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I’m just sitting here and it’s raining on my face.

I think they’re best friends already:)

for @tblinemom

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“You two are like, the two coolest women I have ever met and I once met Gillian Anderson at an X-Files meet and greet.”

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Anissa & Grace

Black Lightning s02e05

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Katharine Hepburn & Cary Grant in The Philadelphia Story, 1940. Directed by George Cukor.

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lol oh hi i’m back with another will-never-be-canon-ship

just leave me here to die

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Dear Ms. Mannion (3/?)

“A man from the past. How delightfully mysterious!” Trixie's eyes had positively lit up when Shelagh told her the real reason of why she wanted a bit of privacy when using the phone in the back office of the surgery. “Is he handsome?”

“I suppose some might say that. It's nothing. Just inviting an old friend to supper with the family. Maybe he can bring his wife as well. In case we end up gossiping a wee bit about the folks back in Aberdeen after the invitation...” Trixie winked conspiratorially before flouncing out of the room. Shelagh had tried to act casually, but her hand gripped the telephone and nearly crushed the card in her hands. With a deep breath, she dialed.

A pleasant chirp of a voice crashed unexpectedly into her ear. “Stewart & Sons, this is Mindy. How may I direct your call?”

“Uh... Hello, Mindy. Arthur, please. Arthur Stewart?” Shelagh hated when she was caught off guard. Of course he had given her his business number and it was business hours, after all, but she was thrown by the posh voice that rang like fairies on the other side of the line.

“And may I ask who's calling for Mr. Stewart?”

“Shelagh. Shelagh Turner. Mannion. Just tell him it's Shelagh, from Aberdeen. He asked me to call.” She could feel the phone slipping from the sweat of her palm and she used her other hand to hold the receiver steady at her mouth.

“Very well, Miss... Shelagh. One moment please.”

Shelagh waited and heard a series of clicks before another, more familiar voice, came on the line. “Shelagh! I'm so glad you called after all. I was worried when I hadn't heard from you-”

“Would you like to come over for supper?” She had to blurt it out before she lost her nerve and it seemed she caught him by surprise as well. She fidgeted with the cord of the phone, twisting it this way and that in the silence. “You could bring your wife, of course. Timothy, whom you've already met, and Patrick, my husband, will be there. They'd both like to properly meet you.”

Another long pause and she could practically see that bumbling thirteen year old boy twisting his fingers and gnawing on his bottom lip. “Shelagh, there's... there's no one. Not really, since-” He let out a frustrating sigh and she nodded mutely at what he couldn't quite get out.

“You looked so well the other day I thought you'd finally found a wife to get you properly sorted.”

“Well, since father passed, I've married my work if that counts. I'm both the Stewart and the & Sons of Stewart & Sons at the moment.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that.” Another pause. “Well, Mindy sounds nice.”

He laughed heartily, the laugh of his father. “She is, she's just not-” Another unspoken sentiment hung heavy in the air between them. “Anyway, I'd love to come. I'll be honest, I was hoping to catch up with you privately and talk about you, about the people back home. I'm afraid I'll be a terrible bore to your family.”

“Nonsense. They'd love to hear it. And you were always better at telling stories than I.”

“Well, I won't deny that there is more than a spark of curiosity about this undoubtedly wonderful man who managed to seduce you away from the order you were so determined to join.”

She chuckled at the memory of her anguish during her last days as Sister Bernadette. “It wasn't quite like that. I had already had doubts before Patrick. But yes, he is a wonderful man who has given me a most wonderful new start at life.”

“And Tim, at his age, I assume-”

“Yes, he is from Patrick's first marriage. He was married when I first met him and a widower when we fell in love. But I love that boy as though he were my own. His mother was such a lovely woman as well.”

“You always did have a tremendous heart.”

“They make it easy.”

After another awkward pause, they exchanged logistical details and both left the call wondering if they had a made a terrible mistake in digging up old bones. And if Shelagh was a tad flustered and red in the face when she emerged from the back room, Patrick was polite enough not to point it out.

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Dear Ms. Mannion (2/?)

She had just finished setting the table when Patrick strolled in, a burst of frenetic energy as he hung up his coat, set down his case, and swept his wife up in a quick kiss. Apparently, Mrs. Danning's birth went well.

“A strong lunged boy. Both mother and child are strong as horses. We were all worried for nothing after all.”

“It's better to be worried and relieved than under-prepared and panicked. Now go wash up, please, before our son starves.” He kissed her lightly again, did as he was told, and reappeared at the table sans tie with the top button of his shirt undone. He tugged gently at Shelagh's apron springs and hung it on the hook.

“I'm pleased for Mrs. Danning. She puts up a strong front but I know she was worried about her age and even if she never said it, we all knew she wanted a boy. She had already sewn on blue trimming on the baby's nightdress.”

Conversation went as it always did with a meander down an article in The Lancet and an anecdote of how Trixie had awkwardly attempted to ask him for a “man's opinion” of her latest courter. Finally, Timothy rolled his eyes and interrupted yet another fanciful account of Sister Monica Joan's never-ending font of eccentric quotes. “Are you really going to call that man, mum?”

His boy so very rarely interrupted that Patrick started before turning to his wife, who had frozen with her fork a hair's breath away from her lips. She swallowed visibly and returned the fork to the plate before responding, “I haven't quite decided yet. Perhaps.”

“What man?” Patrick Turner was not a jealous man by nature. Not only did he trust his wife completely as her work brought her in contact with every manner of man, but everyone in Poplar knew his family and Tim's memory was still strong and clear in his young age. He rarely referred to anyone as anything other than their proper name. That compounded with the strange reactions – Shelagh's sudden nervousness and Tim's uncharacteristically abrasive tone toward his mother – sent a shiver down Patrick's spine.

“We ran into him while we were walking back from the shops today. He called himself Arthur and shook my hand. He said he was an old friend of mum's but mum looked like she had seen a ghost.”

Shelagh shook her head with a soft smile. “I was just shocked, Timothy. He is just someone from a long time ago. Last time I saw him, he must have been about your age.”

“Were you really friends then?” Patrick was thankful that his son was curious, for he could ask these questions without feeling as though he was prodding at a past he was never meant to know. Shelagh spoke so rarely about her life before the order and he never wished to push. Though they've come to an understanding about his old demons, the scarred over tissue was still raw and tender.

“We were. His father and my father were close friends and they worked together so his mother would watch us after school until they came home. He was more like a brother, really.” Patrick covered Shelagh's hand on the table for all the things she didn't have to say, that her own mother had passed away and she had spent many hours alone as an only child.

“He didn't seem like a brother. And he called you Shelagh Mannion.”

“Well, it's been many years. His father took another job when we were younger and I suppose we lost touch. Perhaps I will call, just to see how old Mrs. Stewart is doing. She was always so kind to me.”

“That sounds like a splendid idea. If he and his family were important to you, I'd like to meet him as well. Perhaps you should invite him to supper.” His tone was light, but Patrick could feel the lump in the back of his throat slowly expanding to choke him. Shelagh's tense nod did nothing to reassure him and he speared a bite of asparagus to wash it down.

In bed that night, Patrick turned to look at his wife. Not for the first time, he noticed the difference between the two of them, the most apparent being their age. He and Marianne had had Timothy later in life when he was well into his thirties. He had been resigned to being a bachelor doctor for life when his first wife pulled the rug out from under him and made him fall madly in love. He never expected it to happen again near ten years later.  

In the moonlight, Shelagh's face glowed an opalescent blue, smooth and unlined. Her lips were a becoming shade of pink in contrast and her long lashes cast an elegant shadow on the tops of her cheek. Though she was strong and capable in the daylight, her competencies in organization, midwifery, and nursing well known throughout their little corner of the world, she felt so delicate at times that he was afraid he would break her. He sometimes felt a complete oaf when standing beside her, unkempt, weary, and dwarfing her small frame.

Yet he loved it. He loved watching her swim in his coat when he places it on her delicate shoulders to keep off the chilled night air. He loved when she learned into him, her head fitting snugly in the crook of shoulder so that his nose could breathe in the warm scent of her shampoo lingering at the top of her head. He loved being able to lift her off her feet and place her gently on the bed as though she were a feather. He loved making love to her and covering her soft, pliant body with his own bulking mass of trembling need.

He was acutely aware that he was the only man she ever had, a fact he was sometimes embarrassed to be proud of. But he couldn't help but wonder at times if he had been selfish in his proposal so soon after she left the order. He was so certain and she had given every indication that she, too, felt the same, but she had also spent ten years in near isolation from the mere idea of the company of men. She was hardly Shelagh Mannion for a week before he asked her to renounce that name and become Shelagh Turner. She had burrowed herself into his life so nicely that he rarely questioned it. Shelagh Mannion was a woman who only existed for a season; Shelagh Turner was her true calling.

Yet she was Shelagh Mannion for years before she became Sister Bernadette. The few pieces she had given him about that part of her life barely formed the edge of this puzzle made of thousands of unique memories and experiences. They made up who she was – the way she spoke, the way she walked.

And now a man from that identity-forming part of her life has reappeared like a long awaited prince. A man her own age and, by Tim's own description, handsome and well off. He pulled her closer and, in her sleep, she nuzzled her nose against his shoulder. What would he ever do without her?

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Dear Ms. Mannion (1/?)

I’ve fallen into a Call the Midwife black hole and can’t get out. Help.

She thought she had imagined the call, but when Timothy stopped walking beside her, she turned as well, her nose catching a strong downwind whiff of fish from the pier. “Shelagh? Shelagh Mannion?” The man cut an impressive figure in a finely tailored suit, slender yet broad at the shoulders. He was near in height to Patrick, but atop his head was a flop of windswept dark blonde hair where her husband's was a rich dark brown. He had the clean sparkle of a man who clearly lived a very different life than the majority in Poplar.

Beside her, Timothy squeezed her hand and whispered, “who is that, mum?” to which she could only shrug. Her mind ran quickly in circles, trying to identify this stranger from her varied histories, but came up blank.

The man jogged four quick steps toward her before stopping a respectable distance away. “I thought that was you! I can't believe, after all this time... I heard you'd joined the order?”

Propriety required that she answer, though she was still stunned. “I did. I left. I'm terribly sorry and I'm quite embarrassed, but I must ask, do I know you?”

The man chuckled and shook his head. “Of course, forgive me. I am much changed since we last laid eyes on each other. It's Arthur from Aberdeen. With the ears?” He pinched the shell of his ears and pulled them slightly outward and Shelagh gasped. Arthur Stewart was a lanky boy of thirteen, no older than Timothy now, with ears that jutted aggressively out the side of his thin acne-marked face. Much changed, indeed.

She jolted back from the wash of memories from another life when Timothy squeezed her hand again. “Mum?”

As though he had just seem the barely teenaged boy beside her, Arthur started with widened eyes, before regaining his composure and turning to Tim with an outstretched hand. “Arthur Stewart at your service. Your mum and I were old schoolmates.”

The man had a strong grip and Tim responded in kind, maintaining eye contact as his father had taught him. “Tim Turner.”

“Your boy has a strong grip, Shelagh.”

Timothy was a subject on which she could dwell all day and she relaxed visibly,  running a quick hand through the boy's hair. “That he does.”

“I'm terribly sorry, I'm late for an appointment, but I'd love to call on you some time. Perhaps we could have lunch and catch up?” In the fog of the past, Shelagh vaguely remembered nodding and taking a card printed on thick, creamy paper.

Then he was gone.

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I think I’m obsessed  (つ✧ω✧)つ

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Christian Dior Spring 2017 Haute Couture

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We fell in love.

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You’ve changed, Tumblr

...I go away for a bit and come back to a “-blog” added to my name??

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☆

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LEIGHTON MEESTER : HEARTSTRINGS

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Sophie Turner & Maisie Williams at the Entertainment Weekly Comic Con Party Photobooth.

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@LucyLiu  ❤️#IdrisElba #Emmys