#call the midwife au

[deepdowninmybones]

Can't stop thinking that in my Call the Midwife AU universe, today should be Julie Turner's birthday 🎉🎂🥲👑😌

Happy birthday to my beautiful girl 🥰

[varpusvaras]

Also, regarding my Seventeen cottagecore housewife au: one of the reasons (the biggest one) why he accepts the marriage offer is because that means he doesn't need to ask help from anyone who knows him. Doesn't matter if this guy knows he needs meds and therapy and whatever. Seventeen doesn't care about him and he does not care about Seventeen.

So Seventeen gets married, packs whatever he has to pack up, and moves in to god knows where. Doesn't tell anybody. All the other Alphas and the CCs completely FREAK OUT because Seventeen has just vanished. They definitely commit a few federal crimes and a break in.

[oifaaa]

i follow for art and takes thst I usually agree with

Good tell me what you think of this take; I think one of the many many reasons why aus that are just x character dies and becomes red hood instead of jason fall so flat and feel so superficial is bc a lot of people making those aus don't understand jason and don't understand the character they're forcing into the red hood role

[hmg98]

Why am I crying at Laura having her hand on Helen’s shoulder?😭 I really need a spinoff of just them

[miss-ute]

[hoopearringsunlikemine]

Do call the midwife au’s exist??? Because they should?

[diazsdimples]

Urgent question as someone who is new to this whole ABO concept and until recently thought it was referring to your blood type and was really fucking confused, how tf do male omegas give birth??

[lhaagain]

Because one supernatural AU wasn't enough....

More Than Human

In a world where supernatural creatures are known but are often ostracised and forced to live in secrecy, the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus is a refuge for its sisters.

Beginning pre-series.

____

Evangelina found her sister where she had expected to, but hung back on the threshold hoping to watch her for a minute and gauge the lay of the land. It was harder with Julienne; she didn’t give off the same scent signals that Evangelina could read from the others. Still, she could read the nervousness in her constant movements, and her sister’s distraction was obvious in the fact that she’d yet to spot Evangelina’s presence.

“Can I help, Sister?” Julienne asked lightly, without turning around.

“I just wanted to see if you needed a hand,” Evangelina replied, stepping into the room. “And perhaps remind you that we’re not offering a maid service.”

Julienne turned to face her, running her hand over the front of her habit. “I just can’t settle.” Evangelina resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she said dryly. “Did you make it to bed at all last night?”

“I don’t need–” Julienne began.

“As much sleep as the rest of us,” she cut in. “Less, not none.” It was not the first time that they’d had the argument over the years and she doubted it would be the last.

“I assure you,” Julienne said, rounding the bed. “I’m quite alright. Though, as always, I appreciate your concern.” She reached out to rest her hand on Evangelina’s upper arm.

“Yes, well,” Evangelina said. “Are we making this bed then?”

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[iwantthemtostay]

say my name out loud 

chapter one: doctor targaryen

Rhaenyra isn't prepared for the challenges working as a doctor in Flea Bottom will bring (and she certainly isn't prepared for a septa with brown eyes who doesn't talk about her past)

(or, the call the midwife au)

[weshallc]

Bern's Night (part of the Crown Jewels series, Call the Midwife AU)

(Previously published on A03 and FF.net nothing new, sorry.)

Chapter One: Fair Fa' Your Honest, Sonsie Face

“Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy o'a grace As lang’s my arm.” Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns 1786.

"Will You Recognize Me? Call My Name Or Walk On By." Don't You (Forget About Me), Simple Minds 1985

Monday 25th January 2016

“His knife see rustic Labour dight, An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin’, rich!”

The room was swept in darkness apart from the light of the wolf moon and the North Star penetrating the cold window panes. All eyes were facing towards a wooden table and the elderly man stood behind it. He was in his late 60s and wiry, small for a man, but with a silver mess of what once must have been a bonnie head of fire red hair. The body may have looked weak, but the intensity in his bright blue eyes cut through the dimly lit surroundings.

As he spoke again, his voice filled the room, cutting through the anticipating silence. It was a voice that could take a knife and slice right through a soul. The knife in his hand in turn sliced through the offering in front of its high priest. Years of performing the same action with such a passion resulted in precision. The faithful entranced by the spectacle all gasped as one, as the incision was violently made. No one dared to speak. Suddenly the trance was lost as artificial light rudely brought everyone back to the present with a blast of the pipes.

“All done then Reverend Mannion? Can I serve the Haggis now? Don’t want it getting cold now do we, not at £15 a head.”

“Aye, Violet the ceremony is over, it’s time for eating and drinking something the bard would have approved of, rightly so.”

The kilted clergyman winked at an auburn haired girl in the crowd and tipped his whisky tumbler toward her. She raised her own glass and winked back. Her companion at her table was much taller with dark hair styled in a tidy no-nonsense bob.

The tall one leaned toward the small one and asked, “If it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

“What?”

“The Haggis if it’s already dead why does he have to kill it?”

Her friend opened her mouth to speak, but she saw a tender hand take hold of Chummy’s arm and explain it was all just ceremony, it was tradition.

“Like all that malarkey at our passing out parade, the day we got our badge. That wasn’t about police work, was it? It’s just tradition. It’s what the English do well.”

He had been doing really well up until then, but a golden raised eyebrow made him alter his stance. “It is what us Brits do best.”

The raised eyebrow whispered to the police constable. "Peter, Chummy really doesn’t think a haggis is a real animal, does she?”

He was not the kind of man that would turn heads, but he had a kindness in his eyes and an openness in his face that she thought some would see as attractive. If only Camilla wasn’t his superior and they didn’t work such long hours together, what might have been?

She knew her friend well and sensed more queries would follow. Not sure as a Scot brought up on Tweavenside and now living in London, she could provide satisfying answers. Picking up their empty glasses and heading to the bar was a strange sort of refuge for a vicar’s daughter and inner-city missionary.

There was a queue, well, sort of a queue. In London, a queue was made up of people standing in an orderly line and the person who had been stood the longest getting served first. In Poplar-on-Tweaven it resembled more of a rugby scrum and the person who shouted the loudest being ignored and anyone who called the barmaid by name being bunked up the order. She wasn’t familiar with busy bars, but she was bright enough to work out the system.

“Val, when yer ready, hen.” The request came from someone not sure that was their own voice they had just heard yelling those exact words.

All her life, she had been immersed in the wonders of the Bible and was still amazed at how so many miracles had been performed. She had heard all the CPR arguments regarding resurrections and all that, and was still not convinced. But she now knew how Moses had parted the Red Sea. He had known the barmaid’s name was Valerie.

“What can I get you, chick?”

“Here! I was first.” A grumpy voice struck up.

“Oh Al, you are always first. Let me serve this lass and then I will sort you out.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yeah, in your dreams, pal.”

She was starting to feel uncomfortable. She hadn’t meant to jump the queue. Maybe she should go back to the table and let Peter get the drinks. A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts. It was quieter than Al’s but held an authority. It wasn’t a Tweavenside accent, but it had a northern softness.

“You serve our impatient friend, Valerie. I will see to this young lady.” Then turning to his new customer, “What can I get you, pet”

“Erm, a whisky and lemonade and erm a pint, please.”

“Which whisky and a pint of..?”

She wasn’t sure; she nudged her bottom onto a vacant stool for security.

“Are you with the law?” The tall bartender nodded towards Chummy and Peter.

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“OK, so that’s a Famous Grouse and diet lemonade, just a dash. And a pint of Buckles Best. And for you?”

He stepped back a minute. “Your Reverend Wilf’s daughter?”

"Yes, I am.” Bernie suddenly felt more sure of herself. She was never completely certain of who she was when back in Poplar.

“Bernadette?” The stranger was grinning now, his brown eyes glinting under the harsh bar spotlights. Or were they green?

“Well, that’s my Sunday name. Most people call me Bernie, even Dad.”

“Well, since I’ve never seen you in here on a Sunday or any other day. I will call you Bernie. I am Patrick Turner. Most people call me Paddy, a few Doc.”

“Oh no, you won’t have seen me here on a Sunday or any other day. I live in London now and before that, well, I am not a big drinker.”

“What can I get you then?” asked Paddy loitering near the coke and lemonade pumps.

“A gin and tonic please, better make it a double. It’s quite busy, save me coming back.”

Paddy smiled. “Premium gin?”

“Yes.”

While the optic was emptying into the glass, he asked, “You must have known this old place when Evie ran it?”

“Yes, I know Evie and J..Jenny”

“Oh yes. Jen was here when me and the wife took over. She was a great help. We get a text every now and again, doing well for herself now all loved up.” He winked at her as he ended the sentence, causing her to panic slightly.

“I was sorry to hear about your loss.” She wished she hadn’t said it.

Val had seemed to deal with ten customers to Paddy’s one and now there were just the two of them alone at the bar. He looked at her in a sort of a non-direct, sort of direct way, under that infuriating fringe she wanted to reach out and push back.

“Loss is as much a part of love as is healing,” he replied with a hint of melancholy, but without irony.

She was stunned and tried to find a corresponding Bible verse, but she drew a blank.

She focused on what was real and what was present. Her dad had taught her to do that. What was in front of her at this precise moment was a glass of gin and ice and a twist of lime. He was now unscrewing a bottle of Mediterranean slimline tonic.

She yelped, “No!” as he lay the bottle alongside the glass.

“Sorry, most people add the tonic to the gin and I cannae bear it drowned.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Surely that would be very presumptuous of me.”

“Aye well, most people I’ve met are very presumptuous.”

“Maybe you have spent too much time in London. if you don’t mind me saying, Bernie.”

“Well, to be fair, we don’t spend a lot of time sitting on stools and propping up bars in my part of London.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Can I bother you for a…”

Paddy popped a black straw into her tumbler.

“I will make sure when you come home next time, none of my staff will be presumptuous.”

“Oh, I doubt you will remember me, Paddy. I only come up to see my Da. I can’t imagine you will be seeing much of me in the future, hardly likely that I would ever be considered a regular.”

“Now, who is being presumptuous?”

Bernie went to put the straw between her lips but paused, realising the stranger was still watching her, she suddenly felt uncomfortable. As heat rose in her cheeks and she suddenly felt awkward on the stool, squirming to find some sort of comfortable position. The stranger smiled in a way she could not understand; it wasn’t smug or suggestive, but as if there were sharing a joke, but she wasn’t sure what the joke was.

She hopped off her seat, for a brief moment realising her arse was in the air, and prayed he had altered his gaze. Focusing anywhere but behind the bar, she grabbed her glass and bottle in one hand, put the whisky against her elbow and waist, the pint in her other hand, turned and swiftly moved toward her thirsty friends.

Shelagh Bernadette Mannion, don't you dare look back and see if he is watching you he is recently widowed with a son, Da said. He is, what do they call them now, a bloomer or something like that? God has shown you his path for you and it certainly does not include the Crown Inn, Poplar-on-Tweaven.

He is still watching me. I can feel it.

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Last Line Tag War

Tagged by: @wyleriseverything

Rules: in a new post you show the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words. 

Line: He was becoming more and more worried as the information that he needed refused to come to him.

Tagging: @tuberculosis-planets @therulerofallpotatos @wyleriseverything @lovely-number-7 (That’s all the mutuals I know that write, sorry for not following the rules all the way!)

[clonethemidwife]

ok. so. au number 3 (tattoo shop au) is now complete! i do have some bonus content that’s not written but to which i am not opposed to writing should you all want that.

but let’s talk about the behemoth mother of all fics: the church au.

i love this au and it would go on indefinitely if i let it, however there are other things i would also like to write, so… i have to figure out how to wrap this up. my question is: would you all prefer a fuller picture of life with fr and mrs turner with some time jumps or a shorter term happy ending that leaves the future open to interpretations? I can write either (but i won’t write both). please let me know. you can also feel free to send me a message 😃

[flo55i]

Reading all the kink meme prompts is oh so lovely but sad at the same time. Like OMG I love it, FUCK, but will anyone ever fill it? 🥺

[miss-ute]

[twistedgardens]

Just finished Chapter 44 of 'Call the Midwife.' About to start Ch. 45.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame's influence is very palpable in the next few chapters.

[lhaagain]

The Ground of Mercy

Summary: There's more to Julienne than meets the eye, even if she doesn't necessarily understand that herself.

Starts in the 1930s and will run right through the series.

This work is a bit of an epic and is a gift for the legendary @linguini17

Part 1: The New Girl

Chapter 1 - A Long Labour

Evangelina came in the front door, hung up her cape and headed straight for the Clinical Room.

“Where is she?” she asked tersely when she did not find who she was expecting. Their latest arrival in Poplar wasn’t going to last six months if she was any judge and this tendency to vanish into the shadows at the slightest difficulty certainly didn’t help.

“Sister Julienne sorted her bag,” Ada said calmly. “And then I sent her up to her room. What on earth happened?”

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