Tumgik
#oc Margaret
mylittleredgirl · 21 hours
Text
i realized this definition is missing from my mental glossary, and instead of just asking what it means, i'm making a poll!
none of this has to be an x-reader situation if you engage with your favorite characters in a different way! if you know what it means but don't have one of your own you can still answer with your definition, but i also included an i don't know option at the bottom.
if you have more than one & it's different for different characters i'd love to hear about it and get more confused!!
134 notes · View notes
virtuesdagger · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media
This is what I imagine how the Doctor goes to the beach. And Nearl!
885 notes · View notes
i-like-eyes · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
why dont more people draw margaret
247 notes · View notes
vhenad4hl · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Margaret Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall
this has become an ongoing series of me commissioning all of my da ocs from @sinizade and up next is my favorite sarcastic mage-rights activist, Margaret Hawke!
500 notes · View notes
fallen-gabrielle · 3 months
Text
KND: a Christmas Story
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Joyeux Noël, everyone!
I wanted to make this comic for quite some time. And now it's done.
I know it's pretty sappy, but I just wanted a wholesome story for Christmas with the Uno family. So here it is.
Numbuh 91,12 sometimes gives people existential crisis and she's not doing it on purpose. Monty always sends letters and leaves messages call to Ben for any kind of celebrations, he just wants to spend time with his bro TTmTT
This is still part of my headcanonverse/incorrect quote-verse where Monty and Margaret are recommissioned and Nigel is aware of the social services shit the bros went through. He also knows his friend and how much influance she has on Father. Gabrielle is also the name of an angel, so he was able to put 2 and 2 together. At the end of the day, Nigel can't bring himself to ruin the moment between the brothers, and is glad that is dad is happy to have Ben around.
And if you're wondering, Monty gave Ben a framed picture of their mother, yes this one.
55 notes · View notes
majoracats · 21 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
For celebrating this March 8th, i decided to make an special illustration with all the adult villains in KND (including my ocs and my sona)
25 notes · View notes
mjbear130 · 6 months
Text
oa here’s another SoL project i’ve been cooking up in which i run a circus and hell clowns make a reappearance because i say so
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
this whole project started because of some notes me and my friends passed around during class and like half of the material i have for it are school doodles
58 notes · View notes
cassietrn · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
A gift for the wonderful @cloudofbutterflies92 💛
I hope I respected Eden's personality and I hope you like it 🥺
26 notes · View notes
stinkiesdraws · 1 month
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
I'm queen 👑 of the WIPs ig since I can never seem to get out of the sketching phase.
23 notes · View notes
askandyapplefram · 13 days
Text
Tumblr media
22 notes · View notes
mysteryfox1 · 2 months
Text
Hello everyone!
This video is AU called 'Frenemies'
There's two ocs in this video that doesn't belong to me, they belong to @distressedwalnut
Their names are Emilia (The lady with purple glasses) and Gabriel (The guy with long black hair you will see most of the video)
I hope you all enjoy the video!
35 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
I'm not that kind of person but look how beautiful she is😭, it melts my heart😭😭
20 notes · View notes
Text
I had a dream last night that while Margaret, BJ, Hawkeye, Father Mulcahy, and my OC Della we’re all chatting in one of the tents, there was a burst of light and Hawkeye and Father Mulcahy were turned into babies. Hawkeye seemed pretty happy but baby Mulcahy wanted nothing to do with BJ and was really upset. Like a baby that you can’t put down. Meanwhile Hawkeye is sticking everything in his mouth while Margaret chases him around like “nO!” Also I think it have poor Radar a heart attack. It was… actually very entertaining.
21 notes · View notes
xxluckystrike · 2 months
Text
HUMAN AS YOU ARE
CHAPTER II | GUN.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
boy oh boy what kind of chaos is marge going to get into this time?? lets hope it involves william schofield or i'm going to SCREAM (spoiler alert: it does)
taglist: @panzershrike-pretz, @pastexistence, @grumpy-liebgott, @noneedtoamputate, and @ronald-speirs! (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)
Tumblr media
Margaret slipped out of the dugout and into the sun again, frantically glancing around. She’d need a weapon. There was a supply station around here somewhere- she knew from Caroline that that was where they put most of the boxes. The question was… where?
She tried to seem like she knew what she was doing as she made her way further down the trench, glancing around for signs indicating some rendezvous for supplies.
By God’s grace, she found one, a worn sign nailed into the dirty indicating “SUPPLIES” in a worse font that the others. It led into a narrower part of the trench system, appearing to be the only dugout in the line. Margaret glanced casually around the side, looking for people around, but found none.
She made sure she was alone before moving into the side trench, ducking quickly into the supply room.
The whole time, her brain was screaming at her to stop- but her limbs pushed on, as if propelled by some force greater than her. Perhaps it was God calling her on. She made her way around the boxes of supplies, looking frantically for any kind of weapon. Anything she found useful, she took, shoving it into her bag. In her mind, the less supplies the British had, the better.
There- a collection of guns against the wall. As she got closer, she realized there was a box full of pistols. With the closest thing to a smile she could manage, she pulled one out and tested it in her grip. Then, she found some ammunition from the side and shoved in into the cartridge- depositing the rest in her bag.
A noise sounded around the space and she ducked instinctively, taking cover behind a stack of wooden boxes. She tried to quiet her breathing, peering around the box. She saw a pair of boots and trousers moving around the space from one box to another, kicking up the muddied ground.
Margaret ducked back around boxes, her mind spinning. Then, she heard a noise in front of her, and she whipped her head around, bringing up her pistol almost by instinct.
A rat paused a few feet from her from where it was hanging on a rope suspended from above. It was gnawing at it, eyes glittering black in the moonlight. Margaret’s eyes grew wide as the rat began to crawl slowly down the rope, inching its way closer to her. The woman gritted her teeth, pressing her back farther into the box behind her.
The sound of paper rustling filled the room, and she could hear the soldier muttering to himself as he made his way around the room. Margaret glanced around, clutching the pistol tighter in her cold and clammy grip.
She couldn’t shoot her way out of this one, but diplomacy could be her way out. The rat was nearly next to her, and she recoiled at the movement, but found there was nowhere else to go. She sucked in a breath, adjusted her uniform pin, and pretended to stand up from behind the box.
“There we go…” Margaret began, adjusting the top of the container. The other soldier in the room jumped, whipping around to find her in the shadows. His gun was aimed.
The rat froze and scampered into the shadows.
“Whoah, hey!” Margaret raised up both her hands, her eyes widening in fake surprise. “I’m just trying to get this stuff organized.”
“What are you doing in here? This is for soldiers only,” the soldier snapped, though the glitter of his eyes betrayed his fear. Margaret slowly inched closer to him, causing him to grip the gun tighter, trying to hide his shaking hands.
“I’m just a supply woman,” Margaret explained, gesturing vaguely to her pin. “No need to be jumped like that.” She was nearly in front of him, now. Any move closer and she’d find a bayonet stabbed into her heart. “No need to be scared…” she murmured, and for a moment, the softness in her gaze caught him off guard. The weapon faltered.
Margaret lunged, grabbed the gun and jerking it towards the ground- in the same motion pressing a hand to his mouth. The soldier struggled beneath her as she tried to flip him over, her knee pressed into his back. He was weak, barely putting up a fight. Fear caused his movements to grow jerky.
“May God forgive me,” she whispered, before thrusting the gun into the back of his head. He went limp immediately. Only then did Margaret allow her grip to relax.
It didn’t take much to make it seem like he had an unfortunate run in with some boxes, just shoving him against the wall and tossing some boxes in a random array around him. The nurses on the line were inexperienced enough to blame it on force trauma.
As Margaret stood up, her gaze landed onto the rifle on the ground. She lingered on in for a moment, wondering if anyone would notice if she took it, before muttering to herself and slinging it over her shoulder. No one would miss one rifle among millions.
Margaret scooted closer to the exit, peeking out into the trenches. It seemed nearly empty, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she made her way out of the side trench and into the main one.
Soldiers were everywhere now in the midday heat, making their way down the line or sitting with their backs pressed against the wall as they smoked. Margaret ducked her head, trying to avoid their gazes as she made her way down the line. A couple gave her annoyed or curious looks, but they were too tired to do anything about the woman.
Margaret just pushed onwards.
Take the trench west…
Caroline would probably be wondering where she was by now. Most likely, she’d be asking the soldiers in the kitchens- too afraid to go after the general himself. That would buy her some time. All she had to do was get across no-man’s land, where no one could come after her or the soldiers with her.
“Hey, you’re going the wrong way, doll!” a voice called out to her, but Margaret barely looked up.
“General’s orders!” she replied in as convincing a tone she could manage, clutching her gun tighter. Thunder rumbled in the distance and she wondered if the rain would catch up to her before she made it down the line.
She nearly slipped on her skirt as she reached a particularly muddy patch, and she cursed as she tried to catch herself. Glancing around, she ducked into an empty dugout.
“Stupid dresses,” she muttered, fiddling with the buttons on her skirt. Her fingers were shaking as she unbuttoned it. It unlatched with a click and she stepped out of it, shoving it into a corner. She was grateful for the trousers Caroline had gotten her crew to wear in case their skirts had gotten dirty. With her muddied boots and field jacket, she almost looked like a soldier. The only thing she needed was a helmet.
But, if Erinmore was right, she wouldn’t be needing one.
Up on Sauchiehall Street…
As Margaret made her way out of the trench, she turned quickly into another side street. Here the men had grown quieter, watching her from within the muddied walls with a kind of sullenness.
They had seen too much to be moved by the women with a gun. Perhaps they would even be grateful for the help. Margaret kept her head low as she pushed on, finding herself almost growing lost within the labyrinth of muddied walls. She ducked below a group of soldiers trying to mend a hole in the fence above, their work silent and cautious.
Evidently, word of the German retreat had yet to make its way around the men.
Margaret ducked around it anyway- even if just for the show of it- before finding herself at a crossroads again. Ahead, she saw a large group of soldiers yelling at each other, trying to mask their fear with noise. Margaret gritted her teeth, anxiety filling her, before nodding to herself.
She hesitated only for a moment before heading down.
Northwest on Paradise…
She had to push her way through the crowd, ducking around the injured men and trying to avoid bumping into them. They seemed mad about something, but she couldn’t place a finger on what.
Ahead of her, the trench widened, revealing a group of people working around a collection of sandbags. Margaret guessed they were trying to fill up the gap in the wall.
“Excuse me, sir, do you know where the Yorks are?” she called up to the men on the sandbags. One of the older looking men glanced down at her, a tired expression on his face as he glanced down at her feet.
“For God’s sake…” he mumbled to himself, before gesturing down the trench line. “They’re just around the bend, ‘right? You sure you’re going in the right direction, though?”
Margaret glanced down briefly at her feet, feeling the squelching of the sandbag. Dirt didn’t feel like that… nor did it bleed red. She flinched, bile building in her throat as she stepped off and into a patch of mud next to it. It wasn’t much better, but standing on mud was better than standing on the dead.
“Yeah, I’m going the right way,” she nodded her head to the man and left the sandbags quickly behind her, trying to shove the thought out of her mind. War was brutal… but this? Would the British really stoop so low as to throw their bodies into bags meant for potatoes?
She tried her best to move on.
Voices began to drift out into the trench system as Margaret drew closer. She recognized one of them- Blake’s- but the other sounded tired and rough. Major Stevenson, perhaps?
“Settle a bet,” the rough voice began as Margaret made her way around the bend. “What day is it?”
…find the Yorks.
“It’s Friday, sir,” Margaret replied, almost without thinking, as she stepped off the path to stand slightly behind Blake. The tall soldier nearly jumped, whipping his gaze over to her before it began to narrow in suspicion.
Margaret glanced briefly at him before her gaze drifted over the man in front of her and the markings on his jacket; lieutenant. So, not Major Stevenson.
“Well,” the lieutenant continued, seeming barely even concerned at the sight of a woman among his ranks. “None of us were right. This idiot thought it was Tuesday.”
“Sorry, sir,” came the meek reply from a private behind him. Margaret gave him a sympathetic look, before she caught herself. She would not be sympathetic towards the enemy. She watched as the lieutenant opened up a letter in his hands, skimming through it.
Crud. The letter. In all her haste for supplies, she had forgotten the one thing that would seal the illusion. Blake turned to her, his soft brown gaze full of questions.
“Why are-” he began, before he was interrupted by the lieutenant.
“Are they out of their minds?” he asked, holding the letter out. His voice was deadpan, almost lacking emotion except for the exasperation that pervaded his tone. “One slow night and the brass think the Huns have just gone home.”
“Do you think they’re wrong, sir?” the tall soldier asked, seeming even more nervous now that the ranking officer was questioning it.
No, the German’s have absolutely gone. But you don’t need to know that.
The lieutenant sighed as he glanced up at them before his gaze drifted out onto the line again.
“We lost an officer and three men two nights ago,” he explained and Margaret felt her stomach drop. “They were shot to bits patching up wire. We dragged two of them back here. Needn’t have bothered.”
Her people did that? Her country killed like that?
Blake shifted his weight, anxious to get back on the move.
“Sir, the general is sure that the enemy have withdrawn,” he insisted, taking a step forward. “There are aerials of the new line-”
“Oh, shut up. We fought and died for every inch of this place and now they’re suddenly giving us miles?” The lieutenant fixed his harsh gaze on Blake. “It’s a trap!”
Then, he turned to Margaret, who had been deadly still this whole time, her fingers dancing across the leather strap of the rifle. They stared at each other for a moment before the lieutenant spoke.
“And then what the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, his tone dry as ever.
“Orders of the general, sir. I’m to accompany them on their mission,” Margaret straightened herself up. From behind the lieutenant, the taller soldier gave her a look. She gave him a half smile before she could even think about it.
He just looked so sad, and she couldn’t help but feel a stab of pity for him. 
“They’re sending women now?” the lieutenant asked with a dry laugh. “They really did get desperate. I can’t blame them. I wouldn’t mind a few of you down here helping out.”
Something in his tone told Margaret that he didn’t mean “helping out” in the way of pleasure. No, he wanted them on the front lines with a gun. Considering the things that the German’s were planning, these soldiers could do with the extra help. 
“Well, I’ll be sure to let command know once this is all over.”
“Hey, if you serve well, you might get a medal for it.” The lieutenant barked a laugh, pulling down a cigarette from his ear. “Prove your sex is worth something.”
Margaret flinched at this, her gaze flickering downwards to the muddied ground once more.
“Alright,” the lieutenant said, breaking the silence he pushed himself up from the wooden contraption he’d be sitting on and started off down the trench. Blake was right at his heels, but the taller soldier stayed behind, walking by Margaret’s side.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed, giving her an angry look. “I thought you said you were a supply girl!”
“Like I said, I’m here to help,” Maragret replied curtly, brushing a flyaway strand of hair out of her face. “General Erinmore needed someone to go with you, and I volunteered.”
“You ‘volunteered’?” the soldier narrowed his eyes. “Why would you volunteer to go on a mission like this?”
“I want to help people,” she replied. It wasn’t a lie. She did want to help her brother- she wanted to help so bad that it hurt. Quietness settled over the pair, and when Margaret looked up at the soldier, she found he was staring at her. His gaze had grown ever so softer, but as soon as her gaze settled on him it grew hard again. He gritted his teeth and turned away.
Margaret sucked in a breath and forced her heartbeat to settle into a normal pace again as they reached Blake and the lieutenant up ahead. Blake was scrambling up the side of the side of the trench, looking through a periscope out into no man’s land.
Margaret drifted to a stop in front of the lieutenant, pulling down her rifle and taking this pause to rerack it. It smelled fresh and new, probably right off the line in England. She fiddled with the side, trying to clean it of the dirt that had stained it.
“Alright,” the lieutenant began, pulling out his lighter. “Look straight ahead, to the left, past the dead horses.”
Blake moved the periscope as the lieutenant issued directions for the trio to follow when they made it out into no man’s land. As the officer lit his cigarette, Margaret noticed his hands were shaking.
Margaret tried to keep up with the directions, taking mental notes but finding it all hard to keep up with. She’d never been this far down the trenches before- let alone in between them.
Eventually, Blake pulled back from the periscope and the lieutenant gestured for them to get on the move again. As they walked, he called out to a private taking shelter in the dirt walls of the trench.
“Wake up, Kilgour,” he ordered, lackadaisically kicking the boy in the shin. “Bloody waste of space…” he muttered to himself.
Kilgour stumbled up, giving a sloppy salute before quickly trying to catch up with the group as they started down to the firing stair.
“Is there any cover, sir? Anything to jump out from?” the tall soldier asked. He too was fiddling with his weapon, anxiousness pouring from him.
“No, the sap trench was blown to hell a couple weeks ago. Your best bet is to pop over here.” He tapped the side of a ladder with his knuckles before turning to the trio. “If you do get shot, try to make it back to the wire. We won’t come after you, not until it’s dark. And, if by some miracle you do make it, send up a flare.”
Margaret wondered how ironic it would be if they did get shot. Then she remembered what she was here for and realized she’d be the one sticking a bullet through the hearts of the two men next to her.
She glanced sideways at Blake, who was shifting his weight back and forth again. He looked awfully young.
“Well go on, Kilgour, make yourself useful!” he snapped to the private who stood listlessly behind Margaret. He jumped and quickly made his way back down the line in search of a flare gun.
Margaret glanced over the wire before she felt something wet on her back.
“Through this holy unction may the Lord pardon thee whatever sins or faults thou hast committed,” the lieutenant said as he splashed what looked like water on the backs of the soldiers- but Margaret knew better. This was an, albeit rough, version of the unction of the sick. For it to truly follow the procedures of the unction, it had to be alcohol. As the officer screwed the lid back on, Margaret dared to speak.
“Are you catholic?” Margaret asked, giving him a curious look. His expression barely changed except for the flicker of recognition in his gaze.
“There are no atheists in foxholes, ma’am,” the lieutenant replied, a sarcastic smile on his face. “I just happen to know about the Catholic stuff.”
“So do you actually believe it?” Margaret’s face pulled on a frown.
“I believe in ammunition,” the man replied, and Maragaret bit her lip, unsure what God would want her to say in reply to this ghost of a man. She just prayed that he’d find peace.
The private the lieutenant had called over hurried back to them, handing the flare gun to his commander. The lieutenant played with it, tossing it back and forth between his hands before handing it off to Blake.
“I do hate losing these,” the officer began with a sigh, “so when the Hun do start shooting at you, would you be so kind as to throw it back? Thanks, lads… and lady.”
Margaret bit back a retort but managed to swallow it down.
“Wait, you can’t be serious about her coming,” the tall soldier began, gesturing to Margaret, who rolled her eyes. “She’ll be of no value in combat!”
“General’s orders, chaps,” was all the lieutenant replied as he gave the soldier a hard pat to the back, one which nearly sent him stumbling forwards. “Cheerio.”
Then he was gone down the line, leaving the trio alone by the ladder into combat.
“You can’t be serious about letting her come,” the tall soldier whipped around to Blake, fury pounding in his gaze.
“Come on, Scho, if we don’t let her come, we’ll be disobeying the general’s orders! Now, c’mon, we’re losing daylight!” He started over the rampart but ‘Scho’ pulled him down.
“She’s a girl!” Schofield- Margaret guessed that was his full name- argued. “She’s of no use in combat!”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Margaret snapped and the two men turned to her with varying emotions. She regarded them with a stone-cold gaze of determination. “I have a brother in this attack. I volunteered because I don’t want him to die.” She looked at Blake as she said this, hoping he’d believe the lie and feel some kind of sympathy for her.
They were silent for a moment, none of them sure what to say. It was an odd predicament, really.
“Well,” Blake began, adjusting his helmet before letting his hand drop back to his side. “That’s that, I suppose. We’ll need whatever help we can get.” He turned his gaze to Schofield. “Now would you calm down and let her come? We’ve got a mission to get done.”
Schofield bit his lip, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting Margaret’s eyes. As Margaret stared at him, she couldn’t help but get lost in his blue eyes again. They had this clear quality that made them seem like they were looking right into her soul, but they were soft enough to make her feel almost… seen- in a good way.
“Please, just let me come… I can’t- I can’t just give up on my brother like that.” Her grip on the gun tightened. The words that stumbled out of her mouth were genuine, even if their implied meaning was not. She stared at the pair with wide eyes, praying to God that they’d just let her come. Just let her save her brother.
Blake glanced at his companion, who let out a long sigh, his shoulders finally relaxing.
“Fine,” he replied, and Margaret gave him a tight smile. “I hope Erinmore knew what he was doing, picking you.”
Blake grinned at this before turning and trying once again to get over the ramp, but Schofield stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Age before beauty,” the older soldier said. “You go last. Stick the girl in the middle.”
“I’m twenty,” Margaret stuck in, narrowing her eyes in annoyance. “And my name’s Margaret.”
“Well, it looks like we’ll be organized by age, then, Margaret,” was the only reply as Schofield hefted himself over the wall. Blake turned back to her with sympathy in his gaze.
“Ignore him. He’s just pissed that he’ll have to deal with new people.” He burst into laughter at his own joke, something Margaret did not join in on. Blake’s laughter faded into an awkward grin. “I’m glad you’re here, though. Hopefully we can meet your brother when we get there.”
He smiled at her, and Margaret almost felt her heart grow warmer. To combat it, she scowled harder, swallowing down whatever positive thing she was feeling. He was still the enemy.
“Let’s just get there first,” Margaret replied, and followed Schofield over the firing step and into the land of death.
21 notes · View notes
augusts-sketchbook · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media
when you know, you know
so don't give up
cause you never know what the next day might bring
18 notes · View notes
rattyarts · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
Playing around with brushes
90 notes · View notes