#personally I think eiffel would be the bard

[mango-lizard]

If the Hephaestus crew were a d&d party, what classes do you think everyone would be?

[commsroom]

Some silly eiffel questions that idk if you’ve talked about before but:

- would he play dnd? (I think yeah lol but I’m curious what you think) and if so what class would he play as?

- his favorite flavor of slushy

- how does he cook marshmallows? (Burn them, carefully toast them, eat them out of the bag, etc?)

- if he could choose to be a fantasy creature, which one would he choose?

Anyways I hope you feel better and that these distract you from the icky feelings!

have you seen the doug eiffel dnd script? i love to show people the doug eiffel dnd script. it was written a couple of years ago as part of the fundraising for unseen, and is obviously non-canon, however. it's non-canon in the sense that this group of people in these circumstances would never play dnd. i think the anecdotes + attitudes expressed by eiffel are perfectly on brand and they are canon to me. so... how he feels about dnd, and at least one answer to 'what class would he play' is in there. it's very funny to me that he's a minmaxer, and that his character is trained in "bazooka karate" like... sigh... yeah. of course. i don't think his tastes have changed that much since he was a teenager. (he would be a bard though, obviously, if that was the question.) i also think eiffel would be just insufferable to play dnd with because, like. if he's a player, he's going to be mad that he can't tell the story he wants to. if he's the DM, he's going to do zero planning and go on wild tangents having conversations between NPCs and forget he's not just supposed to be telling a story to himself. lost in his own world.

blue raspberry. he loves sugary artificial garbage that doesn't resemble any real world flavor, and blue raspberry is like, the 90's flavor. so many of his preferences are just nostalgia. he would also be really obnoxious about showing people how it dyed his tongue. (i don't think he's too picky about his sugary garbage, though.)

well. you already know he's not doing it carefully. even if he tried to do it carefully, he would still burn them, but i think he prefers them kinda burnt anyway. he would make fun of someone (minkowski) for how meticulously she toasts marshmallows. and he does also get impatient and shovel handfuls of them into his mouth directly out of the bag in-between the ones he immolates. eiffel is the kind of guy who would show off by proving how many marshmallows he can put in his mouth. i guarantee that guy has nearly choked trying to defend his honor as the reigning chubby bunny champion.

actually given the choice, i think he's perfectly happy to be human (and wouldn't trust an offer like that anyway) ... as an icebreaker question, though? he immediately gives a basic, 'cool' answer like werewolf, and then his brain catches up to his mouth and he goes wait, hold on, can i take that back? because all of the potential downsides just occurred to him, and he starts jumping around with his answer and getting more and more specific until it derails the whole conversation and he's just asking, like, if there would be a catch and what powers he's allowed to have, etc. and whoever asked is like, um... whatever you want, i guess? (<- regretting it.) the person after him says they'd be a dragon and he's like, ugh. no fair. i should've been a dragon.

[who-needs-words]

May I hear about Oscar in Paris angst? 👁👁

YES. So as you know I adore Wilde. He is best bard. I also adore angst. And poor Wilde has had a very rough time in canon and I love exploring that.

I particularly love him in Paris- the beginning of the end, the beginning of his curse. Also Wilde saw Guivres destroy Eiffel’s folly!! That must of have messed him up. This angst fic details the terrible time Wilde had in Paris. From his broken ankle, to his team leaving him, the destruction wrought by the dragon he is loyal to. The beginnings of his curse.

I like to imagine Paris was where his faith in Guivres and the other Meritocrats started to fail. He saw the destruction and devastation she created, saw lives and buildings destroyed. He had to get out on foot, imagine the people he met, the stories (and he is bard at heart) he was told. Maybe he didn’t realize, maybe he was in denial but I think the destruction in Paris created the cracks that would lead to him turning to the Harlequins.

And then! Then in Damascus Wilde asks Apophis to destroy the factory. Wilde might be the only person to have seen both those events. And seeing Apophis destroy the factory must have brought back memories or Paris?

So yeah. Paris. Wilde. Angst. Best combo.

[fanficflaneuse]

One Day - Part 10

A/N: Dear magical tumblr friends, we’ve reached part 10. I’m sorry if it’s not that good. I was really excited to write it, but today I had to do a bunch of things for my graduate applications and it was just hectic. Still, it is Draco Malfoy’s birthday and I didn’t want to let the day pass without uploading a big, nice chapter. I hope you like it either way. 

Also, before we start, I feel the need to express my utter love for Theo Nott and Astoria Greengrass lol. I don’t hate them. In fact, if anyone wants to recommend some Theo Nott fanfiction, I’m all for it.  

Let’s do this! 

Draco x reader (she/her pronouns) Word count: 1921 Summary: One day AU. Post-war. Since The Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and y/n meet one day a year.

Masterlist 

Enjoy! 

3 May, 2009

“What is this?” Draco asked in awe, motioning to (Y/N)’s hair.

“It’s my take on the French bob,” she answered playfully.

Every time he saw her, Draco found (Y/N) more beautiful than before. This time, though, he swore she was actually glowing. She had gotten a haircut and now her locks framed her face differently. She dressed so…French now, which he found adorable and incredibly sexy. And her smile was bigger and brighter than he had seen in years. In general, this version of his best friend made him feel like a teenager again.  

Draco had been postponing this trip for weeks now. They had not addressed the issue yet, (when had they ever?) but everyone knew that the moment one of them reached out for the other, things would finally be settled. Their friends were tired of seeing them clumsily stumble through their feelings. That’s why Astoria took Scorpius to the Nott’s chalet on the Swiss Alps and practically forced him onto a train to Paris.

Astoria and Draco were not exactly the closest friends, but they had a son together and for his sake they maintained a more than civil relationship. She had settled down with Theo Nott, marrying him just after the divorce was finalized. They were happy together and she wanted his son’s father to move on as well. She was not only moved by a sense of guilt; deep down, Astoria had always known that the connection Draco and (Y/N) had was deeper than she would ever comprehend.

Whatever the case, the feeling of elation that washed over him as they held each other at Gare du Nord made him grateful for being alive again. He had butterflies in his stomach and a tingling all around. As if their bodies were connected, (Y/N) could also feel something electrifying. They hugged for the longest time, as if they weren’t in a crowded station with people rushing around.

(Y/N) and Draco walked arm in arm to her apartment in Montmartre. He still had a lot of questions about muggles, so she enjoyed pointing things out for him as they strolled. He had been to Paris countless times in his childhood and even once with Astoria, but this felt different. Walking with (Y/N), listening as she told him about the things she did every day, the places she frequented and the muggle history behind them felt like a dream come true. (Y/N) was very excited about taking him to a bunch of places and she numbered cheerfully all of the activities she had planned for them. Draco wished he could live in this moment forever.

“So, you’ve been consistently on the Prophet’s Best Seller list for almost a year and now you’ve won the Beedle the Bard literary prize. Don’t you dare to forget about your commoner friends, (Y/L/N),” he teased.

“You’re hardly a commoner, Healer Malefoy,” she taunted back, using the French translation of his last name.

Draco rolled his eyes playfully. “But really, you’re conquering the world one book at a time and I cannot be prouder…of myself for still having your original poetry saved somewhere at home.”

(Y/N) snickered. “I guess magical readers like the flavour of muggle literature. ‘That Kafka fellow? An absolute genius’,” as she quoted him playfully, Draco’s heart flipped.

When they reached the apartment, Draco observed everything in astonishment. Each little detail around the house embodied her. From the towers of books that flooded the flat to the position of the sofa by the fireplace, the rickety spiral staircase leading to the second floor, the creamy colours of the walls, the muggle paintings – she would later call them ‘impressionist’ –, the huge windowpanes and the mismatched yet harmonious furniture, it was all her. Draco had never seen a place represent a person so well. Even more surprising was the feeling that invaded him as soon as he set foot inside; he sensed that he had finally arrived home. He was Odysseus returning to his beloved Ithaca and he never wanted to set sail again.

They goofed around for a while, talking nonsense as they drank some very expensive wine. They danced around the room, enjoying the different layers to muggle music. Lately, (Y/N) had got then both hooked on muggle jazz. Draco relished greatly how the music seemed to pierce through them as they swayed around the room.

As the sunset painted the sky with colourful swirls, Draco stood by the window, observing the rooftops, the quaint streets and the Eiffel tower at a distance. (Y/N) took in his form. He looked much better. He stood taller; his shoulders no longer sagged forward in defeat. The bags under his eyes were practically gone. She could tell he was eating more. And he seemed generally happier. It made her smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go anywhere tonight?” she asked softly, walking towards him.

He turned to face her and nodded vehemently. He knew what he wanted to do. But it was only about an hour later, when they were cuddling in her bed, that he delved slowly into the much-awaited conversation.

Draco’s head laid on (Y/N)’s stomach. He was facing her way, eyes closed as her fingers worked their magic on his scalp. He was thinking about the right way to say it. And it all started off clumsily.  

“So, Olivier Flamel, huh?”

“Yes,” she sighed.

For a while, (Y/N) had dated Olivier Flamel, a descendant of the one and only Nicholas Flamel, who, not coincidentally at all, was also a big-shot alchemist. It had ended like most of her relationships and flings in the last few years: casually, easily, no real pain for either part involved because they hadn’t been really that involved.  

“Do I have to hex him?” Draco asked seriously.

(Y/N) snorted. “Ron asked me just the same,” she explained when he shot her an amused look, “And of course not, Dray. Olivier is an amazing guy. There was a lot of chemistry between us and we had a very passionate affair. But ultimately, we were just so different.”

Draco was invaded by a horrible feeling of envy when she talked about their amazing chemistry, but he did his best not to show it, to be rational and kind.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, even though he already knew. He needed the confirmation that still didn’t have feelings for him.

“You know it’s fine,” she shrugged, “I guess I’m just shook. For a while there I was half of the ‘it’ couple of the French wizarding jet set. It was a wild ride. Way too much to handle”.

Her cheeky smile then turned into a more concerned gesture. “How are you holding up?”

To say that (Y/N) had been surprised by Draco and Astoria’s divorce was the understatement of the century. The only thing she was certain of was that she didn’t want to see Draco suffer like that ever again. It had made her physically sick, to see him in so broken. She had been there through every stage of his grief. She helped him move back to Malfoy Manor. She took care of Scorpius on the days in which he couldn’t get out of bed. She cried with him. She got drunk with him. She was the big spoon. And through it all, (Y/N) only real target was to help Draco’s heart heal.  

“I’m alright now. In hindsight I guess I am not surprised, you know? Our relationship was doomed since the beginning. The most important thing to me is Scorpius and I believe we’re handling it well, the share custody and all. He’s a happy boy.”

(Y/N) kept caressing Draco’s hair. There was a painfully long silence. The feeling of repressed words and feelings clouded the air. They had kissed a couple of times before. Once they had a very heated make out session that almost leads to them shagging. But they hadn’t talked about it. Every time it happened, they would just ignore it and carry on, as if they were not both elated by it. (Y/N) had spent countless nights telling herself that she wouldn’t kiss him again; she didn’t want to be Draco’s rebound.

“We totally suck at this love thing, don’t we?” (Y/N) finally said.

Draco’s heart was beating hard on his chest. It was now or never. “I don’t think we suck at this ‘love thing’,” he pointed out, raising up to face her, “I think we have ignored the right person to do the love thing with”.

(Y/N) regarded him seriously for a second. This is really not how she thought the infamous conversation would go. She was braising herself for yet another disappointment. And now here he was, saying the things she had wanted for so long. A lot of mixed messages were bouncing in her mind.

“You mean us? Together?” (Y/N) sat up, “Dray, don’t you think that boat sailed about a decade ago?”

Draco’s smile fell. He was certainly not expecting that. All of a sudden, he felt an emptiness in his stomach and an urgent need to cry. “D-do you really think so?”

“The timing is never right,” she breathed out.

“Look at us now, love. The timing is perfect,” he said before kissing both of her cheeks.

(Y/N)’s eyes welled with tears. “I don’t want to be your rebound, Dray,” she softly.

Draco looked at her, his expression softening. “I’ve been in love with you for the longest time, (Y/N). I pushed you away, convinced that I was doing the ultimate sacrifice for you. I wanted to save you from, well, me. You deserved better. You still do”, he heard her scoff, “But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.”

They looked at each other intently. “Now,” he said dramatically, “I’ve come all this way to confess my undying love for you…”

“Idiot,” she muttered playfully, the widest and most genuine smile plastered on her face. He inched forward and kissed her face again: her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. (Y/N) felt like she was floating on a cloud.

“I want to be yours, (Y/N). I want you to be mine,” he whispered in her ear, before kissing her on that soft spot he knew made her breathing hitch.

“Draco, I swear if you hurt me, if you use me as a rebound, I swear to Circe I’m going to hex you and never talk to –“

He shook his head. “I will never hurt you, (Y/N/N). I am in love with you.”

“I’ve always been yours, Dray,” she said, softly.

“As I’ve always been yours,” he answered. 

They looked at each other then, eyes full of adoration. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His eyes quickly set on her lips before meeting her gaze again. (Y/N) pressed her lips to his. It was, by no means, the first time Draco and (Y/N) kissed. It was, though, the best one they had shared to date. It started sweet and loving, but its intensity raised as the minutes went by. Their feelings let loose, pressing themselves unfiltered with each caress.

“I love you, Draco,” she said breathlessly.

He pressed (Y/N) to his chest, kissing the top of her head multiple times.

“Say that you love me again,” he almost pleaded, his voice small and a bit ashamed. Draco couldn’t believe his ears and he wanted every confirmation he could possibly get.

“I love you, Dray,” she said, pecking his lips, “I love you.”

tags: @fandomscombine @okaydraco @naomi02hook @iliketoast23 @winnsmills @oldfashionedlovergirlsblog @happycomb @xtrashmouthxtozierx @animelover09556 @hopplessdreamer

[poptropicashitposts]

Here are my Top Ten Islands!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

10. Wild West

Wild West Island was the first Island I ever played! I remember being extremely excited when I got the Marshall badge and it was a part of my character's costume for a veryyy long time. I think the nostalgia is why I love this island so much, but in my opinion it was also a very well done island!

9. Lunar Colony

This Island TRAUMATIZED me, like I was absolutely caught so off guard by the ending and man, has it stuck with me. The realization that just because you don't get a happy ending doesn't mean someone else doesn't; Salerno got her happy ending but it wasn't the one we expected. Also Space!!

8. Night Watch

I know that there are quite a few mixed opinions on Night Watch Island but personally I loved it! I had this strange weekend ritual where I'd wake up at around 8am and play Night Watch Island followed by Black Lot Island. I had no idea why it was always those two islands but I Night Watch had a lot of replayability for me! I think that's a prime reason to why I like it so much.

7. Mystery Train

Oh boy, where do I start with this island. I absolutely love islands with historical themes! Seeing all those iconic figures from the late 19th century interact with eachother made 10yro me SO happy. I was genuinely convinced from the start that Gustave Eiffel was the theif, so I was probably one of the few people that didn't see the plot twist coming which in my opinion made it so much more enjoyable!

6. Game Show

I remember Game Show Island being one of the islands that took a bit longer for me to complete, and honestly I wish the lore was further expanded upon because it had me HOOKED! I love Harold Langley with all of my heart and there isn't enough content of him out there. I adored the mini-game show games and found the end puzzles quite challenging. It was overall an island that I really really really enjoyed and it's just kinda stuck as one of my favourites.

5. Virus Hunter

Virus Hunter Island was all the rage when I first joined the Poptropica fandom because it was the most recent one to come out, AND it was the first island to have sound! Dr. Lange owns my mortal body and I have sooo many headcanons about her. During the time in which it came out I was very invested in biological workings and it provided a positive outlook of the internal workings of the human body!

4. Cryptids

I think we can all agree that Cryptids Island is a fandom favourite, we are all Harold Mew's children and feral cryptid kids. Do I even have to explain what's amazing about this island? We all share one braincell and that braincell is LOVING this island

3. Steamworks

I cannot put into words how incredible Steamworks Island is. I know not everyone liked the isolated aspect of it but that's what made it stand out for me! Steampunk. Isolation. Plants monsters. Such a questionable yet perfect combination! Zak ended up being an entire cute sweetheart and the whole premise of Sprocket was genius. I also believe it was the one of the hardest islands to complete and that fact matched perfectly with the other underlying themes of the Island!

2. Astro Knights

Astro Knights Island changed my life. It's where my love of Medival History first originated from you better believe I was biggest Arthurian Legend in my age group. Again, I love historical islands! The Knights! Space!! Mordred!! The VIBES!!! MEDIVAL!!!!! SAVING A PRINCESS!!!!!!!! This island impacted me so much as a child and it's where so many of my intrests have stemmed from. The Binary Bard is also one of my favourite villains and omlll this island means so much to me.

1. Mocktropica

I can say, wholeheartedly, that I am the number one fan of this island. It's official. This island CONSUMED me. This Island has been ingrained into my personality and not a day goes by where I don't think about it nor make a reference. I have so, SO many theories and headcanons about the Executive Capitalists Including their names, backstories and so much more. Poptropica is a game targeted towards the younger generations, particularly children, and yet this WHOLE island is one big pile of satirical, meta GENIUS that I cannot put into words just how... incredibly well done it is. Anyone of any age could play this island and get a laugh out of it, in fact I think most of this island's brilliance would fly right over younger children's heads. The Bonus Quest is also my favourite! I'm legally married to Mark Hertz he is a whole sweetheart. This islands takes the absolute PISS out of capitalism and I am HERE for it. Glitches? Taxes? Robots? YES YES YES!!! It's so mcfricking satirical and ironic and... holy heck I can't. I love this island so much, It permanently has a place in my heart. There are so many iconic lines and little details in the background that make every playthrough more enjoyable than the last and everytime I play it I feel like I'm tripping on acid. The entire thing is an absolute fever dream and I want to know what Jeff Kinney was taking when he even fathomed the idea that this Island was based upon. This island somehow has both a Utah vibe and a Netherlands vibe. I can't. Like can you imagine living in the damn NETHERLANDS and your entire life just gets ruined by capitalism-, in the NETHERLANDS. I could banter on about this island all night but I will end this list here.

[caladblog]

you’ve long seen your downfall spelled out in another’s bones

He’s going through an unconventional grieving process.

[oh man i forgot to crosspost this when i published it on ao3 whoops

title from the scorpio entry in september's Shitty Horoscopes, chapter xii: obituaries.

i've had this vaguely kicking around in my head since i first listened to the s3 finale. One of Them started it coalescing, and Dirty Work solidified it.]

The Maxwell Voice sounds angry this time she comes to visit, angrier than he's seen (heard) her in years, angry in the way she only used to get during that short slice of time between when she first judged him to be trustworthy and when she hadn't yet gotten used to Kepler's paternalism. Back then those rants had made him uncomfortable in ways he couldn't put into words, caught between needing to defend him (ingrained) and wanting to back her (honest), but now he'd pay good money for a reprise, awkward emotions and all. It's ironic that he can't stop noticing every grating thing about the colonel only now that she can't appreciate it, that he can't stop knowing exactly how she'd react to them, a derisive comment under her breath, a bombastic encore once they were alone. She was always better at mocking Kepler than he was, had a better grasp of his affected cadence even though she hadn't been working with him as long. (She was always better than him at a lot of things.) It's ironic. Isn't it?

It's something. Jacobi doesn't particularly care what.

The Maxwell Voice would be pacing if she weren't only a figment of his imagination. Since she is, he indulges the picture for thirty seconds or so: Alana Maxwell, animate and in one piece, stalking back and forth across the room (Magnanimously, he lets her have gravity.) like she's attacking the floor with her feet, gesturing wildly and explosively for emphasis on every other word. She was always so still and self-contained until she got really angry. It was a bit funny to watch, not that he'd ever admit it.

"Daniel Kenneth Jacobi," the Maxwell Voice says in a lethal hiss, "I swear on your duck-fearing soul, if you find Jesus because I kicked the bucket--"

"It's not finding Jesus." He doesn't have the energy to put as much scorn and sarcasm into the words as they deserve. "It's bargaining. Bargaining is one of the stages of grief, right?"

"Three years ago you told me the only real stages of grief are day-drinking and vehicular arson," she accuses.

"Of which I can do neither at the moment," he shoots back. "I'm branching out, okay? Get off my case, I'm trying to think."

"No, dumbass, you're trying to electrocute yourself in a pointless attempt to rewire the comms panel in your cell to broadcast outside the station so you can, what. Ask the aliens to pretty please with a cherry bomb on top air-mail you a new copy of your best friend because somebody was playing with the old one and she got broken? That's a terrible plan on so many levels, I don't even know where to start chewing you out for it."

"It's not a terrible plan," Jacobi mutters. The snapped-off end of his toothbrush makes a passable screwdriver as long as he goes slow enough that it won't break any further, but it's still a bit too thick. He's progressing through his fingernails for the smaller screws. Hopefully there's no more than ten between him and the circuitry, because both thumbs, an index finger, and a pinky are already ragged and weeping tiny flecks of blood.

"It is a terrible plan, and you know it, or else I wouldn't be here yelling at you!"

"If Eiffel can do this, so can I."

"Eiffel's an idiot savant. Eiffel's a level 100 bard who's spent his entire life dumping his EXP into the one skill tree. Eiffel usually has real tools."

"The aliens already popped out a Lovelace and a me. Zhang's ship from the seventies was fucking lousy with clones. This is possible."

"I don't need to enumerate the differences between the Tiamat mission and this one. Professor Kepler would've left them out of the lecture, of course, but you've known him long enough to hear what he isn't saying in the pauses between what he is. And you're absolutely right about Lovelace and you. They've got one of their own on board, and their attempts to load another didn't work, and they're not likely to waste more resources when one mouthpiece is already functioning just fine."

"Not even if I'm reeeally polite?"

"No, Daniel, not even if you're reeeeeeeaaaaaaally polite." Her eyeroll is audible. "This is an utter waste. I mean, God, at least wait until you've managed to steal a soldering gun."

"You wouldn't mind," he says, very, very quietly.

The Maxwell Voice is silent. The Maxwell Voice has not gone away. The silence is the message, and an extremely pointed one at that.

Too damn bad. If she didn't want him to say it, she shouldn't have died.

"You wouldn't mind," Jacobi repeats, slightly louder. "The captain's shaky now. Flinches at her own reflection. I hear you snorting every time I see her do that, you know? You wouldn't mind at all, not being human. Hell, it's practically something you wanted! All your knowledge, and your personality, and your thought processes, and the only thing you have to give up in exchange for being goddamn bulletproof is a few minutes of control every once in a while? I know you, Alana, I know you would have made that trade in a nanosecond, and you're not around anymore so the least I can do is make that trade for you!!"

His words rose to a shout near the end and it echoes off the metal, for you for you for you for you fading into nothing (like the nothing this is), and when the Maxwell Voice speaks up again she's gentle.

Her gentleness has always been so much worse than her anger.

"And that's what this is, isn't it? You, alone in a little box, praying for a miracle from a higher power. It's the same spirit--pun intended--as turning religious."

Two can play the pointed silence game, but Maxwell isn't actually here, she's just in his brain, and he hasn't been able to make his brain shut up since about an hour after he trapped himself on an experimental module for four days.

"I don't want that, Daniel. I don't want you grasping at straws. I don't want you living one moment to the next on the empty wish for a thing that only might be possible. It doesn't matter what I would have done. What I would have done stopped mattering sometime while I was tied to a chair with a gun in my face, and you know that. You also know what I did want, because I told you, and you remember."

Jacobi doesn't respond, but the words are trapped behind his teeth and his breathing has gone (close to a sob) unsteady and he's picking compulsively at a screw that refuses to budge.

She can wait him out. She's always been better at waiting than him, too.

"'Don't make a big deal out of it'," he recites dully. "Extraction out of that one job in Germany that went kind of south. We had seven hours to kill hiding in the train's luggage car. We hadn't slept in over a day and couldn't until we made it to the safehouse. You started talking to keep yourself awake, but then you went and got it frickin' notarized once we were back in the States. 'Don't make a big deal out of it. When I die, you get my stuff, and that's all. Blow up anything that's classified, sell the rest on craigslist, buy yourself a nice vintage grenade or something else equally dangerous and dumb.'"

"'Gotta stay on brand, don't I?'" the Maxwell Voice quotes with a teasing undercurrent, and this is-- he's imagining his dead best friend imitating his words from one conversation three years ago while tearing his fingernails to bloody shreds trying to open up a comms panel that he doesn't know how to adjust in a repurposed room on a broken-down space station seven point eight light years away from the planet where the conversation took place so he can beg some aliens to give him something that's sort of hopefully a little bit like what she used to be. It's ridiculous. It's stupid. It's not going to work. It hurts so fucking bad that he's almost grateful for the pain in his fingertips that stabs in time with his pulse.

That's what he said in Germany, dry and flat.

This is what he wanted to say, but didn't: You're not going to die.

This is what he wanted to say, but didn't: I won't let you die.

This is what he wanted to say, but didn't: I would rip the universe apart at the atomic level to get you back.

"There's no going back, Daniel," the Maxwell Voice says, and she's even gentler. "You know that. I knew that. I don't want you burying yourself in the past. I want your eyes open. Looking forward."

The petty obstinate part of him lashes out, what you want doesn't matter anymore now does it, but a much bigger part straightens up and says, Alright then.

Forward.

It is a god damn travesty that the person responsible for her death is still breathing the recirculated air in this universe where Alana Maxwell isn't. It's a waste, when you get down to it. Energy and oxygen, all spiraling down the drain at a steady rate of twelve to eighteen breaths per minute.

"Now there's the Daniel Jacobi I knew," the Maxwell Voice says slyly.

He could do something about that.

[risk-it-biscuit-blog]

Montmartre, Paris

     What a privilege it is to spend an entire weekend in Paris. Friday, November 3, three friends and I took the 3 hour bus to Paris...well, it was supposed to be 3 hours. Paris seems to be a magnet for traffic jams. In total, we spent 5 hours in the bus but you really can’t complain if you get to see Notre Dame the same night. I really had no interest in seeing the Church after already seeing it inside and out three years ago, but my friend insisted. But wow, it was actually breathtaking. The complexity of architecture just on the façade is ingenious. Fun fact, 30 or so statues are carved into the front about half way up and while you might think those are the apostles or saints, they are actually the people who paid for Notre Dame to be built! I found that hilarious but also strangely troubling... As we were strolling along the Seine my friend Rosa told me that on every trip she takes, she listens to one song on repeat. That way, when you are back home three years later and the song spontaneously plays on the radio, all the memories come rushing back to you. What a great idea! When I took my first glance at the light reflecting off the river, I thought of the song from “La La Land”: The Audition. That is now my song associated with the weekend in Paris with my friends. 

    The next day we woke up bright and early to watch the sunrise at Sacre Coeur, which sits up on a hill, giving a supurb view of Paris. It seemed like everyone was asleep, everyone except us and a few street cleaners sweeping up broken glass and wrappers from the day before. Oh, and some Parisians who came for the same reason as us, except they were smarter and brought their breakfast! One by one french adults arrived bearing orange juice, croissants, and yogurt, ready for a picnic and not having a care in mind for the cold weather. Next to us were three french guys a few years older than me trying to start up the conversation, pointing out different monuments in the distance to quiz us. Of course I didn’t know the difference between Les Invalides and le Centre Pompidou and thats when one of them asked where we were from. What do you know, that who time he thought I was french! He asked me if we wanted “bière?”...”non”....”d’eau?”.....”non”......”un petit bisou?”.....”NOOOONNN!!!”. For those who don’t speak french, he proposed “beer, water, a kiss?” Not a bad pickup line, eh? The sunrise wasn’t too magnificent with the layer of smog in the sky so we walked back down to our airbnb, a short 10 minutes away. That day I explored Le Marais. One significant difference I see between Paris and DC is the mere number of unique boutiques you find on any street here. I love love LOVE stores with high quality and carefully selected products. I could have spent hundreds of euros but I stuck to eye shopping. Since I arrived, I really haven’t bought much, only a heavier jacket from a consignment shop, a pair of earbuds, and....toothpaste? Honestly, I’m enjoying living simpler and making do with what I brought. After hours of wandering the winding streets of Le Marais I took the metro to l’Arc de Triomphe. Pro tip: do not waste your time trying to understand the complicated metro system of Paris, its impossible unless you are a local. Instead, use that handy smartphone and you will save a whole lot of time. It gives you the most precise directions its easy as pie to get from here to there. My friend and I climbed the numerous steps to see an incredible view of Paris, much better than Sacre Coeur and I would argue better than the Eiffel Tower. All the traffic moves towards and around l’Arc and so you feel as though you are at the heart of Paris. But, alas, we couldn’t resist walking to la Tour Eiffel and glazing up at it for a good fifteen minutes. 

     On our final day in Paris I visited Père Lachaise Cemetery which is so huge that you need a map to navigate the rows upon rows of tombs. Trust me, I am NOT a cemetery person, nor someone that wants to take up space on earth when I’m dead. But, this, this was truly amazing. Strolling over yellow and orange leaves scattered on the uneven cobblestone, we saw the graves of Marcel Proust, Edith Piaf, and Oscar Wilde. After, we went to Institut du Monde Arab and snuck into the exit of an exhibition. Anytime you don’t have to pay in Paris, you better take the chance. Let me tell you, it’s not a cheap place. Imagine paying ten dollars for a tall coffee at Starbucks and you begin to understand. And finally, one of the things that I anticipated the most in this weekend trip was Scaramouche. “Scara-what????” This is one of the best glaciers in Paris. Two years ago, I read the book “Picnic in Provence” by Elizabeth Bard, which sparked my interest of taking a gap year in France. She and her husband created this ice cream company in Provence using all the fabulous ingredients there. After its popularity grew, they opened a shop in Paris. They have flavors like lavender, honey, and fig. And wow, it was all I expected and more. A perfect end to a weekend in Paris.