doomsday-dj
doomsdaydj
Hyperfixated on a show that ended years ago.Geriatric millennial. She/her. Find me on AO3
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DANA SCULLY in THE X-FILES
5.10: Chinga
#sheâs so hot here I can barely breathe#the fact that it still took me years after this show to realize I was gay
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Oh wow thank you so much for your response! Iâll be honest I wasnât expecting one because I thought it was such a controversial subject đ
Yeah, honestly I hadnât ever heard of her outside of this show, the first time I saw a picture of her not as Jane it was like a jump scare, like where is that hot fun looking lesbian I keep seeing on my dash ??? Anyway, I like shows and things with problematic people involved too but theyâre almost always behind the scenes, itâs a whole other deal when itâs actually one of the lead actors, kind of hard to avoid it⊠but I think for me the best thing is to focus on how she does seem to have made positive changes, even if itâs only in the past 4 years or so (kind of hard not to). Just like she was forced to say she liked gay people before I think she was forced to say she no longer calls herself a republican lol. I saw articles re: their chemistry where they said it just naturally came out as a romantic vibe ???? Probably Sasha saying that but I can keep it as a blanket statement in my little head. Yeah lol Iâd seen that interview too and honestly Iâm so used to regular straight women saying stuff like that it doesnât bother me. I just need her to not Currently be an Awful person haha, wow long again but Thank You, youâve made me feel a lot better and Iâm excited to start the show AND read more of your fics â€ïž
Youâre very welcome! Iâm very glad I could help. Now go forth and get queerbaited.
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Hello! So as you (hopefully) know I am a huge fan of your work & I have been working my way through all your fics on ao3 - which has just been an absolute delight. This is gonna be a bit tangential, because I am a very long-winded human, but I've been meaning to ask (if you don't mind sharing) what led you to the decision to leave academia?
I intended to take a Gap Year which has now led to a 4-year break, and I'm really hesitant to return to that world. My undergrad had an Honors Program that allowed me to work throughout my 4 years to complete a thesis project, and while that was an awesome experience, hindsight has led me to a lot of conclusions about elitism and the looking-down upon/ gatekeeping that is so present in those circles. It's really just turned me off to the idea of trying to re-integrate myself into that world, which is something I've been weighing as of late.
So, in your experience, did you find that academia just stopped filling your cup, or did you have a particular experience that led you to take a step away?
I just adore your writing style, and may leave you a comment one day just going off about how much I adore your prose and sentence structure, but I really feel that tug to fan fiction where it's almost a compulsion instead of a decision that you described with Rizzles. So, yeah lol- I hope the question isn't too rambley? Just very curious to know your thoughts.
I definitely know you're a fan but if I say it's unclear will you tell me more flattering things? Just kidding... Unless? No, but really, thank you. It's really just super fucking special to hear it every time. Thank you for loving my prose and sentence structure. :)
As to your question, I was reading it like, "you seek to knowâŠ...about ME?" I think this is my first non-fan fiction ask.
So I have a BAH and an MA in a humanities discipline that shall remain nameless. I spent four years seriously pursuing a PhD and an additional year just going through the motions and bleeding the remainder of my funding dry. I wrote a draft of a dissertation that my very accomplished advisor was mostly disappointed with.
The reasons why I left academia are actually many. Buckle up.
It's important to mention that I was in academia not just to get a PhD but with the intention of then teaching in my discipline, so a huge reason was the lack of jobs, particularly if I wasn't willing to relocate to any dumb town in North America that might offer me a tenure track job. My wife's career is such that there's only a few cities she can work in, so one of us was going to have to make a change. She already had a career so it made sense for me to be the one to reroute. Importantly, I also had virtually no desire to live in the USA, and that's likely where I would have ended up.
Another reason is that I am a terrible procrastinator and living my life with something ALWAYS looming over my head was slowly killing me. There was always something that I should have been working on. My whole life was being lulled into a tenuous relaxation and being jolted out of it by all the things that I had to do. I now work in a job where, for the most part, I leave it all there when I go home and am able to actually relax.
Here's a big one: I didn't really love it. Not the supposed "real" work, anyway: writing papers to submit to journals and writing books that you will then force your students to buy which will represent the entirety of your profit from writing the book. I did genuinely, truly love teaching. I don't know if you can tell from the way I'll talk for fucking ever (LIKE RIGHT NOW), but I love being the smartest person in a room and I loved explaining concepts to students and watching them clue in. I loved luring them into my word traps like fucking Socrates and then blowing their minds. I really really really did love that part, and I was very good at that part. But you know what? In my discipline, people mostly think that part is incidental. The glory comes from getting into journals and writing books and giving keynote speeches at conferences and writing snarky objections to other people's work. Teaching is the thing you do in between that to pass the time. I hated that. This speaks to your concern about the elitism and it's a very real thing.
Also, because I liked teaching and because I cared about my students, I started to feel like I was part of a multi-level marketing scheme: in order for me to have a job I needed students to keep paying out their fucking asses to go to university and get saddled with debt for a degree that wouldn't really help them much. I struggled a lot with students who would come to my office hours, unable to get the material because they really shouldn't have been in university but felt pressured to be, or overworked because they had a full-time job on the side, or devastated because the university was throwing all kinds of arbitrary and stupid road blocks up for no other reason than to make this a Thing That Is Hard To Do, and it was really weighing on me, morally.
Finally, writing a dissertation is just really fucking hard, and I had the kind of project where I was dealing with a moving target. I had really keyed into the zeitgeist of my tiny corner of the discipline and I was working on an idea that was really exciting and a lot of people were all suddenly working on the same idea which meant that every fucking month it felt like a book or an article was coming out that scooped my whole damn project. I kept having to change what I was ultimately trying to accomplish because someone would go ahead and publish something where they did what I had initially set out to prove. And because I didn't love it enough, it grew too exhausting, and so I dropped out.
Honestly, there's so much more that I could say. But I think those are the pillars of the decision to drop out. If you ever want to talk more about your own decision, feel free to message me. I'm always happy to talk to someone who is trying to figure out if the academic life is for them.
Just edited to quickly add something crucial: I loved doing my MA. It was a fantastic experience, I had a truly great time doing it. I also loved all my PhD coursework. I loved going to class. It was once all that was over that I fell out with academia.
#ask doomsday#about real life things!#god I didn't even touch on department politics and what a fucking mess that is
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Hello! So this is kind of a heavy ask and I totally understand if you donât feel like replying, but I just thought Iâd reach out on the off chance. Iâve been curious about Rizzles for a while, just never getting around to watching, and I somehow ended up reading fic before I actually have lol and I LOVE your fic sm in particular, thank you for that. Unfortunately I did also however come across some âŠ. Less great facts about AngieâŠ. I went into a spiral and did find her saying she doesnât consider herself part of that party anymore and pretty sure she supported differently most recently (thank god). But I still canât shake the horrible knowledge of what came before, itâs making me insane, and is really putting me off starting the show which I was SO excited about. I just wondered if you had any words of solace about this? We should let people grow and change right? Thatâs how the world gets better? Anyway, sorry for all this đ
I hope it hasnât brought you down and again no worries if you want to ignore this â€ïž
Not a heavy ask at all, I totally get it.
Before we dive in, thanks for letting me know you love my fics. :)
Now, I should preface this all by saying that I have plenty of problematic faves. There's not a band in the world that I've listened to more than The Smiths, and Morrissey is just the fuckin wooooooorst. So I obviously am capable of looking beyond someone's unsavory qualities to enjoy art they've helped make.
I'm aging myself here, but I was familiar with Angie Harmon's character on Law & Order well before Rizzoli & Isles. If you never saw it, Abbie Carmichael was the, like, token conservative character to contrast with all the liberal New Yorkers. She was from Texas, anti-abortion, pro-gun, pro-death penalty. She sucked, I hated her, and so I went into Rizzoli & Isles with an Anti-Harmon bias. Were it not for the fact that Sasha Alexander is such a fucking smoke show I don't think I ever would have watched. And then I got hooked.
It does sound like she's changed her mind about some things, and good for her I guess, and if that makes you feel better about watching the show then hold on to it! If it's not enough for you to enjoy the show, that's okay too. We all have our dealbreakers, myself included. But like she can be a bad person and you can like the show, if you want to.
Here's how I see it: Angie Harmon, girly girl Republican, was told by the producers to play Jane as a rough and tumble tomboy and she overshot it by SO MUCH that she accidentally created a lesbian icon and it really resonated with a lot of us and that's okay! She played against type and inexplicably crushed it. She made the most lesbian possible choice nearly every time. It makes me crazy every time I watch it. Abbie Carmichael was NOT hot. Not even a little bit hot. But Jane Rizzoli is hot.
Further to that, I am personally doing god's work by making that accidental lesbian icon have lots of fictional sex with women (well, mostly woman). Angie Harmon complained out loud that she was always "the man" in the fan fiction? Too bad, girl, I'm going to have you laying pipe in internet stories EIGHT YEARS after your stupid show ended and people are gonna eat it up.
But I realize your stated problem isn't with reading fan fiction, it's with watching the show, so listen. She's hot in it, Sasha Alexander is hot in it, it's a fun, dumb little show. She's playing a cop, so you should at least hate her a little bit anyway. Give the show a try and don't make yourself feel guilty if you enjoy it. And if you can't get over her politics at the time, don't be too hard on yourself for that either. At least there's fan fiction. :)
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Me about 100 times a day.
Later, when I read my notes.
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this app is great bc iâll be scrolling past gifs of two men having raw sex and then iâll be inexplicably whisked away to the app store page for the monopoly app
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literally can't relate to the stereotype that lesbians always fall for straight girls. at all. terminally attracted to butches and mascs through and through . praying for all of you though
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Ancient Greek Punishment: UI Edition is an odd little experience that allows you to reenact the punishments bestowed by ancient Greek gods in UI form!
Read More & Play The Full Game, Free (Browser)
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This Pulse Against Other Rhythms
Rizzoli & Isles
Rating: M (not this chapter but eventually--possibly even E)
Chapters: 1/?
Post-Series Finale fic, or: here's what I think happened in Paris. Click through to AO3 if you want to see tags and notes, but no archive warnings apply.
~~~~~
Truthfully, Jane wasnât sure exactly what sheâd been expecting, but she knew it wasnât this.Â
The decision to delay her start at Quantico and tag along on Mauraâs month-long trip to Paris was one that could have been mildly described as impulsive. A more accurate assessment would've been drunken. Other words that fit the bill: âreckless,â âinconsiderate,â âtechnically credit card fraud.â
Jane had broken out in a cold sweat when she awoke the next morning and found an itinerary for a round trip ticket from Logan to Charles de Gaulle waiting in her email.Â
After checking that tickets purchased with frequent flyer miles were refundable, she called the airline to do just that. When the customer service representative informed her that both the purchase and refund of the ticket would be reflected on Mauraâs next statement, Jane realized that the only thing worse than buying herself a surprise first class ticket with her best friendâs miles would be buying and refunding a surprise first class ticket with her best friendâs miles.
So now Jane was in Paris with Maura.Â
And it wasâŠfine.Â
Maura had seemed excited when Jane first told her, if a little shell-shocked. Animated was an apt word, but when Jane really thought about it, she could recall how Mauraâs smile didnât quite reach her eyes and that the energy of the moment was a little more frantic than euphoric.Â
If she were being entirely honest, Jane didnât need the powers of retrospect to correctly identify that the moment in Mauraâs bedroom had been a foreboding one. Even at the time, Jane knew that Maura wasnât entirely thrilled and Jane hadnât been either. They hadnât even hugged about it, just sat stiffly side by side and had a strained conversation about wearing sweatpants in the city of light. But what were they supposed to do? If either of them had been brave enough to declare that the trip was a bad idea, that would have been it: friendship terminated. It wouldâve been an admission of what had been simmering for at least a couple years and a betrayal of how theyâd decided to deal with it, which was to let their relationship die a slow, strangled death, with neither willing to just take it out back and shoot it.Â
So, again: Paris.Â
Jane had been to Paris once before. She went after graduation, before the police academy, alone.Â
During high school, when she was still entertaining the possibility that she, the first born daughter of a mediocre plumber, could attend Boston College University, sheâd spent any free time that wasnât dedicated to sports or school at a variety of part-time jobs. In the summer she often had two or three. At the end of her four years, Jane had saved enough money that if sheâd gotten one of the more robust financial aid packages available she might have even been able to attend.Â
She didnât. And so she didnât.
No matter how many times she did the math, attending BCU meant financial ruin, either for her parents or for herself. Jane was certain her parents would have re-mortgaged the house to send her there, or she could have also availed herself of a predatory student loan that she would have been paying for the rest of her natural born life. Neither option appealed.Â
The police academy, meanwhile, was a one-time expense of three grand plus the eternal cost of suffering her motherâs demonstrative dismay. She set aside the majority of her remaining savings to fund moving out of her parentsâ house but decided that she deserved something for all her hard work, and booked herself a trip to Paris as a graduation present.Â
No one she knew could afford to go with her and she couldnât justify paying someone elseâs way, plus who could she really have gone with? Casey had been preparing to enlist right after graduation and she truthfully never had many close friends besides him. Not until Maura.Â
So alone she went. She stayed in a hostel, made friends enough with the other girls in the dorm room that she was invited out a few times in the evenings, but the days she spent mostly by herself. She tried to fit in as much of Paris: The Greatest Hits as she could, visiting the Louvre, Notre Dame, MusĂ©e d'Orsay, and the PĂšre Lachaise Cemetery. Despite only having five days, she devoted all of one to visiting Versailles. She skipped the top of the Eiffel Tower but toured the Catacombs before anything else.Â
It was a nice trip, if a lonely one. A fleeting glimpse of what the world had to offer for a blue collar kid. Now, despite her reservations about traveling with Maura for a month after their relationship had grown strained, she was still excited to see the city again and have someone to share it with.Â
Except she didnât have that, not really.Â
Or not anymore.Â
The first few days had actually been wonderful, despite the rocky start. The cab ride to Logan had been tense and awkward and Jane even briefly considered doing an emergency roll out of a moving vehicle while shouting that sheâd catch up with Maura when she got back. Her plan had been thwarted by little else than the doubt that she was still physically capable of doing it. They barely spoke all through check-in and boarding but everything changed after take off.Â
Jane hated flying. Maura had seen Jane grit her way through a flight before but this one was even worse, because Jane especially hated flying over an ocean. At least while flying to LA she was able to convince herself that if something went wrong they could do an emergency landing somewhere, but all she could think about after the few short minutes it took for them to be over the Atlantic was the various ways in which they could die: on impact, while adrift in the ocean, etcetera. So scared was Jane that she didnât even have the strength to fake confidence and the vulnerability of her fear shifted something between her and Maura. Jane was pathetic enough that it disarmed Maura and Jane was scared enough that she let Maura back in. Maura took Janeâs hand, squeezed it firmly through every bounce and rumble of turbulence, and made sure the other always held a glass of champagne.Â
By the time they landed in Paris, it was nearly like old times. Something had broken back open, theyâd reacquired their rhythm. Both more than a little inebriated, they managed to keep their composure through customs and were soon pouring themselves into the sleek sedan of the airport car service that Maura had pre-arranged.Â
Jane sat with her body turned away from her window for the entire drive, caught off guard by her own delight in watching Maura take in the city from the other side of the car.Â
When they arrived at their accommodations, there was more champagneâa chilled bottle waited for them, a welcome gift from the rental company. Jane popped the cork theatrically and for the first time in a long time, they talked about things that werenât work or family. Jane told Maura about her first time in Paris and Maura regaled Jane with stories of boarding school in France, some funny and some so lonely they would have broken Janeâs heart once. They might have still, if Maura hadnât seemed so secure in who she was now. Jane jokingly asked if the stereotypes about boarding school were true and Maura bashfully declined a real answer, saying only that they were true for some.
Around 9pm, Maura looked at her watch and declared, slurring only slightly, that theyâd stayed up long enough to avoid jet lag. The apartment that Maura had booked only had one bedroom but it did have a small study with its own door. While there was currently nothing in there that Jane could sleep on, Maura had already ordered a folding bed to be delivered and it was due to arrive the next day. For that night, they both tumbled onto the queen mattress in the bedroom, struck silent as they admired each other with sleepy, half-drunk eyes. They were on their sides, facing each other, their hands resting in the space between them. Mauraâs pinky finger brushed gently against Janeâs. The moment was loaded but Jane wasnât sure with what.Â
âIâm glad youâre here,â Maura said, and she seemed almost surprised by it.Â
âI am too,â Jane hummed drowsily. The last thing she felt was Maura's fingers twining with her own.
The next two days were a whirlwind. Assembling the bed took far longer than it should have for a certified genius and the offspring of a manual labourer, but they figured it out. Maura even offered to sleep on it so that Jane wouldnât have to get up early to accommodate Mauraâs morning writing sessions, but Jane scoffed at the notion. Instead, Maura would wake Jane and Jane would pad sleepily to the bedroom to further doze in Mauraâs bed there. In Boston, Jane always had trouble falling back asleep once woken, but somehow she drifted away easily under this new arrangement. Maybe it was Mauraâs new perfume lightly scenting the pillows. Perhaps it was the lack of murders.Â
After the ordeal of the bed and a trip to acquire groceries and other necessities, they explored their surrounding neighbourhood, which, Jane noted out loud, had a surprising amount of rainbows. Maura noticeably hesitated before she explained that it was Parisâs gay district, Le Marais. Maura made a vague gesture, like it was a coincidence, but there had already been a few bread crumbs to this effect in their friendship and lately, it was getting to be more like bread chunks. Jane reacted with the kind of enthusiasm she hoped would indicate support and Maura changed the subject, launching into a history lesson about the storming of the Bastille as she led the way to the column that marked its site.Â
On their third night, Jane offhandedly suggested attending a show, throwing out Moulin Rouge and Crazy Horse as options. Maura made a face and asserted that those were just tourist cash grabs and promised to take Jane to a more authentic Parisian cabaret. They ended up at a jazz bar in the Latin Quarter called Aux Trois Mailletz. After dinner and a few cocktails upstairs, they descended the steps into a small thirteenth century cellar. The stone-lined room had a raised stage with a long table that extended out from it. Jane was surprised at the small size of the stage, given that Maura had described the show as quite lively, but once the singing began and the performers repurposed the narrow table as a runway, Jane was sold.Â
The entire show was obviously in French and there was considerable banter between songs, but the energy of the singers and the crowd was such that Jane got swept up into it even without the aid of Mauraâs occasional translations. Of course, she didnât exactly mind when Maura leaned heavy into Janeâs shoulder, grinning as she shouted explanations over the din.Â
The night ended with all the performers and most of the audience performing a rousing rendition of Edith Piafâs âNon, je ne regrette rien.â Maura sang along as well, loud enough that it seemed like she was trying to account for both of them, and Janeâs heart was full to the brim with the reminder of how that was not one of Mauraâs many talents. Jane watched, making no effort to hide her infatuation. Maura blushed fiercely but only sang louder.Â
The show hadnât even begun until after eleven at night so it was well past two in the morning by the time they stumbled back out into the streets of Paris. Drenched in sweat from both the enthusiastic show and cramped quarters, they walked home slowly in the cool summer night.Â
Taking the simplest route from point A to point B, it was barely a fifteen minute walk to the apartment Maura had rented in the 4th arrondissement, but they dragged it out by strolling around the Ăle de la CitĂ©, nearly abandoned so late at night. When they paused outside of the Saint-Chapelle, Maura spoke breathlessly and at length about the interior of the gothic chapel. She promised to book them tickets to see the inside of it, swore to Jane that it was much more beautiful than nearby Notre Dame. The moon wasnât quite full but it was still very bright; Mauraâs eyes sparkled as she talked about the stained glass windows and Jane had a hard time believing sheâd see anything prettier.Â
Eventually, Maura shifted her attention away from the facade of the church, giving it fully to Jane, and there was the softest intake of breath when their eyes locked.Â
Intellectually, Jane understood that she must have actively moved closer to Maura, but it truly felt like their bodies were simply drifting together without any effort on her part.Â
The moment was loaded and Jane was starting to understand with what.Â
She took Maura by the wrist, pressing her thumb against a thundering pulse. Janeâs lips were parting to speak and she was really looking forward to finding out what she had to say because she truly had no idea. Mauraâs shining eyes widened.Â
The never-welcome sound of loud men shattered the moment and Janeâs self-preservation instincts kicked into gear. She tensed up and released Mauraâs hand, took a long backwards stride away from her, dropped her hand to a gunless waist.Â
The source of the noise quickly came into view. It was a group of drunken revelers in Paris Saint-Germain jerseys and Jane exhaled slowly as they passed them by, paying the women no mind.Â
When Jane turned back to Maura, she was looking out over the Seine. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her body and she avoided Janeâs eyes as she complained of the cold. They walked home mostly in silence.Â
Jane wondered if the acute sense of loss she was experiencing was a shared feeling, or if perhaps one of them felt like theyâd dodged a bullet.Â
The next day, everything very obviously changed. Maura politely explained the new schedule: she would write in the mornings, and she and Jane could do something together in the afternoons, but the writing group she had signed up for would begin meeting in the evenings.Â
âEvery evening?â Jane had asked over breakfast, the two women seated around a small circular table on the narrow apartment balcony.Â
âVery nearly,â Maura replied, ripping off a small hunk of croissant and pressing it between her lips. Jane watched it disappear behind her teeth with an unsettling amount of interest. She glanced down at her own pain au chocolat. At the patisserie, sheâd referred to it as a chocolate croissant and she wasnât sure if sheâd ever seen Maura so embarrassed.Â
âThat seems like a lot.â Jane took a sip of her coffee and watched as Maura gazed absently out across the rooftops of Paris. If Maura hadnât already used up her anecdote about how angry Parisians had been when the city had overturned a ban on tall buildings, Jane was certain she'd be deploying it right now as a stalling tactic.Â
âItâs more than one group,â Maura said simply, then shrugged. âI need a lot of help. Plus, thereâs a social component to it as well. A great way to practice my French, which has gotten rusty.âÂ
Maura was lying. That was something she could do now since her confrontation with her father and good for her, Jane supposed. The thing was, there existed a big difference between telling a lie and selling a lie, and while Maura had gained the ability to do the first, the second was still well out of her reach. Jane felt only a little bit of guilt about keeping that fact to herself.Â
âMakes sense,â Jane said, finally taking a bite of her pastry. It was truly spectacular, literal heaven on earth, so at least there was that. âUh, still on for the Saint-Chapelle today?âÂ
Mauraâs eyes clouded over as she stared down at her croissant. She ripped off another piece and nodded once.
âYes, that will be nice.âÂ
It was only just barely. To be sure, the stained glass was as beautiful as Maura had claimed it would be, but despite Janeâs best efforts to break down Mauraâs walls, to unleash the version of her that had spoken so passionately about the interior of the church, Maura demurred. Sheâd insisted her knowledge of the building was insufficient and had, contrary to Janeâs protests, hired one of the on-site guides to lead them on a walking tour. Theyâd followed him silently and Jane knew something was really wrong when Maura never once interjected. Jane had even tried to goad Maura into taking over the tour, asking increasingly specific questions that their flustered guide couldnât answer, but Maura just set her jaw and looked up at the glass.Â
It continued that way and days became weeks. Theyâd soon been in Paris for nearly seventeen days and since that walk home after the cabaret, all they had done was tour the sites together for a few awkward hours between Maura working on her book and her evening âwriters groups.â They visited museums and churches and historical sites and whenever it was possible to pay someone to be a buffer, Maura leapt at the opportunity. Through the lengthy explanations of Parisâs finest tour guides, Jane was experiencing a very thorough education of the cityâs history and art, all while their briefly reignited friendship slowly turned to ash.Â
On their eighteenth evening in Paris, when Maura once again passed on Janeâs invitation to have dinner together, Jane finally lost it.Â
âWhat the fuck, Maura,â Jane seethed. âWe havenât eaten together in two weeks.â
âWe eat together every day, Jane,â Maura said calmly as she packed a few items in her purse. Jane craned her neck to try to get a look into the bag but Maura shifted her stance to block her view. âWe have breakfast and lunch every single day.â
âYou know what I mean,â Jane groused. âWe havenât had dinner together. I thought we would do that at least occasionally.âÂ
Maura pressed her lips together, a reliable non-verbal clue that she was carefully considering her words.Â
âI planned this whole trip without you, Jane,â Maura stated. âI made all sorts of commitments that didnât include you and I think Iâve done a remarkably considerate job of accommodating you without disrupting what I came here to do.â
Jane recoiled at Mauraâs choice of words.Â
âAccommodating me?â Jane said, voice sharp. Maura turned around and assessed her dispassionately. Her refusal to match Janeâs energy was infuriating. âWhat, like youâre doing me a favour?â
âArenât I?â Maura glanced at her watch, avoiding Janeâs piercing gaze. âYouâre in Paris for a month at almost no cost to yourself. Flight, accommodations, many of our excursions⊠I donât keep score, Jane, you know that. But I think we can at least agree this is largesse on my part.â
Jane had no response to that, partly due to the fact that it was so out of character for Maura, but mostly because, devastatingly, Maura was right. Jane switched gears instead.Â
âWhat the hell happened, Maura? The trip started out really nice. I had been so worried about it and then it was great! And then all of a sudden you donât have the time of day for me.âÂ
Mauraâs body visibly tensed when Jane admitted sheâd been worried and Jane cursed internally.
âYouâre exaggerating, Jane.â Maura said, a little exasperation leaching into her voice. She pulled a pair of Prada heels from the hallway closet. Jane knew they were Prada because she had been with Maura, holding her bags, when she had purchased them on the Champs-ĂlysĂ©es.
âAm I?â
âWeâre spending time together every day. Weâve done so many things together.â Maura braced herself against the wall with one hand, hooking a leg backwards to slip on one pump, then shifting her weight to put on the other.Â
âI mean, yeah, weâve been physically at the same place every day, if thatâs what you want to call spending time together. Youâre managing the incredibly impressive feat of avoiding me while standing right next to me.â Jane exhaled noisily, frustrated. âI donât get it, Maur. We had such a good time at the cabaret and the next morning everything was different. Iâm gonna ask you again: what happened?â
Maura checked her hair in the hallway mirror, glancing at Jane by way of her reflection.
âYou really donât know?âÂ
Jane felt an overwhelming physical urge to stop her somehow, to block her path to the door, to grab her handbag and hold it hostage. Her body twitched with the effort required to avoid escalating the confrontation.
âI really donât.âÂ
Maura turned to face her, appraising her carefully. For a moment, it seemed as though Maura might relent, that she would give in to Jane and stay. Instead, she sighed and opened the door of the apartment.Â
âIâm already late, Jane. We can talk about it tomorrow.â Maura stepped out over the threshold.
âI know itâs not a writing group, Maura,â Jane said coldly.Â
It was a last ditch effort. Jane hoped confronting Maura about a lie would break her down. Honesty had always been such a weak spot for her.Â
Maura did hesitate, but only slightly, and then she was pulling the door shut behind her without another word.
#rizzoli and isles#rizzles#femslash#f/f fanfic#maura isles#jane rizzoli#f/f#f/f romance#rizzoli and isles fanfiction#rizzles fanfic#they're gonna yell at each other a lot in this one#doomsdaydj fanfic
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Writing in my head; Beautiful flowing sentences full of powerful phrases and witty dialogue.
Writing on my page: They did a thing and said some stuff. There was snark.
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I'm finally working* on the Paris fic!
*spending way too much time on my little screen reading other stuff written about Paris to find the turn of phrase that will make a sufficiently acceptable title for my Paris fic while an open google doc on my big screen begs for attention
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in case yall missed it ive been recreating rothko paintings on toast :) @rothkoontoast
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Clicking around between four different WIPs, switching not only tenses but between third person limited and third person objective, while also brainstorming for someone else's project, in a truly unhinged lazy Sunday writing session.
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Youâre right thatâs better. See! This is why I wanted someone else to write this AU. So I can delight in their choices. đ€©
Martinez is a great choice. He is also, in my opinion, the only man that Jane ever had any chemistry with on the show. Itâs the singular time where I was like, yeah, they believably fucked.
How do you feel about Rondo as Stan Fields? Constance would HATE him and I canât think of anyone else who could fill that good-intentions co-host spot beside maybe Korsak, but I like him on the undercover team bc he always has something to say about the ladies
I feel amazing about it. I think thatâs a great choice. The only other possible candidate I could think of for that role is Kent Drake. But I love the idea of using Rondoâs attraction to Jane as a way to irritate Constance.
The most obvious âcastingâ decision for this AU has to be Lydia as Cheryl right? Like thatâs a gimme. And Susie and Nina can be some of the other contestants.
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shoutout to those random peacocks you find in places that are probably unsuitable for a peacock to inhabit in the first place
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How do you feel about Rondo as Stan Fields? Constance would HATE him and I canât think of anyone else who could fill that good-intentions co-host spot beside maybe Korsak, but I like him on the undercover team bc he always has something to say about the ladies
I feel amazing about it. I think thatâs a great choice. The only other possible candidate I could think of for that role is Kent Drake. But I love the idea of using Rondoâs attraction to Jane as a way to irritate Constance.
The most obvious âcastingâ decision for this AU has to be Lydia as Cheryl right? Like thatâs a gimme. And Susie and Nina can be some of the other contestants.
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