#Paddy Doyle

[julieverne]

"You're my daughter, darling. Of course I love you," Constance says, and Maura wishes she could believe her. She lets herself be held anyway, understanding that Constance is trying. That Constance believes she loves Maura.

+++

"I loved you before you were born, and I'll love you long after I'm dead. I only regret that I didn't have as much time with you as I could have." Hope's eyes fill with easy tears, and Maura nods. Knowing how it must have felt for Cailin to live up to a dead baby, because that's what she's trying to do. She lets Hope hold her, rock her like the baby Hope sees when she looks at her. The one she still mourns.

+++

"I'm sorry I'm calling and I'm sorry about the way I was, last time you saw me," Frank Rizzoli says, and Maura knows how hard it must be for him to apologise. "I know I can't make it up to you, and I really do appreciate you taking care of them all the way you did when I..." And he's gone, and Maura stares at her phone.

+++

Maura visits Paddy in jail, now and then. Sometimes with Jane, sometime without. He's never said it, but Maura knows. She remembers the sepia photos of her school days, knows Constance fed him information, even knowing who and what he was. Maura has always wanted to be loved, and Paddy has always loved her. From afar. It's awkward up close, especially since he knows so much about her and she knows so little about him.

"Thanks for coming," he says, his voice low like he doesn't want to scare her. He fiddles with rings that aren't there, and Maura clenches her own fingers, aware she is mirroring him. She reaches out a hand across the table, the guard watching carefully for any transfer, and she covers his hand with hers. Jane's smile is soft and sweet, her hand on Maura's lower back on their way out to show support.

+++

"Maura, you're brilliant and I love you, but you are so wrong." Cailin pulls up an article - one Maura hasn't seen. One that adds ambiguity to a previously straightforward scientific statement. Maura reads it, her brow creased.

"I love you too, but the parameters of this experiment are not holistic enough to give a definitive conclusion," Maura informs Cailin. "The sample size is insufficient, and it hasn't been peer reviewed."

"Yeah, but it's possible," Cailin goads, and Maura concedes with a nod. Jane watches with wide, pleased eyes.

+++

"Would you like to come to a lecture with me?" Arthur asks, and Maura agrees. Knowing that Arthur is a simple yet complex man, and that his love for her, however misguided, is firm and steadfast.

+++

Maura brings LC to the aged care facility, and today Paddy Senior smiles at her, then Jane, before smiling at LC.

+++

"I couldn't love you more if you were my own," Angela says, and Maura is already adopted, a single child with a dead half brother and a living half sister after nearly four decades. She does not need another mother, but sometimes she does need mothering so she lets Angela's embrace enfold her.

+++

Jane wakes from nightmares; she texts. Sometimes Maura goes to her, sometimes she comes to Maura. They huddle together in the same bed like all the sleepovers Maura always wanted and never had.

"Thanks," Jane says quietly. She cradles Maura's head on her chest, and Maura can't imagine being closer to any other single living thing in her life. Jane's heartbeat, so familiar and steady. Jane's breath brushing through her hair. Jane's fingers rubbing at any tension she finds in Maura's shoulders and back.

There are people who say they love Maura, and people that don't. There are people Maura doubts, because sometimes she doesn't feel she deserves to be loved.

But here and now, with Jane, she has no doubts. Nothing but Jane's heartbeat bared to her, the soft Jane that only Maura gets, treasures and hoards.

"I love you," Jane whispers, hours later, assuming Maura is asleep. Maura chuckles, and Jane's heartbeat spikes, beating crazily beneath Maura's ear.

"I know. I love you too," Maura says, nuzzling closer into her favourite pillow of Jane's chest. Jane's heartbeat slows and steadies, and Maura has found the one love she's never doubted, has never had to doubt.

Anything else can wait until morning. Because now she's lying in the arms of the woman she loves, the woman that loves her. And Maura knows she deserves to be loved by Jane, and she never, ever doubts that she is.

[lesparaversdemillina]

Rizzoli & Isles Saison 3 de Janet Tamaro

Découvrez les frictions entre Jane et Maura dans la saison 3 de #RizzoliAndIsles. Entre tensions familiales, enquêtes captivantes et moments comiques, cette saison offre un beau mélange d'émotions. Accrochez-vous à votre siège pour une aventure palpitante

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1919 – Official founding of ‘The Squad’, an IRA counter-intelligence and assassination squad.

The Squad was officially established at 46 Rutland Square on the 19 September 1919. Although at the time it had been in operation for two months and had already carried out two killings. Members were paid £4.10s per week. Officially the unit was a part of the Dublin Brigade under Dick McKee from Finglas, but they were separate from the Battalion structure and directly under the command of…

[andragoras-in-vanity]

why do i get such a good brain buzz from East Coast Band by the novascotiables. babes arent even from the east coast, let alone nova scotia, theyre from fucking alberta.....but damn does that fiddler know what theyre about

[watchingalotofmovies]

I Went Down

I Went Down    [trailer]

An ex-con is forced into taking on a new task by a ruthless crime-boss, but finds he is hindered by the partner he has been teamed up with. However, he soon realizes they must work together if they are to survive.

I'm not a fan of of movies about not very bright criminals, and there is a lot more dialogue than plot. But you get more interested in the two main characters over time.

The show-down was a bit more dramatic than expected.

I'm not sure what the point is of the frequent intertitles that tell the viewers in advance what will happen next.

[hunterxwolf]

huh

[inky-duchess]

hello hello!

do you have list of irish literature (fiction or nonfiction) that you could recommend to me?

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce

Dubliners by James Joyce

Ulysses by James Joyce

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Small Things like These by Claire Keegan

Terror on the Burren by Ré Ó Laighléis

Gafa by Ré Ó Laighléis

Room by Emma Donoghue

Dracula by Bram Stoker

Brooklyn by Colm Tóibín

The Beauty Queen of Leenane by Martin McDonagh

A Skull in Connemara by Martin McDonagh

Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha by Roddy Doyle

The Playboy of the Western World & Riders to the Sea by JM Synge

Under the Hawthorn Tree by Marita Conlon-McKenna

You will notice that Frank McCourt isn't here. That's because he's a fucking liar and Angela's Ashes is all lies.

[anthrofreshtodeath]

Bleacher Creatures

Jane sips a beer, looking out the giant garage window of The Bleacher Bar toward center field. She’d never have paid the 13.99 this Sam Adams tall cost, not with her own money, and would never have picked this venue for a back door deal, but the amiable young man next to her has covered both of their tabs.

Cash of course. He picked the place, when she made the call on the burner phone she said she’d turned over to evidence. Jane was shocked not to hear Paddy Doyle’s voice establishing their rendezvous, but instead Jimmy Ryan’s, telling her in his twenty-eight year old timber, heard the Dodgers might be an interesting team to check out this season. You been to that new place yet? The one they converted the old batting cages into? Gets real packed on a Friday night. Got all kinds of people comin’ and goin’.

Jane had hung up without a word. A grunt, maybe. No phonemes for sure. She doesn’t get the whole gimmick bar thing, and she sure as shit doesn’t get interleague play, either. The National League is the Senior Circuit no more and at 41-28 on the season, the Sox playing the boys in blue is like swatting an obnoxious fly in the muggy summer heat. But, she saves her thoughts about new wave gangsters and new wave baseball fans going soft.

Because this isn’t a social call. And as much as she enjoyed watching the Sox hang up a crooked seven in the fifth, it isn’t a baseball call, either. She sets her glass on the bar in front of them, licks hoppy foam off her upper lip, and crosses her arms. Two drunk kids to her right bump into her, apologizing on their way to the bartender, that’s how crowded it is. They press her into her acquaintance, though no one would know he and Jane are here to see each other with the way they stare out at the game and say almost nothing to each other. 

It’s Jimmy that speaks next. “What a game, huh?”

“I’ll say,” is all Jane says in reply. 

A couple minutes pass, a routine grounder off the bat of Kevin Youkilis, and then Jimmy mirrors Jane’s stance. “Workin’ hard lately?”

“As always,” says Jane. His question rings in her head the same way her grandfather’s voice would when he’d bring up bisinis, in that glorious, affected accent - they are now speaking of things she is not really supposed to understand. But she does. “You know, it’s the weirdest thing. I got a brother named Tommy.”

He stiffens. He nods. He polishes off his drink, and leaves the glass on the bar. “Enjoy ya night,” he gruffs, and then he’s off.

How can Jane possibly enjoy her night when she’s just told Paddy Doyle’s goon who killed Colin Doyle? She just served Tommy O’Rourke up to Irish Boston’s bogeyman on a silver platter, and the worst part is she could give a fuck about the consequences, professional, legal, moral, whatever. Maura’s safer for it.

It’s just… The Dodgers? 

What a shitty, shitty state of affairs.

___

A few hours later, and Jane nurses Irish whiskey while she tries to melt into her couch. She’d thought it fitting when she pulled the bottle down from the cupboard next to her microwave.

NESN postgame coverage drones on in the background; she hadn’t bothered to stay for the rest of the game - came straight home. She twirls the glass, watches amber waves slosh against it in between fiery gulps, pulls her lips tight against her teeth when it strips her throat of all the tears she thinks she might want to cry.

She doesn’t, of course; her drink wipes them clean, just like she wanted it to. She’s being a bitch about it - she’s got her badge on the coffee table in front of her and she frowns at it when it catches the light of the overhead fan. It’s right next to that damn phone. 

How many badges throughout BPD history have sat next to phones like this, metaphorically speaking? Not only is she dirty, she’s not even special. The part that angers her the most, though, is that despite the liquor and the moping, the choice is the same. She runs the gambit in her head over and over, and she picks the same thing each time. She tells Paddy when she leans forward, elbows on knees, forcing herself into dizziness. She tells Paddy when she closes her eyes and knocks her head against the back of the sofa. She even tells Paddy when she huffs, stands up, and stomps on the phone with the heel of her boot, crushing it and all it signifies.

The night before, when she’d told Maura that at least Paddy got off his ass and did something for his kids, she was talking to herself. She subsequently got off her ass, stopped waiting for brass to swoop in and save the day, and did something. For Maura. So why does she feel like this?

Fuck it.

Fuck it all. She needs to sober up and exit this pity party.

She slams the glass on the counter, goes into her room to change into some shorts and a sports bra. It’s hot as hell out, even at midnight, but she needs to run.

___

Jane avoids the Dirty Robber the next evening because she refuses to tempt herself with more alcohol. Instead she’s at Johnny’s on Main, an old diner close to her place, close enough that she can walk. And she did, despite the humidity and bone weariness of the day’s work.

She doesn’t look up from her coffee, fingers wrapped around the mug, when the bell over the door rings again, too focused on the stinging punishment of heat against her hands.

That is, until an unmistakable pair of knees makes its way into her line of vision. 

Maura. 

Jane’s head shoots up; Maura’s been crying. And now, Jane knows why her chest has ached.

She’d actually known somewhere deep down, somewhere unconscious, from the time she let her brother’s name slip into the Fenway air, though she’d hoped that, when Maura wondered aloud at Tommy O’Rourke’s body dump, Korsak’s non-answer as to who alerted Doyle would satisfy.

Clearly it didn’t.

Jane tosses a nod in the direction of the other side of her booth, flattens a hand on the Formica tabletop to ground herself in reality again.

Maura almost doesn’t take the offer, but then she drops into the bench with such uncharacteristic force that the vinyl lets out a heavy whoosh. “I’ve been looking for you,” she finally says.

Jane rouses herself, looks at her phone. Four missed calls, a couple texts. Shit. “Well, you found me.” Her voice is extra rough, firm. 

Maura rubs her lips together; Jane knows she’s trying not to cry. And even then Jane acts defensive, because she’s damaged and, hell. She knows what Maura’s going to say. Going to do.

Maura waits for more, but when Jane doesn’t give it, she sighs. “Only with the help of your brother. I didn’t want to believe you could do something like this,” she whispers, but so conspicuously she might as well have just stated it.

“Like what?” Jane looks into watery green eyes. Dares.

Maura, still dressed in her skirt and jacket from today, straightens her posture. Despite her upbringing, she’s a scrapper. Never backs down from a challenge. Jane has always liked this about her. “Helping… my father,” she spits out, the word itself apparently acrid on her pretty little tongue. Everything about Maura is pretty. Deserves to be protected. 

Jane tells her so. “I was helpin’ you.”

Maura balks. “So… so that’s it? You just admit it?”

“Clearly you know,” Jane says, “why keep lyin’?”

“I…” Maura huffs. “You and Korsak are not as convincing as you think.” She fidgets with the ring on her finger, the newest thing she hates about herself. Jane hates that Maura hates anything about herself. And Jane has been so bummed because Maura likely now also hates her. 

The price is almost too high to have paid. But at least this way, Maura is still alive, and even if she never speaks to Jane again, Jane gets to look at her every day. Safe and sound.

All thanks to that Irish gangster of a father Maura’s got.

“You don’t have to understand it,” Jane begins, “I don’t expect you to -“

“This isn’t you,” Maura cuts her off. “You’ve never wanted to… to hurt people.”

Jane sniffs. How is she going to put this? She wants to say that she admired the touch of Maura’s baby picture under the ice pick, that it pleased her, but she doesn’t. “You and I have been friends for awhile now, yes?” 

“Yes,” answers Maura. 

“You know a lot about me. But clearly you don’t know everything,” Jane counters. It sounds a little mean. 

Maura’s brow furrows like she felt it. “What are you-“

“I want to hurt anyone who’s ever even come close to harming a hair on your head. That’s what I’m saying. I wanted to kill O’Rourke myself for thinking he could hurt you. I wanted to kill Doyle for allowing you to become collateral like that. And not in any kinda rhetorical sense, either,” Jane declares. She holds onto Maura’s stare with her own and refuses to let go. Refuses to let Maura look away from what Jane has just placed between them.

“Did I ever even know the real you?” Maura asks, and it’s so fucking clinical. Jane thinks maybe that’s worse than sounding wounded. Jane thinks maybe Maura knows that.

“You remember when you called, right after Doyle let you go?” Jane asks. 

“Anything you want, I can get it,” Maura finally.

“That was the real me. Did it surprise you then?”

Maura takes time to think on it, and Jane allows it. Takes a long swig from her coffee. “Not at all,” says Maura.

“Then this shouldn’t either,” Jane replies. 

After Maura nods in assent, a long, tense silence passes. Jane watches her wave off the waitress. 

Jane’s next question, or rather the answer to it, may kill her. So, she gazes into the black expanse in her mug and hopes for the best. “So, you gonna turn me in?” She asks because Maura’s the most principled person she knows. Integrity for days and days. All Jane has is feral loyalty.

 But, Maura surprises Jane. “I would never do that,” she says. Jane snaps to attention again. Maura is frowning; Maura is livid, but Maura is here. And then, Maura is reaching out her hand. Of course Jane takes it. “But don’t make me have to consider it again.”

Jane nods. She will have to get much, much better at lying, because Paddy Doyle and the men who hate him are going nowhere. And in that moment, she resolves to watch a thousand interleague games, to break Maura’s heart a thousand more times, if it means Maura stays alive. 

If Maura holds her hand like this. 

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Last night they were acting Moliere in Fourteenth Street; Dickens was being played through the auspices of Nigel Playfair. Further uptown, George M. Cohan was unveiling the latest George M. Cohan musical comedy. But Broadway, being eternally curious, turned out in greatest numbers at the Biltmore Theater in Forty-Seventh Street, where the result of Mae West's latest encounter with the drama was being performed. This was the exhibit—play is not precisely the word—with a vaudeville background, whose preliminary trip through the Bronx and Queens had been followed by rumors that here was something that might arouse the police to action.

So began the review by an unnamed theater critic for the Times on October 2, 1928. It appeared, not in the arts section, but following a front-page story about the police ... taking action.

The play was Pleasure Man, a reworking by Mae West of her earlier play The Drag. It dealt not with vaudeville, as the critic said, but burlesque, and finished with a lavish drag ball.

Cops were stationed at all theater exits and just as the play was ending, reserves surrounded the front. When the cast tried to leave, they were arrested—56 in all, including West, who also acted in the show.

Of course this attracted audience members (some in evening dress, the Times noted) from other theaters nearby. The presence of cabs and other cars waiting to pick up theater-goers and actors added to the chaos.

Flashlights exploded as news photographers tried to capture the actors being led into paddy wagons. The police had to make five trips to get everyone to the station house on 47th St., where they were charged with indecency.

By 2:30 in the morning, Actors Equity posted bail. West's was $500, which may have been more than the others because she was doubly guilty, having written the play as well as acted in it. The producer, director, and theater staff were not arrested.

For some reason, the cops let the next day's matinee start, but raided it halfway through and arrested everyone once more. They had their own theatrical flair.

The trial wasn't held until April of 1930, and resulted in a hung jury. By that time West was a star, having triumphed in another play of her own called Diamond Lil. The next year she went to Hollywood.

Top photo: J.D. Doyle via Digital Transgender Archive Second photo: NY Daily News

[arayeee]

Thoughts on Maura’s relationship with Paddy Doyle?

God, it’s complicated as hell. I honestly don’t have much to say than that. I mean, mob boss who tells everyone Hope and Maura died in childbirth. Then telling hope that Maura died. Telling Maura that Hope gave her up. Just lie after lie. Like. I’m all for him protecting Maura and doing what needs to be done and protecting Hope and even Constance. But the lies. My god.

And I understand why Maura was so distraught when Jane shot Doyle. She was just getting used to the idea of him being around and being her dad. And having your best friend shoot your father. Geez. That’s a lot of fucking trauma.

It’s all complicated and traumatic. That’s all I got.

[miz-chase]

Important Rizzles community inquiry: Anastasia AU

Is it:

Maura the Princess: (setting: vaguely 1926 Boston)

Jane, Frankie, and Tommy are local ne'er-do-wells looking for a new scheme when local mob boss Paddy Doyle puts up a reward for finding his lost daughter. They run head-first into this prissy girl who looks kinda like her, all blonde and pretty-like (not that Jane notices, at all). Coincidentally, Maura is running away from her home and, as an adopted child, the story the Rizzolis try to sell her on strikes a chord. To her, Paddy Doyle is an interesting, community-loved local business man, much more interesting than her parents' old money and rigid societal rules. When she meets him, he's charismatic and fun and, most importantly, different. She's charmed.

Inevitably, Maura finds out Jane and the Rizzolis were just in it for the reward, feels betrayed and angry. Jane insists it isn't true, but can't (or wont) find the words to explain how she feels. Mob violence breaks out, Jane saves Maura, violence escalates to climax, etc etc Then gay shit happens.

OR

Jane the Princess: (setting: vaguely 1887 Boston)

Jane Rizzoli never had much, but she made do. She and her brothers did their best, working in the cotton mill to make enough to keep Ma fed and the family tenement in order. Ma didn't need english to boss them around and do business in town, but the junior Rizzolis made their way well-enough. It was a life.

When some Brahmin kid deigns to come visit the North End on some charity mission (charity! ha!), Ma eagerly shoved Jane in her direction to milk whatever she could from the situation. Turns out, the little blonde in the fancy dress and bonnet wants to set up a ladies reform school for the "indigent women lately arrived and inclined toward a life of immorality." It sounds like absolute bullshit, but with Ma egging her on, Jane goes along with it.

The experience is bizarre. Miss Isles ("Maura, please!" she insists, so sweetly) takes Jane dress shopping, takes her to froufrou dinners, teaches her to talk fancy. After a while, Jane almost feels like a princess, walking arm-in-arm with Maura along Beacon Hill. It's almost thrilling, and she has to admit, there's a charming woman under all that Brahmin veneer. Jane can't help but be charmed as Maura loosens up and laughs at her blue jokes.

That is, until Jane is brought to a committee of serious men in suits. Maura and the Suits talk as if Jane isn't even there. There are words like "scientific philanthropy" "indigent races" "slums" and a lot of shit that seems to boil down to "those people." In the end, Maura looks pleased. Jane feels like the cow that won a fair prize headed off to the slaughterhouse.

Maura takes Jane home that night and disappears for weeks. It's only with a happenstance glance at a discarded newspaper that Jane understands what happened. "ISLES SCHOOL FOR DESTITUTE WOMEN RECEIVES LOWELL FAMILY FUNDING" Jane's not stupid. Little rich girl needed proof she could tame one of those dirty foreigners into respectability before the Suits'd fork over the funds. It was about money. It always is. Jane pretends not to care, but snaps at Ma when she asks for the 800th time about every dish she ate at Parker House. None of that shit matters, anyway.

Something happens, maybe Maura gets caught being indiscreet with a gentleman, or the Isles' lose their fortune in a bad investment, or the school fails, or Maura finds out she's adopted immigrant riffraff, or maybe Maura finally feels guilty. She shows up one night on Jane's doorstep looking apologetic and pitiful. Jane, back to slouching around in men's work clothes, is not at all impressed. Maybe it's mean to kick a dog when she's down, but little rich girl gets a big reality check from Jane. Still, they make room for her in bed and she stays the night.

After that, Maura actually tries. She helps the junior Rizzolis get access to education and specialized job training, she shops at the local grocer, she (regrettably) helps Ma learn english, so that she too can be bossed around. To the dismay of her family, Maura spends most of her time in the North End. She gets mixed up with Paddy, wins Jane over and then gay shit happens.

OR

What's your permutation of Rizzles and Anastasia?

[viharistenno]

I always wonder. Did Jane tell Paddy Doyle who killed his son? So the mob would never EVER think about touching Maura.

[dirtyrobber70]

5, 15

5) Favorite Parental Figure: Paddy Doyle. Not the best human being necessarily, but God did he always want to protect Maura. And he understood that Jane did too. He didn't have a problem with Jane and Maura being a couple because all he ever wanted for Maura was for her to be safe and happy and to have someone who would protect her like he tried to do. Okay some of this isn't exactly canon but it's my head canon. 😁

15) Charles "Casey" Smarmy Dickweed Jones.

He did a LOT of shitty things. HE THREW AWAY JANE'S SPECIAL MAURA MARMITE. I hate him.

Thanks for the ask @ladyriot !!

[lena-luthor-apologist]

What headcanons do you have about Jane and Maura?

Whenever there’s new people working the scene and they start to get annoyed with Maura and her refusal to guess or her tendency to be so literal, Jane pulls them aside and says listen no. Only I do that she’s the best you’re going to get so do not treat her like that.

Jane works with Paddy Doyle occasionally to make sure Maura is okay and being looked out for.

Maura keeps instant in her house even though she hates it because she knows it’s all Jane will drink BUT she forces her to add like almond milk or something for both health and taste.

I have more but that’s all I can think of right now

[julieverne]

Five times Maura saw more than she wanted to of Jane (and yet found it wasn't quite enough).

One.

Jane slept in her clothes, which meant in the morning they were rumpled. Jane got undressed quickly and unselfconsciously, sniffing at her shirt. She did pause before discarding her bra, an insecure look over her shoulder at Maura before a shrug that dropped it to the ground.

Then Jane was in just her underwear, scrubbing at her face with the heel of her hand, yawning.

"Y'want a shower?" Jane drawled, and Maura nodded, and a moment later Jane was gone, coming back in to throw a fresh towel on the bed next to her. Jane had somehow already forgotten she wasn't dressed as she went through the closet for a fresh outfit. She somehow didn't notice Maura's gaze linger, didn't think anything about her quip last night about wondering if she should be a lesbian.

Maura wanted to tell her it wasn't black and white like that, that sexuality was a range, a scale, a spectrum.

But instead she took the towel and showered quickly while Jane pottered around, putting the coffee on the stove, digging out socks and throwing them in her laundry basket.

When Maura pushed a mug of coffee her way, Jane startled and raised a hand over her still-bare chest.

"Forgot you were here," Jane admitted bashfully, but she drank her coffee before taking her own shower.

When they went to the bar that night, Jane more than returned the intense stares Maura had given her that morning.

+++

Two

Maura ran to Jane as she fell to the pavement. She used Danny's body to properly Jane up, tearing her shirt open in her hurry to assess the wound, to make sure compression wouldn't cause further damage. All the doubts that had plagued her while she'd worked on Frankie were gone now and she worked on instinct alone.

Jane was breathing; the paramedics were coming.

In the ambulance they cut Jane's shirt and bra off, not even glancing at Maura who was still keeping pressure on the wound. They found a vein and started fluids and Maura saw her own blood stained hand prints on Jane's torso. She saw Jane's eyes blink open and fix on her and she froze, worried this might be the last moment they had together.

Jane's hand threaded into Maura's hair, her eyes watering. There was an oxygen mask on her face, so she couldn't speak, but her touch was enough. Her expression was enough.

"Frankie's in another ambulance," Maura told her, and Jane's hand slipped away.

When Maura looked down, she'd left a bloody handprint over Jane's heart.

+++

Three

"The hard way," Maura said sternly. She drove her fingers into the scar on Jane's side hard enough to make Jane yelp, then, while she was distracted, discarded her sweatshirt.

Jane hadn't been wearing anything underneath it. Maura flushed and Jane watched her, a taunting little smile on her lips. Maura licked her own lips, seeing Jane's eyes follow the movement, seeing Jane swallow. The moment was fragile, but Maura was used to those sorts of moments. She let her fingers settle over the wound, just enough pressure to be a gentle threat. If they brushed Jane's bare chest, that couldn't be helped.

"Really? The hard way?"

Jane swallowed again, but she didn't flinch away from Maura's fingers.

"Sometimes I think you like seeing me in pain," Jane said, her voice low.

Maura thought to Hoyt, how he'd hurt her, how he'd enjoyed hurting her. She thought of Paddy Doyle and how he hurt people. She thought of all the unknown darkness within her, all the reasons she didn't work on live people.

"Is that why you shot yourself?" Maura returned, used to their verbal sparring by now. She was getting used to not having to take things so seriously. Jane's face dropped. "Because I can promise you, I didn't like that."

And just like that, meek and mild, Jane dressed herself in her uniform.

"I look like a man," Jane complained, but Maura was familiar with what lay behind the harsh lines of the garment and she disagreed.

+++

Four

"Unzip me," Maura said. She knew Jane would agree that her dress was much more appropriate for the location of dinner and the company she would keep.

Instead Jane looked confused and perplexed. Maura knew the signs. She explained slowly, and Jane nodded, closing the door and the blinds before tending to Maura's zip, and then her own shirt.

Jane had worn a bra that was visible beneath the dress, and Maura undid it as she helped Jane into the dress. There was a lot less of it when it was on Jane. She had to pull it up in places and down in others until Jane was decent, Jane blushing the entire time as Maura's fingers lingered over her skin.

+++

Five

They were getting dressed for a revolutionary war reenactment, and Jane was still in the tee she wore under her blouse.

"You'll have to take that off, Jane, it's not authentic."

Jane was startled at the sound of Maura's voice and turned to look at her. Maura was only partially dressed; she would need some help with the stays.

Jane's cheeks turned a dusky shade of pink and she looked away quickly, coughing and touching her chin to cover her embarassment. She shed her shirt, then came over to help Maura with the stays, her long fingers brushing against Maura's back.

"Okay?" Maura asked, and Jane blushed again, looking away. When Maura looked down she tucked away a little more - not much, it was just the edge, where the colour started to change. Jane nodded. "Do you need help?"

"I'm good," Jane said briskly. "So we really gotta do this?"

"You wanted to 'scope it out'," Maura reminded her. She watched as Jane realised she couldn't wear a bra with this outfit; the boning on the corset was too hard. Pouting, she took her off too, and she had the same problem as Maura when she turned around. Only a little more, and the corset had pushed her up far enough that she couldn't see what had happened.

Maura scooped her hand under the neckline of Jane's dress, allowing gravity to do the rest, to deliver the payload into her waiting hand, which she tucked away carefully out of sight.

Jane's face was flaming when Maura looked up, making her finishing touches. Jane touched Maura's cheek softly, then let her fingers drift away as she swallowed.

"Thanks," was all Jane said.

"My pleasure," Maura told her, but it wasn't, not just yet.

[ao3feed-madwife]

Czernobog's Curse

by Sandystorm

Prequel to a spinoff/re-write of season 3 of American Gods.

Obviously spoilers of Season 3.

This is going to start as a slow Re-Write. I'm changing very little from the show at first, just adding in more details to build on later.

I figured no better day to post this than Paddy's Day, so enjoy!

Words: 11611, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of MadWife be Mad

Fandoms: American Gods (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Laura Moon, Salim (American Gods), Mr. Ibis (American Gods), AV Guy (American Gods), Shadow Moon (American Gods), Marguerite Olsen, Mr. World (American Gods), Liam Doyle (American Gods), Czernobog (American Gods), Mr. Wednesday (American Gods)

Relationships: Laura Moon/Mad Sweeney

Additional Tags: Resurrection, Laura Moon Lives, Mad Sweeney Lives, Angst

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63915820