Roleplay on the Side!

I apologize for not being super active on here lately, and frankly I have no excuse for it; however, I feel it is necessary to announce that my tablet has been broken for the past week or so just as my muse to get back here returns. 

I would also like to announce that I decided to change Margaret’s surname to Neville as it coincides with the background and story of another character of mine (who was, admittedly, a modern au of Margaret but that I have decided to completely separate) with which Margaret is this character’s ancestor.

So now her name is Margaret Maria Neville.

“ Eugh… Uhhh you could ask him about that…”

“Beetle boyyy~ Beedlebub, my Beedleedle–”

“Heyyy it’s okay, Beezle. She’s a nice person, not an RA.”

Mrrrrrrrr……

“…Do you want some honey milk?”

@dragonrider96

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you Paulette! A journalist, huh? What you’re specialt–”

Margaret McCalpin is taking questions!

Askblog for Mumzy’s Tintin OC

She’s laughing because she’s no better at this than he is

With the touch of Margaret’s hands on his cheeks, Tintin let out a small squeak before he was silenced by her kiss.

His heart fluttered the moment their lips touched. He suddenly felt like he was falling. Oh my, is this what heaven feels like? He gently held her arms before slipping his hands around her waist. His head drained from any thoughts, the boy only felt emotion; warm, giddy, bliss.

When they pulled away, Tintin had no words but only released an “ooh” of surprise, similar to that of bird song. When there was nothing to be said, he simply moved in closer to lay his head on her shoulder and give her a gentle squeeze. He finally felt like he was home again. Margaret felt like home.

It was a bold move of hers, but in the moment she could feel him sink into her kiss, she relaxes and melts into his returned touch. Perhaps she might have thought of this from time to time, as if among their professional – and still friendly – companionship she come to play with the idea of further desires. And any small (or big) thought that boiled up til now, came to ease as she finally felt she could breathe with him.

Tintin tugged his ear in thought. Perhaps being tipsy would have been enough to make him talk honestly about himself without holding back. Either that or he’d be in a fit of giggles, he was a giggly drunk after all.

He was tempted to try some himself, if she wouldn’t mind of course, but was worried she’d ask why. It would go completely against her principles anyway, like she said, ideally he should talk. He spent a good long minute silently contemplating what to say next or more specifically how to say it.

An idea popped into his head. A stupid, ludicrous idea which unfortunately perfectly summed up what he wanted to say.

He leaned in a quickly kissed her cheek.

Oh crumbs! What did he do that for?! Oh crumbs… oh crumbs…

His silence almost had her pique her own question in which she decided to bite back on. A quirk of the brow and she’s just about to drop it and turn back to the tea when he takes a step towards her.

It surprised her. A chaste kiss to the cheek and he’s solidified those suspicions. Her eyes must have been as wide as the moon when he had done so, her cheeks… well it would shock no one to see they were just as rosy as they were only a moment ago. Margaret could hardly swallow her words, nearly choking on them as she fished for what to say. “Oh…”

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Talking - something he did a lot of but wasn’t very good at, especially when talking about his feelings. Half the time he didn’t know how he felt.

He put his hands on his hips and frowned.

“So before, when I was about to drink the potion, what would have happened if I did? I didn’t have any intentions, I didn’t even know it was a potion.”

In fact, his intentions were to drink tea so would it have any effect on him at all? Deep down he knew that would have been disappointing. He wanted… ah he didn’t know what he wanted. He was just happy to be here with Margaret and hoped she felt the same.

“Well, there’s red wine in it so you might get a little tipsy..”

She sensed a familiar form of doubt in him. Not one to take offense over – it was a stretch of an idea not to be skeptical over – but as she continued to read him, she began to notice… disappointment? Her brow furrows, but a ginger tug of a smirk played out along her lips. She hated to break it to him that most potions did not work if the receiver did not intend to use them in the correct manner.

Tintin was mesmerised by this world of magic and potions. He’d seen some unbelievable things during his lifetime and was aware of myths and legends behind several cultures from all over the world. However he’d never seen potions before let alone befriend a witch. He’d grown up in a world where witches were fictional characters with warts on their crooked noses and towering hats, or were medieval folk who were burned alive or drowned for their practices, but here he was, standing beside a witch and her potions and she was gentle, kind and no less human than himself.

“How does it work?”

Was the love potion like Cupid’s arrow? Did you fall hopelessly in love with the next person you set eyes on? Or perhaps you and your soulmate both have to sip the liquid to ensure a lifetime of love and companionship together. Maybe the potion simply ensured you’d find your true love.

A cheeky smirk crept up on his face as he turned to face her.

“Have you tried it?”

Margaret’s experience with the world of magic may have been diverse, but brewing up a special storm like these would be entirely out of her methods of interest. She preferred to heal, empower, or protect with her spell work than use it on something one could accomplish with simple communication. But witchcraft was nothing more than a jolly tool for most people. If one was not cursing their enemies to the ground or attracting everyone who ever set eyes on them, then what was the point in practicing magic, right?

“It depends on the intentions.” She took her work seriously, tackling the weight of the higher divinities that made this sort of work actually work. “This one, my client and their life partner wanted something to take the day before their wedding. So all they have to do is sit together, gaze into eachother’s eyes, and drink it all. And their lives will be filled with mutual love and support.”

It was a simple rule for her never to create a concoction that would go without the consent of all parties. She turned down many that requested such a task, and would offer advice against higher practices. Talk to them, was basically her advice.

She is just about to set the glass back where it had been, but thought better of herself. Whether or not the potion would work, she was not willing to mistakenly test it on her curious shadow of a cat... or Tintin for that matter. Instead, she takes it back to the kitchen and sets it in the spice cabinet. “Would not be a good thing..” she calls, her face as red as the concoction she stored.

“Ever since the English Parliament repealed their Witchcraft Act, the love potion market’s been on the rise. I use to have friends in college who would ask about it.”

It had not taken long into their partnership before she gradually began to hint her metaphysical practices. Interests in Indo-European supernatural mythologies had always piqued her interest until finally one day she showed him her collection of books... on witchcraft. But she took them in an anthropological perspective. Her research into Celtic mysticism and connection with the otherworldly figures paid close ties into her practices, but he with an open mind she had expressed interests in multiple cultures. Potion making was new, however.