#Hurt Paris

[theodysseyofhomer]

spare thought for the enslaved shepherds in greek mythology/tragedy who rescue the exposed doom babies... sometimes they know why the baby was left to die, sometimes they don't. they just — it's a baby. no one else wants it. you can't leave it here. what harm could it do. it's a baby. you want it to live. it's a baby

[aenslem]

STAR TREK: VOYAGER || 'Caretaker'

[bluerosefox]

The Drakes

It's been years since the Bats had seen Red Robin much less Tim Drake-Wayne. It started with a rather dumb argument that after years of holding back his tongue and the stress of being a TEENAGE CEO that Tim finally ripped into them.

They were too stunned by the end of his speech, him also admitting that yes he has his own problems and mistakes but at least he's trying to make amends or get over himself unlike others. It was their prolonged silence that was the final straw for him it seemed though, because Tim finally announced he was done, he was done bleeding for those that kept him on the edge of the family and that he wanted to rest, and with that Tim turned and left the Batcave for the final time.

They of course didn't take Tim's retirement announcement seriously, after all Tim was the last person other than Bruce they all believed would ever leave the life of a vigilante and a hero behind, and they all knew Bruce would keep working on the 'mission' even as a frail old man. It took them a few weeks before one of them finally decided to go see Tim and try to... talk about everything he said.

Only when they reached Tim's Nest, they discovered it was empty and he was no where to be found did they realize he was serious. It was a quick call to Wayne Enterprises to see if he was in and Tam no doubt holding back her sharp response to them that she told them that Tim had stepped down from CEO weeks ago and hasn't been heard from since. The one who went to see Tim immediately called the others, which sent many of them onto goose chase of false leads, arguments, and pointing blame.

Despite looking for their long lost Red Robin, he was good at hiding his tracks and any who might have an idea where he could be weren't talking.

So yeah it's been a while since the Bats had heard any news relating to their lost bird.

So imagine their surprise when Ra's latest attempt to upset the balance in their family again (did he want Damian to return as his heir? Take control over Gotham in the shadow? Upset Bruce? None of them honestly knew what his plan was anymore. Same old song and dance) and having captured them all that he brought up Tim to them. Or rather "shame the Detective is going to be late, but I'm sure his little family shall inform of things once he gets here."

None of them were expecting for Ra's to look away from them and with a snap of his fingers, three assassins brought forth into the room two others. One was being dragged by two assassins, black hair, pale skin, and lean swimmers build of a body. He looked roughly around the age Tim would be. He was placed on the floor right by Ra's boots, arms and legs tied up, clearly but alarmingly breathing low and slow from the raise and fall of their chest. He wore a simple T-shirt but had dark jacket that was covered in stars, NASA logos, and other galaxy themed patches all over it, his dark jeans also held some star patches but also held everyday stains from being outside in the grass and other normal day to day thing. All in all this person seems like a normal civilian individual and none of the Bats knew why Ra's had taken him.

The other assassin that had walked into the room was holding a toddler, a girl from the little pigtails on her messy head indicated. Her hair was just as dark as the passed out male by Ra's and her skin was shade healthier than him. She wore grass stained and messy paints caked overalls with a plan shirt under it and two different kinds of kids shoes (one was a green with dinosaurs and the other blue with little stars). She, unlike the young man on the floor, was awake and was looking around the room while sucking her thumb in clear distress, she also used her free hand that wasn't in her mouth to push the assassin holding onto her away from her as far as she could and was squirming her tiny legs enough to kick their sides. Thankfully the assassin didn't look too hostile or upset meaning she wasn't doing to much damage or being too annoying.

"What a lovely family the Timothy has gained for himself don't you think? I will admit Daniel put up a rather interesting fight, it was only due to us having the element of surprise that we managed to take him down and his little Eleanor has his fighting spirit it seems." Ra's said as he slowly reached over to the toddler to lightly fiddle (just to unnerve them as well) with her hair. However the moment he touched her hair, the little girl's eyes flashed from frosty blue to neon bright green and she had spat her thumb out of her mouth in order to hiss like a cat at him, her little feet kicking hard enough to cause a small 'oomph' from the one holding her.

Ra's gave an amused chuckle as he stared at the toddler in fascination before also casting his gaze down at the passed out young man, remembering the way his eyes also had flashed from blue to green and the amount of power he had saw bubble to the surface when they had ambushed the two in their home. As Ra's said before, if they hadn't had the element of surprise on their side when they went after Timothy's little family it wouldn't had worked. No doubt little Eleanor Drake was a hint of power Daniel Drake held.

Ra's turned to look at the Bats, and could clearly see the emotions on their faces which amused Ra's deeply, and couldn't help but say "Although I wasn't expecting him to marry a being with pure Lazarus blood flowing in their veins. Quite a interesting discovery that was. And that his offspring seemed to carry it also from birth. What lovely and priceless boons he has granted the League to have once he joins us."

Ra's could clearly see the questioning, fear (for the family in his clutches), confusion, and disbelief on the Bats faces and knew it would be so entertaining to watch the little.. family reunion he had set into motion.

He was so amused watching Batman the others he never noticed the light twitch on Daniel's face or the shifting breathing pattern. When he would later check to see of the large amount of tranquilizers they had given Daniel was still in-effect he was none the wiser that it had already wore off and that Danny was merely bidding his time for a opening.

[kanjichris]

"why don't you want him to know how much you love him?" "that's a little personal. he knows." "uh-huh."

[paris-in-space]

They were meant to be getting married this week…

[mapofyourstars]

similarities: smiling at each other

[salem-sapiens]

Of course I had to ruin it even for the nddp fans.

So yeah, book Phoebus/Frollo, because a crack ship is valid in every possible universe.

[iwaoiness]

When Argentina loses to Japan, Iwaizumi is there, crossing the net to reach Oikawa, who has fallen to his knees, hiding his face in his shirt collar, his shoulders trembling with broken sobs. Hajime wraps his arms around him, and Tooru collapses into the hug. There are no words in Spanish, English, or Japanese that can alleviate the sadness, the failure, and the defeat.

When Japan wins the set needed to advance to the quarter-finals, Oikawa stumbles out of his seat and runs onto the playing area, leaping over the billboard to the surprise of many fans, with a toothy, proud smile. Hajime looks up with teary eyes and lets out a wet laugh, catching Tooru in his arms as he leaps onto him, holding him tightly. There are words, "I'm so, so proud of you, mi vida", "you did it, I love you, I love you, I love you", "the quarter-finals, damn it, I knew you'd make it," soft and sweet, just for Hajime.

When Argentina suffers another defeat, Iwaizumi doesn't let Oikawa sleep in his own room. He drags him to his, and they shower together. Iwaizumi leaves him clothes with the promise that this time Oikawa will return them (which, of course, he doesn't). He applies kinesiotape strips to Oikawa's shoulders and arms, and then they watch their favorite movie on the laptop, cuddled up in the tiny bed. They talk about the movie, laughing at the most absurd scenes. Tooru lies with half his body resting on Hajime's, his head nestled against Hajime's broad chest. Hajime's hand roams through Tooru's hair for a while before wandering down his strong back. As they prepare to sleep, Iwaizumi holds him tightly, kisses his forehead, and whispers there’s no one like you out there, you are the greatest player the world has ever known, this is just another step towards the top, I love you and you are my pride.

When Italy eliminates Japan, Oikawa stands among the Japanese fans, giving a standing ovation to the team. He tries not to cry, fighting the sting in his eyes and the burn in his nose. But when he sees Iwa-chan bow towards the stands with the rest of the team in deep gratitude, when he sees Iwa-chan wiping away his tears with his sleeves, when he sees Hajime comforting a defeated Hinata, Atsumu, and Kageyama with pats on the back and hands in their hair, when he sees Iwa-chan checking to make sure the rest of the players are okay, and then searching the stands for him, giving him a sad smile, Tooru breaks down too. He comes down from the stands, and there is Hajime waiting. They hug, sinking into each other’s arms because there’s nowhere else in the world they’d rather be. Oikawa becomes Iwaizumi’s solid pillar, catching his sobs, sinking his fingers into his hair, and gently rubbing his back.

“Why are you crying so much, Iwa-chan? You're going to get snot all over my shirt!” Tooru teases, though he’s not much better, with teary eyes and a red nose. He lifts his head just to cradle Iwaizumi’s face in his hands, gently brushing his wet cheeks with his thumbs. When Hajime’s eyes meet his, he smiles softly. “It’s okay, my love, it’s all Tobio-chan’s fault. Geez, couldn’t he have paid more attention to the Italians when they were talking during the game?”

Despite himself, Hajime laughs, leaning into Oikawa’s touch, leaving a sweet kiss on the palm of his hand.

“That applies to you too, you know? We beat you, and as far as I remember, Japanese is your native language.”

“I was paying a lot of attention, but you kept covering your faces every time you talked!” he protested childishly.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, amused, before sighing and resting his forehead on Oikawa’s shoulder, feeling heavy and exhausted. Tooru kissed his cheek, resting his own against Hajime’s head while hugging him again, feeling the strong arms of the love of his life tighten around his waist.

“I wanted to win so much,” then he whispered, small and weak. “Not just for me, or my parents, or the team, or the country. Also for you. Especially for you. I wanted to share the fucking podium with you, Tooru. To share the medal like you did with me in Tokyo.”

Tooru wants to tear his heart out. He wants to sell his soul to the Olympic committee to redo these Olympics Games and start over. He wants to show that they are the strongest six. He wants Iwa-chan to prove it too. He wants them both to reach the highest peak, to face each other at the top.

He hates losing. He hates the taste of failure, salty and wet. He hates defeat.

But he also understands that this is volleyball too. Two teams separated by a net, bouncing a ball back and forth. The ball isn’t allowed to touch the floor, isn’t allowed to be carried but to be connected. Volleyball is also fun, even in defeat. Because it makes you stronger and because losing doesn’t mean the sport disappears forever.

“You will,” Tooru says, his voice grave, honest, and unwavering. You will because I believe in you. You will because this isn’t the end. You will because we’ll keep playing volleyball. "We will. The next Olympics will be in Los Angeles, and I'm going to kick your ass there, Hajime. I’ll reach the podium first, I’ll share the medal with you again, and it will be the gold.”

Iwaizumi snorts, snuggling into Oikawa’s shoulder for a few more seconds before lifting his head again. He cried again. His eyes are still wet, the skin beneath them red, trails of tears crossing his cheeks. But he smiles, wide and sincere.

“As if I’d let you beat me, babe. I’ll be the one taking you to the podium first.”

“Oho, Iwa-chan, do I smell a bet?” Tooru intertwining his hands behind Hajime’s neck.

“If I reach the podium, the honeymoon will be in Philippines.”

“And if I reach it first, it’ll be in Bali.”

“Deal.”

“Kiss to close the deal?”

“What about the handshake?”

“Bleh, boring!”

Hajime laughs, leaning in to rub his nose against Oikawa’s.

“Thank you,” he whispers against his lips, half-closing his eyes “for everything, Tooru.”

And Oikawa smiles, sweet and completely in love.

“That’s my line.” And with that, they kiss in the middle of the Paris Olympic Stadium.

...

as furudate once said: today you are the defeated, but what will you become tomorrow?

u can find this and me on my ao3 🍉

[somereaderinblue]

Do you have any ideas what a Paris design would look like?

- Zobody

Diomedes' gave a very good description of Paris' looks. /j

On a more serious note, I'm still doing some personal research/exploration. For some reason, 'symmetry' is what's sticking in my mind. Because to this day, symmetry is a common beauty standard; character design-wise it represents balance & control. As Aphrodite's favourite, I imagine him always looking p̸̣̆e̵͈̒ŗ̵̄f̶̼̈́é̵ͅc̵̪͝ṭ̶̎ to the point it's uncanny, like a doll. Even if he's covered in sweat, blood & grime, it's hard for him to look hideous & that's arguably the creepiest part.

When chatting with @dkmbookworm, both of us also agreed that Paris would have an ectomorph body type; long & lean but hard to put on weight/muscle mass.

He's also taller than Odysseus. This doesn't intimidate him but what terrifies him is how easily those lean arms could pin him down as more hands, a kaleidoscope of slim tapered fingers like snakes, invisible to mortal eyes except his own, caress Odysseus while protecting Paris.

Paris looks pretty & soft but when he hugs Telemachus, his skinny, bony arms dig into the boy, all sharp edges. Paris reaches out & holds him, but Telemachus does not feel embraced.

.....does this make sense? Sorry, I couldn't help but go more poetic than concrete with the descriptions.

[buginete]

seeing things

[stormxpadme]

Anyone's sent today's Wolverine issue to Brevoort yet? You know since he keeps on yapping how the throuple is lacking evidence especially in recent issues LOL. This is exactly what the starving throuple fans deserved. It's not EVERYTHING of course, because this is still Marvel, but you can read it however you like and they didn't just retcon it from orbit as was at some point rumored. These panels make me mighty emotional, and now I'm ready to write ALL the throuple and scogan things for pride month :D.

[paingoes]

Destroyer

Trigger Discipline

(Masterlist)

this is pre-series, set in the first year delta was given to the emperor. delta and paris are both around 13 here.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, child abuse, dehumanization, power imbalances, minor bullying, slavery, emotional whump, mass death implied)

==============

It was fall break, one of the few times Paris was allowed back into Castle Thales. He dragged the suitcase behind him. There was barely enough time to set it down before the attendants swept him into the dressing room. It was hard to play the handheld with his head up straight, but he’d gotten good at it — in the same way the maids had gotten good at working around him.

His leg bouncing annoyed them enough that they let him take recess. It was only then that he first saw his father, out in the empty hallway, against the backdrop of the purple banners. The Emperor grabbed at Paris’s wrist. He pulled it up to examine the bruises on his knuckles that the makeup hadn’t covered. No hello.

“The school called. Do you think this behavior is acceptable?” His voice was calm, always calm. Paris pulled his hand back protectively.

“They started it,” he insisted.

“Don’t talk back to me, Paris. This is beneath you.”

“I got all As. Four point seven with APs. Did the school call to tell you that too?” He didn’t hide the ire in his voice. That school was out to fucking get him. None of the other students ever got in trouble for fighting. It wasn’t like he could do it by himself.

The look his father gave him killed that argument before it could start. He wilted. The old man paid him no further mind, sending him straight back into the changing room. He spent the remainder of it in terse silence, not even arguing when they placed the crown on his head, the heavy one that always gave him migraines. He never wore it during the school year. He never wore it if he could avoid it. The weight of it felt all wrong.

Nobody mentioned there was going to be a showcase that night. (They might’ve, actually. He never checked his email back then.) Even if he’d known, he still would not have been prepared for the little off-worlder kneeling on the opposite side of the old man’s throne. Dark blue skin, even darker hair. Bright, bright eyes. The Emperor’s new toy. 

Paris realized with a start that they were the same age.

He settled into the throne. The old man hadn’t come in yet; it was weird to share the dais. He watched the other boy try his best to stay invisible, like he wasn’t even there. They’d clearly had different media training. He slipped the handheld back out of his pocket while he waited for the event to start.

He sat through most of the ball unbelievably bored by the whole thing. They’d ceased to be impressive by the time he was seven years old. He never could fix his face; he was sure the discontent was obvious upon it. He didn’t understand how anyone else could manage to be polite about it or why they bothered to. The old man was good at many things, but true spectacle was not among them. That part desperately needed work. 

Still, he was intrigued by the motion to his left-hand side, the noise as they unchained the boy from where he was kneeling and led him into the center of the room. 

The lights dimmed — and his colors burned. He did not fully grasp the technical significance of the display; he doubted most people there did. The handler explained it as a kind of microscopic manipulation of the light, some supreme physical achievement. What it manifested as was the holographic appearance of the scale dragon right over their heads, its shimmering form reflected in all the small particles of air. The mirage was impressive. Paris still did not understand what it had to do with statecraft.

He saw the boy swoon like he might faint, then steady himself. He really was fresh out of the box. His eyes flitted nervously from side to side, trying to take it all in. He flinched at any loud sound — and there were many. He wasn’t used to it yet. When they led him back to the side of the throne, he seemed more grateful to be out of the spotlight than he was upset at being chained. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

It took a while before Paris could get him alone, without the old man watching. He had to wait until after the showcase was over and only the ball remained.

“How did you do that?” Paris asked. He leaned against the leftmost beam of the dais, partially obscured by the curtain. The boy was still kneeling there, still chained to the empty throne’s base.

He turned his head slowly. His glowing blue eyes studied Paris carefully; for a moment, he was afraid of the intensity behind them. Paris could not read his expression, did not appreciate the creeping silence he commanded.

“I know you heard me.” A certain defensiveness crept into Paris’s voice. The boy looked at him apologetically, raising a finger to his lips.

“Oh,” Paris’s eyes widened with the realization. “You’re not allowed to talk?”

He nodded his head so subtlety that Paris guessed he wasn’t even allowed to move. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised. 

The boy seemed unconvinced, his eyes passing over the crown in Paris’s hair. Fuckin’ thing. He took it off.

The old man barked his name so loudly that the boy jumped, as if it was his own. Paris just rolled his eyes, replaced the crown, and stepped away from the dais.

“It isn’t your friend,” His father warned him, “Just because you can’t keep your own doesn’t mean I’m buying you new ones.”

His face burned. 

Paris stayed up until the party was over, even when it ran well into the next morning. As the last of the guests trickled out, he sat down on the stairs of the dais. The boy’s handler came to untether him, pulling him roughly to his feet.

“Did it talk to you?” The man asked. It took Paris a second to realize the question was addressed to him. 

“No?” He said. The boy looked at him gratefully, like he’d covered up for him, when he was just telling the truth. The doctor looked somewhat disappointed by this answer. His irritation switched targets.

“You shouldn’t speak Common in the palace. It’s unbecoming.”

Every adult swore they had a right to tell him how to act. Even this total stranger.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Paris snapped. 

The fight drained out of him as his father re-entered the hall. All noise died but for his voice.

“I’ll take it,” his father said, extending one hand out in an almost chivalrous motion. The boy, now unchained at the neck, quickly jogged down the stairs to meet him. Paris watched as his father slid his hand onto the boy’s shoulder, leading him gently out of the hall. He watched as one ringed hand brushed a strand of black hair out of the boy’s face. The boy flinched — ungrateful.

========

The Emperor did the same thing over spring break, the next time Paris returned to Thales. He had to watch the same routine, watch the old man carefully soothe out the folds of Delta’s clothing, run a thumb over his cheek. He’d been given free reign at this one, apparently. Even though he kneeled by the dais again, he wasn’t chained to it. It seemed like he was allowed to take breaks.

“It’s an object,” the Emperor would insist whenever Paris tried to get close. “What use do you have for it? I won’t tell you again.”

He still paid it more attention than he ever spared him. So publicly, as if he wanted him to see. Paris bit into the flesh of his own hand, leaving teethmarks. His father smacked him on the back of the head; he withdrew his hand back to his side, wiping the blood and saliva along his pants.

He could only corner Delta when the night was closing in, when all the adults were too drunk to notice. Paris caught him just outside of the dining room. He flicked at the silver tiara placed into his — its? — hair. It fell a few inches out of place. Wordlessly, Delta readjusted it. He kept his head bowed, his hands at his side, not speaking. Totally resigned to the treatment. 

“He doesn’t actually like you, you know.” Paris said. There wasn’t much certainty behind the statement. 

It got a reaction, but not the one he had hoped. Delta looked up a bit, the side of his mouth quirked up into a disbelieving grin. He thought it was funny. He was fucking laughing at him.

Paris was temporarily too mad to even see. Delta seemed to recognize the danger and immediately became expressionless again.

“Sorry.” There was still a bit of humor in his voice. “Um. Yeah. I know.”

Like he didn’t even care. It didn’t mean to him what it meant to Paris. 

His hands curled into fists. Delta noticed, stepping back a little.

“Your Highness,” He added the honorific on quickly, as if that was the problem. 

“Forget it,” Paris waved him off. 

He walked away before Delta could even respond, retreating to his room. He’d be reprimanded for it later, but there was no way he could go back to the party now. There was something hollow in him that would not let him sleep.

===========

Delta moved the pawn forward, his claws clicking delicately against the piece. The whole board shook from the turbulence of the ship. 

Even in summer, it seemed like they were making a concentrated effort to keep Parks out of his own house.  He saw his dad more, though. It was tour season; he was obligated to tag along. It meant that his schooling never truly ended throughout the year, but he didn’t mind so much. Everyone said he was a natural.

Delta was the only person even close to his age on the tours. As much as he’d been discouraged from interacting with him, they saw each other constantly, the only ones at each other’s eye level. He would’ve sworn the kid sought him out on purpose. 

He didn’t talk much, but he was good at listening, which Paris cared more about. They broke off from the main group in the downtime, descending deeper into the ship. There was an old chess set laying around in the crew’s lounge. Paris had climbed up to the top shelf to get it, letting it clatter loudly against the coffee table. Delta knew how to play; it was weird, the things he knew and didn’t know. The things he was good at. Paris got the sense that Delta was letting him win. 

They were halfway through the second game when the doors opened up, entirely too many personnel for the situation at hand. The Emperor was among them. Paris shrank back.

He startled as Delta’s handler abruptly backhanded the boy, knocking him out of his seat and onto the floor. He heard Delta take a sharp inhale of breath, but remain silent otherwise. 

“Apologize.” The doctor’s hand was in a vice grip against the back of the boy’s neck, nearly pressing his head to the ground in the forced bow.

“I’m sorry,” Delta responded immediately, without hesitation, even though it hadn’t been his fault. The doctor shook him a little, prompting a stronger reaction. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”

Paris had asked him to. It’d been his idea. But his father was standing right there. He couldn’t bring himself to admit to it, not after he’d already been warned. 

“It’s okay,” Paris said softly; the words felt sickly in his mouth.

As he caught the expression on the Emperor’s face, he could tell it hadn’t mattered. The old man hadn’t believed it for a second.

The doctor released his hold, pointing sharply back to the exit. Delta scrambled to his feet, practically running out of the door. He hadn’t been looking at Paris when he’d apologized and he didn’t look back at him when he left.

They all followed out onto the balcony for the show of force. With the handprint still across his face, Delta sat by the edge of the platform, his eyes closed in deep concentration. In the next moment, there was calamity. The large fortress walls all broke down beneath their own weight, sending the enemy castle tumbling down into the sea. All the residents had still been inside. The old man kept a tight grip on the back of Paris’s collar, making sure he saw all of it.

===========

The clipshow continued in the Emperor’s office, all the shades drawn and the lights dimmed. It was a supercut of the weapon’s military record, all the carnage, even the burnt bodies. Some of the shots were truly gratuitous. Paris wasn’t allowed to look away. 

“Twelve years in the making and you’re selfish enough to endanger it. You can’t be that desperate,” his father said.

“I wasn’t trying to endanger it.” Paris’s fist clenched and unclenched against the chair. “I didn’t…think it was a big deal.”

“And I assume you know more than the experts, like always.” It was still dark in the room. The clips were still playing silently.

Paris’s lip bled a little from where he bit it. He had matching cuts along his tongue. He shook his head.

“I don’t know how to make this more explicit to you, Paris. It is a weapon. It may look like a person, but its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.” The video showed a still-living hand reaching out from beneath the rubble. “It does not need you confusing it or meddling with its programming. When I tell you not to interact with it, I am doing it for your own good. Its reactions are unpredictable. The last thing I want is for you to become one of its casualties.”

Paris flinched as his father’s hands slammed down onto the desk. His voice still came out calm.

“It only exists to be commanded — and that command is not yours. You will not meddle with my property. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“This will not be a conversation next time,” the Emperor promised. Paris nodded. His throat was choked up.

He slinked out of the still-dark office, back down the hall to his room. He was glad summer was ending. He didn’t even want to be home anymore.

He was surprised to see Delta still pacing the halls with his handler, not yet placed back in his cell. He briefly made eye contact with Paris, then immediately cast his gaze back down to the floor, chastened.

……

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[d4rkshad0w]

i’m not sure if i’ve said this before but you best believe that when i get my hands on tlkof instead of reading the first page i will skim the book for KitTys first kiss THEN proceed to read the whole book :D

[captmuldoon]

Something that does stick out to me about the way they keep referencing Alice within the show is that the characters only ever reference Alice. We know Daniel has another ex-wife, we know he has two daughters that hate him and don't speak to him anymore. Yeah, part of what brings Alice up is because of Daniel's book (like the dessert from Paris in season 1), but when it comes to weaponizing Daniel's memories against him there are other prominent people in his life that are never mentioned. It always comes back to Alice. We might learn more about his other ex-wife and his daughters in the next season but I think the fact that they are continually absent across two seasons during the Dubai interview (when the running theme is memory is a monster) says a lot.

[tangerinefluff]

just like in tokyo 2020, japan fails to win their quarterfinals match. oh my heart hurts so much but they gave us a world-class match deserving of their (once) world #2 title. and for yuki who showed up in this match despite his missing numbers in the prelims really shows he is the heart of his team.

[joansiesbeloved]

Joan photographed walking out of the Élysée Palace in Paris alongside her sister-in-law Eunice, after being received by Madame de Gaulle, the wife of the French President. They also can be seen being interviewed by a newsman. They were in France when they had been informed of the news that Bobby had been shot at the Ambassador Hotel, in Los Angeles. Circa, June 5th, 1968.