#maggiepie

[oonajaeadira]

The funny thing is, I don't even know what noir style reads as. It must be Tim's presence and his doing; I blame him. But the comic book imagery, I'm glad that came through. Especially the meeting at the pier... I just love the thought of Tim sending her home so he could meet her as her alter-ego at the pier, all somber and blowing coats, like Gordon and Batman, but at sunset so romantic.....

Sigh. Why, Maggie. Why must we yearn. Thank you for your lovely comment.

Detected

Fandom: Merge Mansion / Tim Rockford

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: Mention of serial killer that targets women.

Summary: Nobody sees you the way Tim does.

A/N: I dunno, I just had a hankering to write for Tim and looked down my list of tropes thinking I might be able to scratch the itch and accomplish a fic for my Year of Tropes at the same time. Something hit me in the right places for a little piece of sweetness, so here we go, with SECRET IDENTITY.

This is really fluffy. Like stupid fluffy. Moreso than my regular stuff. Just let me have my little trope. This one didn't go through a lot of draft revisions, it was just a fun little thot that needed out.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Sunshine? Get some rest. You’ve been here ten days straight.”

Tim’s the only detective in the unit who talks to you directly, certainly the only one that doesn’t just call you ‘hon’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘girl.’ You’re pretty sure he’s probably the only one in the department that knows your name, but he rarely uses it. 

That isn’t unusual. You’ve always been the quiet one, the mouse, the wallflower. It’s your superpower, being able to go unnoticed. You’ve never been reprimanded, never bad-talked, never held up as a bad example.

But then, neither do you often find yourself praised or called in for opinion. Never once have you been asked to join anyone for happy hour or coffee.

So many times you’ve been standing in a meeting room and not once been addressed. So many times you’ve overheard something that perhaps you shouldn’t have just because you were below anyone’s notice.

It bothered you so much more when you were younger. Not the case anymore.

You’ve learned to love your quiet life, shuffling around the records room, carefully tagging and bagging, filling out the document cards, compiling files, taking meticulous photos of items for court cases and detective scrutiny. Nobody comes looking for you, so you get to take your time, a kind of professional meditation. At least once a week you notice a detail on a piece of evidence that you might make known to one of the team. Usually this gets you a thanks, but more often times a brush off that ends in the detective later gaining the credit for the discovery.

Tim is different. Observant. He actually listens when you bring him something of interest and asks for your opinion or your second eye. He still does that thing where he puts the pictures of people and evidence you provide up on the wall and connects it with string. He will stare at that board for hours, getting up every now and then to pace, then turning the chair around to straddle it backwards so he can lean over the back and look again, hoping to find the one connection that the string can’t touch.

And yet, even when he’s concentrating this hard, he’s fully aware of his surroundings.

So much so that he even notices you’ve slipped into the room to stand behind him--you, who goes mostly unnoticed when standing in full view of most people.

When you don’t answer him, he turns his chin back over his shoulder, his sharp profile coming into relief against the organized mess of the illuminated case wall. 

He’s so very handsome. And it’s a shame he doesn’t seem to know. Or care.

Snapping free of your musings, you finally answer. “Yeah, it’s been a busy week. I’ve still got the Murray case to document. There’s a lot of entries.”

Turning fully to look at you now, he takes his time formulating a new response. “That case is closed. There’s no hurry. You work too hard. It’s Saturday.”

You shrug and smile. “I like my job. And you're one to talk.” Nodding to the evidence wall, you step more fully into the room. “Any movement on this? Sure I can’t help you? Anything I can pull from archives?”

This is a tough one. There’s a lot of speculation as to the mangled bodies in the pictures. A new one found last night, a week old. The probability is high that there’s one club downtown that’s producing them all and a definite suspect, but the record’s clean. There’s no grounds for warrants.

He gives you one more thoughtful glance before turning back to his work. “Not unless you have anything that correlates this last one to Club 88 or to Mike Cross. But no. Thanks. Get out of here, live your life, be free. I’m gonna go grab an interview out at the pier but then I’ll be here all night.”

He’s hungry. You can see that look in his eyes, he’s close, he just needs that one connecting piece of evidence and he’ll empty the coffee pots in the breakroom tonight looking for one.

“You’re hungry, Detective Rockford. At least let me call in some takeout for you before I go? Lau’s number 22 with chicken, right?”

He simply nods. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

“You got it, Detective.”

—-

Your pager goes off two hours later.

Special case. Could use your help. Pier 13.

You’ve been waiting for the call.

Upon arriving home from the department, you’d closed your blinds and turned off the lights, pulled on the dark pants and long fitted coat, tucked your hair up under the black hood and pulled it low. Gloves. Boots. Plain and unassuming in this fall weather.

You’re able to walk out the back door of your apartment building and take a path through the alley as the sun is setting without anyone giving you a second glance.

The only piece of your disguise you truly need is the vocal changer mask, but that stays tucked in your coat pocket until you arrive at the pier.

Once you can smell the water, you take a moment to hide your face, your voice, and your identity under the dark, nondescript mask–a blank slate of void where a face should be–before stepping out of the alleys and making your way to pier 13 where Tim Rockford stands looking out over the harbor at the lights starting to come on over the bridge.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” The voice that grates out of your mask is low, warped, almost sultry.

Tim, for all his awareness, misses your entrance. This is the strength of your powers. Snapping out of his reverie, he spins to find you only feet away, your long coat fluttering in the breeze.

And an awed smile spreads across his face.

Tim is the only one on the force that smiles when you show up as the Shadow. The rest of the cops tend to startle, recoil, not understanding how you simply seem to appear out of the air, unfold from the shadows, melt into the darkness itself.

“Thanks for coming, Shadow,” he says, his trenchcoat joining in the fluttering conversation of overwear. Pulling a few pictures out of his pocket, he holds them out and you take them.

A new mangled body. A hurried photo of a man with light skin and dark hair and blue eyes. A blown-up scan of license plate. You recognize them from his evidence board but say nothing, letting him make the request.

He explains the supposed serial killings, the patterns, the suspect, the license plate that isn’t his but was caught on surveillance near a couple of the dumping grounds.

“I’m pretty sure it’s him,” he concludes, poking at the photo of Mike Cross, “but I’m lacking something damming.”

“You mean you're 100% sure it's him. You're a thorough man; wouldn't just jump to conclusions. And you want me to go hunting.”

“I’d rather you just go take a listen. I don’t really want you to put yourself in danger.”

It’s a good thing he can’t see you smile. Trust Tim Rockford to be the one detective that worries about the safety of the city’s resident secret, pacifist vigilante. 

“I’m touched by your concern, Detective. But I haven’t been caught yet. Even if danger catches a glimpse of me, I’m very good at hiding.”

“I know. But it’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.” He smiles a little sadly. “I wish you wouldn’t hide from me. But I know why you do.”

It should be surprising–it’s not like him to cross this line–but instead, his statement warms you. Tim has always been grateful for the Shadow’s help, respectful, believed in your ability. But he’s also come to treat the Shadow as a friend. There’s something that tugs at your heart, knowing this dedicated, handsome, intelligent man truly trusts you but also respects and admires your limitations.

If only he knew how much you wish you could tell him, show him, let him know how much you admire him too.

He only blinks when you seem to melt into thin air, becoming one with the lengthening shadows.

_____

Club 88. The back alley. A black car belonging to Mike Cross. Nobody here to notice you but the rats as you duck around the back and inspect the bumper, find a magnetized plate cover hidden underneath that matches the photo in your pocket.

There’s the connection. Now for something that threads the needle.

_____

Maskless and hatless, you simply take up a serving tray and follow Mike Cross and a young pretty thing through the swinging “employees only” door and down a back corridor of the dark, thumping night club. Making yourself busy with empty bottles on the tray, you watch him pay a man and step into a private room with the girl. The man goes to find something else to do, nearly knocking your shoulder as he passes, as if you’re simply a tower of inventory boxes or a rogue tray of dirty dishes…or just some random hostess he doesn’t have time for.

Easy.

You’re able to enter the dimmed room under the guise of bringing in bottle service. The couple doesn’t even notice you while they make out on the couch in the VIP lounge. You simply dip your hand into the pocket of the jacket he’s left on a chair and lift his wallet. 

Might as well take the gun that’s there too. Just in case.

Time to get moving while he’s distracted.

_____

Using the address on the ID in his wallet, you make your way across town.

It’s easy enough to slip past the doorman. Unfortunately though, Mike’s apartment building has security cameras on every floor. This calls for a little distraction. Easy enough. All you need is the pad of paper and pen you carry in your pocket.

Knock on door 312. Explain you’re responding to a noise complaint in apartment 313. There is no apartment 313? That’s odd. Maybe it was apartment 311? 

When the occupants of 311 and 312 speculate over the possibilities–which apartment was the loud one? Who called in the complaint? They bet it was 211 down there, what a bitch….

It’s just enough time for you to use your jiggler key to work open the lock for Mike’s apartment and slip inside. Not only have they seemed to forgotten about you, but if anyone ever plays back the security tapes, their eyes will just slide right over you and concentrate on the gossiping neighbors in the hall.

Mike’s apartment is clean and sparse. By the looks of the set up of the living room, he likes to sit in the center of the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table while he drinks his beer (water ring stains on the veneer top) and watches tv. Not much on the walls. Books on the bookshelf, but no knicknacks.

You don’t know what you’re looking for yet, but you’ll know it when you find it.

There are a few places you start. The drawers in the kitchen. The freezer. The bedside table. Shelves in the closet. Medicine cabinet. Somewhere you'd stash something unassuming but precious but that you don't want anyone else to come across and ask questions.

But it’s as you pass back out through the bedroom, and lightly push the door open a bit wider that you hear a clinking and tapping on the other side.

There, hanging off a hook on the back of the bedroom door, is a silver chain.

With five women’s rings on it.

Yahtzee.

You snap a few photos with your phone before moving through the apartment again, looking for anything else, just in case your first instincts were wrong.

But your instincts are very rarely wrong.

Criminals love trophies. Little keepsakes of their thrills. Look for a collection of something that seems out of place and you’ve probably found your clue.

You’re just about to call it good and head out when you hear a key turning in the lock.

No need to panic, you’ve got this.

As Mike enters and kicks off his shoes before making his way to the bathroom, all you have to do is stand silently beside the far side of the bookshelf.

He doesn’t even turn on the light. Even easier.

Once the bathroom door closes, you’re able to silently slip out.

“It’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.”

Doubtful, Tim. But I wish I could tell you how sweet your concern is.

____

True to form, Tim’s is one of the only lights burning at the office when you slide through the department well after midnight.

It’s not often that you show up here as the Shadow, but you make sure it’s only at night when most of the lights are out. Even if you’re seen engaging with one of them, the detectives all know to look the other way and not to ask questions when someone on the force has requested your services. 

They see nothing, and say less.

When you get to the back offices, you have to stop for a moment in the shadows and take in the scene.

Tim’s here in the dim room, standing at a desk full of evidence bags. The one with the knife in it lays on a lightbox, the glow of which reaches up to caress his face, dragging at his cheeks and the bags under his eyes, his brow and bottom lip succumbing to the pull of contemplation.

You have to wonder if the detective has any joys outside of his work, if he reads or paints, if he’s into woodworking or collecting memorabilia. You often find yourself wishing you had the means to learn more about him and find yourself watching him from across the office as if you could read it in the stretch of his aching neck, in the hunch of his gun-holstered shoulders. 

But you’ve grown used to your quiet life. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if someone else actually paid you enough attention to let you into their life–

“What have you got for me?” he asks, and you flinch. He hadn’t even turned around.

“Plenty," you rasp through the voice modulator. "How did you know I was here?”

“I always notice you,” he says. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Where else would you be?”

“I have a home.”

“Do you ever go there?”

He laughs and finally turns. “Yeah, not lately.”

Emerging from the darkness, you hand him a few photos you ran off from your phone at home, knowing he'd appreciate the analog. There's the plate cover. The ID. The chain of rings. You also hand over the gun you pinched. “Just in case you need to run a match on any casings.”

It’s here that Tim’s look grows sour. “You took this off him?” Then he tilts his head, scanning the photos. “This one…taken inside his house?”

“Yes. Most likely a collection of his trophies–”

“You went into his house??”

His intensity stops you. Something’s….wrong. “It was necessary. I wasn’t seen.”

“I told you, nothing dangerous. What if he’d come home?”

“He did.” This gains an unprecedented look of alarm from the otherwise calm and calculated man. “I told you, Detective, I wasn’t seen. I never am. That’s what I do.”

“That’s not the point, Sunshine. He murders women and dumps their bodies. This is different from the drug smugglers and counterfeit runners you usually surveil…”

He stops, registering what he just said only a couple of seconds after you do, a calm sigh of regret washing over him before being replaced by the bloom of concern.

You could choose to ignore it.

But it's useless. Tim would never let an assumption take hold as truth unless he had absolute proof. He’s the best. The best of the best and doesn’t even know it. So long you’ve wished to tell him, to make him see what you see in him, but it would mean opening yourself, becoming visible, being seen.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is your superpower, this anonymity, this blurring at the edges, this void of connection…

And you should back away when he approaches.

But you don't want to. 

Nor do you dodge as he slowly reaches up to remove your mask. Your hood. Fits his palm to your jaw and runs the length of a cheekbone with his thumb. “It doesn’t work on everyone, Sunshine. Not if they really want to see you.”

As his warm, weary brown eyes find yours, two thick, generous tears spill down your cheeks, two surprising hot spikes of your heart right there on your face. It’s like being thrust underwater without the chance to take a breath, the panic of suddenly being the center of someone’s attention, and you gasp for air only to release a sob, slapping both hands to your face in embarrassment.

Tim doesn’t pry your hands away, he merely runs a knuckle over one as if to say, hey, you’re still hiding.

And you realize that you are.

When you finally don’t have to be.

When you lower your guard, he’s waiting there patiently to welcome you back.

“You okay?” he asks, handing you a napkin for your tears.

Nodding, you take it and use it quietly before swallowing, trying to steady a voice out in the open. “What now?”

He looks pointedly over at his desk and gestures for you to head over there. “I thought maybe we’d start with dinner. I figured you'd come by.”

There are two Chinese takeout boxes on the blotter, both bearing a code in black ink. 

22C. His standard.

Lucky13. Your favorite. With the sauces on the side, just like you like it.

Speechless, you look at him in awe. You do see me.

And he tucks his hands in his pockets, softening back at you with a look that can only be described as Yeah.

_____

In the following days you’re able to hunt down photos of the killer’s victims that clearly display their hands and the rings that you found in his apartment.

Undercover targets are planted in the club to entice Mike Cross, and sure enough, he takes one to the back room, pays for privacy, extra for a later cleanup, but gets caught with his fingers around her throat as a whole squad breaks down the door to take him into custody.

There’s no doubt he will never see the outside of a prison again.

Club 88 is shut down and a long investigation into its ownership and practices begin. The Shadow is called in by the investigating team for your fly-on-the-wall services and at first you’re afraid that perhaps, now that you’ve been seen, that the shine of your powers has dimmed or–to be more precise–a newfound confidence makes you even brighter than before.

On the contrary, you’ve never felt more powerful or more in control of your abilities. 

Perhaps because the one person who can detect your sunshine also pours pride into your shadow.

Or maybe it’s the regular diet of Lucky Number 13 and a new morning view these days. Who’s to say?

____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[king-magnifico-haven]

🌟 I prefer to keep this as a sanctuary of positive energy for people who may actually find King Magnifico as a Comfort Character. But having been through other fandoms on Tumblr, where shippers of a consensual, ADULT ship were constantly told to unalive themselves, I would like to say this.

🌟 Keep in mind that the vast majority of people on Tumblr are, what, 13-16 yrs old? So you're encountering a lot of 'ewww stupid Magnifico defenders, LOL they're so dumb protecting their Precious Maggiepie LMAO 😆 ASHA 4EVER bitches' and it's probably from people young enough to be your nieces or nephews. Also keep this is mind:

- Yes Wish was just released on Disney Plus, but it's been out a while now

- Your attachment to a fictional character is doing no one any harm

- Overall the movie has an ENORMOUS amount of faults, regardless of what character you're rooting for.

I was in the Genshin Impact fandom in which certain shippers were told to kill themselves. Has anyone done that in the Wish fandom? No.

Not yet.

Don't let the noise get to you.

Magnifico's not really a huge comfort character for me. I connect with him and adore him for being so animated, but this is for even ONE person that takes huge offense to seeing 'omg stupid Magnifico defenders shut up k thx' in the tags.

Block whoever you need to block and keep on rockin' Magnifico. If you need to know how to block someone, ask me. 🌟

- Love, Courtney

[mavisartstuff]

Hehe maggiepie

[roetrolls]

hiya rose!! thoughts on your buddy magpie?

“Ol’ Mags? Maggiezuumi? Little Maggiepie-pie? He’s a blast! Super funny. And sooooo cute too. You should see him when he’s excited. Quirky little guy. I like when he gets that look in his eye like he’s about to lunge out of his chair and stab me. Keeps me on my toes, hehe.”

[damistrolls]

Hi Maggiepie I hope you're having a lovely morning and get to enjoy a lovely stabbing later! <3

(Since it's freak appreciation hour)

"It is much appreciated, my anonymous friend. I have to prepare for an event soon, so I am unsure if much stabbing will happen, but perhaps I will get an opportunity later on."

[brilliantt]

Mouse- part three

Summary: Maggie Shelby isn’t like her brothers or sister, being quiet and studious she often struggles to fit in. When money gets stolen and she is accused will she stick around and continue to be an outcast in her family?

A/N: Yay part three! It’s here a little later than I wanted but the weather has been really nice in England so my family and I enjoyed a barbecue before the rain returns tomorrow... This chapter focuses on Maggie’s relationship with her eldest brother Arthur. I wanted to show her relationship with her brothers before focusing on the storyline in the summary- which will start from the next part! Hope you enjoyyy <3 

-PREVIOUS-

On a normal day, the end of school saddened Maggie, today was no different. Except today she felt something more than sad, she felt dread. Tommy had kept his word and didn’t do anything to William, or at least anything physical that she could see- she had crossed paths with him in the school courtyard that morning and when he saw her decided to go in the complete opposite direction. Seeing as her brother kept his side of the bargain, she would have to keep hers. Today she would have to meet Arthur at the boxing gym. 

The gym wasn't far from the school, leading Maggie to drag her feet (not thinking about the scolding she would get from Aunt Polly at the scuffs) to take as much time as possible to get there, frowning the whole journey. She reached the door of the building and huffed before pushing it open. Inside was bustling. There were men on the floor wrestling, and others standing around them, taking a break, faces sweaty. Maggie was about to completely abort when Arthur spotted her.  “There’s my Maggiepie!” His voice bellowed across the room, pushing past everyone, beaming at the youngest Shelby. Maggie gave a wobbly smile in return, her cheeks flushed a violent red seeing the men becoming distracted by them. 

Arthur grabbed her school books and led her to one of the free mats. He dumped the books carelessly on a bench, making Maggie wince, and gripped her arms with his hands, leading her to the centre of the mat. “Right, Tommy told me to teach ya some self defense.” Arthur scratched at his moustache eyeing the delicate girl, wearing a simple brown dress with a buttoned cardigan to match. She was Ada’s opposite in terms of fashion, dressing modestly and rather dull. Arthur knew that the men he knew tended to avoid women like this. But, undoubtedly, Maggie was blessed with the Shelby good-looks. Her long wavy hair and pretty doe eyes were more than enough for the men to have a lustful look, despite Maggie never noticing. Arthur always noticed, however, and had jumped at Tommy’s idea to teach her some fighting moves. He couldn't always be around the girl that he helped raise these days, what with Linda and the baby, so knowing she could defend herself when he wasn’t there put his mind at ease.

“We’ll start off simple, to see what we’re working with.” Arthur raised his palms and held them out in front of him, “I want you to punch my hand as hard as you can, alright?”

Maggie’s arm remained loosely at her side. Her face still felt hot and she couldn’t stop her eyes wandering around the room, watching everyone. Most of the men were doing their own thing but one or two she noticed were watching her and her brother. She turned back to Arthur who was waiting still with his hands out.  Maggie looked to the ground and rubbed her hand up her arm. “I… I can’t do it with everyone here.” 

It took Arthur only a couple of seconds to process her words before he clapped his hands and cupped his mouth to shout, “Right, that’s it! Everyone out. Gym’s closed!” Although there were some whining, Arthur’s hard stare cleared the area. He turned back to Maggie and resumed his position. Maggie breathed deeply and shook her hands out. She formed a fist and pulled it back but Arthur grabbed her hand before she could even consider throwing a punch. “Your thumb needs to be on the outside, you’ll break it otherwise.” He redirected her fist and gestured for her to try again. Maggie delivered her first punch against Arthur’s hand.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Mags, I told you to punch me as hard as you can. You don't have to worry, you're not gonna hurt me.”

Maggie stared at him, her face grimaced. “That… that was as hard as I can.” 

“Oh.” His moustache twitched as silence settled. “Right nevermind, you just need practice. You gotta use your whole body, get your weight behind the punch.” He showed Maggie the proper technique and they continued this exercise until Arthur decided she was successful enough to move on. He repositioned them to the centre of the mat and took Maggie’s elbow tapping it twice.

“Now, your elbow is gonna cause the most damage, so you need to use that whenever you can. You can't go wrong with a good kick either.” He rubbed his chin in thought, “More often than not, if someone grabs you, it’s from behind. I'm going to grab you, and you're going to escape, get it?” He wrapped his arms around his sister, locking her in his embrace. Maggie wriggled about, trying to break the grip. The challenge was taking what felt like a century to the struggling girl. Her face turning red and tears welled in her eyes, her breathing picking up as she couldn't escape. 

“Arthur!” She breathed out in a panicked tone, body tense. “Arthur, stop! I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this anymore!” His arms loosened but didn't let her go. “I’m too weak.”

“Nonsense.”He shook his head, trying not to let his frustration show at the girl’s defeatist attitude. “If someone grabs you for real, you can’t just give up.” He squeezed Maggie. “You’re a girl. There are a lot of awful men who would take advantage of a girl like you and i’ll be damned if something happens to you just because you think you're too weak to try, you’re not.” He gave Maggie a few moments to think it through, knowing she's smart enough to continue their training. He smirked when she huffed quietly, “Ok, fine.”

“Atta girl, now remember, use all your body. Don’t forget your elbows and feet.” He tightened his grip back on the girl. Only, she continued to stay still. “Mags, come on.” Arthur couldn't help but grumble at her lack of effort. Just as he was trying to think of a new way to motivate her, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach from Maggie’s elbow, an even sharper kick to his shin and suddenly he was pushed down to the mat, only managing to sound out an “Oof”.

He looked up, wide-eyed and eyebrows raised, to his angelic looking sister who hid her giggles behind her hand. Arthur’s laugh was loud enough for them both as he realised she had outsmarted and successfully distracted him. He struggled to his feet and ruffled Maggie’s hair. “You've got a good head on ya, don't have to lose that in a fight - you’ll end up being a hothead like me otherwise.” Maggie smiled up at him. “We’ll do some dodging next, I think.” The smile disappeared. 

The two continued until the evening came and it was dark outside. Although Maggie hadn’t wanted to do this today and was tired and achy, she loved spending the time with Arthur, almost forgetting what it was like. He checked his watch, “I think we can finish for the day. How about we stop at the Garrison.” Maggie’s nose scrunched up at the idea. Arthur tapped her forehead. ”I need that big brain of yours to look at my books. I’ll give you some pocket money for your hard labour, how’s that sound?” Maggie couldn’t help but agree, knowing there was a new novel she wanted to buy. She had helped Arthur with the books before and he had paid her handsomely. 

It had been just over an hour now and Maggie had finished looking through the books in the back room. She stretched in the chair, her back cracking in relief. Her stomach suddenly rumbled and she remembered she hadn't eaten anything since lunch and after all the exercise she just did, she felt even more hungry. She ventured out to find her eldest brother.

Arthur was sitting at the bar, chatting loudly with some of the local men of the pub, nursing a drink. Maggie crept up towards him, being offered kind smiles from the men which she returned politely. She tugged Arthur’s sleeve.  “Arthur can we go now? I’m really hungry.”

“Course we can love, just gotta talk to Harry.” He gestured towards the barman. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” Maggie nodded in understanding. She waited for a few moments before deciding it was too hot and stuffy to wait inside. She went outside and rested on the wall next to the front entrance, closing her eyes and breathing in the fresh air - well at least fresher than in the bar.

“Hey, pretty.” Her eyes shot open and followed the sound. A sweaty looking man stood opposite her, eyelids drooping. A bottle in one hand while the other held onto his loose trousers. Maggie stayed silent. “You know, I asked for an angel to visit me today. Looks like,” The man hiccuped, “looks like my wish came true.” He smiled, proudly showing off his stained teeth. Maggie decided it was actually best to wait for Arthur inside. She turned from the creepy man and was about to return through the door into the pub when she felt a tight grip on her upper arm. “Hey now, no need to be rude.” Her heart beat fast, trying to keep her breathing even to not appear scared. “I just wanna talk with my angel.” He staggered back a bit, pulling Maggie with him. 

She tugged back “Get off of me.” She wished Arthur would just hurry up. She was debating yelling for him when the man put his dirty hand, the one holding the bottle, to caress her cheek while tightening the grip of the other one. “I’ll-” He slurred- “I’ll show you a real good time.” and started to pull her away from the pub. “I said get off!” A tug of war match ensued and when Maggie realised he was too strong for her, despite being intoxicated, her instincts overcame her. A swift kick the man’s lower region sent him writhing on the floor. 

Maggie dusted her arms and dress off. She looked at the man wriggling about on the floor and huffed, “You brought that on yourself, you know.”

A pat on her back made her jump and she turned to see Arthur grinning down at her. “He’ll feel that kick for a whole week, Mags.” Of course he was angry at the drunken man taking advantage of his sister- he’d get one of the men to deal with him later- but Arthur couldn’t help the laugh which boomed out of him after watching his sweet, little sister kick a grown man in the balls. 

The two of them returned to the house, Maggie rushing in to help Polly with the potatoes. Tommy came over to Arthur and greeted him with a friendly hand on his shoulder, his usual cigarette on his lip. “How did it go today, Arthur?”

Arthur rested his proud eyes on his sister peeling the spuds, chatting to her Aunt. “She knows exactly what she’s doing.” And he was sure of it.

Tags:

@finallyforgotten

[space-arts]

Maggiepie

[jenhedgehog]

I need more peridot in my life ❤️

I got yo’ number~ ;)

I never need an excuse to post Peridot GIFs!

[xmarieeex]

Happy National Dog Day to the 5 pups that have changed my life for the better ❤️🐶 #maximusspudkius #elliethepotato #keilahthetaquito #joetheburrito #maggiepie (at Puppy Love)

[chasm-connected]

a doctor mispronounced my name, apparently i’m Maggiepie now.

assigned Maggiepie at doctor

[bagrijana]

@heichou-maggiepie come visit us!

Auntie Hella watching a video of her hungry nephews… look at the ears 🤣

[ioribranford]

Global Game Jam birdy game

With CJ, Karen, David KAAAAAAHHNN, and Dana

[itsdefinatelynotyou-blog]

You know you’re a fur parent when…. 🐾🐾 #furchildren #ballislife #maggiepie #blacklab #coonhound

[asktheicexithasnoleader]

Lady Maggiepie alyssauccubus

I dare you to start referring to Magnumpicactus as Maggiepie to see what she does

Sure @magnumpicactus you’re Maggiepie now

[damistrolls]

Do you know any bois Rosira can feed off of Maggiepie?

"Probably, but I do not know how much mother would approve of me introducing her to our fans and acquaintances so they can become meals. Not to mention, I believe she has things handled already. She is very capable, and unless she specifically asks for my help, I am going to assume she does not need it."