#turnadette fic

[fixomnia-scribble]

I wrote a thing!

Having very recently gotten into Call the Midwife, I have just finished the Big Damn Season Two Christmas Special, and friends, I have been scribbling ALL THROUGH THE HOLIDAYS.

It's been ten years since Season Two of Call the Midwife first aired. Time for a retrospective! Panning the camera around and filling in scenes and background from the Turners' long year of drawing close, and Shelagh coming to terms with her choices. (Giving this story an M for the sake of future chapters. We have a Christmas Special and beyond to get to.) These chapters are G-T, 11 K and counting.

There is more to follow, much of which is already written, but I wanted to put this up for quiet New Years Day reading.

(And don't worry about spoiling me on future seasons - I've been reading & giffing ahead, and am looking forward to it all.)

[weshallc]

Chapters: 3/12 Fandom: Call the Midwife Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner, Marianne Turner/Patrick Turner, Patrick Turner & Timothy Turner, Bernadette | Shelagh Turner & Timothy Turner Characters: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner, Patrick Turner, Timothy Turner, Marianne Turner, Fred Buckle, Trixie Franklin Summary:

I have gone back down the rabbit hole of Christmas 1958. I may never return.  You are all bloody brilliant for following me back down there. Love you all loads. Even the grumpy ones. Oh, that’s me.

[thatginchygal]

New 12/20

Shelagh and Patrick attend a conference just prior to Christmas. With Shelagh pining after the handsome doctor, what might fate have in store for them?

(A few Christmases ago I attempted ‘fake dating’. This year it’s all about ‘one bed’. So have a Christmas laden fun-filled dorks to lovers one bed romp from me to you. ❤️💚💚❤️)

Thanks as always to my bestie, @fourteen-teacups , for her invaluable advice and for listening to me be like—‘I wanna write a one bed fic. Let me dither for a month though, first.’ Love you!! ❤️❤️

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, all!! 🎄💚❤️💚❤️🎄

[miss-ute]

Turnadette in s12e05

[shelaghdette]

Duality

Fandom: Call The Midwife

Rating: G

Category: F/M

Pairing: Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 1.1k

Complete/Incomplete/Hiatus/Abandoned

After Patrick deals with a complex case involving a gay man, Shelagh reflects on her own experiences and talks about them with the person she trusts most.

[lord-of-the-time-wasters]

/slight nsfw maybe

a turnadette redraw of a scene from Strauss dynasty. >:-)

Note: Shelagh is 1000× easier to draw than Patrick and I find that a little bit funny. Also I've not drawn shippy art in a HOT minute

[fourteen-teacups]

O Christmas Tree 🎄

It’s been a long while since I posted any fic, but it’s Christmas… a bit of festive Turner family fluff, set in December 1967, just before the s12 CS

Thank you @thatginchygal and @wednesdaygilfillian for your support and for being my writing buddies! 🥰🥰

🎄🎄🎄

We're going to have a lovely spruce.

Timothy chuckled to himself as he remembered Mum’s words from that Christmas long ago. So much had changed in the eight years since Angela’s first Christmas -- and yet some things remained exactly the same. The annual evergreen tree was currently bundled into the rear of the Turner’s estate car as Tim manoeuvred the vehicle out of the last dark country lane and back into the city.   

Out of necessity, he had learned to drive during Dad’s convalescence. Tim was more than grateful he could help ferry his family about during this time, but the independence it provided was equally valuable. Especially when he thought ahead to eventually qualifying as a doctor. Although he liked to think, when the time came, he’d be driving something sportier.

This evening the family had been shopping at a Christmas tree farm in the countryside, just outside of London. Mr Buckle suggested the idea to Dad, who had been similarly enthusiastic regarding the outing. Traditionally, the Turners chose a tree from the stall at the Poplar Christmas Market but, since the accident, Mum and Dad had been more intentional about seizing every opportunity.

Timothy’s heart clenched in a moment of anguish, imagining all they could have lost on that autumn night. But his distress was immediately replaced with joy, recalling the way his siblings had worn themselves out in the excitement of running around the festive lot.

*****

“Over here!” Teddy called, before ducking for cover behind a sturdy conifer, daring his sisters to seek him out.

Tim watched as May dashed forward, but mistakenly turned away from the row of trees concealing her younger brother.

Angela’s more methodical approach allowed her to spy a tiny red mitten as it contrasted with the pine needles. Her eyes shone in triumph as she looked first to Timothy, then ran ahead to claim her victory. 

Teddy’s shrieks alerted May and the three of them reunited for a brief moment, then took off again in separate directions.

Several rows over, Dad was speaking with the owner of the farm while Mum circled a nearby tree, inspecting it for flaws. “How fresh would you say this is?” Timothy heard her ask, as she reached to test the needles with a gloved hand. He couldn’t hear the man’s response but saw in Mum’s smile that she was pleased with the answer. Looking up, she caught his eye and beckoned him over. “What do you think, Timothy, is it filled out evenly?” 

Tim followed her around the specimen and agreed there were no bare spots. “It’s the perfect height, too,” he added, measuring it against himself. Mum made a predictable face that communicated she was equally proud and exasperated, causing Tim to laugh out loud.

Tapping his father’s arm, she put on her professional demeanor once again. “This one should do nicely.” Dad winked at her -- it was embarrassing how he not-so-secretly loved her authoritative streak -- but when he tried reaching for the tree, Mum promptly stopped him and began to explain his recent injury to the proprietor.

Taking that as his cue, Timothy set off to chase his siblings through the tree lot one last time.

*****

Now all was quiet within the estate car as the road hummed gently beneath the tyres. The newly purchased tree stuck partly out the open back window allowing the crisp December air to circulate throughout the vehicle. To Tim’s left, Angela and May slept propped against each other, still wrapped snugly in their matching pink coats. 

From the back seat, the low tones of Dad’s voice reached him. “Perhaps this will be the start of a new tradition.” 

Timothy’s eyes flicked to the rear view mirror, briefly meeting his father’s eyes and catching the delighted grin on Mum’s face. Tim couldn’t help but think of the lost tradition of the silver tree, but he kept silent. He was beginning to understand that his dad’s passion for healing extended beyond the physical body. And though the memory still rankled slightly, he nodded his agreement.

Despite his vexation, Tim acknowledged the positive developments brought on by the passing years: another sister, and the excitement of Teddy’s arrival. He glanced at the mirror again, but couldn’t see his brother in the reflection. More than likely, Teddy was curled up on the back seat with his head in Mum’s lap.

Dad was speaking again, but it was too low for him to hear. Timothy assumed he was trying not to wake the little ones -- that is, until he heard Mum’s giggle. With a barely suppressed sigh, he turned his head to the rear of the vehicle, only to find them beaming innocently back at him. As their long-suffering son, he shook his head and returned his eyes to the road. The more things change, the more they stay the same. While Tim navigated along streets draped in coloured lights, the car was filled not only with the scent of their lovely spruce, but also the muted sounds of his overly-affectionate parents’ sweet nothings. And perhaps not-so-secretly, he wouldn't have it any other way.

[thatginchygal]

Guys, it’s that time of year again 🧛‍♂️

I’ve been playing with a new photo editor……

[anotetofollowso]

That moment where you comb through a bunch of old Tumblr posts and find treasure troves of Turnadette fic you've never read before 🥰

(and if anyone else has recommendations of places or fics I might have missed I am all ears! I've read everything Turnadette on ffnet and ao3)

[ilovemushystuff]

Once upon a time there was a beautiful Turnadette fic from a Nonnatun on the Poplar bus

[fixomnia-scribble]

For the Nonnatus Besties, who demanded a pregnancy fic!

@queenkenzo24 @deepdowninmybones @shelaghdette and the rest!

Scar Tissue (9K) (E)

Call the Midwife

Hope is a heavy thing to bear. But hope has wings, too.

It's a long, long road for Shelagh through infertility to eventual pregnancy, but she's not walking it alone. Even when she needs reminding.

This will add on to the end of "My Fortress Be", when that story catches up.

I had no idea what shape this would take. This turned out rather more gritty than I expected, but infertility and pregnancy losses are not light content.

This went rather psychological as well as being a story of a partnership. Shelagh is determined to be self-sufficient and reliable, and is utterly calm in a crisis, but still liable to come unglued when anyone in her own family is in peril, or might be hurt. She's so used to handling everything alone that she forgets she's never alone - and that means learning to trust people to help shoulder the load.

[thatginchygal]

If you insist, Dr Turner 🤭🤭

Here we go again! What will 1973 hold for the Turners?

A little spoiler: fun, fluff, adventures, a romantic trip and...

[weshallc]

THE SUITCASE

Alternate Title for @miss-ute Birthday: SHE WAS A NUN!

Happy Birthday Utie 🍰🎁🎉🎈🥰 Thank you for allowing me to be your beta. We have such fun and best of all I get first peak!

This one is for you. I meant to write something funny, but it didn't turn out that way. It is, however, most definitely Auld Skool Turnadette!

Hope you like it, you lovely person, you 💗

She thought Nurse Peters was never going to leave. Ten minutes must have passed since the un-rewardingly cheerful nurse had placed the suitcase on the end of the bed. Her bed. Her suitcase. 

She hadn’t been expecting this. When she had asked Sister Julienne for some clothes, she trusted her friend to sort through the charity box and find something that would fit. Wrap it up in brown paper and string and post it to Woodford Green. 

If she was honest, she hoped that her colleague would hand deliver the package to St Agnes Sanatorium. She knew she was being selfish, but she was getting accustomed to that.

Staffing levels were already depleted because of her and her unwelcome guest, her invasive intruder, her wake-up call. Chummy had returned, but she would be otherwise engaged any day now.

‘Thank the Lord’ Sister Julienne had the presence of mind not to send it with Trixie. That was a conversation she wasn’t yet ready to have, if ever. 

The stand-off was finally over and Nurse Peters admitted defeat. Nurse and patient had learned a lot about each other over the last two months. The patient had discovered that her carer was kind, compassionate, and trustworthy under her brash exterior. The Caregiver had deduced her patient was brave and resilient under the reservation and introspection. There was no way the nun was going to open that case until she left the room, so she did.

Once the bedroom door had clicked shut behind the nurse, it was time to click open the locks on the suitcase. It was definitely her suitcase. She recognised it by the discolouration of the brown leather on the lid. It had got wet stored in her parent’s airing cupboard when the old boiler had sprung a leak. It had been her father’s case then. She hadn’t really cared about the watermarks on the brown leather, but had done her utmost to dry it off for him and prevent any of the paperwork and documents he had stored inside being ruined. 

She never imagined back then that one day it would be hers and it would travel with her down the East Coast Mainline on the Flying Scotsman to Kings Cross. Ten years ago, when she had handed it over to an impatient Sister Evangelina, she didn’t think she would ever lay eyes on it again or its contents. 

She picked up the luggage label and recognised Sister Julienne’s handwriting at once. The same script she’d been familiar with for over ten years. She knew the curve of her letters, the dips and troughs of her words almost as well as her own hand. She paused for a second as another’s handwriting flashed into her mind and wrote across her heart. It was addressed to ‘Sr Bernadette’. She had put her friend in a difficult position, she knew that. The shock and disappointment written across her visitor's face, when she had made her request for something other than the habit to wear, was now eternally etched on her soul.

Her request had been answered, whatever pain it may have caused the one who had honoured it. There was no going back now. It would have been so much easier if it had been a brown paper package tied up with string. There would be a sense of curiosity, maybe even a thrill at seeing what sort of mismatched outfit had been put together for her from the jumble. The fact that it was her suitcase, the suitcase she had parted with in 1948, had dampened her excitement. She had been looking to the future, now she was going to be faced with the past.

If her mind had any doubt that it was hers, her fingers didn’t share it. Her left thumb pressed harder against the button lock than the right thumb did. Her hands had remembered the left clasp was slightly misaligned and needed a more assertive push to persuade it to open.

The lid of the suitcase sprung away from her and so did her fears. The first thing she recognised was a small cosmetics bag her mother had bought her for her thirteenth birthday. She’d told her she was too young for make-up, but it had contained a comb and hair grips, a compact mirror and a small tin of Nivea. The hand cream was long gone, but the comb and grips were still inside and the mirror. The lipstick and powder she had placed in there many years later were still snuggled alongside a tin of face cream and a bottle of Coty L'aimant. 

The hair fixings would come in handy, but she wasn’t sure about the rest. Did make-up go off? She gently twisted the lid on the scent and pulled it off, bringing the attached applicator to her nose. The pink cream had lost none of its potency and for a moment she was no longer in a hospital suite in Essex, but in her parents' bedroom in Inverurie letting her mother place a dab of the sweet liquid on her wrist whispering, “Don’t tell your father.” As they both giggled at the shared act of secret rebellion.

The sensation of the cold metal on her wrist brought her back into the present. She swiftly replaced the lid, returned the bottle to the bag, and rubbed her wrists together to distribute the scent. An action she hadn’t performed for over a decade. Would everything be as simple as this? Had her body and subconscious mind been storing all the small everyday tasks and movements of being a woman? While she had tried so hard to forget.

Opening the purse, she found it contained a few coins, hopefully enough for the bus fare to Poplar. Under her utility shoes, that smelt strongly of Cherry Blossom shoe polish, was hiding her handbag. The green two-piece and the short sleeve blouse also didn’t smell like they had been shut up in the dark for a decade, but freshly laundered. 

After dressing and checking herself in the mirror, the religious garments, which were too bulky to fit into the suitcase she had carried her nightwear in ten weeks ago, were folded carefully into her old brown suitcase. She placed the wooden crucifix on the top, stroking its comforting familiar texture for the final time. 

She then once again closed the lid on her past, remembering the tricky left fastening. In a few hours, she would deliver the suitcase back to Sister Julienne. 

Shelagh heard another click as she opened the door and walked into the sunlit corridor to find Nurse Peters and ask if she could make a telephone call.

[thatginchygal]

New 1/7/24!

Chapter 3 in which it’s the morning after sharing the one bed…

Thank you to the bestest bestie beta ever @fourteen-teacups !!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

[shelaghdette]

the mischaracterisation of shelagh turner

this post will be a bit of a ramble, and i promise im not directly attacking any one person or group! i've just seen a few things over the course of my involvement with the fandom that trouble me a bit.

as a disclaimer: i LOVE shelagh intensely. she's perhaps my favourite fictional character in ANY piece of media. of course i have my own fixed opinions, so this makes me inherently biased. take whatever i say with a pinch of salt, im just an internet lesbian.

damselification

there's a common take in the fandom that shelagh left the order just for patrick. i'd like to argue this isnt true. patrick was a massive part of her reason, and i'd even agree that falling for him gave her the final push, but we have evidence to suggest she was considering it LONG before we first saw the turnadette plot.

shelagh wanted to hang out with the GIRLS. shelagh saw jenny, trixie and cynthia's freedom and she wanted it. in the beginning, it had very little to do with a man. when she takes her wimple off and stands in front of the mirror, shes trying to find herself.

shelagh had a desire to be a free woman. being in love with patrick was a part of it, but not the whole picture.

even when she did choose to be with patrick, she made those decisions all on her own. she didn't read the letters he sent her until she was already certain of her choice. she wasn't going to be begged, and she wasn't going to beg him, either. shelagh would have left the order whether patrick really wanted to be with her or not.

in fics, shelagh is often portrayed as a helpless baby who needed patrick to save her from her indecision paralysis. i don't think this is true.

stupification (sex mention ahead!)

shelagh is a MIDWIFE. not only that, she's confirmed to be the most accomplished and talented in her field at nonnatus house. i would argue her intelligence and competence in her job is equal to, if not greater, than her husband's. she has an extensive knowledge of the female anatomy. she's studied it for years. she works with it every single day.

SO PLEASE STOP ACTING LIKE SHELAGH TURNER WOULDN'T KNOW WHAT A BLOODY CLITORIS IS! the amount of smut fics ive read that have been instantly ruined by patrick mansplaining her own anatomy to her is not ridiculously high, but it isnt zero either. and whenever it happens, it does my head in. i'm not saying shelagh's going to leave the order and immediately become an absolute sex goddess, that's also unrealistic. but dear god, she knows what her own bits are called. it's just another way she's infantilized and turned into a weak little angel baby who patrick has to smother and save.

on a less nsfw note, i just feel like some fics don't give shelagh's intelligence the credit it's due. it's hard to fully explain without giving examples (which i don't want to do bc i feel like that's unfair and really mean), but in general, patrick just hand-holds her a lot and explains basic things she'd have no trouble understanding on her own. girly is CLEVER. let her be clever.

[thatginchygal]

@deepdowninmybones ahaha!! It *is* the sneaky hand!! 🤣🤭🤣