#spoiler spec

[chaossmagic]

Plus, there’s always a chance that if Luke is revealed to have killed his brother all along, Vic might actually get her common sense back, realizing that he let her brother take the fall and end up with life in prison.....and snap out of her Pod!Vic personality that she’s had since her whole storyline started last year.

[robertisanidiot]

okay i watched wednesdays ep because i’m weak and could not wait and i am so ready to have sassy sarcastic robert back defending aaron and the dingles!! 

it will be interesting to see how this plays out because joe probably isn’t someone rob can just seduce or manipulate like he usually does... also joe has graham and hes bad-ass so like ??? i’m actually worried for robert here...

[gabolange]

Call the Midwife ficlet (Turnadette, 6x03 speculation)

Just a little bit of Turnadette speculation for 6x03 and its aftermath.  Spoilers ahead.

The crisis had passed.  Through a miracle they hadn’t earned from a god Patrick Turner didn’t believe in, Shelagh’s pregnancy continued.  She was watched over tonight by the nurses of Nonnatus House in the safety of his own maternity home—which, too, would live to see another day.

He had been cast aside in the bustle of the hospital, rightly.  “You’re her husband, not her doctor,” Sister Julienne had reminded before closing them into the ambulance.  

But waiting for news, this he had done before.  In that hospital corridor, he remembered the moment before Marianne’s diagnosis, the faint hope coupled with medical surety that whatever had stolen her strength and her breath could not end well.  He remembered Shelagh before she was Shelagh, locked away for her own good, each future he imagined somehow more terrible than the next.  And he remembered Timothy, still and quiet as the iron lung breathed for him.

And despite his fears, which he ran through his head in the long minutes before they called his name, this time the news had been good.  Good enough.  A week or two of rest and if nothing else went wrong, she could go back to work, to life, to being his vibrant wife.  Just a scare, the doctor had said, clapping his shoulder as if cheering on Surrey for the cup 

Sister Julienne had insisted Shelagh stay the night at the surgery, just in case. As if Patrick’s care in their flat yards away might not be adequate—that was an uncharitable thought.  It was to ensure her rest if he got a late call or Angela cried, and yet now it was he who could not rest.

The children slept, curled uncharacteristically together in Timothy’s bed. Angela wanted to know where Mummy had gone and neither Timothy nor Patrick had been able to console her.  His little girl had fallen into a teary sleep against her brother’s shoulder and the lad had refused to relinquish her; in his son’s desperate grip on his sister, Patrick could see the memory of a mother lost and the terror that his family might be once again rent apart. He tucked them both in as if Tim were closer in age to Angela and sat outside the door until he heard Tim’s breathing even out long minutes later.

He climbed to his feet, knees creaking.  He would have liked to blame that on a long day, but a darker part of his mind cautioned that he was getting old, awfully old to be bringing an infant home. If Shelagh had been here, she would have soothed his cares, would have shrugged and teased, made some comment about if he was so old then he wouldn’t want to—.  So he would have smiled and kissed her, and more.  “See?” she would have said after, “you don’t seem old to me.”

But Shelagh wasn’t here, and the thought of climbing into their bed without her suddenly felt impossible.  Over the course of their marriage, he had barely slept without her.  During those few nights in the Harley Street clinic after her infertility had been confirmed—he almost laughed—he had managed well enough, he supposed.  But that felt like a lifetime ago.

In their bedroom, he removed his tie and waistcoat, tossing them carelessly onto the armoire.  Shelagh would have raised an eyebrow to chastise him for being untidy, and all he could remember were long, miserable nights with no one to care if he kept the room neat or anything else.  

He ran a hand through his hair.  This would not do; tomorrow, he needed to be awake and alert.  For his patients, his children, his recuperating wife.

**

He had not been much for sneaking around as a lad.  He saw himself in Timothy, studious and earnest, without an eye for anything other than learning and the occasional cricket match.  Certainly there had been no illicit girlfriends, no reason to learn a soft step in a busy world.

And yet here he was, hoping not to be seen in the low hum of the night shift at the surgery.  It was his building, his practice, and yet he let the door close softly behind him in the hope that no one would hear.  Whoever was working would surely march him straight home and then call Sister Julienne to sit in his parlor until morning.

Shelagh had been given a private room, some deference to her status as his wife or, more likely, her status as one of the Nonnatus nurses.  He slipped inside.

She was asleep, curled on her side in the narrow single bed they issued to all patients.  The rest had not cast away the worry he could still see in the crease between her eyes. She had looked so afraid when the pain had started and her legs had given way, and it had been all he could do to hold on.  He recalled his own voice, hoarse with news they had not yet shared, and hers, desperate, calling his name.

He walked to the bed and sat beside her, brushing a strand of hair off her face. He would have been content to sit there and watch her sleep, but she opened her eyes.  “Patrick,” she said on a breath.

His fingers stilled on her cheek and she reached up to hold them against her. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said, but her grip belied her preference.

“Those are the rules,” he said, stroking his thumb over her cheek before leaning over to kiss her.  Their rules, his rules; visitors between three and five in the afternoon only, to ensure proper care.

She smiled against him before shifting onto her back so she could look up at him. “We’ve never been very good at those,” she said and he coughed out a laugh.  

“You’re not,” he said, marveling anew at her strength, her willingness to cast aside a lifetime of choices for the hope of something more.  “And I am so grateful for it, Shelagh.”

And then her arms were pulling him down to her in the little bed, giving and receiving the comfort they had both been denied in the cacophony of doctors and nurses and well-meaning friends.  She was warm and whole beneath his hands, the curve of her waist and the softness of her breast changed subtly with early pregnancy.  Nothing amiss, but her fingers dug into his back as he held her.

“Oh Patrick,” she said, burying her face in the curve of his neck.  Her tears were warm and quiet, and he rubbed her back as she cried.

She was usually the one who held the hope for the two of them, her faith and her optimism bound together.  But if she was shaken, he could stand in for both of them for the night.  “You’re all right,” he said.  “It will be all right.”

Shelagh smiled against his collar, sniffing a little bit before pulling away to look at him.  “You don’t know that,” she said.  “But thank you for saying it.”

He kissed her softly.  The bed was barely big enough for her, let alone both of them, but it didn’t matter. She settled with her back pressed to his chest and his fingers threaded through his over the subtle curve of her belly.

“I love you,” he whispered to her hair as she fell asleep.

***

[chaossmagic]

This will probably never happen, it’s dumb anyway and there’s a minor description of a panic attack, so do take care. Spoiler spec/wishful thinking?

“I, um, I want to talk to you about something,” Aaron stuttered, walking into the kitchen with his sleeves wrapped around his fists, nervously wringing his hands together, his heart beating fast in his ears. 

“Oh?” Robert asked, not looking up from where he was busy laying the table for dinner. “What about?”

“Can we-?” Aaron gestured vaguely in the direction of the sofa. He could feel himself sweating under his arms. What if this went horribly wrong? What if he was moving too fast and he scared Robert away?

At that, Robert dropped the knife he was holding and his head shot up, blue eyes fixing on Aaron with an intense, suddenly concerned stare. “Why? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothin’!” he backtracked, rubbing his hands over his face. “God, I’m making a hash of this. I wasn’t supposed to be this much of a wreck, what’s wrong with me?”

Robert was there in an instant, wrapping his arms around his waist and bracing his hands against Aaron’s back. In a soft, gentle voice, the voice he reserved only for Aaron, he asked, “What’s got you all twisted up, eh?”

He wanted to get the words out. He really, really did. But his tongue was dry as sand and his throat worked noiselessly, and he could feel the panic creeping up inside his chest, taking hold of him. 

“Aaron!” Robert brought his hands up to cup each side of his face, forcing him to look into his eyes. “Aaron, breathe.”

“Sorry,” he choked out, his voice hoarse. “I just wanted to do this right. To say it properly. Wanted to make you cry again, didn’t I?” he chuckled. He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to Robert’s exposed wrist. “Love ya.”

“Hey, hey, I love you too,” he whispered back. “And whatever it is you have to say...just say it, alright? I promise I won’t run for the hills.” Robert lifted his left hand to show the shining wedding ring there. “Said so in front of the whole village, remember?”

Nodding, Aaron took a deep, slow breath, trying to stop his insides from feeling like a wobbly jelly. “You know Seb?”

At this, Robert broke into a wide smile. “Our son? Yeah, I do.”

“Um, well, I’ve been thinking, and....” He tried to choose his next words carefully, wanting to say it exactly right. “I want to have another baby. With you.”

Robert’s eyes went wide, then dark - then shining wet with tears, as he stared and stared at his husband with increasing incredulity.  His voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible as he breathed, “You - you really want that?”

“Yeah,” Aaron said. “I want...I want more kids. I want as many kids as you’ll have with me. I want Seb to have a little brother or sister, or a big brother or sister, it doesn’t matter, does it? It doesn’t have to be a baby. We can adopt an older kid, someone who needs us. The four of us, together, we can give a scared, lonely kid a second chance. And I know....I know my record is against me. I know I’ve been in prison, I’ve had - issues, in the past, and it might affect our chances but...I want to try. I really want to try, Robert.”

He wasn’t sure when the tears started streaming down his face, but he was hyper-aware of them now as Robert swooped to kiss him firmly, his fingertips almost leaving bruises on his jaw from holding him so tightly, and he could taste the salt on his lips. Robert’s own cheeks were wet, and he let out a sob against his mouth as Aaron wound his arms around his neck and held him there. 

“Yes,” Robert gasped, in-between desperate kisses full of tears, “Aaron....I love you. So, so much. And I want more kids with you, too. So many. A house full of kids.”

“Well, let’s just stick with the one for now, eh?” Aaron laughed, once they had pulled apart. “We still got Liv to contend with, don’t you forget, and she’s more work than Seb sometimes.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Robert said. 

Aaron knew he would. 

And he couldn’t wait.

[chaossmagic]

Mysterious packages for Vic and Liv, you say?

[peachesareaguysbestfried]

monkberrymoondelicious replied to your post “a shitpost spoiler theory but not really: everyone but kady dies, and...”

Yes, it's been already theoretized about, the thought first crossed my mind when I was doing a "who might die" list after 4x10. Right now my bets are that the person in the elevator is either Q or everyone.

My serious bet is Alice. Followed closely by Julia, because like - imagine her being with the wrong Penny and Kady also being with the wrong Penny. Delicously evil.

But it’s anyone’s game at this point.

[chaossmagic]

To be honest, I'm pretty indifferent towards the whole potential Olicity baby speculation. I think it's mostly because I never imagined it happening within the scope of the show before it actually ended, on-screen and in canon, so I never developed any strong ideas or attached any emotions to it in the way I have to other Olicity headcanons and speculations.

[hummusandcoriander]

How fucking ironic would it be if the truck that wipes the Whites out is the delivery truck on it’s way to Home Farm to remove all their stuff for their new life in Australia.