#maggie johns

[ive-got-you-clovered]

my boredom activity is doing redraws of way old art, so have a couple of old homestucks i did recently! you can tell my designs for the characters have evolved with the art style, lol

(new, then old)

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

au where ghost, who either never enlisted or is discharged/retired, works as a scare actor in a local haunt. he really enjoys the play pretend part of haunted houses, where yes people scream at the sight of him masked, covered in fake blood, and wielding a (chainless, but still loud) chainsaw, but they also laugh at themselves or their friends or just because. It’s safe, there are rules, everyone knows that when going in so everyone is on the same page.

Or at least, everyone should be. Because there’s always Those Guests, the ones who drag unwilling partners or friends with them just to watch them scream. Or the ones who try to show off for their less than enthusiastic partners and just run off screaming. Ghost has a knack for breaking these kinds of guests, and takes a bit of selfish pleasure in doing so.

That’s what he thinks is going to happen when he sees a small group of maybe four or five teenagers coming through his section of the maze. One of them, clearly the ringleader, is talking a whole lot of shit, playing himself up for the “entertainment” of the girl next to him who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. So ghost revs his chainsaw, and gets ready to pounce.

The shriek the ringleader lets out is nothing but satisfying, cracking on the high note as the whole group hightails it out of there. Well, almost the whole group. As it turns out, the ringleader isn’t above sacrificing his date to spare himself, and all but throws the girl at Ghost as soon as he pops out. Ghost nearly drops his saw trying to catch her, who goes down like a sack of bricks.

The girl, who Ghost learns is named Maggie, twisted her ankle pretty badly when she was pushed, is a chatterbox once she gets over the whole “chucked at a masked serial killer by her kind of sort of not really boyfriend”. He ended up carrying her backstage once they both realized she couldn’t put any weight on her ankle and she rants about the guy and his bullshit without seemingly taking a breath. Ghost manages to butt in, asking if she has a way home. Maggie, unsurprisingly, says that her not boyfriend gave her a ride, but she could call her older brother to come get her.

They wait backstage for him to arrive, and Ghost finds he doesn’t mind the chatter. His opinion of Maggie’s “friends” gets lower and lower with every word, but he’s not going to tell her that. He can’t, not with how on a roll she is.

Price, who manages the haunt with his partner Nikolai, lets the two of them know that the brother is here, and Ghost can hear him cussing up a storm down the hallway.

He’s not prepared for John MacTavish to storm in, furious and ready to kill. Maggie looks entirely unsurprised, maybe even a little annoyed. There’s banter between the two, that good natured sibling rubbing that only comes when you know a person their entire life, but Ghost can’t hear it. He’s just bluescreened in the corner, because holy shit.

John finally looks at him to thank him for helping Maggie, and he stops cold. Ghost is half worried the whole blood and guts getup is enough to earn him a right hook to the face. Instead, a faint blush rises on John’s cheeks.

Maggie is so done with this, and hobbles out with the help of the entirely too entertained Gaz and Roach.

After much stumbling over his words, Ghost manages to earn himself both a hastily scribbled phone number on the back of a haunt flier and a tentative date the next week. Not at a haunt, thank god. John leaves with a wave and a bashful smile. Ghost can’t do much more than wave back.

Well. Back to work, he guesses.

(And if ghost goes back to stalk and scare the piss out of Maggie’s “friends”, that’s just between the two of them)

[squash1]

breathe in. breathe out. i love you. i’m glad we share a sky and an ocean and a whole world.

[the anthropocene reviewed by john green / hunt for the wilderpeople / we love you on tiktok / the dream thieves by maggie stiefvater / anne with an e / aftersun]

[mizgnomer]

Crowley vs. The Tenth Doctor - Parallels Good Omens Season 2 - Part 4

Season Two’s [ Part One ] [ Part Two ] [ Part Three ] Season One’s [ Part One ] [ Part Two ]

[of-fear-and-love]

Maggie Smith in Death on the Nile (1978)

[offbrandhandymanny]

see I don’t ask for much (a lie) BUT THIS

[pretzelcows]

MAGGIE IS GOING TO BE IN JOHN PROCTOR I REPEAT MAGGIE IS IVY!!!

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

[vertigoartgore]

NX buddies/actors John Corbett (Chris Stevens), Janine Turner (Maggie O'Connell) and Darren E. Burrows (Ed Chigliak) on the set of the Northern Exposure tv show, during one of the winter episodes (circa season 1-4 since Maggie O'Connell still has her short hair). Source

[black-is-no-colour]

Luncheon Magazine, Autumn 2024, Editorial "Would you like to take a walk with me, offline?". Monica Bellucci, Maggie Maurer, Jum Kuochnin, Daimy von Betuw, Rejoice Chuol, Chol Khan wear all Maison Margiela Artisanal 2024 by John Galliano. Photographer Paolo Roversi, styled by Alexis Roche & Olivier Rizzo

[ive-got-you-clovered]

Lil' redraw of one of my ocs! This is Maggie, short for Magnum, because his sister got to change her name and he wanted to, too, so Magnum it is. Everyone just calls him Maggie.

[polovision]

this is the funniest thing i've ever fucking seen. rob babygirl this is too silly

[mytardisisparked]

Shirts

Scully wakes up one morning to realize her usual shirts don't fit anymore.

Read on AO3.

She’s at Mulder’s apartment when she wakes up one morning and realizes that her blouse is way too tight to wear to work. The buttons at her middle are fit to pop and the whole thing is pulling until there are sizeable gaps between the strained buttons that show… well, everything.

With a sigh, she wrestles herself out of the shirt and silently bemoans the hubris that kept her from accepting her mother’s offer to help her shop for maternity clothes last weekend. She thought she had more time.

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Always thinking we have more time…

She swallows hard and digs through her side of Mulder’s closet for a different blouse. Everything there is the same size as the one she just tried to put on. She considers, for a moment, just re-wearing her shirt from yesterday – Sunday – but it’s more casual than she would prefer, especially since she feels she has an image of professionalism to maintain in light of her increasingly-evident condition.

She hasn’t heard any of the rumors – she suspects she may have Agent Doggett to thank for that – but she knows they’re circulating. She’s seen the shared looks and not-so-subtle glances when she walks through the upstairs offices. Most of the bureau must know by now that she’s pregnant and have a solid idea of who the father is.

Her skin crawls to think of what people might say, not because she’s ashamed in any way, but because she knows that no one will ever understand the depth of her relationship with Mulder; no one can grasp exactly what he meant to her and what she meant to him. They will think of tawdry nights out on the road or locked doors in their downstairs office, rather than the encompassing love and comfort and friendship that lay between them. The rumors will make their relationship sound cheap and dirty when it was anything but. 

And then there are the people who will romanticize it, who will imagine her grief and try to sympathize when they have no real idea of how large the gaping hole in her heart is. They will never fully understand that Mulder had become her whole world, their lives entangled in a beautiful and painful and confusing way that even she isn’t sure how to define. She loved him, and still does, but they were so much more than just love. They were more than any simple word in this language or any other. The hollow sympathies and the cards and the flowers will mean nothing, if they ever come. They can never fully encapsulate who she and Mulder were, together.

And so, she isn’t sure what’s worse – the scorn or the pity. She’s glad she hasn’t heard any of it. She hopes she never does.

Her eyes slide from her own shirts to Mulder’s. There are a few missing; she has been slowly taking them out to sleep with, one by one, as Mulder’s cedar-y scent wears off. She grabs a light blue one and slides it over her arms and shoulders, starting to button it up. 

It fits. Not perfectly, but it lays over her stomach and breasts comfortably. The shoulders are a bit large and she will certainly have to roll the sleeves, but the fit reminds her, in a way, of the looser suits and blouses she wore when she was younger, when she first started working in the X-Files.

She stands in the mirror, taking in the shirt and her face and the bump at her waist that is becoming more and more apparent. The shirt might be reminiscent of her younger days, but the rest of her is not; there are dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks look more hollow than they ever have. Her mother would say she looks haggard, if Maggie Scully weren’t too kind to make any comment on her appearance at all, aside from the occasional “you look a bit tired, darling,” or “I think you’re starting to show, dear. I can tell if you turn just the right way.”

Scully sighs and rolls the sleeves, sliding her jacket over it. She turns in the mirror and decides that her appearance is acceptable.

When she arrives at work, she sees Agent Doggett do a subtle double-take at her outfit. He seems to consider it for a moment before turning back to his work without comment.

She lets out a breath as she sits at her desk and opens a file.

—

Despite her mother’s repeated offers to help her shop for maternity wear, Scully continues to wear Mulder’s shirts. She washes them in his washer and dryer, using his brand of detergent and dryer sheets in the hopes of making them smell more like him. It helps, she thinks. Maybe.

A kind coworker from the fingerprinting lab gifts her a couple of maternity shirts that she had purchased but never worn during her own pregnancy. Scully smiles and accepts them, but they never leave her closet.

The material of some of Mulder’s shirts is a bit stiff and scratchy. She wears them anyway, over a tee or a tank on the days when her skin feels too sensitive. 

Her stomach itches now from the stretching. At night, she sometimes imagines that it’s Mulder’s warm hands applying lotion to her abdomen instead of her own. She can almost feel his breath brushing her neck and tickling her hair if she closes her eyes.

Though she’s been able to feel the baby kicking on the inside for a bit now, the first time she can feel it from the outside is during one of the times she’s applying lotion. A tiny foot presses against her fingertips and she immediately falls apart, thinking of how excited Mulder would have been to feel that first kick.

She still uses lotion after that, but she refuses to think of Mulder while she applies it. She can’t.

She still wraps herself in his shirts every day.

Her mother stops offering to help her shop. Instead, she brings by a bottle of Mulder’s brand of detergent.

—

Eventually, Mulder’s shirts no longer fit.

She’s almost through her seventh month now, and his shirts fit almost as poorly as her own did the first day she started wearing them. 

On the weekends she wears his sweatshirts, which are still mostly loose. During the week days, she wears sweaters.

She calls her mom. They go shopping. It’s a quiet affair, but they come home with a good handful of pants, blouses, and casual shirts for just about any occasion.

She still wears his sweatshirts on the weekends, even as they grow tighter. The material is soft and the fabric still smells faintly of him. Something about it holds the scent longer, she thinks. Or, perhaps, it’s just her imagination –the ghost of a scent lingering around the Oxford lettering.

Who cares? It feels good. It feels better.

She’s never heard the office gossip, not even a whisper. She does hear Doggett snapping at a pair of agents in the 3rd floor breakroom once, not long after she starts wearing sweaters instead of Mulder’s button-ups, but she never finds out what they had said to invoke Doggett’s anger. She doesn’t ask, and he doesn’t say.

He brings her hot chocolate sometimes. And ginger tea for her stomach. She remembers one day, as he hands her a mug of cocoa with extra marshmallows, that John Doggett was a father once. She wonders if her own impending parenthood brings up any painful memories for him. If it does, he never gives even the slightest indication. Instead, he asks her things like how she’s feeling, how her checkup appointments go, and if she’s still craving green olives. (“I picked up a jar last night. In case of emergencies.”)

She takes the olives appreciatively and eats the whole jar in one sitting.

—

When Mulder returns, she gives back his shirts. He gives her a small smile and lets her help him rehang them in the closet next to hers. 

Things are a bit tense. He’s still not fully back, still feeling discombobulated from missing almost half a year of his life. Of her life. 

She can see the flashbacks in his eyes. He’s remembering things – slowly, painfully – from his abduction. He flinches at the sound of a saw from the construction site across from his apartment complex. He pulls away when a nurse tries to grab his wrist to check his pulse. He won’t lace his boots around his ankles. Unpredictable sensations threaten to overwhelm him and she feels terrible that she can’t even fathom how to protect him from it.

She feels even worse that he seems resistant to letting her try.

They sleep apart for a few days. She cries and doesn’t even try to blame it on the hormones. 

He calls her in the evening on his fourth day home from the hospital and asks if she’s seen his favorite Oxford University sweatshirt; “the blue one with the boxy lettering.” She realizes it’s still in her bag of things she had her mother bring her at the hospital, and she offers to return it to him that night. 

He invites her into his apartment. She settles on the couch and gives the sweatshirt back, feeling a bit of loss as the treasured, Mulder-scented fabric leaves her fingers. Still, he smiles genuinely and thanks her, and she supposes that’s a sort of recompense.

He puts it on and freezes, looking down at it. The middle is stretched out a bit from Scully wearing it.

“Mulder, I’m so sorry. Maybe with a good wash and dry we could fix-”

Mulder shakes his head and takes it off. “No. No, it’s-” He swallows and Scully tilts her head at him, brows furrowed. 

He offers her a hand, helping her to her feet and then, a bit awkwardly, he lifts her arms up and slides the sweatshirt over her head and down her arms until its snugly fitted over her and her belly. 

He swallows again and blinks. “Yeah, that’s, um. That’s better.” 

In a second, she’s wrapped securely in his arms and wrapping him securely in hers. Between them, she can feel their baby kick. Mulder gives a watery laugh and hugs her more tightly.

And she thinks, for a moment, that he’s more comfortable than any shirt.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Newish headcanon for Steve’s parents: I know some people think they're old, but what if they're young parents? Like really young. John and Maggie were 15 and very confused. They assumed their next step was to get together. They ended up having Steve at 16 after their parents talked them into getting married. John and Maggie liked being married to each other even after they discovered years later that they're not sexually attracted to the opposite sex. Steve later finds out they're basically him and Robin. She later finds out as well. They're young, and they're running Maggie's father's company. They pop in unexpectedly, and when the kids see glimpses of them, they just assume that they're Steve’s brother and sister. They don't hear Steve call them mom and dad, but they do hear Robin calling them Johnny and Mags. Anyway, Dustin pops into their kitchen one time to find Steve talking to his parents. At this point, they've grown accustomed to Dustin calling them Johnny and Mags as well.

"When the hell are we going to meet your parents?" He asked.

"Are you fucking with me?" Steve asked.

"No!" Dustin yelled.

"These are my parents! You've met them several times!" Steve exclaimed.

"No! Those are your brother and sister!" He'd yell.

"The hell they are. They're my mom and dad!"

"They're too young!"

"They had me at 16!"

"No!"

"I think I know who my parents are, Dustin!"

"What's going on?" Max asked as she entered the kitchen.

"Johnny and Mags are Steve’s parents!" Dustin shrieked.

"No fucking way! They're too cool to be parents!" Max exclaimed.

John and Maggie would go on to share a look of amusement, giving each other the nod.

"We're also very gay," Maggie would say.

Anyway, if someone wants to write a full fanfiction about this, I'm okay with it.

[thena0315]

2025 One Chicago Event: In The Trenches

January 29, 2025

[mywingsareonwheels]

No but really, love stories about middle-aged queer people (or immortal equivalents ;-) ) in which they hit the halfway through or 2/3-of-the-way-through agonising cliffhanger break-up beat, being as it is a really time-honoured part of happy-ending classic romances. And in mainstream tv shows! Mainstream tv shows aimed at a wide audience!

That’s actually bloody awesome. I mean, at the time of course it hurts like hell. But... really. For queer love to be treated as suitable for a love story? To be hitting the Emma-and-Knightley-at-Box-Hill, Darcy’s-bad-proposal, Ladislaw-leaving-Middlemarch-because-clearly-he-and-Dorothea-can’t-be-together etc. etc. bit... I grew up on sitcoms like From May to December when fall outs like this were part of the story. It’s classic, it’s standard. It’s tropey in the best way: and one of those tropes which is a hundred times more fresh and powerful for a non-cishet couple.

I mean, I don’t know. I’m 44 and British. I grew up bi and nonbinary and closeted with Section 28 (even if the teachers at my school broke the Section 28 laws All The Time, bless them <3 ). I could not have imagined stories like this with a big audience. And as a community globally we are so hard beset, things are truly terrifying, but... but this is so powerful. Aziraphale/Crowley (and Nina/Maggie; actually and also Gabriel/Beelzebub given that too is a queer relationship!). And other stories too that I haven’t seen but know are out there. :-)

So no, I don’t love Neil Gaiman or John Finnemore any less for the end of series 2. Quite the contrary. Hitting “conventional” romance tropes with queer couples in a show like this? Yes, including the romance tropes that hurt dreadfully? Oh hell yes. Thank you, Neil and John. Thank you Pterry. Thank you Michael and David and Nina and Maggie. <3

And... well, since we did ask them for a story about an angel and a demon in love... It was never going to be easy. :) <3