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"I always thought I was hard to love," Maura said. Her head rested on Jane's shoulder, and Jane's fingers ran through her hair. They paused briefly, then resumed.
"How so?"
"I was given up at birth. A baby even a mother couldn't love. And Mother...and Arthur. And then men. You know my luck with men. I thought there was something wrong with me, something that made people instinctually shun me."
"You know, don't you? That there's nothing wrong with you."
"I'm not so sure about that." Maura sighed. Jane's fingers slipped down behind her ear and rubbed the back of her neck, then her back. Maura closed her eyes. Jane wasn't always good at listening or processing what Maura needed, but for the most part she usually tried. She made an effort, if she knew it was important to Maura.
"You are the first person in my life to show me what it feels like to be loved," Maura said quietly. She blinked back tears.
Jane made a sympathetic little noise and Maura's dam broke. She tried to hold back, but Jane knew her too well. To be loved was to be seen, and Maura felt so visible under Jane's detective gaze.
"You're easy to love," Jane said soothingly. "It's the easiest thing I've ever done. Too easy, sometimes. Sometimes I forget that you're not already..."
"Already what?"
Jane chuckled to herself. Her hand stroked Maura's back.
"Doesn't matter. You know Paddy loves you."
"Paddy." A mob boss. Her father. She wondered how many deaths he was responsible for. Yet he'd saved her life. Probably more than once. Jane was right. The act that had made her feel most unloved had been borne out of the deepest love.
"And Hope. The way she looks at you breaks my heart."
Hope had been hard won. It hadn't taken an arm and a leg. Just a kidney. Hope hadn't believed her because the grief she'd faced at the loss of a daughter she'd wanted very much had filled her so completely that she'd tried too hard to protect her only remaining child. When Maura let her guard down, she could see it sometimes, the grief borne from love, the regret. The love.
"And Constance saved your life."
Constance had been warmer ever since. Maura could see Constance had been afraid to love her; she'd known Maura's heritage. She was scared of losing her, because she loved her.
"And Arthur gave you your love for science. Because he wanted to share his love for science with his daughter, who he loves in his own way."
Maura nodded against Jane's shoulders. She was curled up against Jane now, in a half-embrace on Jane's couch.
"And Ma just about adopted you the first time she met you. She loved you more than the rest of her kids.*
The sharp sting of her houseguest turning in footage to incriminate her stabbed at Maura's chest. Jane clearly felt the hesitation.
"She called it in. Tommy. His drink driving. She snitched on him too. She loves him. More than me and Frankie. Not more than you. She's a meddling mess, but never doubt that she loves you."
"I don't...know how to process any of that. It's not in an absorbable form for me."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I always thought I was hard to love. Until I met you."
"Because I give you a, what, digestible form of love?"
"Because it's constant. It's consistent. You never grandstand, you never promise me anything you can't deliver. You care for me and about me. You were there when I woke up from surgery. It's all the little moments. We spend so much time together, but whenever we're apart, even for an hour, your face lights up when you see me. You went head to head with corrupt cops to protect my father in his hospital bed. You showed my mother that I'm capable of affection and now she gives me all the affection we can handle. I love the way you love me. Like it's easy. Like it's effortless."
"It's as easy as breathing."
"It's instinctual. You took someone unloved, unlovable, and you turned her into..."
"Hmm?"
Into me, Maura thought but didn't say. She had been herself before Jane, but with Jane she was solidified. She felt safe and secure enough to have a personality, and she wasn't scared she'd scare Jane off. Even the mob wouldn't tear them apart.
"Into someone who's brave enough..."
Jane didn't interrupt. She was loose and relaxed and probably almost half-asleep. Her hands still rubbed Maura's back. Jane's arms were the safest place Maura had ever known. She was so loved, so safe.
"Brave enough to love you."
Jane stiffened a little. She pulled away.
"Is it really that hard for you?" Jane's voice was sharp.
"It's not hard. Just new. I'm not used to loving. Not like this. Not the way I love you."
Jane softened against her, her hackles down again.
"I want you to thank you for that. For being so patient with me. For everything you've taught me. I know you don't like this kind of thing. Talking about anything emotional, especially not about love between women."
"But we do love each other," Jane agreed. She held Maura a little closer. They hadn't had to look at each other at all, which was probably why Jane hadn't minded the conversation, or admitting that.
"We do," Maura mumbled into Jane's shoulder.
"Maybe more than two women normally do. If they're not...in love."
"But no matter what, we're in it together, aren't we?"
She felt Jane's chin touch her head as she nodded, then a kiss against her hair.
"Together sounds good."
In the morning, Jane would probably retreat into herself again and regret every sentence of this conversation. But for now, right now, Maura had everything she'd ever wanted.
She could have been content with just that much. Should have been content.
"Jane?" Maura sat up and Jane met her halfway, an eager mouth against Maura's, a decidedly feminine body against her own as Jane crashed into her with a passion Maura had only read about. Jane's hands tugged at her skirt, at the bodice of her dress, nothing but needy moans from a mouth hungry for Maura.
She didn't want either of them to do anything they'd regret, but didn't want to stop. Couldn't imagine stopping. She slid her hand under Jane's pants and found her ready and waiting for her touch. Scared she'd only have one opportunity, she tried to savour every moment but Jane touched her too and each moment only led to the next, and the next, and all of them were worth a monument each.
When they collapsed against each other, sweaty, almost fully dressed and exhausted, Jane kissed Maura so slowly and tenderly that Maura wanted to keep from the release of tension that had built up for so long.
"You're so easy to love," Jane whispered against her cheek. "And I want to prove that to you every time you doubt it."
"I'm pretty insecure," Maura admitted, a little worried. Jane's eyes met her. They were soft and crinkled, the way they sometimes were when Jane looked at her.
"All the better," Jane said. She smiled as she kissed Maura. Like it was fun.
Free service with ads: Well, if I'm not paying for it they have to foot the bill somehow.
Paid service with no ads: Well, if they're not funding it with ad revenue, they need to charge us something.
Paid service with ads: Well that's bullshit.
"We used to be a paid service without ads, but now we're putting ads in it! If you want the ad-free version you have to pay more for preeeeemium": Fuck you fuck you fuck you
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take figures out of their boxes btw. sew patches on your favorite jacket. go to bed with your favorite plushes. wear the pants you usually save for special occasions. draw something cool on your wall. put a sticker on your laptop. dye your hair and pierce your lips. glass is meant to break, metal is meant to rust. items are meant to be used. that's how the world knows that somebody loved them.
When my aunt died of covid, we had to clean out a lot of stuff that she was saving. Foods she was going to try, she was a great chef, spices she'd never opened or only used sparingly, lotions and bath things she hadn't used. After she died I started making a point of using things up: the good vanilla that has to be imported, that we finally found more of, we'd used barely an ounce before she passed away. Even though we love it. I just got my family new bottles of it for Christmas because we used one up. We enjoyed that happiness. Sometimes I still get the impulse to wait for something special, or awful, to save nice things for celebration or comfort. The phrase that always echoes in my mind is "use the good vanilla". And I have been (burning the candles, squirting the body wash, dissolving the bath bombs, putting the saffron in things). And it's been great. Use the good vanilla.
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This weekend I was told a story which, although Iâm kind of ashamed to admit it, because holy shit is it ever obvious, is kind of blowing my mind.
A friend of a friend won a free consultation with Clinton Kelly of What Not To Wear, and she was very excited, because she has a plus-size body, and wanted some tips on how to make the most of her wardrobe in a fashion culture which deliberately puts her body at a disadvantage.
Her first question for him was this: how do celebrities make a plain white t-shirt and a pair of weekend jeans look chic? She always assumed it was because so many celebrities have, by nature or by design, very slender frames, and because they can afford very expensive clothing. But when she watched What Not To Wear, she noticed that women of all sizes ended up in cute clothes that really fit their bodies and looked great. She had tried to apply some guidelines from the show into her own wardrobe, but with only mixed success. So - what gives?
His answer was that everything you will ever see on a celebrityâs body, including their outfits when theyâre out and about and they just get caught by a paparazzo, has been tailored, and the same goes for everything on What Not To Wear. Jeans, blazers, dresses - everything right down to plain t-shirts and camisoles. He pointed out that historically, up until the last few generations, the vast majority of people either made their own clothing or had their clothing made by tailors and seamstresses. You had your clothing made to accommodate the measurements of your individual body, and then you moved the fuck on. Nothing on the show or in People magazine is off the rack and unaltered. He said that what they do is ignore the actual size numbers on the tags, find something that fits an individualâs widest place, and then have it completely altered to fit. Thatâs how celebrities have jeans that magically fit them all over, and the rest of us chumps canât ever find a pair that doesnât gape here or ride up or slouch down or have about four yards of extra fabric here and there.
I knew that having dresses and blazers altered was probably something they were doing, but to me, having alterations done generally means having my jeans hemmed and then simply living with the fact that I will always be adjusting my clothing while Iâm wearing it because I have curves from here to ya-ya, some things donât fit right, and the world is just unfair that way. I didnât think that having everything tailored was something that people did.Â
Itâs so obvious, I canât believe I didnât know this. But no one ever told me. I was told about bikini season and dieting and targeting your âproblem areasâ and avoiding horizontal stripes. No one told me that Jennifer Aniston is out there wearing a bigger size of Ralph Lauren t-shirt and having it altered to fit her.
I sat there after I was told this story, and I really thought about how hard I have worked not to care about the number or the letter on the tag of my clothes, how hard I have tried to just love my body the way it is, and where Iâve succeeded and failed. I thought about all the times Iâve stood in a fitting room and stared up at the lights and bit my lip so hard it bled, just to keep myself from crying about how nothing fits the way itâs supposed to. No one told me that it wasnât supposed to. I guess I just didnât know. I was too busy thinking that I was the one that didnât fit.
I thought about that, and about all the other girls and women out there whose proportions are âwrong,â who canât find a good pair of work trousers, who canât fill a sweater, who feel excluded and freakish and sad and frustrated because they have to go up a size, when really the size doesnât mean anything and it never, ever did, and this is just another bullshit thing thrown in your path to make you feel shitty about yourself.
I thought about all of that, and then I thought that in elementary school, there should be a class for girls where they sit you down and tell you this stuff before you waste years of your life feeling like someone put you together wrong.
So, I have to take that and sit with it for a while. But in the meantime, I thought perhaps I should post this, because maybe my friend, her friend, and I are the only clueless people who did not realise this, but maybe weâre not. Maybe some of you have tried to embrace the arbitrary size you are, but still couldnât find a cute pair of jeans, and didnât know why.
And like, I had fiber craft lessons all through my mandatory schooling (sewing, knitting, crochet etc). âLearn to modify a store-bought item to match your bodyâ would fit in those classes just fine.Â
One time I was at a pub trivia night with some writer friends and we almost won but there was a tie. As a tiebreaker they asked us and the other team to write down as many moons of Jupiter as we could in two minutes.
None of us are very into astronomy so at first everyone was like oh weâre gonna lose but there were three of us at the table that night who were either former classics majors or otherwise super well read on Roman mythology and the three of us were like give us that paper right now and we just took turns writing down all of the lovers of Jupiter from mythology that we could.
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Ride or Die depicting a whole hostel of women utilizing social media and interpersonal connections to track down a man because they believe Debbie has been wronged by her ex-husband is everything to me.
Like yessss, leverage the bonds between women. Show off why women were specifically recruited for the CIA. Utilize the âevery girl is best friends in the club bathroomâ trope to help an assassin.
the oldest reblogs for this post that i can find are from january 2nd of 2013. this can has been getting kicked around tumblr for almost 13½ years now
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