sandinmyhair | PSL Musebox

PSL Musebox - OTA (wip)

A place where I dump all my off-game RP ideas! Warnings for... well, just about everything.

ENCANTO-BASED
A Place To Write Stuff In The Canon Setting
Got an Encanto character? Got someone else you can AU into the setting? Try some:

A1. Fluff!
Bruno's back and it's everyone's chance to love on him, now! He needs fed and washed and all manner of happy things, after all. Just be warned, he will wibble and tear up. A lot. He has a lot of catching up to do and a lot of hugging to do....

A2. Angst!
Bruno's back and he's not re-integrating very well. Ten years in the walls has not been kind to him, after all. Maybe he has it out with the others, or he tries to hide again, or starts some unhealthy coping or other. Maybe his Gift finally destroyed his health.

A3. H/C!
Bruno's back and other people are not happy about this fact. There may be, for example, an increasing belief that he's demonic and clearly in need of an exorcism.

MULTIVERSAL MISCELLANY
A Place To Write Stuff In Any Other Kind Of Place, Including Settings Of Current Games

B1. Gives New Meaning To 'Lab Rat'
Someone somewhere decided a person who could do what he does is very much worth studying. Maybe they wanted him to only see the future for them. Maybe they saw him as a way to manipulate time or travel through it or simply tap the immense energy that courses through him.

B2. Wibbly Wobbly.
Maybe the Time Lords sent you to investigate. Maybe you discovered it on your own. Whatever the reason, here you are in 1950s Colombia. Something has been poking at time. And there may or may not be an unregistered TARDIS in the area....

NSFW
Because I Can't Not Have The Occasional Smut Thread

C1. Buried Desire
Somehow you can tell that an incredibly powerful sex drive lurks under that shy, awkward exterior that's just begging to be seduced out. Granted, it won't take much to do this.

C2. Married Bliss
Welcome to the Family Madrigal! Somehow Doña Alma managed to finally marry off her son. But it's not her you have to worry about, it's his sisters and his brothers-in-law and all their wink-wink-nudge-nudge.

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[He didn't mean just the colours, and he's tempted to say so, but... That's perhaps a bit too direct. A bit too personal and a bit too real, especially for a- what is this? A one-night stand? He doesn't even know it's supposed to be. Aside from that, Bruno's following words take his mind away from that particular train of thought. Him? He's just a big clammy merman. There's no way he can compare to someone as ethereal as Bruno, he thinks. Still, he appreciates the sentiment.

He draws in a deep breath through his nose and nuzzles Bruno's neck, just below the jawbone.]

Mmmm... That's good to know. I'll have to carry you everywhere I go, just to keep this flattering lighting. [Now that his hand's released Bruno's member, he's free to wrap it around the man's chest instead, pulling him in for an embrace.]

[That nuzzling draws a breathy, contented hum from Bruno, making his head tilt back a little. Mmmh, everything feels too good to be legal right now.

When he's pulled into the other man's embrace he presses against him, languidly kissing his neck. His soft hands move downward to feel out how hard Otto might be.]

[Bruno really chose some of the best areas to direct his attention to, both with his mouth and with his hands. Otto gasps deeply, as the kisses land close to his gills and those are rather sensitive any time of day. As for down below... Yep, he's pretty hard. He never did get around to removing his own pants and everything's starting to feel rather restricted right about now. His own hands slide up Bruno's back towards his shoulder blades.]

Mmmh, still overdressed, [Bruno purrs lazily. The soft light wicking from his skin flows gently over it in ever-widening patches, as though whatever caused it is slowly fading. He gently runs his tongue along a gill-slit, just to see what happens, as nimble fingers get to unfastening the other man's trousers.

There are few times when Bruno feels at all confident, and it could be argued that what he's feeling right now isn't exactly that as much as it's an absence of his usual hesitance and sheepishness. There's a kind of boldness to how he moves, now, easy and gentle but clearly knowing exactly what he wants to do. Trousers and anything else Otto might be wearing are eased down and out of the way and Bruno's hand tenderly palms the throbbing flesh.]

[Otto's gills are only really actively used when he's underwater, so whenever he's breathing typical oxygen, they're in a state of relaxation. That is, up until the gill-slit is caressed by tongue. It ends up contracting, almost like a mouth clamping shut. It's a little uncomfortable when there's no flow of water involved, but in an odd way, that discomfort just adds to all the various sensations happening throughout his body, blending into the whole to increase it.

Now that there's a hand on his groin, it's truly starting to ache. In a good way, of course. He presses himself up against Bruno's palm the best he can, even as his arms strengthen their hold around his upper body. The desire for more turns his breath a bit ragged again.]

Haaah... Don't be too gentle, now.

[Bruno has just enough coherency to see that it'd be better if he kept his lips to the skin near the gills, so he does, pressing slow, hot kisses to it. He hums throatily between each one, purring little breaths against the wet skin.

The soft admonition to not be too gentle sends a shiver through him. It has him kneading the cock in his hand firmly, now, pressing the odd heat and coolness of his skin against the hard flesh. He finds, however, that he doubts his hand is capable of giving what he wants to give, and he wants to give so very much. He lets go, opting to curve his back and drag his hands along Otto's chest as he moves downward, hoping he gets the hint as to what he wants to put around that desperate flesh, instead.]

[The sensation of what Bruno's doing with his hand is so very strange. It's hot and cold and smooth and soft, which makes it alluring in its own way. It'd be great for foreplay. They've already gone past that stage, though. It's not quite enough now. Pushing into Bruno's hand doesn't make it that much better, either.

When the other man begins to move downward, Otto allows it, his own arms releasing their hold so that his hands can settle atop Bruno's shoulders instead. His heart is racing- he needs this so badly. He hadn't expected that he would, but apparently he's missed this far more than he allowed himself to think.]

[The funny thing is, Bruno's not an expert, he's just observant and empathetic, which is why he leaves a trail of hot, languid kisses down cool skin until he reaches what he's after, because it had been exquisite for him when he'd experienced it. Wordlessly, he eases himself between the other man's legs, pausing to place his hands on Otto's hips before slowly taking his tip into his mouth. He tastes the salty flesh with a soft tongue before easing it further in, head sinking slowly.

If he looked salacious before, he looks downright debauched, now, on his knees, eyes closed, head bobbing slowly, suffused with bliss. His hair moves with even this languid motion, waving as though he were underwater. Low hums vibrate his lips. The soft lights in his hair and skin shift lazily. And all the while, he works wet heat against the shaft in his mouth, tongue wrapped against it.]

[Otto's far from an expert as well. He's on more familiar terrain now, but was never really the sort to 'spice up' his sex life with Rosie or even experiment too much. Going through the routine they knew had always been enough for them. It's left Otto a little passive and easily satisfied. This is going to be over very fast.

He's barely even looking at Bruno, his head tilted backwards and his eyes shut. Even so, he's very aware of the situation. The sensations, the smells, the sounds... His fingers go from Bruno's shoulders to his neck, then up into his hair, attempting to tangle into those locks despite how not-quite-solid they are. His knees end up bending themselves, heels of his feet pressing down against the ground.]

Oh my god... That feels amazing...

[His hair can still be grasped, even if it feels gossamer-light, cool and soft in clutching fingers. It draws a louder sound from Bruno, humming against the flesh in his mouth, makes his tongue and cheeks pull inward harder.

He pants for breath through his nose, his purring hums growing ragged even as the wet sounds grow louder. His hands press against the other man's hips.

Bruno shows no sign of stopping or pulling away, though.]

[Bruno had better not pull away. Otto's not sure he'd be able to take something like that. He wants more and more. He wants the heat and the slick wetness, and the sucking pressure. And the vibrations from Bruno's humming- he definitely wants more of that.

His fingers keep weaving through Bruno's hair, alternating between stroking and pulling because he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Meanwhile, his hips roll lightly with Bruno's movements. He's trying not to, because he doesn't want to thrust straight down Bruno's throat, but the minimal motions happen almost out of instinct. His breathing comes in deep, ragged huffs.

He's close already.]

[Oh, those reactions send soft waves of heat down Bruno's spine, hinting at renewed arousal. Someday he'll finally exhaust this overabundance of sexual energy but today is clearly not that day. But rather than reach down to stroke himself he keeps his hands on Otto's hips, tongue working at the underside of his shaft as he moves.

Faster. Harder. As though he can feel how close Otto is, as though the other man's sensations have seeped into Bruno, himself. Perhaps they have. Perhaps that's what this gentle, warm pulsing that thrums in every cell of him is....]

[If indeed it's Otto's overwhelming sensations seeping into Bruno, he'll be able to tell just how far along the man is. He teeters along the edge for a brief moment, swaying back and forth in a proverbial manner, before finally toppling over it with a loud groan. There's nothing particularly beautiful or flattering about his orgasm- it just is. His body tenses, his fingers dig further into Bruno's hair and even his toes lock themselves into a stretch.

Congrats, Bruno! You did it!]

[Bruno would contend that any orgasm is beautiful because it's one of the purest states of bliss a person can reach.

He would, but aside from the fact that Otto hasn't said anything to that effect, Bruno's mouth is now even more full, the other man's release pumping into it which, perhaps unsurprisingly, he swallows. He's not so experienced as to be able to do so neatly, though, and when he finally slowly pulls away he looks for something to dry his face with.

A kind of woozy bliss washes over him, and he sways a little before crawling up and snuggling himself against the larger man. Bruno's hot between the legs again. It could easily go either way, though, arousal or sleep. For now, though, he just gets comfortable in Otto's arms.]

[Otto wouldn't mind going for another round if it came to that, but he needs some time to catch his breath first. With exhaustion washing through him, causing his muscles to ache, it's awful tempting to just have that recovery moment extend into actual hours. His legs stretch themselves out again and when Bruno lies down on top of him, he has no qualms with pulling him into a tight embrace. One of his hands finds the back of Bruno's head again, heel of his palm pressing against the nape of his neck.]

... I really needed that, I think.

((OOC: And likely smut eventually because I mean, it's me. But I have no specific plans. Also I know I said this before, but this is like, not so much a voice test as a "making the voice up as I go along" so if it seems a bit inconsistent it probably is. >_<))

Lots of strange things have happened in Avery's life up to this point. It's enough that he's not sure he'd recognize "normal" any more if it came up to him in an alley with a sock full of quarters. But stepping into a clearing only to fall through said clearing and ending up landing with a splash face down in a river when there was definitely no river anywhere in the woods he was in? That's... a new one.

At least it's not cold he supposes, which is good, because he's completely soaked through. Also his blessings include the river not being very deep, though he does know how to swim quite well. It's an easy matter to just stand up and wade to the bank, looking around curiously.

This is definitely a different forest than anything he's ever been in before. He could look around and visually tell that, for starters, but he can also feel it in his bones. After a moment of just standing there, listening, trying to orient himself, he lets his eyes slip closed and holds out a hand, laying it on the bark of the closest tree.

His mind follows from one tree to another to another, faster and faster, until suddenly the trees stop and turn into a village. He might be able to jump further, move from living thing to living thing within the village to search for something specific, except that as soon as he moves to do so he notices two things and comes back to himself with a sharp gasp.

First: the flowers within the village aren't his to command, an experience he's never had before.
Second: There's power crouched in the middle of the village and it's like nothing he's ever seen.

Simultaneously intrigued and also with... literally nothing else to do at this point... he slogs his way in wet shoes towards the village.

((And because it's me. Things'll get smutty, 'tis true.))

The river is shallow but wide, and flanked by reeds. The air hangs close and hot, nearly tropical. The heat and rich soil have combined to give a home to long grass and broad-leafed trees and massive, colourful flowers. The trees themselves, palms and cycads, seem... newer than such species ought to be. As though they can trace back only to a point within living memory instead of to the dawn of life on this planet like so many other examples of this ancient plant can do.

It very likely has something to do with that wall cutting him off from the flowers and plants, and with that massive power that sits in the centre of the village.

The village itself, nestled in a valley (the trees would speak of mountains younger than any mountains should be), also seems strangely new, as though settled only within three generations at most. The people, a colourful mix who speak South American Spanish...

...only they don't, do they? Or, if they do, it's suddenly become as easy to understand as English--something to do with that magic permeating the place...

direct him toward the giant hacienda that dominates the settlement. If he's lost, and it certainly seems as though he is, the Madrigals should be able to help him, right? There isn't much any of the villagers can do, in the midst of finishing all their repairs.

The hacienda. It's the source of that power, and at closer observation the power seems less like a singular thing and more like a kind of tapestry, woven tightly and securely of vastly diverse but united threads. A family? Quite possibly, if the front door is anything to go by, bearing what looks like a carefully wrought image of twelve people.

The place feels... alive, somehow.

It's a strange walk. He's no stranger to being an outsider somewhere, but he's never felt it quite so keenly as here. He's soaked to the bone and no one here looks like him in the slightest, and clearly don't speak his language either. He's large and pale, with freckles covering the bridge of his nose and his cheeks making him look younger than he is, a mop of bright ginger hair on his head in curls that he's got absolutely zero control over (he jokes that everyone who's ever tried is dead... it's only a joke in that it's funny)

He is definitely lost.

Still, everyone is very kind and since the hacienda is where he's headed anyway, it's very convenient that everyone leads him to it. It's also very convenient that no one else comes with him or follows him, so he has a moment to stand in the building's scant shade a moment and stare up at it.

The door is interesting, but it's the power that draws his attention, fairly bursting at the seams for someone with eyes to see it. Mages in his world, he has found, are stuffy, not always boring but a little frightening for the power they wield-- an impression he does his best to dispel where he's concerned, to mixed success. This feels... warm, an impression of welcome and family that he can feel shining on him like the sun. Cautiously, he reaches out and, very gently, lays his hand on the doorframe rather than the shining door itself.

There's no attempt to push or force his own will on the house, nor to convey any particular message other than perhaps Here I am. Here is who I am., a polite recognition and announcement all in one. He has a feeling that will work better than any knock, but if it doesn't, he's not against knocking.

When he does that there's a beat and the house itself reacts. There's a deepening of that warmth, and then an unmistakably cheerful sound, the musical noise of the tiles around the door rippling, almost like a delighted laugh. The ripple of tiles changes pitch as the ones on the floor take over, the effect travelling into the house. There's a lot of light and jolly rattling and clattering until voices take over. They call out to one another, carrying on something of a shouted conversation from different rooms until someone agrees to go and see who this new and interesting person at the door is. A stranger! How exciting!

After a couple beats the door opens, revealing what might be one of the figures in the image, only the image was a lot more flattering in its simplicity. It had given no indication, after all, of just how thin this little fellow really is, or how much he looks like he's recovering from something. Huge eyes (though not as prodigious as the nose they flank) in a small, stubble-dusted face stare blankly for a moment before he shakes his head and gives a sheepish grin.

"Sorry, that was rude of me. We don't get a lot of strangers," he says, his light and quiet voice clearly unsuited to shouting. "Come in!"

He's not exactly a harbinger of doom most of the time or anything but even so, he can't remember the last time his arrival somewhere was met with such joy. It warms him, charms him, brings a little smile to his face, but it also makes him feel profoundly nervous. He is not a dour person, but he is not often either the originator or recipient of this kind of welcome and it's a bit unsettling, deep down.

It's almost a relief when the person opening the door is just... a person and not some kind of glamorous hospitality faerie or something. Avery doesn't seem to take offense to the staring, just stares back, feels a little uncomfortable for a moment in how large he must seem next to the other. Avery isn't even really a very large man, but he's broad-shouldered and a bit wild looking, like perhaps he hunts for more of his food than he gets at a supermarket somewhere and possessed of an easy sort of health that matches that impression.

"Ah, no offense taken," everyone else has understood him if he just relaxes into it and doesn't think very hard about what he's saying or hearing, so he hopes that's true here as well. And then, "I'm going to drip on your floor a bit. I fell into a river."

It's said a bit awkwardly and also he's still just kind of... standing on the stoop. Though Bruno may figure out that's because he hasn't actually opened the door all the way or stepped back.

There's a blank stare, then Bruno startles. "Oh!" He pushes the door open a bit further and steps back, letting the other actually come in. "It's okay, don't worry about the floor, it's used to a little water." In any other setting that statement would be absurd, but this is a living house, after all. Moreover, the atrium is open to the sky, with all that that entails. "Lemme get you something to dry off with."

A random door swings open and he reaches into the closet it reveals, producing a big, fluffy towel. Just why there's a linen closet in the atrium is anyone's guess.

A voice calling out is preceded by a young girl in riotously colourful clothes: "Tío Bruno, who was at the do--oh!" She stops, blinking up at the stranger, a rapid succession of expressions flickering across her face until she settles on a wry grin, her eyes cutting to the older and slightly smaller figure next to her before going back up. "Just a guess--he forgot to ask your name, didn't he?"

"Uhm," is Bruno's witty rejoinder, holding the towel out toward their guest at arm's length. Then he takes a breath, looking up at the undeniably interesting features of this stranger. "I'm Bruno. And you are?"

Edited 2022-08-02 08:57 (UTC)

Avery wastes no time in at least trying to dry his hair off, though it's dried already at least somewhat. The rest of him is probably a goner until he can get some dry clothes, but he wraps the towel around himself anyway, grateful for anything at all to make the situation better.

"Thanks," it's said with a warm smile, a bit wry with the entire situation but genuine, and there's a bit of humor in his tone as well. This isn't the weirdest situation he's found himself in, but it's weird enough to throw him and he's well aware he's thrown. Until he figures out what this is about, he feels like it's probably best to treat the whole thing like he was thrown into the faelands and be both polite and not take anything too seriously until the people around him do.

He can't help but laugh at the young woman's words, and shakes his head,

"It's alright, I hadn't asked his either," he winks, charmed, then turns back to Bruno, "I'm Avery," well, maybe not quite like the faelands, as he wouldn't have offered his name so easily if he really thought this was faerie magic. "Pleased to meet you Bruno," and then he adds, jokingly, "and your towel."

"The towel's happy, too," Bruno answers. "This is Mirabel," he adds, indicating the girl. She bobs a small, quick curtsey, smiling.

"I'm happy to meet you, too, Senor Avery. We don't get a lot of strangers here, so... people are gonna be interested, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I'm sure word's all over town by now," Bruno adds. "But maybe I'll have some time to make some tea before everyone else comes piling in to have a look. It's pretty much all I can do in the kitchen."

Mirabel giggles. "I'll run Abuela interference and give our guest a minute to breathe, huh?"

"Probably a good idea."

"I'll be back soon!" She waves and hurries out the door. Bruno watches her leave with slight, fond smile. Then he sighs. "Tea?"

(((LMK if I ought to change anything up! I figure she's basically in Encanto looking for signs of Bruno lurking about. ...if necessary, by scrying, although she's trying to be subtle.)))

[Since the opening of the village and resumed contact with the outside world, it had been only a matter of time before rumors would begin to spread. After all, the rest of the village had years of distrust and wariness about Bruno, but without the same connections as the Madrigals who so gladly welcomed him back, and Bruno himself had more than a little adjusting to do after a decade without real human contact. Of course, they did their best to be polite about it out of respect for Doña Alma, but their stiff manners and concealed grimaces were hardly undetectable, and their discomfort did nothing to help Bruno relate to them on a day-to-day basis. Additionally, uncomfortable grumblings and unflattering anecdotes were exchanged between villagers who quietly dreaded Bruno possibly seeing something grim about their futures, or dropping some hint of a vision they couldn't ignore. Some of those stories leaked gradually out of Encanto, expanding and clouding into the regional folklore as tales of the harbinger of doom who lurked about a town amid the mountains, communing with vermin and conveying curses (either unprompted or as punishments depending on the version of the story), a dark and foreboding figure balancing the blessedness of his family.

While the stories were merely an interesting footnote in the regional folklore for interested tourists and ethnographers, there were those to whom they were of more interest. Just as there were miracles and those blessed with wonderful gifts, there were calamities and those cursed with terrible afflictions, even hounded or tempted by malevolent supernatural forces.

Any occultist would have found the appearance of such shifts in folklore intriguing, but for one with Thelema's resources, reach, and special interests in witchcraft, curses, and demonology, it was irresistible. Certain details broadly consistent among the stories were too remarkable to dismiss, and such things are best addressed early to minimize damage--whether to the region or to the unfortunate innocent at the center of the stories. She'd quickly made her way to Colombia to investigate in person and collect details of the stories, herself, tracing them back toward their source.

It's a late afternoon, the sky still bright but the shadows of the mountains stretching across the town when she arrives in Encanto, guided by a resident returning from the next nearest settlement outside the mountain pass. She stands out rather obviously, silver-haired and very fair-skinned with bright blue eyes, wearing an innocent yet almost-revealing sundress, and with the cheery curiosity of a tourist. Seemingly in no rush, she takes her time exploring the town, making acquaintances--and as she soothes the residents into speaking freely, it doesn't take long for her to recognize that the Madrigal family is central to the stories.

Surely, they would be understandably wary if she were to show up at their door asking about magic; instead, she takes a subtler approach, watching patiently for signs of one who makes the townspeople uneasy. Whatever dark portents he may represent, Thelema is certain that she's encountered worse.

If necessary, she's confident she could cause far worse.

Still, she hopes to settle matters with compassion, warmth, and kindness. Humans respond well to such things, after all, and friendship can make them far happier, less dangerous, and more useful.]

Anywhere else he would have laughed the comment about the towel off as something quirky to say in an awkward social situation, but given the state of the house and the flowers, he's partially inclined to believe that maybe the towel is actually happy to meet him.

"Tea would be lovely," he's usually more of a coffee person, but he's not going to turn down an offer of hospitality, and he does like tea. "Particularly if I'm going to be answering questions. But the truth is, I'm not really sure what's going on either." He follows Bruno towards the kitchen (he will gently prod him to lead that way if necessary, he's already starting to see the man is easily distracted) and adds as they go,

"I'm not completely ignorant of what happened, but I definitely don't know why. I was just out for a walk," he always feels weird sussing out the power situation in a place as someone who has power, but he doesn't have any need or desire to hide it, either, even if announcing it outright always feels crass to him, "Uh... are you the one responsible for the flowers?" he asks, instead, because that seems like a good way to open the door to this particular conversation.

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Page 6 of 8

PSL Musebox - OTA (wip)

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some kind of MULTIVERSAL MISCELLANY

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Kind of an all-A mashup plus C1 because it's Thelema and this is how she makes friends?

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