#a turnadette au without turnadette

[queenkenzo24]

I think tonight I’m going to try to start writing my marriage of convenience turnadette AU and I just wanted some input. When I first thought of this idea, I thought of it as a modern AU, but now I realize it could also work as a 50s/60s timeline fic too. I know how I’d get Shelagh living there and in a position to want to get married in a modern situation, but I also realize it’s a lot more normal to live with someone without being married now a days. I just can’t think of a situation to get Shelagh to move to poplar and be willing to marry Patrick for a 50s/60s situation. Please let me know what you’d prefer and if you can think of an excuse for Shelagh to move across the country for the 50s/60s one. I’m really excited for this though.

[weshallc]

BERNS NIGHT: CHAPTER THREE.

So much love to the most patient person in the world @lovetheturners and all you folks who are willing to take on another chapter.

A Call the Midwife AU in the Crown Jewels Series.

Chapter Three: OF MICE AND MEN

“The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men. Gang aft agley. An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain. For promis’d joy!”  Robert Burns, To A Mouse 1785.

The largest reception room at Mount Busby Farm would have once been very grand, with Queen Anne furniture and Regency coffee tables. The only thing that remained unchanged was that the original fireplace still gave up warmth and light provided by nature and the windows let in the light from the same star constellations and the same moon.

The Two Loves preferred antique furniture of a later period and in their 80s comfort was paramount. The room was stocked with love seats, chesterfields, recliners. bean bags, generous cushions and a rather charming gold settee that suspiciously looked pre-war. Just no one was sure which war. Everyone mocked it, but everyone fought to sit on it as it was very comfy. Patsy often talked about replacing it, but Delia wouldn’t hear of it. You don’t throw your memories out with the rubbish and there are more memories than just ours hidden within these cushions, Cariad. That was always the end of it.

The most current occupants of that particular settee to be making memories were Tim Turner and Lucille Anderson. Phyllis looked over at the awkward teen who was no longer as awkward as he had once been. He sat comfortably chatting to his companion, both of them laughing at intervals. Lucille often finishing Tim’s sentences or him proclaiming, yep that’s it or knew you’d get it when they appeared to reach a level of understanding.  Of course, when she asked the student nurse about her new friendship she would just reply, brushing the older nurse off. Oh, he is a dear boy; He makes me laugh.

He was certainly doing that from where Matron Crane was sitting on a leather tan Whitworth dining chair probably by Frank Hudson.  Years of heavy lifting before the introduction of patient hoists and transfer boards had taken their toll on the matron’s back. It was why she had found herself in a more management role much earlier than she would truly have preferred. She looked at Student Nurse Anderson and thought maybe the NHS was in more tender capable hands than the shitstirrers would have them believe.

“I am wondering if we should start,” youth minister Tom Hereward was on his feet. “I am not sure how long baby will sleep in a strange house.”

“I have been called many things in my time, but not sure strange is one of them,” laughed Delia.

“Oh, I have Deals, it’s fine,” reassured Patsy.

Tom turned pink. Trixie leaned over to him, “They are joking,” and sat back onto the giant purple pouffe she was sharing with Valerie. “I know, I live here. I have to put up with it all the time.”

“So. Erm who is in charge, who has the most authority here.” Tom was still trying to create some sense of order.

“Well, Julia is the vicar,” chirped in Bobby trying to offer her husband some support.

“But this is not the church,” Rev Julia responded with a warm smile.

“Another shock there then, it’s all coming out tonight, Patsy.” Delia couldn’t help herself when she had an audience and a bottle of Prosecco was being passed round.

“Matron Crane is on the council,” Lucille reminded everyone.

“No, I don't think that matters lass, it’s not a council matter.” Phyllis shook her head.

“Well, someone needs to take the lead,” Tom said with a hint of irritation.

“I will!  On the authority that I am a young woman on her only night off of the week,” struck up Val, “ but I have agreed to come here and discuss plans for Bernie’s birthday instead of having two for one sex on the beach.”

“It’s a cocktail, and its happy hour in the Fourteen Teacups on a Tuesday,” Trixie interpreted for everyone.

“That’s ambitious having a happy hour in the Teacups, isn't it?”  said Fred, who had managed to wedge himself into a deep red Chesterfield.

“Yeah, apparently Ursula gives you the right change, that's why they call it happy hour,” Tim smirked.

“As I am representing the Crown. I will continue,” said Val and she did, “we want to put on a Burns Night for Bernie’s birthday like in the old days. Now Tim has told us Paddy is half Scottish.”

“Why isn’t he here?” asked Bobby.

“Well, he said it would look suspicious if he left Bernie on her tod behind the bar on a Tuesday night,” Vi explained sitting on a scarlet love seat next to Fred.

“Yep, in case our two Tuesday night regulars rush the bar at once,” snorted Val.

“I think it’s more that it would look suspicious if he actually just left Bernie alone for five minutes,” Trixie corrected.

Lucille felt Tim squirm in the seat beside her. She knew he thought the world of Bernie, but didn’t like to hear her relationship with his father discussed in public. This was inevitable being a small village with one pub, one church and two of the villages most popular inhabitants linked to both. She tried to ease his tension.

“I think it’s lovely, just shows as my grandma used to say there may be snow on the roof, but there is still fire in the grate.”

As everyone surrendered to laughter, Matron shared a smile with the vicar, both of them confirming Lucille might be familiar with the saying but maybe not it’s meaning.

Delia was the first to keep a straight face, “But they are only bairns, wait until they are mine and Pats age then the fire may need a little bit of stoking.”

“Yes, Deals, but remember we have never required the use of a poker.”

Val swiftly continued, “Paddy doesn’t wish to be involved.”

“Why?” Reggie asked perched on his wooden stool.

Val motioned towards Tim, who was still recovering from the last topic of conversation.

“Because it would look ridiculous, his words not mine.” Tim continued, “and I quote, Wilf had the works, I would look like I was trying to pull a stunt to impress Bernie by looking like I was dressing in drag and taking the piss.”

Tim looked at his knees and Lucille gave one a quick squeeze. She knew this wasn’t easy for him.

Everyone else also looked at their knees, the mood was solemn.

“We can all understand Paddy’s reasons.” There were a couple of nods and sighs in response. “But we aren’t putting up with any of that nonsense,” Val added with a grin.

This was met with a very large and unanimous cheer.

“Well, I’ve already looked up the Turner tartan,” Trixie handed an iPad over to Patsy via Val.

“That’s very smart,” approved the artist.

“Sorry I hate to throw a spanner in the works, but how are we going to afford all this?” butt in a pensive Vi.

“We've already thought of that,” grinned Delia, ”Mount Busby will cover the cost of the costume.”

“That’s very generous,” sniffed Evie, who had nearly dozed off in a leather recliner.

“Not really,” explained Patsy. “I have a friend that works for Kilts 4 U and they are very interested in looking into the possibility of making an alpaca lined sporran.”

This was news to Reggie who followed anything relating to his charges with great interest, “What’s a sporran?”

“It’s where he keeps his spare change,” Fred enlightened or at least tried to.

“It’s the little purse that men wear at the front of the kilt, Reggie,” Violet elaborated. He seemed reassured by this.

“So anyway in return for a few samples,” Patsy continued, “my friend will be happy to hire out the full regalia for the evening.”

“It’s not long now until Burns Night have you got some sort of prototype ready?” quizzed Evie.

“Lady K is working on them as we speak. She loves nothing better than fiddling with a bit of alpaca wool,” Delia replied gleefully.

“Lady K?” Phyllis queried.

“Yes, she is very creative,” reassured Trixie.

“I don’t doubt it, Trixie, but she is one of Bernie’s clients. What if the lass sees what she is up too”

“Don’t fret Phyllis,” Patsy interjected, “I find that Antonia is much less forgetful when she has an occupation to challenge her and I am certain she won’t let the cat out of its proverbial bag.”

Jack sat on the floor banged his head against the fire surround he was leaning against, “Can’t imagine Berns thinking, oh look Lady K is sticking bits of alpaca wool to a man’s bag he hangs in front of his todger, that must be something to do with Paddy and my birthday”

Vi was quick to admonish Jack, but when even Tom started to laugh, she decided to let it go.

“What about the little knifey thing they keep in their sock that he stabs the Haggis with?” Fred was beginning to get excited.

“Sgian dubh,” corrected Vi.

“All part of the traditional dress,” Patsy added a tone to her voice to reassure everyone that she had thought of everything.

“So that's the gear sorted. Me and Reggie are in charge of the beer. What else?” Fred’s eyes were wide thinking they actually might be able to pull this off.

“Well, myself and Evie have created a menu, pretty much on the lines of what we used to do in Wilf’s day.” Violet opened a small notebook and put on her reading glasses.

Clearing her throat she read, “Cock-a-leekie soup, Scottish salmon and tattie scones or scotch egg for starters.”

“Cock a what?” shouted up Jack.

“Chicken and vegetable soup to you, young man. There will be a just vegetable option too.” Violet’s voice began to take on the air it adopted when addressing an audience. “Then we have the Haggis or vegan Haggis, neeps and tatties and a whisky sauce.”

“What about those that might not wish to partake in the Haggis?” Tom asked nervously, as he might.

Evie spoke up, before Vi could respond. “There is always the Fourteen Teacups for the likes of those that don’t wish to have Haggis. It’s a Burns Night. If you don’t want Haggis, then stay at home and order in a pizza.”

“What's for pudding?” Bobby struck up, squeezing her husband's hand.

“Cranachan which is raspberries, cream, oats and whisky, or Clootie pudding with whisky sauce or whisky ice cream or a Scottish cheese board with oatcakes.”

Murmurs of approval were aimed in Violet’s direction.

“That's a lot of whisky?” Lucille remarked.

Violet agreed, “Yes, we need just a house whisky for everyone for the toasts Val, I will leave that to you, but you need to pay the piper with a good quality malt.”

Silence broke out in the previously buzzing over occupied living room.

“Piper!” Several people groaned at once.  

Fred, who was not going to let anything get in the way of this Burn’s Night declared, “Look we will just have to bung on a recording.” Turning to Tim and Jack, he said, “You lads look up the Red Hot Chilli Pipers on your phones.”

Tim reached for his phone swiping the picture of Lucille and him with Alpaca Colin. But Lucille touched his hand, making him hesitate.

“I don’t think that would be very suitable Mr Buckle, going to all this trouble with such a delicious menu and Mr Turner all dressed up in the finest regalia and then having some squeaky din coming out of an iPhone.”

“Your right lass, it just won't do,” supported Phyllis.

“Well, does anyone know a piper?” Fred replied wearily.

“Surely we can find a professional one online?” contributed Julia

“A professional piper that’s free on Burn’s Night at this late notice,” chided Phyllis.

“I know a piper.”

The voice came from the back of the room everyone turned to look at the slight dark-haired woman sat on a dining chair. “Well, I think we all do.”

“Do we, Jane?” Julia asked.

“Yes, the busker that stands outside the town hall in Appleby Thornton.”

Everyone started talking at once;

“I only go into town every second Tuesday to get my hair done.”

“Same here I only go through if I have a doctor's appointment.”

“Well, it’s the cost of the parking isn't it, it’s free at Tweaven Retail Park and more shops.”

“You can get it on t’internet delivered to your door.”

“I haven’t been since Marks and Spencers closed.”

“Debenhams is closing next week such a shame, that shops older than me, always been a department store in Appleby Thornton.”

“It was one of the first in the country to have a lift, you know.”

Jane cleared her throat. “There are a lot of good things about Appleby Thornton that are not always obvious.”

“Here, here!” chimed in Val, “there is still a Primark.”

“Oh well, let's be grateful for small mercies,” stung back Trixie.

Much to Delia’s disappointment, Val bit her lip. The ex nurse and market gardener loved a full house. She cherished her quiet times with Patsy too, but she was the more sociable of the pair. The farm was large enough for Patsy to have her office and art studio and not be disturbed while Delia fussed the alpacas with Reggie. Trixie moving in had been Patsy’s scheme, but Delia was the one who had benefited most from their new project, even if she would never let their new employee know she was a project.

Delia enjoyed listening to Trixie’s anecdotes and gossip, she felt reconnected with a world that was moving so fast. The Two Loves were business women and technology hadn’t passed them by.  It was the music, the celebrities, the trashy telly that Patsy despised and Delia loved that made having Trixie and her friends around delight Delia.

Delia’s carer probably wasn’t as up-to-date with pop culture as Trixie and her friend. Val was now a frequent visitor to Mount Busby as she and their new lodger had struck up quite a friendship. Nurse Bernie always looked a bit behind the door when the other two were in full flow about some reality TV show.

But since Trixie had moved in, Nurse made Delia’s blood pressure check the last visit on her rounds and she drank tea sitting and chatting with Trixie. Bernie didn’t need to watch Love Island. She had her own romantic paradise in Poplar-on-Tweaven and Delia couldn’t be more happy for her.

Val had bitten her lip because even though her new friend was still a bit of an enigma to her. She did know Trixie might talk as if she had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but in the last few months she had gleaned enough to know that spoon had been tarnished sometime ago. So in spite of all her bravado, Trixie was as familiar with Poundland as she was Prada.

It was Julia who cut through the chatter. “I believe I am familiar with the young man you are referring to. He has a small dog with him if I am right?”

“Yes, Reverend.” Jane was beginning to believe she had dreamt the piper and maybe also Appleby Thornton.

“He’s rather good, as I remember.”

Jane was beaming as she nodded.

“So problem solved,” Fred rubbed his hands together with glee, “tot of whisky, a bowl of water for the pooch, bob's your uncle, sorted”

“No, it certainly is not.” Trixie's tone caused everyone to alter their gaze, “this man is a professional musician surely, if he has a regular spot he has a license. I am sure Chummy is well acquainted with the gentleman and his story, we can ask her.”

Inspector Noakes had been unable to attend the meeting because of work commitments and Peter’s Tuesday evenings were spent running a youth football team that Jack and Timothy had both enjoyed being a part of. Alas Tim had become too rangy and prone to injury and Jack had become too lazy and prone to chips.

Trixie continued, “He deserves an appropriate wage for his efforts.” She turned to Val. “I believe the Crown has an entertainments licence.”

Val nodded and smiled reassuringly at her friend, “Paddy does, leave it with me and I will also make sure he and the mut are fed and provided with transport both ways.”

Trixie relaxed and shared a smile with the aromatherapist sitting at the back of the room. “Do you know his name?”

“Kevin.”

Fred let out a huge sigh. “So we are all sorted then?”

“It would appear so,” replied Lucille grimacing at Tim.

“Apart from Dad.” groaned Tim.

Followed by an echo of sighs.

“Leave your Dad to me, Chick.” winked Val.

[nunonabun]

#41 NUONA YOU MAGNIFICENT WONDER LET ME ASK YOUUUUU some platonic Lucille & Shelagh bonding with maybe Turnadette and Valcille sprinkled on it? however you want it to!!!

#41…because the world is saved.

A little Outer Hebrides AU, enjoy!

The rain lashed at the windows with tremendous force. The storms back in Mandeville were hardly gentle, but they were certainly never so bleak. While Lucille could appreciate the breathtaking vistas of the land they were visiting, she would be happy to return to London. 

 “You can’t will away the winds, might as well rest yourselves for the duration.” Mr. MacIver advised the nurses as he headed upstairs to his wife and newborn. 

Lucille thanked their host but opted to stay up for a while with her colleague. 

“It’s good thing we’ve such a cozy place to weather this out.” Shelagh commented, settling into a soft armchair by the fire with some fortified tea. Lucille accepted a cup of her own and took the seat opposite. 

“There is that at least. I hope the others are similarly sheltered.” Worry cast a pall over the welcoming space. 

 Shelagh’s brow furrow with sympathetic concern. “So do I. Patrick was off to the lighthouse when I saw him last. It should be safe, if they convinced him to stay the night.” 

“He wouldn’t think to venture out in this, surely?” Lucille asked. 

Shelagh sighed. “He’s not so used to storms like this and he may get a wee bit cocky. He likes it here, quite a bit I think.” She looked concerned. Interesting, Lucille thought, given that Mrs. Turner came from these parts. “Though, I suppose as he’d be rowing Nurse Dyer back with him, he’d be more inclined to act sensibly.”

The thought of Valerie being tossed about in a small boat in the fierce waters surrounding the little village scared Lucille more than she hoped she let on. She sent up a small prayer for her friend’s safety and reassured herself with reminders of Valerie’s solid common sense. Lucille sipped her tea. It was a bit strong, both the brew itself and the hearty liquid seasoning, but she appreciated it right now. “I suppose you must be more used to conditions like this.”

Shelagh looked momentarily affronted, and Lucille feared she’d offended the other woman, but her response held no sharpness. “Aberdeenshire can be quite tempestuous, however my town wasn’t so exposed or… rustic as this.”

Her accent was stronger than Lucille remembered it being back in London and she self-consciously wondered if her own accent responded similarly when surrounded by others from her home country. 

“Do you miss it,” Lucille asked impulsively, “your town?”

Mrs. Turner took a moment to think about the question, looking to the dancing flames for an answer.

“I’m happy where I am now, in Poplar.” Her tone rose, another concern catching on the end of her thought. “I would like to visit again some day, but I’ve been away so long, I worry I’d be a stranger to it, and it to me.”

The howling wind swept away her confession, but it lingered in Lucille’s mind. Was that not just how she had been feeling when she corresponded with her mother? Though the Caribbean community of London had welcomed her with open arms, helping her reconcile her old home and the new, it was a mix of many peoples, its customs, food and even speech a different blend from that which she had grown up with. But was that not just what she wanted? Something new? A fresh look at life where so many different peoples came to start anew? Perhaps she had never truly contemplated that immersing herself in this new world might distance her from the old one, even if it was present in some way on these shores as well. She had not seriously considered that she might have to grieve an old self that would become unfamiliar to her.

“Are you happy to leave it like that?” At any other time, Lucille may have worried her question was impertinent, but this cocoon of darkness they were ensconced in seemed an appropriate place to give voice to these shadows that troubled them.

Shelagh studied her, seeing easily that the question held personal interest to the asker. “I don’t know that I am any more. I thought I had to cut myself off when I left.” She looked back to the fire. “I’m not sure that was wise, or kind. And I would like the children to know something of it.”

Children. Lucille had always planned for little ones in her future, but their faces were blurry, as though she was seeing them out of the corner of her eye. Did they have Cyril’s face? Her lack of certainty worried her. The face that replaced their image without her consent worried her even more.

“I’m sure it would be nice for them to know their mother’s homeland.” Lucille commented quickly, trying to banish the intrusive spectres her brain summoned up. “And Dr. Turner does seem to enjoy it out here.”

Now the thought brought a smile to Shelagh’s face, the delicate lines of laughter deepened by the flickering light. “Yes, he’s enjoying the adventure. But he’s a city man at heart, much as he might fancy himself an outdoorsman.” 

The thought of her husband pulled her eyes to the dark window. They were the exact colour the water had been that afternoon, Lucille thought, grey-blue under the slate clouds. Valerie’s eyes were that same shade, though a warm light like this one brought out some green in them. How much whiskey was there in this nightcap?

“You seem quite a city girl yourself, if you don’t mind my saying so. You took to Poplar far faster than I did.” The gentle lilt pulled her out of her reverie.

That was news to Lucille. “I have always considered myself more at ease in an urban environment. The circumstances certainly did set me off running,” she replied. She thought she’d made quite a mess of things, falling ill on her first day. Of course nobody faulted her for the extreme conditions and the difficulties resulting from them, but Lucille had hoped to make a better first impression. And there had been some nasty comments about how unsuited she seemed to such conditions. Not from Nonnatus, and not that those who said such things had fared any better with the unexpectedly ferocious winter… her mind wandered off along the well-worn tracks of her first weeks in Poplar. The community, the work, the weather, the new people that had changed her life so completely.  

Shelagh interpreted her silence as exhaustion and gave her a polite out. “I suppose we should heed Mr. MacIver’s advice and sleep while we can. We should be out early tomorrow if this storm has the good grace to let up during the night.”

Lucille cleared her mind with a nod and left the cups and pot for Shelagh to clean up at the latter’s offer that she use the facilities first.

The thin cots creaked and sagged, and flashes of lightning pulled her back to the surface every time she finally felt herself sinking into sleep. The experience was far from restful, the turbulence tossing her mind from one unsettling dream to another, none of which she could fully remember when the thin light of dawn called her to wakefulness. The rain was still coming down in sheets, but the wind seemed to have died down. Emerging into the kitchen dining room, she saw Mrs. Turner engaged in a quiet, urgent conversation with Mr. MacIver over some thick-cut toast, generously slathered with preserves. Both seemed fully alert, in spite of the early hour.

“A distress call was sent out from the lighthouse during the night. Mr. MacIver picked up bits of it on his radio.”

“Forgot to turn it off. Didn’t expect to go from catching fish to catching a wean.” The man’s pleasant, round face clearly telegraphed dire expectations, the look of dazed joy mixed with tiredness and anxiety so common on the faces of new parents now forgotten. “Thought about heading out, but if I went myself I’d only be adding to the number of those needing help.”

“Is it…” Lucille couldn’t bring herself to complete the question, all manner of catastrophic situations flicking in front of her eyes.

“We know very little, only that it sounded quite serious and they likely still require help. We think it’s safe enough to head out now.” Shelagh’s voice was grim, but authoritative. “Mrs. MacIver and baby are both doing well,” Shelagh added as Lucille automatically turned to the upstairs bedroom where their patients slept, noting as she did how Mr. MacIver’s lips pressed together more firmly, holding in his own concern. 

She silently gave her assent. Panic fluttered in her breast and action was needed to still it. Action and a good outcome.

In spite of their macs and hefty boots, by the time they reached the water’s edge, Lucille felt as though the cold rain had somehow managed to seep into her very marrow. Thankfully, they would have to go no further. A blessedly familiar voice hailed them brightly from several meters out in the bay.

“Lovely morning for it!” Valerie laughed as her two round-backed companions pulled them the last few strokes into shore.

Lucille’s throat closed around the relief that welled up within her and flowed over the brims of her eyes. Thank goodness the rain would hide it.

She wrapped her arms around her confused friend as Mr. MacIver explained the situation to the gathered party.

Shelagh reached for her husband as soon as he managed to splash his way out of the boat, drawing him close with evident relief. In spite of her cloaked and somewhat bedraggled state, he looked at her like she’d personally lifted him out of the churning sea. 

Lucille closed her eyes as they kissed, the comfort they shared with that intimacy painfully off-limits to her.

–

The way the young midwife clung to her friend aligned a piece of the puzzle Shelagh had been trying to assemble since the train ride north. Friends could be quite close, of course, she had been blessed with at least one such friendship in her own life, but the intensity of emotion in those warm brown eyes was something she recognized in another close relationship. The ease they had around one another, the casual intimacy of their words contrasting with the stiltedness of their gestures, consciously avoiding contact. The understanding and attentiveness they showed each other, together with the lingering gazes, the long, held looks and heavy silences that lay between those who could not say or even openly think what they held in their hearts. Those spoke to something more. 

Perhaps she was reading too much into things, Shelagh thought as she breathed in the earthy, mineral smell of her own sodden love. It was so easy to see in others what you yourself once tried to hide. And surely, as two women, they were just passionate friends. Still, nestled in her husband’s arms, she found herself hoping that on this rough, romantic outpost, her colleagues might embrace the art of letter-writing.

[clonethemidwife]

so, it was pointed out to me that i’ve been off tumblr long enough that y’all newbies won’t know who i am and some of y’all long timers might have forgotten me

so, hi, i’m clonethemidwife (clone for short), i am a longtime person (lol that makes no sense but i’m keeping it because it made me giggle and that’s worth its weight in gold these days). i’ve been in fandoms for probably 20 years now, writing my own fanfiction for more than 15 years, though for years and years i didn’t publish anything i’d written. Nonnatuns In Person are my people. i was super super active until the end of 2016, when i became less active due to work and life, and then i took an official hiatus from tumblr for mental health about a year ago. now, because i’d like to take an official hiatus from life, i’m back on my bullshit on this garbage website.

what you can expect from me: I started refollowing some CtM people last night, i’m going to be catching up on fic because i basically went a year without reading CtM, and i try to leave comments on everything i read, but sometimes i forget or don’t know what to say so sometimes i just leave kudos. i also made a profile on archive of our own, and will be bringing my fics (both AUs, whatever prompts and requests i can find, and future work) onto the archive. i adore talking about AUs, especially my own church AU, which is a monster fic that keeps on giving. my inbox and ask are always open to talk about life, fandom, mental health, basically anything. i love getting messages.

so, what else did i miss?

primary fandoms: Star Trek (primarily Voy, but really all of them), Orphan Black, Call the Midwife, Narnia

ships: Turnadette, Janeway/Chakotay, Imzadi, LumberPunk!, Cosima/Delphine, Lucy/Tumnus, Maggie/Jocelyn, Elliot/Olivia, Bobby/Alex

crackships: Patrienne AU, Janeway/Seven, B’El/Seven, honestly i love a good crackship.

[thatginchygal]

Well, I might have mentioned this a time or thirty but it was to keep me accountable for writing it. I have posted the prologue and chapter 1 and plan to post on Tuesdays and Fridays.  Rated T.  Before you jump in, however, a small preface -

My new story, Coming Home, is an AU look at Turnadette, but specifically at Shelagh.  Set in the 1930s, the story follows Shelagh as she works for the Frontier Nursing Service based in Hyden/Leslie County, Kentucky.  I have known of the Frontier Nursing Service (FNS), now Frontier Nursing University, for many years.  In my work in an academic medical library in Kentucky, we have often partnered with their librarians to provide access to scholarly materials.  When I first discovered Call the Midwife in 2017 one of my first thoughts was of FNS.  Later that year, I began writing pieces of what was to become this story.  I was still in graduate school at that time and did not have much free time for writing such an involved fic.  It may not have gone any further than that had @my-little-yellowbird not been so enthusiastic.  She shared with me that Neal Street Productions had, at one point, looked into creating a show about FNS set in the Kentucky mountains.  (I’d love to know the status of that project, though I fear it’s dead in the water!)

The history of the FNS begins with Mary Breckinridge, who founded the Frontier Nursing Service in 1925.  Though born into wealth in Tennessee in 1881, her family had Kentucky ties.  The Breckinridge family was prominent in politics and in public works. By 1920, Mrs. Breckinridge had a degree in nursing and had married twice.  She had two children with her second husband, a daughter named Polly, who died shortly after a premature birth, and a son named Clifford, known as Breckie.  She doted on her son and was devastated by his death at age 4.  She travelled overseas to nurse in France.  While there, she learned of the British nurse-midwife model and received training at the British Hospital for Mothers and Babies.  Taking her new training, along with ideas that she had witnessed to work for patient care in France, she created the Frontier Nursing Service to provide nursing and midwifery care to mothers and children in need.  She chose to base her program in Leslie County, Hyden, Kentucky due to its remoteness, extreme poverty, and need.  The area was desperately poor and cut off from the rest of the state due to the Appalachian Mountains.  In the beginning, the FNS ran from Mary’s family monies and donations from wealthy friends and colleagues.  She then began to fundraise and to publish a journal to provide funds for the service.  British midwives were employed to ride on horseback into the mountains to provide midwifery services, nursing care, and medications.  A hospital was built in Hyden as well as nine outpost health clinics to serve people where they lived.  The service was a success, leading to a decrease in maternal and infant mortality, and in creating a healthier population, specifically in terms of deworming the region.  In 1939, as many of the British nurse-midwives went back to England to help families or with the war effort, Mrs. Breckinridge founded the Frontier School of Graduate Midwifery.  The school is still active today.  Mrs. Breckinridge passed away in 1965 in Hyden, Kentucky.  (A slight note--Breckinridge was Mary’s maiden name which she took again once she divorced her second husband. Yet everything I have read styles her as “Mrs. Breckinridge” so I will continue to do the same.)

I visited Hyden in December of 2018 and took some photos that I will share.  There are still many health clinics there, along with a statue dedicated to Mary Breckinridge.  I have also created a Pinterest board for this story (which means I am in deep!), that I can also share.  Mrs. Breckinridge is alluded to in my story but is not really a character (as she was a real person and I didn’t wish to overly fictionalize her).  I have tried to make this story as historically accurate as possible, but at times some things have slid just a bit or are fuzzily accurate for the sake of fiction.  A note on the speech – I am from central Kentucky, the Bluegrass Region (think horses, the Derby, Bourbon) but my relatives came from and through the mountains. I have based the speech patterns on my Grandmother and her cousins and even on myself at times!  I hope that none of it is too confusing.  There are also a plethora of in-jokes and information about my own family woven throughout this story.  Cora, in particular, is dear to me as she is an amalgamation of my Granny’s cousin, my Granny herself, and my great-great-Grandmother.  

These notes are quickly becoming as long as the story.  But I must say a huge thanks to everyone who has listened to me prattle on about this fic.  I’ve only been mentioning it for two years!  I most especially want to thank @my-little-yellowbird, who first told me to go for it, who helped me to see the story potential, and who has given me great confidence to continue and to expand the story’s horizon.  I dearly love to write and collaborate with you!!  I also want to thank @fourteen-teacups, this story’s biggest fan, who made a writing spreadsheet and made me stick to it and who has been the sweetest most wonderful cheerleader, collaborator, and editor. Working with you, Teacups, especially these past two months of spreadsheet writing, has been some of the most fun I’ve had in twenty years of fandom.  I couldn’t have done it without either of you!!  💕💕😘😘

I’m so nervous, y’all.  I hope you enjoy. ❤️

[fourteen-teacups]

A Night Out - Part 1

This is a modern AU retelling of the Turnadette story, in four parts, centered around a “prop” that I just couldn’t let go. (The “prop” does not appear until part three, however.) Many thanks go to @thatginchygal and @my-little-yellowbird for their encouragement, patience and valuable feedback.

Shelagh Mannion sat in the late summer sunshine in the square outside St Cuthbert’s Hospital. She enjoyed spending her afternoon breaks out here in the fresh air and solitude. Arriving here as a midwife six months ago, she was still struggling to settle in. Although she had quickly found her professional feet on the obstetrics ward, things had not come as easily socially with the other staff on that floor. The senior midwives, Ward Sisters Julienne and Evangelina, had been there almost their entire careers, and although Shelagh was quite experienced in her field she still felt they viewed her as one of the junior nurses. Sister Julienne was kind and an excellent midwife and while she often seemed to behave almost motherly towards her, Shelagh knew there was already much expected of the head nurse and she wouldn’t have time to spare to help the new Scottish girl adjust. The other Sister, Evangelina, was fiercely capable and a force to be reckoned with yet she tempered this with a surprising tenderness for the laboring mothers when the need arose. Shelagh sensed there was much she could learn from this woman professionally, but personally she scared her to death.

The young, student nurses were stylish and witty and exuberant; next to them Shelagh assumed that her shy and somewhat foreign personality was highlighted. She held a higher position than they, essentially in between the veteran and the apprentice staff nurses. The fact that she was responsible for some of their training probably didn’t help her case; they most likely saw her as a advisor rather than a friend. At times she watched daring Trixie, sophisticated Jenny and sweet Cynthia as they as they left the hospital in a flurry, in pursuit of the excitement of a London evening. Left behind in their wake, she realised she didn’t necessarily fit it with that group either.

There were a few doctors on the ward; the main one seemed to practically live there, he covered so many shifts for the other two. Apparently he was a widower and didn’t mind substituting for his coworkers who had to get home to their wives. Early on she had developed a professional respect for him; Dr Turner was an extremely competent obstetrician, had a good rapport with patients and held the midwives in refreshingly high esteem. He even displayed good humour and an astonishing restraint alongside Sister Evangelina; Shelagh couldn’t help but be impressed by that.

Dr Turner also had a little boy, Timothy, who spent a lot of time at the hospital after school and during term holidays. When Timothy wasn’t doing his homework in his father’s office he ran around with his friend Jack. The two boys spent their free time playing in the square, trying to take control of the waiting area’s television or charming snacks from the cafeteria ladies. Shelagh had developed a soft spot for this boy, part mischievous imp and another part wise soul. She knew his unusual combination of traits were a result of losing his mother at so young an age combined with his father’s busy schedule, which left him alone to raise himself at times. She understood him because in some ways she had been him, knowing the early loss of a parent and the necessary development of independence that came with such circumstances. As she folded up the remains of her packed lunch she smiled as she also thought of their differences; she had been a shy, reserved child while Timothy was full of spunk. Looking up she was just in time to see him running up to her now.

“Nurse Mannion!” he shouted. “I’ve caught a caterpillar!” Timothy charged up to her bench with the bug in question cupped in his hands.

“That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed.

His excitement continued, “I’m going to identify it and make sure I feed it the right leaves. If it’s going to become a moth it will make a cocoon, but butterflies come from a criss-a…” he scrunched up his face, trying to remember the word.

“Chrysalis,” she informed him.

“Yes! That’s it! Akela said I could earn my Nature badge if everything goes well for this little chap.” He settled himself next to her on the garden seat.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll earn your badge, Timothy! Now have you decided where you’re going to keep him?”

“Dad has loads of junk around the flat, I’m sure I can find an old jar or something and make holes in the lid with a nail.”

“Oh dear,” she could well picture their cluttered flat, having observed Dr Turner’s office, “for the time being, what if you used a zip-lock bag from my lunchbox? You can poke a few small holes in it for air.” She rummaged through her bag until she found one that wasn’t too soiled.

His eyes widened with delight. “That would be smashing! Thanks!”

xxxxxxxxxx

Dr Patrick Turner crossed from the hospital to the square in search of his son. As he passed through the small gate he could see Timothy was sitting with Nurse Mannion on the bench closest to the fountain. They were too involved in what looked like a serious task to notice his approach. Pausing, he took a moment to enjoy the enthusiastic mood his boy was clearly displaying. Timothy was talking animatedly and gesturing wildly while the nurse gave him her undivided attention...and his son was eating it up. Choosing to sidestep the guilt this usually brought up, he instead focused on what a gift it was for Timothy. Many of the hospital staff made an effort to keep an eye on his lad, but Nurse Mannion seemed to have forged a connection with him that was more personal and it was a bond that Tim desperately needed. As his father, he was grateful. He should probably thank her, Patrick reflected, but he wasn’t on particularly familiar terms with her. Yes, they worked together quite frequently, and on those occasions she displayed excellent nursing and midwifery skills, but other than that she was quiet and kept to herself. Nevertheless, he reminded himself as he moved toward their bench, that would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

Timothy saw him first, “Dad!” he hollered, brandishing the baggie, “It’s a caterpillar! I can work on my Nature badge for Cubs!” As Tim jumped up, a breeze caught the rest of the rubbish from Shelagh’s lunch, blowing it towards the fountain. Patrick was quick to follow it and swipe it up before it could get much further. He dropped it in a nearby bin on his way back to their seat.

“Greetings, Doctor, and thank you,” Shelagh said quietly, ducking her head as she addressed him.

“It’s me who should be thanking you, Nurse. You’ve become a good friend to Timothy, here.” He noticed her blush a bit as she shook her head and he remembered too late that she had never been one to receive compliments well. He refocused his attention on Timothy, “Let’s see your newest pet, then!”

“Da-ad, it’s not a pet, it’s a science experiment and a Cubs project! And the first thing I’ve got to do is properly identify it so I know what it eats.” He held up his index finger to emphasize his point.

Patrick tilted his head as he responded, “Right then, let’s head to my office and you can use my computer for your research.”

“Brilliant!” Tim headed off towards the gate at a trot, calling over his shoulder, “Bye, Nurse Mannion!”

“Good-bye, Timothy!” she replied with a wave.

Patrick smiled his thanks to her this time before shifting into professionalism, “I’ll see you back on the ward when your break is over. I’d quite like your help explaining the risks of preeclampsia to Mrs Shepherd; oh, and Mrs Davis needs some assistance with breastfeeding, perhaps one of the younger nurses could...?”

“Of course, Doctor; I’ll be there in two ticks. And Nurse Miller has just the right amount of patience to deal with Mrs Davis.” Shelagh answered, feeling much more comfortable as the conversation turned to hospital matters.

He nodded his approval, as well as his farewell, then joined Timothy at the edge of the square, ruffling his son’s hair before helping him and his caterpillar across the street.

xxxxxxxxxx

Trixie entered the hospital tearoom and found the corner table by the window knowing that Cynthia and Jenny would soon be joining her. As she waited she looked out onto the square and as usual could see Nurse Mannion on her favorite bench.

Her two colleagues approached with three teas and a packet of biscuits and as they sat down she sighed her frustration, “I simply don’t know why Shelagh insists on spending her breaks out there alone every day, when I’ve invited her to take tea with us dozens of times!”

“Sometimes a bit of peace is necessary, especially when our work involves so much interaction with others,” Cynthia offered wisely.

“And you’re saying she can’t have peace with us?” Trixie chirped, clearly not understanding such needs. She reached for her tea and swirled the cup, helping it to steep.

“It is disappointing,” added Jenny, “I rather like to get to know the people I’m working with, it makes my shifts pass more quickly,” she joked, “but more importantly I think friendship strengthens working relationships.”

“Well then we’ll just have to keep trying,” Cynthia soothed as she opened the packet of treats, “but we must let her move at her own pace.”

“You’re right, of course,” Trixie conceded, but not without an affectionate eye-roll in Cynthia’s direction, “without you we’d be social barbarians!”

“Oh look,” Jenny interjected, “Dr Turner’s son has just joined her.” She helped herself to a biscuit and offered the tray to her friends.

“They’ve developed quite the friendship,” Trixie noted with a sing-song tone in her voice.

“What are you implying?” Jenny raised her eyebrows in question.

Cynthia sipped her tea before adding quietly, “I think it’s sweet.”

“Well I think she’s sweet on the doctor…” Trixie teased, punctuating her comment with her biscuit, the suggestion in her expression obvious.

“No!” exclaimed Cynthia.

“Oh yes!” Trixie countered, “Haven’t you seen the dreamy look in her eye when he’s in the room? And she blushes whenever he compliments her.”

“She blushes when anyone compliments her,” Jenny reminded as she took another biscuit.

“Fine.” Trixie relented, sweeping some stray crumbs into her napkin. “But did you know she helps him catch up on his paperwork and tidies his desk when he isn’t looking?”

“And has a special interest in his little boy…” Jenny was starting to be won over.

Cynthia remained the voice of reason, “Lots of people here look out for Timothy.”

“Look! Dr Turner just entered the square!” Jenny squealed and three heads snapped back to the window, their repast forgotten for the moment.

“What’s he doing? Oh, picking up some litter.” Cynthia noted.

“Aha!” Trixie crowed.

“What? What is it?” Her friends were at a loss.

“Her eyes were on his derriere the entire time he was retrieving that rubbish!” she triumphed.

“She wouldn’t!” Cynthia was aghast while Jenny nearly choked on her tea.

“Trust me; I have excellent vision and I most certainly know what a girl’s face looks like when she’s admiring her man.” Trixie delivered her news with authority and plenty of cheek.

And with that the three nurses dissolved completely into giggles, drawing questioning glances from the rest of the tearoom.

[snoopctm]

Turnadette Tuesday

Timeline–Episode 7x02

Meeting Magda

Hello again! Time for another look at the Timeline in episode 2. Previously, the Turners were getting ready to meet their new au pair. Now, the plot gets more complicated! More thoughts follow:

So, previously, we’ve seen Shelagh excited about the new au pair and Patrick a little more hesitant. Here, the tables are turned, with the added complication of Timothy’s reaction. Magda turns out to be different than anyone expected (on screen, anyway), and Shelagh especially seems thrown off by it.

Now, this story has been subject to lots of criticism, and I do agree that it seemed rushed in parts, but also, as far as this particular scene (and the whole episode, really) is concerned, things played out as I had expected. There is a little “teaser” that maybe Patrick (but especially Timothy really) will be interested, and Shelagh is concerned, but ultimately it’s mostly played for laughs. You can argue about how effective you think this aspect of the plot was, and opinions will vary as usual, but my thought is, how else could this have been played? Realism is one thing, and drama is another–even realistic drama. The characters here have been so well-established that I think it would be jarring to have Patrick seriously interested in anyone but Shelagh (and vice-versa, for that matter) without drastically altering their characters and perception on the show. Still, introducing a young, pretty newcomer to the household is going to raise suspicion because shows do this kind of thing all the time. So, what does a show like this do? It plays it for laughs. I’ll discuss this idea in more detail in a later post, but essentially I think what’s happening here, to one degree, is tackling a well-used trope head-on and then refuting it. It’s also doing this in a fairly realistic way, even with the comedy angle.

Also, however successfully or unsuccessfully viewers think this subject was handled, I think that this plot is there as well because it deals with the issue of different options for childcare that have been developing for families in the 1960s, especially women like Shelagh who eventually will want to go back to work full-time. I do think the au pair angle could have been carried on longer, and it would be interesting to see what other options the Turners take because obviously *somebody* is watching Teddy when Shelagh goes to work. Still, this is one example of what a family like the Turners could have done at the time. It also sets them apart from an economic perspective, as some others have also pointed out. The Turners have this fancy new house, and now they can also afford an au pair–something the majority of Poplar families probably couldn’t have seriously considered.  Eventually, it’s shown in series 7 that Shelagh didn’t go back to work full-time as a nurse until she absolutely had to, so I’m assuming for the most part, she was home with Teddy in his first year and worked on a more part-time basis primarily as surgery receptionist and clinic administrator, only doing nursing/midwifery work on an emergency basis. Her status as a full-time working mother will probably be more of an issue in series 8, but in 7 her working and childcare options have been handled in different ways, more and less directly. I do wish there had been more time taken on this subject, but I’m hoping for more focus on it in series 8.

Now, back to what’s happening in this scene. What I see here is a flattered Patrick, a smitten Timothy, and a surprised and concerned Shelagh.  Patrick does seem pleased with Magda’s attentions, but I see it as a superficial kind of way. He’s flattered and definitely notices that Magda is young, pretty and a good conversationalist, but that’s really all, although his comments to Shelagh are kind of clueless. The one who *really* notices Magda is Tim, who wipes the jam off his face (after earlier dismissing his mum’s suggestion that he do so), and then jumps at the chance to help Magda with her bags. He’s got a crush. Ultimately, that seems to not be too serious, either, but it makes more sense for Tim to have a crush, and to start to focus more on trying to impress Magda. It could have been done even more over-the-top, actually, with Tim doing more and more ridulous things to impress her (like some other shows may have done), but this show keeps it more in the realm of realism. 

That’s all for this week, because there really isn’t much else to be said about this scene that hasn’t already been said by lots of people. Next week, more of this story and some more thoughts about how the show has dealt with this plot!

[sincerelybluevase]

Fanfic: New Year’s Eve

This is a present for @lovetheturners. Since she wrote the great AU Unexpected, I’ve written her an AU Turnadette. @thatginchygal came with the idea, though she said a drabble would do. I’m afraid it has quite run away with me ;). TW: None

Shelagh hadn’t planned on visiting her colleague at New Year’s Eve unannounced, but she hadn’t planned on her apartment being damaged due to a fire started by her neighbours, either. Now, she stood in front of Doctor Turner’s door, willing herself to ring the bell. She had somehow expected him to live in a bigger house, maybe Victorian or Edwardian. Instead, he lived in a modern apartment.

“He doesn’t need much, it just being him and Timothy,” she told herself. “Not since his wife died in a car crash years ago. Like my mother.” She shifted her bag from one hand to the other, inhaled deeply, and rang. It took roughly two minutes before the door opened. Doctor Turner’s eyes – those delightful hazel eyes that she could surely drown in, would she let herself- widened in surprise as he took her in.

“Nurse Mannion,” he said, “Is something wrong? Am I needed at the hospital?” His hair was delightfully ruffled. He wore a smart button-down shirt that matched his navy jeans. There was a stain on the collar. The sleeves were rolled up, showing off his arms dusted with dark hair.

Shelagh blushed and lowered her eyes, trying not to get distracted by the bit of hair that was visible on his chest; he hadn’t done up all buttons. “No, Doctor Turner. It’s just that… There was a fire in my apartment block. Nothing too serious,” she added as his eyes grew big, “but there was a lot of smoke. None of the tenants are allowed to go back tonight, and I had nowhere else to go, with my family living in Scotland, and all the trains already departed… and I suppose I could’ve gone to one of the nurses, but I don’t expect they’re home, not at New Year’s Eve…”

“Of course. Come in,” he said, stepping aside to admit her entrance.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Her glasses fogged over in the hallway. Her cold fingers struggled with the buttons on her coat.

“Are you all right? Nothing damaged?” Doctor Turner asked.

“No, I’m perfectly fine. I don’t know about the apartment, though.”

“Here, let me take that,” the doctor said, taking the bag from her. His work-roughened thumb brushed her knuckles. She shivered.

“This doesn’t weigh anything,” he said.

“I didn’t have time to pack anything much,” she said. “I just took my phone, my toothbrush, and some clothes. Oh, and my Bible.” It had her name embossed in gold on the cover. Her mother had given it to her when she turned five. She took her glasses from her nose and wiped them on her scarf.

“Wise choices, Nurse,” he said. She couldn’t be sure, not without her glasses, but he seemed to wink at her. “Let me put the kettle on,” he said, and disappeared into the house.

“I’m really awfully sorry. I’m sure this isn’t how you planned on spending your evening,” Shelagh said as she trailed after him.

“I was going to spend it watching awful films, drinking alcohol, and eating too much chocolate and Turkish Delight,” he said from the kitchen, “so your visit is a most welcome distraction, really.”

“What about Timothy?” Sometimes, the doctor took his six year-old son with him to the hospital, when there was no one who could mind the child. Shelagh loved sitting with Timothy. She had a set of coloured pencils and crayons in her locker just for him.

“He’s in bed. Poor mite was tired as you won’t believe. I promised to wake him just before the new year starts. He wants to see the fireworks,” Doctor Turner said. “We can wake him as I show you the guest bedroom.” He fiddled with his sleeves, pushing them up further. He had a band aid on one of his hands, those big hands that had brushed hers just a moment ago, that would probably fit perfectly over…

Stop it.

“Can I help?” Shelagh asked, dawdling on the threshold into the kitchen.

The electric kettle had started humming. The counter was full of dirty dishes; plates with half-eaten slices of pizza, mugs with coffee that looked like it had solidified, forks that stuck to pans…

“I haven’t had time to clean that yet,” Doctor Turner murmured, turning away from her. She still saw the flash of crimson that shot into his face, though. He stacked some plates together, looked at some of the cups to see if there were two that he could still use.

“It’s a job for two, anyway,” she said. She pulled her jumper over her head, threw it on one of the kitchen chairs, and filled the sink with hot water. “Better not get that plaster of yours wet,” she said. She opened one of the cabinets, found a pair of rubber gloves, and put them on.

“You don’t have to,” he said as she tried to prise some spaghetti off a plate.

“Nonsense. I feel bad enough for coming here in the first place,” she said.

“Don’t,” he replied.

She looked up, her eyes locking with his. Another shiver climbed up her spine. Doctor Turner – she could’ve looked up his first name on Facebook, but she’d felt that it was something he should offer her herself, as if it was a gift- swallowed. There was a wrinkle next to his mouth. She wanted to reach out and smooth it with her thumb, but she was holding a plate. Besides, she was wearing yellow rubber gloves.

She dunked the plate in the hot, soapy water. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can get back to your couch and chocolates,” she quipped, praying he’d think her red cheeks were due to the steaming water.

“You make me wish I’d actually gotten something decent to eat, like olives and cheese, or those little sausages they always seem to have at cocktail parties,” Doctor Turner said. She handed him the cleaned plate so he could dry it.

“I’m a vegetarian,” she said.

“Oh.” He put the dried plate away, then walked to the fridge and opened it. “How do you feel about… half a jar of pickles, some onions in vinegar, and half a bell pepper?” He took the bell pepper out of the fridge and grimaced. “Scratch the bell pepper,” he said, and dropped it in the trash.

“I like pickles,” she reassured him. She put another wet mug on the rack to dry.

“I’ve also got milk and cereal, or some stale biscuits.”

“And chocolates and a box of Turkish Delight,” she said.

“Half a box, but yes. Praise my patients.” He grinned. “And a bottle of very good red wine, if you’re feeling up to it, Nurse Mannion. What do you say? Is it a night to imbibe?”

“Unless you propose we become completely decadent and drink it straight from the bottle, we really need to get these dishes done.”

“We’re not that naughty yet, I suppose,” he said. He took up the towel and started drying.

“Naughty Nurse Mannion and Devious Doctor Turner,” she joked.

He winked, which turned her insides liquid. She blushed some more, and wished she’d put on something else than her scuffed boots, a pair of faded jeans, and a ratty jumper. The T-shirt she wore under it had a permanent ketchup stain at the bottom, but she’d tucked her shirt into her jeans, so she was pretty sure the doctor wouldn’t see.

Do stop it, she told herself. It was one thing to have a massive crush on her colleague, to have it for months and months, and to go to him because there was nowhere else to go, but quite another to go breathless and giggly and ridiculous any time he did something nice. Like touching her hand. Or winking. Or pushing those sleeves a little higher. Some nights when she woke up and felt alone, she’d think of his face, of his pleasant voice and big hands, till a tiny throb started between her legs and she was quite breathless.

“I prefer pickles over onions,” she stammered.

“And chocolate over Turkish Delight?”

She nodded.

“What a perfect pair we make,” he said, and smiled.

I know, she thought.

***

After the dishes were clean and gleaming and returned to their proper places, Shelagh and Doctor Turner crashed on the couch. It was a leather one –“leather is a lot more forgiving with spilled juice”- in a rich blue. Doctor Turner had put some pickles on a plate, and chocolates and Turkish Delight on another. Shelagh chose one shaped like a Christmas stocking and ate it slowly as she nursed her cup of tea.

“What do you want to watch? There’s plenty of films on the telly tonight, but we can always go to Netflix and pick another one.”

“Which ones are on right now?”

Doctor Turner took out his phone. “Come and have a look,” he said. She had to scoot over and sit next to him to do it. Her hair brushed his face. She pushed a tendril behind her ear, stubbornly training her eyes on the small screen of his smartphone. She could feel his breath gently ghosting past her cheek, though, could feel the heat of his jean-clad leg as it almost pressed against hers. He wore some spicy aftershave that had almost worn off during the day; only the base note lingered now. It had mixed with the detergent they used in the hospital, and with something else that Shelagh couldn’t name.

“There’s a romantic comedy you might like,” he said, voice hushed since she was so near him.

We sound like conspirators, or lovers.

“Would you like that?” he murmured.

He could put his arm around me. I could turn my face to his, and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him…

“Kiss me,” she said.

He blinked, his long lashes throwing feathered shadows on his cheekbones. “What?”

“Kiss me, Kate. It’s one of the films that’s on tonight,” she stammered, blushing. “See?” She pointed to his phone.

“Ah. Well, let’s watch that, then.” He stood up to grab the remote control. Shelagh felt the loss of his warmth and scent keenly. She kicked her boots off, tucked her feet under her, and hugged herself.

Doctor Turner sat down farther from her than before. She thought she saw his fists uncurl then tighten again from the corner of her eye, as if he wanted to do something with them, as if he wanted to touch her. She might have been wrong, though.

***

The film ended at half past eleven. Doctor Turner stretched as soon as the credits started to roll. His joints popped. He winced and rubbed his shoulders. “Don’t ever get old, Nurse Mannion. It wreaks havoc on your joints.”

“You’re not old,” she softly scolded him.

“Older than you, at any rate.”

“A lot of the doctors at the hospital are. Now, I’ll go and use the ladies’ room, if you don’t mind,” she said, getting up from the couch with joints that didn’t creak.

“The bathroom is up the stairs, first door on your left.”

“I’ll deposit my toothbrush there for later, then. Thanks.” She zipped her bag open, took out her toothbrush and deodorant, and made for the bathroom.

The Turner household had and old-fashioned tub on gilded legs. The spout had the shape of a lion’s head. Shelagh stroked it, then applied some fresh deodorant and studied herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed. She touched them with her fingertips, feeling the warmth seep from skin to skin. She’d have to wish the doctor a happy new year in less than half an hour. If they’d already woken Timothy, that might mean she would not get carried away by her own romantic feelings. Afterwards, she would slip into the guestroom, put on her pyjamas, and try to sleep in an unfamiliar bed. Hopefully, she would be able to move back into her apartment tomorrow. She didn’t want to put the doctor out, and hotels were rather expensive at this time of year. She could always ask one of the nurses if she could stay with them, she supposed.

“It’s just one night,” she told her reflection. Good thing, too; she hadn’t brought much clothes with her. There was only what she wore now, and clean underwear, another T-shirt, and her pyjamas. She could hardly let the doctor see her in those, though. Just thinking of the lacey nightdress made her blush. It had been a bit of a lark when she’d bought it, egged on by Trixie and the other nurses. Her real pyjamas had been in need of a wash, though, and there had been so little time to pick what to bring and what to leave behind…

She took care of her bursting bladder, washed her hands, and went back to the living room. She stopped dead on the threshold.

Doctor Turner was holding up her rather daring nightgown and staring at it with knit eyebrows, his mouth a little ‘o’. Blood shot to her cheeks. She marched in and snatched it from his hands, stuffing it in her bag. The silk slithered over her hands. It refused to be put out of sight completely. “It was in the bag for a reason,” Shelagh said, not looking at the doctor. She was blushing so fiercely that tears stood in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Doctor Turner said, voice thick. “Your bag fell over. I didn’t mean to look at your possessions.”

“Maybe I can still go to a hotel. I’m sorry I came here. We’re only colleagues, after all, and…”

He took her hand. She stilled, but couldn’t bring herself to face him.

“Please look at me,” he whispered.

Helpless, she obeyed.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m sorry I looked into your bag. I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.”

“What are you about…” she started, but then, he kissed her, and she couldn’t talk anymore. He had cupped her face with two hands, but one now slid down her throat and shoulder and came to rest in the small of her back. She slung her arms around his neck, her knees far weaker than she could have imagined. He tasted of Turkish Delight and wine.

I could get drunk on him and him alone, she thought.

He slipped the tip of his tongue between her lips and curled it upwards. The tiny throb that she sometimes stilled when she was alone in her bed came alive purringly. Something in her belly coiled. She sighed into his mouth, one hand at the nape of his neck, brushing the little hairs that grew there. “Don’t be sorry,” she said when they broke their kiss.

He walked her back till she fell on the couch, her head hitting the pillow propped in one of its corner. “I’ve imagined doing this for a very long time,” Doctor Turner said, sitting down in the space between her legs.

“How long?” she asked.

“For months. Maybe longer,” he confessed. He took her face between his hands again and nipped her bottom lip.

The throb was pain now. She pulled him closer, moaning as she felt his weight on her. “I’ve loved you from the moment I knew you,” she admitted, her voice tremulous and breathy.

“It sometimes feels to me I’ve loved you even longer than that.” With the hand he wasn’t using to keep himself propped up he caressed her breast. Her back arched. She shivered, even though she was burning.

“Doctor Turner,” she moaned.

“Do call me Patrick, Nurse Mannion.” Offered like a gift, like she imagined.

“Patrick,” she said, rolling the ‘r’ like a pebble in her mouth, breath catching on the ‘k’. “Only if you call me Shelagh.”

“Shelagh,” he promised, kissing her before she could say anything more, every kiss punctuated by fireworks outside. Their light painted the living room yellow and orange and red and green.

“Is that why you came here tonight?” he whispered between kisses. “Because you imagined doing this too?"

“I’ve never done this before,” she said.

His hands stilled. She opened her eyes, studying him between her lashes. He was smiling, the wrinkle beside his mouth more prominent than ever. She touched it with a trembling finger, following its course from his cheek to his chin. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

He took her hand and kissed every fingertip. “Nothing, my darling, my Shelagh. It’s just… It’s a rather big thing to take from you. Maybe we should save it for another time, when I haven’t had too much to drink.” He winked. “Maybe we should do this when you’re wearing that rather daring nightgown.”

She smiled. “Do you think so?”

“Yes. There’s no hurry, is there?”

“Well, I’ve no idea when I’m allowed back into my apartment…”

He laughed at that, pulled her up, and took her in his arms. “Have you seen the time?” he murmured in her ear.

“No.”

“The new year has started. Happy new year, Shelagh.”

“Happy new year, Patrick. Shouldn’t we wake Timothy? He’ll be so disappointed if he won’t see the fireworks,” Shelagh said, resting her forehead against Patrick’s.

“We should,” he agreed, but they stood in each other’s embrace for a good while yet, reluctant to let the other go now that they had found each other.

[my-little-yellowbird]

Here's to the "Never Have I Ever" ask (this will be a silly one)! Well, you've written all sorts of CtM and Turnadette (even a bit of AU) 😍! So, have you ever written a category of AU in which Patrick gets to live out one of his childhood dreams? For instance, Patrick being the Captain of his own ship or traveling to space!

Hmm… Well, now you’ve got me, @alice1nwond3rland !!  I’ve made references to  Patrick’s childhood dreams before (well, my dreams of Patrick’s dreams, anyway), but I’m not so sure I’ve had him “living out a dream.”  This seems like an excellent opportunity to drag out my little cricket obsession.

I don’t know much about cricket other than it’s similar to baseball, which I like, and the men’s teams used to wear white flannel, which I love.  So forgive the errors, and enjoy some fluff.

Pitch of Dreams, a prompt ficlet (if that’s what we call it, its 456 words) 

Once upon a time, Patrick Turner dreamed of such a moment.  As a young boy, the makeshift pitches on the cobbled streets of Liverpool had been his Lord’s, his dusty wool knickers and cap his whites.  The old shed in his parents’ garden wore the scars of his years of bowling practice, witness to a young boy’s tenacity.  Those dreams faded as new ones bloomed, but never completely disappeared.

Today he stood at the edge of it all.  His eyes roamed the stands as fans poured in for the test match that could help turn everything around for England.  They had a fighting chance, he knew.  Australia was strong,  but he knew better than to underestimate an underdog.  

“Ready, then, Dad?”

He turned to look at his elder son and nodded.  “As I’ll ever be.”

Tim smiled in return.  “Imagine, Dad.  If you’d been on time to meet with my teacher, we’d never have been there when Mr. Baxter fell into that ditch, and none of this would be happening.  We’d just be home watching on the telly.”

At that moment, Ted Baxter, team captain approached them. “We’ll be off to the toss in just a moment, Doc.  Then it’s all you two.  Father-and-son first bowl. God, it’s what cricket was made for.”  

“I can’t thank you enough for this, Ted–” Patrick began.

Baxter slapped Patrick’s shoulder. “Don’t thank me–you’re my good luck charm.  Your quick thinking saved my ankle.  I wouldn’t be on this pitch today without you.  Must say, the whites do you credit, old man.  I’ll bet the little lady found you a treat, the ladies always do.”

Patrick thought of the blush that flooded Shelagh’s cheeks when he came down that morning.  “She’s become more of a fan than I expected.”

The team captain winked.  “Perk of the job. Now, don’t you grimace Tim.  You can’t fight the lure of the flannels.”

“Really, Mr. Baxter, don’t encourage him. It’s bad enough Dad’ll be walking around like this for weeks.”

A voice called the teams out to the field.  “Come on, then,” Baxter whistled to his team. Patrick and Tim followed to the pitch, and shook hands with the two captains and umpires and called the toss, sending the players to their positions.

Patrick took his place and let his eyes scan the crowd.  He knew Shelagh was there, though he couldn’t see her in the stands, and tipped his cap in her direction, then turned to face his son crouching behind the wickets. The load roar faded and he could hear the shouts of children in the streets of his old neighborhood, he could feel the cobbles under his feet.  He clenched his fingers around the seam of the ball and delivered.

[snoopctm]

Turnadette Tuesday

Timeline–Episode 7x02

Preparing for a New Situation

This week, it’s time to begin a new episode, and the real start of a significant s7 plot for the Turners. It’s been a somewhat controversial plot, but I’m doing my best to approach it scene-by-scene. More thoughts follow:

So, last week was the brief intro to this plot, and this week it begins in earnest. In episode 1, as I wrote in last week’s post, Shelagh was in control, basically telling Patrick what she was going to do. Here, although Shelagh still seems quite pleased with her idea, it looks like they have talked more, and are preparing to meet their new au pair. Patrick looked bewildered in episode 1, but here even though he still isn’t as enthusiastic as Shelagh, he’s supporting her decision and is ready to collect Magda at the train station. They both seem a little put off by Magda’s photo that she’s sent, but as we will soon find out, photos can be deceiving.

The tone of this scene is essentially a set-up for the rest of the episode, but the body language here is worth noting. There’s a lot of eye contact, and Patrick put his hand on Shelagh’s shoulder as he hands the letter back to her and walks past her. Although Shelagh is clearly still the one most determined about this plan, Patrick obviously supports her here. They are still a team, Even if he’s not entirely sure what’s going to happen next. he’s clearly trusting his wife, and they are united front. That idea will be challenged (at least in Shelagh’s mind) later, but for now, although this is Shelagh’s idea, both Turners are working together to support it.

This scene serves somewhat to soften some of the apparent harshness of last episode’s scene, when it could be viewed that Shelagh just made this decision and Patrick just had to go along with it without any real discussion. Here, time has passed and I’m assuming they’ve talked about it more. Also, I don’t think he was actually opposed to the idea before–it just kind of took him by surprise, but he knows Shelagh and trusts her. I think, to one degree, we can even look at this scene as an example of the equality in the Turners’ relationship in that it shies away from both what would have been (at the time) the stereotypical expectation that the husband is always in charge, and the countering, and also sexist, “henpecked husband” stereotype. This is a couple where, although both are imperfect human beings and sometimes there can be communication issues (although nowhere close to where they were in series 3), ultimately there is trust and support from both partners toward one another. I think this also serves as something of a reminder of their unity before we see it called into question somewhat (at least in appearance) later in the episode.

This is just the beginning of the arc in this episode. The next scene makes things a little more complicated, but I will addrss that in more detail next week. For now, we have two Turners getting ready for something new, together. Shelagh is still the primary driver of this, but Patrick is much more obviously supporting her now.

That’s all for this week. Next week, the next chapter of the au pair story!

[nunonabun]

Turnadette modern coffee shop au pls xx

*shows up to reply to prompt 3 months late with Starbucks*

Patrick Turner practically inhaled the last of his coffee, looking sorrowfully through the small hole in the cap to check that that really was the last of it.

He sighed and queued up once again, needing more liquid energy to spur him home after his marathon third shift on the maternity ward.

“Scottish breakfast, please,” asked the petite blondish woman in front of him. Though he was new to Nonnatus Hospital, he recognized the voice. He’d worked with it for the past dozen hours, as well as the first delivery he’d participated in since his days as a junior doctor. Nurse Parker’s fortitude and calm in dealing not only with labouring mothers and their anxious partners and family, but also his initial nerves and then this complicated delivery had been his rock. He wouldn’t have recognized her from behind had she not spoken, used as he was to seeing her in a medical cap and gown.

He ordered quickly and went to stand with her by the pickup counter.

“Looks like my greenness isn’t the cause of my inability to head home without a boost.” He attempted humour, finding himself strangely nervous to approach her outside of work.  

Her paradoxically striking and soft eyes met his, recognition clicking in them as they swept his face. She smiled, lifting her tea ruefully in acknowledgement. “No, I’m afraid I always need a wee something.”

Patrick gathered his own beverage. “Still better than me, it’s my second.”

“A well earned second helping,” Nurse Parker assured him. “You were really quite exceptional today. It’s no small feat to remain calm and clear-headed on such a case, especially given that you’ve only just started here.”

“Thank you. It means a great deal to hear that from you. I was very worried about switching specialties, truth be told.” He didn’t know why he’d blurted that. Normally he was more reserved with his feelings, and she was - in practice if not in title - his superior.

“Oh yes, you were in A&E weren’t you?” She asked.

He shifted, uncomfortable with where questions about his past specialty might lead. Damn him for raising it. “For a time, yes, but I’ve always been interested in obstetrics and gynaecology. It’s such an under-researched and underserved field, especially in an area like this.”

An answering spark lit in her own eyes. “It certainly is, and I look forward to working with you in it.” She paused before continuing, “it’s nice to have a doctor who clearly cares so much. Not all do.”

A silence fell between them, Patrick somehow unable to find his words and incapable of tearing his gaze from hers.

Abruptly she turned away, shattering the moment. “I should go.”  

“No, please. Stay, take tea with me.” He invited quickly. Another outburst, and definitely an unprofessional one. What had gotten into him? His exhaustion must be affecting his judgement.

She shot him an apologetic look, nodding to the clock on the wall behind the counter. “I’m expected at home. My son, Timothy. He’s with the babysitter but I promised I’d try my best to be home for a late supper.”

Patrick’s eyes darted to the ring on her left hand and back to her face, remembering the snatches of conversation he’d overheard mentioning a dead husband.

“Of course, I’m sorry for keeping you.” He felt his face heat and hoped it wasn’t too obvious.

Thankfully, she seemed not to notice, and the warmth in her reply was genuine. “You weren’t. It was nice to speak to you Dr. Turner.”

With a swish of her dark blue coat and the gentle tinkle of the cafe bell, she was off into the blustery February evening.

Try as he might to turn his mind to other things, for the rest of the week, each time he closed his eyes, her bright blue eyes held his once more.

[weshallc]

It’s Not My Place:Chapter 2,The Truth Is?

So this is the part where I usually thank everyone for reading and leaving such wonderful comments and I am very grateful. I will also just like to re-cap on the slightly insane Q&A session that followed Chapter 1.

Aherm, so this is an AU Turnadette set in EPISODE 7 SERIES 7 so contains SPOILERS 

Just to clarify Trixie buys Patrick’s clothes it was her final promise to her friend Marianne, she would try and keep Patrick tidy, it has been a struggle at times.

Angela was adopted by Her Majesty the Queen and Prince Phillip and named Anne. I think it really important these AUs keep it real and don’t get carried away.

I will be available for further questions following your dissection of Chapter 2.

FanFiction.Net is down so Tumblr is getting first peak. Anyone who missed chapter One can find a Tumblr version on my blog.

CHAPTER TWO: The Truth Is?

She didn’t quite know why she went towards the alleyway between the parish hall and the neighbouring church. She just did. The antenatal clinic had finished and everyone thought Dr Turner had left. The other nurses had gone and the small nun had been left to lock up. She should be on her bicycle now, pedalling back to Nonnatus. Instead she moved down the alley towards him.

He was looking at the floor, as if he was staring at some mystifying object on the cobbles. He lifted his head and moved his left hand towards his lips and dragged on a Henley. When he saw her, his green eyes lit up and a smile altered his dark face for a moment, showing a tiny glimpse of pearly teeth. She smiled back, she couldn’t help it. When his face lit up like that, like it often did when he looked her way, her face couldn’t help but also betray her in equal measure.

He said nothing he just handed her the cigarette without asking. He had never asked her since that first illicit smoke outside the Carter’s home. When they were alone and he knew she felt secure and she wore that smile, he offered her the Henley and she accepted it. She would take two puffs and hand it back. Depending on the situation at the time this pattern would continue,until she left or the butt was spent.

The more the cigarette shrank, the more awkward it was to transfer the secret indulgence backwards and forwards between the two of them. More than one Henley had ended up on the floor, as they both tried not to touch the others fingers. They were much more practiced now and a slight brush of the hand,was seen as unfortunate, but not unforgivable.

After deftly returning the cigarette to him she asked, “Is all well Dr?”

Patrick told her about the young lad he had met at the reform school, he was Timothy’s age, but had led a very different life. He was due in court for stealing a car. He was also married with a baby on the way. Sister Bernadette took sometime to take this all in.To imagine Timothy in trouble was difficult enough, but married! With a baby? No, her imagination couldn’t stretch that far. She had to hide a sly smile when the realization hit her, that Dr Turner was old enough to be a grandfather.

She reassured him, she would try to find Mrs Sumpter from the clinic notes. They had shared the cigarette while they had talked. Patrick mindlessly stubbed it out.He knew it would be his last for a while, Timothy had forbidden smoking in the flat. He offered her a lift home, but she had her bike and they parted, each going their separate ways.

Unusually, Dr Turner was at the surgery before her the next morning. He was pacing around reception, smoking and disrupting the sister’s meticulous filing.

“Can I help you Doctor?” She said, what she was thinking was a little more, for goodness sake Patrick, sit down and let me do it!

He started to tell her whose notes he was trying to locate, but one glance at her exasperated face, stopped him in his tracks. He sat on the edge of the reception desk.

“It’s Timothy, he didn’t get home until after ten last night, I was worried.”

“Where had he been?” She moved slightly towards him, as close as she dare.

“ Orchestra and then probably just hanging around with his friends.”

“P…..Doctor, his friends are violinists and oboe players, he isn’t Michael Sumpter?”

He smiled at this, how did she always know what was bothering him and how to bring him down off the ceiling.

“ You are right, they were probably just having a jam session round someone’s house.” Patrick looked away and fidgeted on the desk and took another drag.

“ The truth is, I miss him when he is out. There are lots I can do, there is always a pile of reading, papers to write. I could even try some ironing.” He admitted.

The nun shook her head vigorously, “I would leave that to Mrs Penny.”

He laughed at that. “It just makes me realize in two years from now he could be at medical school and then…I really will be on my own.”

Without thinking she took the Henley from his hand, without him offering it. Patrick’s eyes widened, she had never done that before. He wouldn’t have dreamed of even offering her a puff, in the surgery minutes before opening, the ward next door staffed with Nonnatuns.

She could hardly believe she had done it herself. She had only known she had to do something to stop herself from responding to him. She had needed to keep her lips and hands busy.

The stolen drag had bought her enough time to hold herself together.She was soon ushering him off her desk and chasing him back to his office, as she prepared morning surgery.

[thatginchygal]

Fangirl/Fandom Questions

I was tagged by three wonderful people!! 

From @my-little-yellowbird

1. How has fangirling made an impact in your life?

First and foremost:  friends.  All the friends. When I think of my *best* friends several of them are from fandoms.  I’ve been so lucky to meet so many amazing women through fandoms.  Secondly, it’s my hobby.  I didn’t write much as a child or early teen.  I didn’t think I could!  Now it’s my hobby and something that I find so fun (if frustrating at times!).  Fangirling has also made me travel.  I have met online friends in different states and gone places that I never would have gone without having met them from fandom.  I’ve learned so much and met so many wonderful people--all through fandom.

2. What makes fangirling most worthwhile to you?

Well, as I mentioned above: the friends and the writing.  There’s something so freeing and FUN about finding people who love what I love and to the degree I love it.  I can be ‘myself’ online more so than I feel I can be in RL sometimes.  I’m often accused of being too bubbly or excitable but online, that’s a plus.  (Usually).  My life is fairly chaotic now. I work a full-time job, am in graduate school part-time, and have my daughter and family to care for.  What makes fandom the most worthwhile to me is that I can escape into it, daydream about it, and give my cares up for just a little while.

3. What have you learned about yourself by being a part of a fandom?

Wow, this one is tough. I found fandoms so early. I was barely 18 when I found my first online fandom.  I’m not sure in  how many ways fandoms have shaped me.  That said, I will say that I think fandoms have given me confidence in myself. I never believed I could write a fanfic, but I did.  Then I did not believe that I could write a novel-length fanfic, but I did.  I would never have believed that I could fly to Florida by myself to meet fellow fans, but I did.  Being in such welcoming and encouraging communities have really allowed me to grow in confidence and to try new things.  

From @cooldoyouhaveaflag

1. If you’ve written fanfiction, do people in your real life read it? Would you want them to if they don’t? 

My husband and my cousin have both read one fanfic each.  Otherwise I don’t talk about fandom or fanfic with people that I know in RL.  My husband read my ‘epic’ fic ‘Echoes of Always’ and tried to get me to turn it into an actual novel to sell.  I told him no thanks.  My cousin read a fic because at one point we were tossing around the idea of writing a novel together. It never panned out (though not because she disliked the fic--I think.  LOL!).

 2. Are you usually active in your fandoms? If yes, how long before you join in, if no, why not? (No right or wrong answer, I just think it’s interesting!)

I have written fanfic in so many fandoms. I lurk sometimes but after awhile I just have to jump in and discuss or write.  Before searching out the CtM fandom I tried to get some RL friends to watch the show, thinking that if I could talk to them about it that I wouldn’t need to go in search of fandom. But no one would watch and those Turnadette feelings just bubbled up like crazy!

 3. What is your dream fic about your OTP? (no restrictions, it can be anything from a cannon one-shot to a 200,000 word multi chap space alien AU)

I want more ‘how the Nonnatuns found out about Turnadette fics’. And more smut (always).  And perhaps a fic of Shelagh just playing with Patrick’s hair.  I’m easy to please. Hahahahaha (Someone write all of these.  Or maybe all 3 in one fic??  Hmmmm…. )

From @simone020896

1. If you could marry one CTM character, who would you choose?

Y’all know.  

2. What is your all time favorite song/soundtrack from CTM?

I am obsessed with the song ‘Love and Devotion’ by The Vocaleers that plays over the end scenes of episode 4x6.  I bought the song and now even my daughter can sing along with it.  I love that song.

 3. If you had to choose between being Patrick’s new intern or working as a midwife at Nonnatus, what would you choose? (I’m just curious, haha!)

Hmmm.  I think I’d be too nervous to deliver babies--they’re such precious cargo.  I’d be a much better intern and I’d get the bonus of hanging around handsome Dr. Turner all day, of course!!  

My questions:

If you write fanfic, which of your own fics are you the most proud of?  

Have you ever visited a set or met an actor (or author/other type of creator) from a fandom you’ve been in?

Tell us any random headcanon that you have for your OTP.

I’ll tag @nunonabun; @kaguyahime1224; and @alice1nwond3rland  -y’all can answer my attempt at questions or any of the others above!  

[snoopctm]

Turnadette Tuesday

Timeline–Christmas Special 2017

Calling For Help

So, this is somewhat of a late entry this week, and for a lot of readers it’s already Wednesday, but I wanted to look at this week’s Christmas special and a few moments for the Turners. I’ll post some general thoughts about the episode on Thursday, but Tuesday is about the Turners and I wanted to pick a few moments to discuss in the lead-up to series 7. Here’s a scene that’s not very long, but I think it says a lot about the Turners’ relationship at this point. More thoughts follow:

So here we have new mother Shelagh in her new and cluttered family home, holding one-month-old Teddy as Patrick calls ostensibly to vent at her, but it really seems like a call for help, whether deliberate or not. We see here how busy both of them are in different spheres–Shelagh at home and Patrick at work, but we also see some of the complications of this this new situation, and specifically here, how they’ve become so used to working together at the surgery that, to a degree, Patrick has come to depend on Shelagh to run the place and he’s kind of at a loss without her there. He’s an excellent doctor, but he’s not really an administrator, and that’s one of Shelagh’s great strengths. I also think he’s grown to count on her for moral support while he’s at work, as well, and at least for the time being, her attentions are necessarily divided because of their new baby who needs his mother.

For Shelagh, the conflict is apparent as well. As Patrick talks, she’s being drawn into the concerns of the surgery. She knows she’s needed at home, but she also sees Patrick’s need for her at work. For both of these two, their vocations are a big part of who they are, but so is family for them. For Shelagh, she now has this longed-for baby that she didn’t think she’d be able to have, but she can’t switch off “Nurse/Administrator Shelagh” just because she’s also “Wife and Mum Shelagh”. Actually, because of the unique relationship these two have, the “wife” part is actually tied up in her work to a degree as well, since these two work so closely together as a team, and their professions inform their everyday lives even at home much of the time. 

Here, we see a new phase for the Turners in which Shelagh is seeing even more how much her family–husband *and* children–depend on her, and she has to figure out how to balance these sometimes conflicting demands. I know there’s been some debate about how quickly Shelagh should return to work, but considering her personality and her relationship with Patrick both professionally and personally, I think it makes sense that she’s feeling pulled back to work so quickly. I do wonder if she’s being set up for some sort of crash, though–not a major one, but some sort of crisis point that leads into the au pair plotline, in which they have to enlist someone to help take on some of the domestic tasks so Shelagh has more energy and time for both her family and work. 

For Patrick, this scene is interesting in that he essentially called her to vent–he seems to miss having her there to be a sounding board for him in stressful situations. He does tell her he’s sorry for “bothering” her, but I don’t think he can help it. He’s become so used to her being there, and I think she knows that. She tells him he needs someone there to take care of things, and I think she knows that “someone” really has to be her. He needs someone who not just understands the surgery, but who also understands him.

I’m really interested in seeing how the work-life balance issue develops over the course of series 7, because that seems to be the key issue being brought up for the Turners in this episode. I’m curious to see how this all plays out. 

That’s all for this week. Next week, I’ll be looking at another moment from this Christmas special. There are so many good moments here for these two increasingly fascinating characters!

[thatginchygal]

11 Questions Meme

I’m trying to work my way through memes I’ve been tagged in!  The lovely @ta-dala tagged me in this one and really made me think!  

1.    What is the “craziest” thing you’ve done for the love of something?

Hm.  I can’t really think of anything too crazy.  Writing a bunch (a bunch) of smutty fanfic about fictional characters that I love?  That might not count. It’s not too crazy.  Hahahaa  I guess probably going to Star Wars Celebration VI in Orlando. I hadn’t done anything for myself in a really long time before that trip.  I went and met a bunch of my online friends, friends who have become some of my dearest friends online and off.  What a fun time that was.

2.    What is your ultimate bucket-list travel destination?

I don’t really have one. I am so not a traveler.  I’d like to go back to San Francisco one day.  I’d like to take my daughter to a beach.  Stinson Beach was nice. Maybe I’ll take her there one day. 

3.    Cats or dogs?

Cats

4. If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would it be?  

I guess right here, in my bed.  Lucky me!!  ;)

5. Write me a piece of advise that you’d go back and give to your younger self.  

I would tell my younger self to start my retirement account right away and not wait until I was almost 30.  

6. Share one sentence of something you’ve written and tell me why you like it.

Dr. Turner had been the most interesting revelation about Kentucky.

For Nano I was working on a Turnadette AU set in Kentucky (write what you know, right?!).  Nano is over and I clocked on 5k.  I’m going to continue to write it, however.  I like it because it’s a challenge to tell their story here in Kentucky, and to make Patrick believable as a native Kentuckian.  This story is also set in the 1930s so there is another challenge.  One that I hope I am up for…. Stay tuned!  ;)

7. Can you still love/be a fan of something/someone and be critical of a choice or decision? Why or why not?

I think so, definitely.  No one is perfect.  I suppose it depends on what you’re being critical about.  I’d need to know more of the situation.  But nothing and no one should ever be followed blindly.  

8. Rogue One. Dead or alive?  ;)  

Ka-blooooey!!!  *hides*   Seriously, though, everyone comes back to life in SW (except Mara) so I would not be surprised if Jyn and Cassian made it out somehow….

9. You can only eat one food the rest of your life. What is it?  

Cajun Chicken Pasta

10. Give me your Desert Island Discs list.

Eight tracks, a book and a luxury  Let’s see…  I feel like my answers are dumb because I only listen to ‘Top 40’ type music.  But I end up listening to these songs over and over again, so…

Stand Back, Stevie Nicks  (I could listen to this all day everyday)

Wild Heart, Stevie Nicks  (Beautiful song)

Amanda, Waylon Jennings  (I was named after this, so it would remind me of my Mom)

Maybe I’m Amazed, Paul McCartney & Wings [the live version]  (Beautiful song)

What is Life, George Harrison  (This song reminds me of my husband.  It was played at our wedding. And I love George. My favorite Beatle.)

Walking After Midnight, Patsy Cline  (I sang this to my daughter when she was up all night as a baby, so it would remind me of her)

My Favorite Girl, NKOTB  [sue me] (It would remind me of being a kid, and I also used to sing it to my daughter)

Every Breath I Take, Gene Pitney  (My Mom, Uncle and I sing this together in the car, so it would remind me of them). 

A book.  Hm. This is harder.  Maybe a survival guide since I’d probably die after two days without shelter.  If it’s a luxury island and I don’t have to worry about that sort of thing I might take one of the Year’s Best Sci-Fi book of short stories. That way I’d have a lot of short stories to read and mull over. 

A luxury item.  Sunblock. I need it to survive.   

11. What is your favorite curse word?  

I don’t curse often, not really.  I guess I use ‘damn’ most often, but that’s super boring.  

 I know I’m supposed to come up with a new set of 11 questions, but @ta-dala did so well with these questions that I’m challenging you all to answer them. Here they are, free of my answers:

 1. What is the “craziest” thing you’ve done for the love of something? 2. What is your ultimate bucket-list travel destination? 3. Cats or dogs? 4. If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would it be? 5. Write me a piece of advise that you’d go back and give to your younger self. 6. Share one sentence of something you’ve written and tell me why you like it. 7. Can you still love/be a fan of something/someone and be critical of a choice or decision? Why or why not? 8. Rogue One. Dead or alive?  ;)   (For non-SW fans:  Pen or pencil to write with?  -- see this is why I’m letting ta-dala ask the questions!  ;) )   9. You can only eat one food the rest of your life. What is it? 10. Give me your Desert Island Discs list. 11. What is your favorite curse word?

I will tag:  @hops-n-coffee-beans; @love-letters-x-cardigan-sweaters; @alice1nwond3rland; @sincerelygeertje; @my-little-yellowbird; @ta-dala (can I tag you to answer your own questions?!); @beatrix-franklin; @cooldoyouhaveaflag; @flyingnonny; @eatapinkwafer; and @anamarialujan

As always, if you don’t want to do the meme, no sweat!  Just tagging for fun!!  :D

[my-little-yellowbird]

If you’re a fan of the baby Turnadette 2.0 plot line, I’m happy for you. Really. Enjoy it. There’s no need for you to read this post, ‘cause I’m about to complain. A lot.

So really, ignore me. My opinion matters only to me. And chances are I’ll just bring you down. I need to vent, but there’s no need for you to read.

Just keep scrolling.

Really. Don’t read this if you're enjoying this story. Or even if you’re not enjoying it. I’m being self-indulgent. Also, I’m not looking for a debate. This is how I feel. I don't expect to change your feelings. please don't think you can change mine.

Turnadette has passed from drama to melodrama. I suppose there’s always been a touch of it, but for the most part, it has served to further the character development. This surprise baby/possible miscarriage plot has been accompanied by no character development. Aside from a few smooches and hugs, is there anything new going on here? And the possible miscarriage feels particularly manipulative. 

Miscarriage is a very real part of many women’s reproductive lives, and should definitely be covered on this show. Many of us, myself included, suffered this loss, some several times. And to be quite honest, I’m not sure I had any character growth during that time in my life. It just sucked. However, “random sucky times” don’t cut it for me in excellent drama. 

There are so many topics they could cover with Turnadette that would be good drama without melodrama. Despite what Tolstoy said. family life, even within a happy family, has plenty of drama to explore. Heidi has shown in the past to be extremely adept at doing that within the most ordinary circumstances. 

I’ve tried to give it a chance, but its not even close to winning me over. I have to admit, next week’s preview doesn’t look like it’ll do it either.

So I’ll have to just take my OTP into AU territory now. I’m much more interested in these topics.

-Patrick and Shelagh never fight. Really?? Come on!!! 

-Tim is too good. The sixties have started. It's not quite Woodstock, but things are changing for teens. Let's see some rebellion. The kid doesn't have to start doing drugs, but for St Raymond’s sake, if he stares at his parent’s with those googly eyes one more time I’m going to ralph.

-leaving Angela for SA left no guilty feelings brewing? Sure, why would they worry about that??

-Shelagh has no issues as a working mother???? This is a plotline I’m most disappointed they have ignored. It’s 1962. Working moms were not the norm, especially a doctor’s wife. What kind of side-eye did she get? Did she feel guilty for missing anything at home? Was she exhausted from trying to be everything to everyone?

Please don’t tell me “trust in Heidi.” I know how talented she is. Anyone that knows me understands that this is not easy for me to say. For years I have loved this show, obsessing over the tiniest detail, sighing over each glance. This show opened up a part of my creative force I’d forgotten. This disappointment I feel really stings. 

The squee moments are just not worth it for me.