyrone Power referred to him in letters, interviews and biographies, calling him Scotty, Sonny, or just the gas station on Hollywood Boulevard. Tennessee Williams hand-wrote a 40-page story about him, which Bowers found embarrassingly over the top.

I said: Tennessee, forget that bullshit, says Bowers. I should have kept it. Instead, for decades, people pushed him to write down his own memories. I kept putting it off and putting it off, and all of a sudden, almost everyone they wanted me to write about was dead.

Lana Turner and Ava Gardner, with whom Bowers claims to have had a threesome. Photograph: Keystone/Getty Images

In 1946, the year he met Pidgeon, Bowers was competing with millions of other returning second world war veterans for work. Canoodling with a celebrity for $20 made more sense than digging a ditch for $10. After Pidgeon spread the word about his new friend, more luxury cars began to cruise by. Soon, Bowers side-hustle had expanded to a parked trailer with two king beds, glory holes in the bathroom and a battalion of good-looking men and women to fix up with some of the biggest names in Hollywood. Bowers boasts that he paired Cary Grant with Rock Hudson back when the Pillow Talk star was still named Roy, and introduced Katharine Hepburn to 150 lovely brunettes. As for Hepburns rumored paramour Spencer Tracy, Bowers says he slept with him, too.

Hepburn and Tracys complex relationship is a fascinating example of Hollywoods hypocritical and literal moral code. Publicists decided it was better to pretend the friends were having an affair than explain the real reason why Tracy wasnt living with his wife Louise, to whom he stayed married until his death. A heterosexual affair was forgivable even romantic and it wouldnt get either actor fired. After Fatty Arbuckle was put on trial for the rape and murder of Virginia Rappe, the studios began to add a clause in their contracts forbidding actors from committing any offence that risked public hatred, contempt or ridicule. While the courts found Arbuckle innocent twice the Hollywood moguls believed just a whiff of indecency could destroy the entire industry. The swinging days of the early silent era ended overnight. Performers became studio property: they were told how to dress, how to behave, and who to date, or at least pretend to.

Bowers in uniform in the 1940s. Photograph: Greenwich Entertainment

It was a lucrative lie. Roy Harold Scherer got his teeth capped and became Rock Hudson. When the tabloids began to nag Hudson to get married, the executives betrothed him to his lesbian secretary Phyllis. Archibald Leach was rechristened Cary Grant and wed to the great beauty Barbara Hutton, although the love of his life was screen cowboy Randolph Scott, with whom he lived for 12 years as a roommate. Bowers says in his book: The three of us got into a lot of sexual mischief together.

Living double lives took a toll. Eventually, Hudson began drinking a bottle of scotch a day and recklessly sleeping with strangers. Grant tried psychedelic therapy and spoke in quips that hinted at his unfulfillment. I played at being someone I wanted to be until I became that person, or he became me, he told his biographer. Even his most famous quote Everyone wants to be Cary Grant. Even I want to be Cary Grant sounds like a whispered confession, or maybe a misdirection. What if he just wanted to be as free as Archibald Leach?

Bowers bedded so many movie stars that he didnt have time to see their movies. A movie takes a couple hours. I was busy every minute. When his daughter, Donna, died, he went back to work that day. He shared a home with her mother, his longtime partner Betty, but slept there only a few times a year. In the documentary, he teeters towards admitting regret for spending most nights in someone elses bed. But he candidly admits his only true passion was money. He grew up hungry during the Depression era, and, as a young teenager, he turned tricks for two dozen Chicago priests who paid him in quarters. That would be abuse in everyones eyes but his. In the documentary, Tyrnauer repeatedly presses Bowers about his childhood, and does so again today.

Youre very intent on the fact that you dont perceive yourself as a victim, says Tyrnauer.

I did what I wanted to do, maintains Bowers.

That is not the conventional perspective at all, but it is his perspective and I dont judge him for that, says Tyrnauer. I think people get to define who they are and tell their story and express their beliefs.

Executives married off Rock Hudson to his lesbian secretary, Phyllis Gates. Photograph: Kobal/Rex/Shutterstock

I do think that different people are different, thats very true, replies Bowers. Im speaking for myself only.

As an adult at the petrol station, Bowers never took a cut of other peoples cash. To him, that meant he wasnt a pimp; he was a purveyor of joy. The most important thing was company, says Bowers. The LGBTQ community didnt have many safe places to connect at that time. Homosexuality was illegal in California until the 1970s. When the Los Angeles Police Department vice squad the sexual Gestapo, says Tyrnauer barged into a gay bar, patrons risked being arrested, shaken down for cash, shipped to a mental institution, and possibly lobotomised. The LAPD targeted the Hollywood glitterati because they had careers to protect and money to spare.

When the petrol station became too famous, Bowers became a for-rent party bartender, which gave celebrities an even better excuse to invite him into their homes. Even that was risky. One cop memorised Bowers car registration plate and would pull him over, scare him a bit, and then undo Bowers pants while complaining about his miserable marriage. I hope he found happiness, writes Bowers, charitably.

The vice squad is responsible for Bowers impressive memory. Midway through one aside, he recites the address of a silent movie star who has been dead for 45 years. Terrified of a raid, he rarely wrote down his friends information. It was all in my head, says Bowers. I never kept anything. If I wrote down a number, I had it in my hand until I tore it up. Even then, he would swap the first and last digits to ensure the persons identity couldnt be cracked, a trick inspired by the Navajo code talkers.

Now, Bowers has no secrets. Critics have slammed the book and the documentary for outing celebrities without consent. In the film, Tyrnauer includes a film fan arguing that legendary stars deserve more respect. Bowers counters: Whats wrong with being gay? Others have thanked him for sticking up for the real person underneath the studio gloss for revealing their truth the way they might have if they were alive today. It is impossible to know how Hudson and Grant would have chosen to live in a country that legalised gay marriage. Perhaps their lives would have been happier. Although, Bowers notes, even in 2018: Everythings not going to be out in the open. More actors are out, but now must prove they can play both gay and straight characters. Neil Patrick Harris has succeeded; Matt Bomer is trying. Some have decided that it is still easier to hide.

Asked if he is biting his tongue about anyone alive, Bowers blurts out the name of a beloved actor and her 169% gay husband. He is dead; she isnt. So, Bowers will wait. Let me tell you something: when youre dead youre dead, he insists. Later, when the conversation turns to Kevin Spacey Bowers claims to know one of his exes Tyrnauer steadily repeats that Bowers information about the alleged perpetrator is merely secondhand. The director is clearly, and correctly, aware of the complexities of talking sensitively about sex in the era of #MeToo. But after eight decades of secrecy Bowers sighs: Poor Kevin Spacey, he was right in the middle of a picture and they dumped him and everything. Thanks to #MeToo, morality clauses are making a comeback. This time, one hopes they will only be wielded for good.

Cary Grant (right) with his room mate Randolph Scott. Photograph: Snap/Rex Features

Hollywood journalist Liz Smith once quipped: All this crap about coming out! Honey, I dont think I have ever really been in! Before she died last November, she affirmed that Hepburn was a lesbian.

I was pleased that she went on the record about Hepburn because I dont think shed ever done it before, says Tyrnauer. It really provides a great assist to Scottys narrative about Hepburn and Tracy, because people are in willful suspension of belief about this supposed golden couple.

Even more startling are Bowers lusty tales about Wallis Simpson and Edward VIII. Wally and Eddie, corrects Bowers, waving away their formal names. It was very easy to see how she talked him out of being king of England because she had complete control over him, says Bowers. She told him if you want to fool around and do this and that, you cant do it if youre king.

Scotty Bowers at home in LA. Photograph: Courtesy of Greenwich Entertainment

A lot of people dont believe that particular story, says Tyrnauer. But he places them at the Beverly Hills Hotel in the 50s. We found a picture of them in the Beverly Hills Hotel in that period its in the movie. Four former clients knew Edward, and the couples close friend, photographer Cecil Beaton, titled an entire chapter of his diary: Scotty.

There were many, many factors that connected them, says Tyrnauer. I cross-referenced everything I could. When Bowers described a mansions winding pathway to the pool house, or a gate in a backyard, Tyrnauer would pull up an aerial view of Google Maps and there it was, as though the nonagenarian had visited yesterday.

In Los Angeles, notes the director: You can wipe the dust off something that has been obscured and find the truth. Scottys a living example of that. Here he was in Laurel Canyon for decades minding his business. And yet hes Scotty Bowers, the infamous male madame to the stars, and either you knew it or you didnt.

He has tried to ensure Scotty and the Secret History of Hollywood tells the truth instead of peddling innuendo like tabloids, TMZ, or even acclaimed smut such as Kenneth Angers Hollywood Babylon.

Am I in that, too? asks Bowers.

Tyrnauer chuckles: Maybe between the lines.

There always will be secret life happening, beams Bowers. People should do what pleases them and the other person some people just please more than a few.

Scotty and the Secret History of Hollywood is out now in the US and awaiting a UK release date

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/us

[tangentiallly]

scotchrye makes me go crazy because like he told him his real name and who he worked for ….. he exposed his cover in an effort to save his life ……. akai had two canonical girlfriends akemi and jodie, the former while he told him he’s a noc before the capture gin operation he never told her his real name, plus he didn’t do anything when she texted him about the bank robbery plan before her death, and the latter he broke up with while telling her that taking down the organization is more important than his relationship with her. those are the two he canonically dated, and then he broke his cover, risking his own infiltration mission, did something that can potentially setback his mission, to try to save his life, and not just that he told him his real name. how many people did he reveal his real name to while being rye ………. oh and on the train platform he left his sister alone with him there.

meanwhile scotch when he stole that gun from rye at first did not know about rye’s real identity (and even after rye said he’s also a noc there’s no complete guarantee that scotch really believed that) and yet instead of aiming the gun at rye, instead of killing rye and then himself, he never tried to kill rye even before rye said he’s akai shuichi

what the hell happened between them. like. for real.