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Juice that makes you reptile

Roland AIRA Compact T-8 Beat Machine Demo & Review

#synth #synthesizer #gears #roland #aira #t8 #drummachine #woodypiano

uncomfortable, always with the suffering of relentless nonexistence. still, skin not own, but freshly sewn, adorned with little more than a drape of his sheets across the lap and a dapple-drip of stolen honey-musk something-or-other she ripped from a corpse's trove, Aira waits patiently for Grave to return. when he enters, she sits in repose, languid and alluring in her dollish charm. "... daddy," as rehearsed, along with a lift of her chin, fingers tapping the belled collar at her sewn neck.

@ilbound

Job done, body devoured and soul handed off to his mother with a smile and kiss to cheek and Grave is on his way home. Ready to drop the illusions itching at his skin, to spread wings wide and simply collapse into bed. Catch some sleep after hunting the piece of shit for the last two days.

That was the plan, but he catches Aira's scent under perfume he doesn't recognise and accepts the fact he's probably not going to get any sleep for a while.

Pushing his bedroom door open he met with the sight of her bare stolen skin and stitches and little else. A smile for her, slightly predatory as he stalks towards the bed. Only to come up short at the single word she utters.

Erasmus feels himself gag, a look of pure disgust crossing his face. "Absolutely not."

#you know i live by the feather and die by the sword: replies #aira

husk-thing you, granted purpose at long last ( for how many lives have i consumed in search for a soul with one suited to me ? )—and who would have predicted that it was to bear the chastened leash and collar of evil, whose hands made your non-heart pulse anew, and your cold blood sing with something hot and virile. in the aimless dispassion, something else came forth: obsession. longing. absolute and undeniable ache to please.

for when his mouth tears her flesh, there is no feeling ( how would there be ? ), but there is complete bliss. her arms hoist, swaddling his head, cradling him like a tot. “i picked a virgin’s flesh,” she mumbles, own head bowing to drag serpent’s tongue along the corner-seam of his lips, daring to graze a little closer this time to the open cavern of his mouth. “… thought y’d like som'in’ sweeter, huh?”

she lounges back, body open and willing, legs cocked around his hips, expression nothing but earnest. and, in a supplicant’s way, she gouges under her breast, stolen flesh squelching and gushing as she cracks ribs, “allegedly women were born from the rib of adam…” she shifts, tilting to make room for the bone pulled free, “so i'mma return the favor, babe.”

@ilbound

Humans as a whole are a boring species. They don’t live long, don’t do anything, no flight or claws or sharp teeth, just stumbling through life and dying at the end of Thanatos’ scythe or his mother’s claws depending on their Fate. Even the ones he hunts are boring, devoured and done and forgotten as the Hunger comes back.

Aira though.

Fuck.

Maw descends again, tearing at flesh so willingly given, gobbets sliding down throat to sit so perfectly inside him. Wings shudder with each bite, with each second she keeps talking and moving under him, her arms cradling him as he feasts on her gore. Closer he pulls her, claws catching at her thigh and drawing blood, sliver of flesh he slurps down. Tongue he’s tempted to bite when it comes close until he gets a better idea. Missing it and she can’t talk to him. Much better to taste her while he can lick his own blood from her mouth.

“We were created as beings with four arms and legs an’ two faces but we were arrogant and were split apart as punishment. Destined to live in despair until we found our other half.” Bone he cracks between teeth, lapping at marrow while he stares down at her, gold eyes shining in the candlelight. Clawed fingers play with wound she created, gore stained and dripping he offers them back to her, presses them against her mouth so she can bite. Wants to mingle the taste of them together so he can drink it from her. “Think my search is over.”

Grave, Erasmus, closes the distance, tongue pushing past the points of her teeth, uncaring if she snaps down and moans at the nectar that is the both of them. Forces himself closer, a heavy weight over her, pulling her in, pulling her up, lets her legs splay over his lap as he sits back and blood pools warm between them. “Fuck you’re perfect.” He mutters, pulling away if only to breathe before diving back in, clawed hand fisting in her hair to hold her to him.

#submission #you know i live by the feather and die by the sword: replies #aira #// grave got the biggest hard on rn

hymnal pass, deathful stride; call it habit to mutter psalms as if it would stitch her better together and ease the rot-clot of something not-quite-right. holy verses do no good for the soulless—vested you, hollow husk, swearing oaths to a nonexistent god.

aira plucks idly at the seams of a new stitch, teasing her own work as if debating another unraveling. "... 's no good, huh?" voice rattles with the echo tones of the chords she consumed and swallowed, "ain't real enough. got the tits, got the cunt... some'in's still missin'." unceremoniously, the failure of a god-vessel plops onto her ass right there on the floor and cocks her limbs together like a broken doll. "you got any other ideas?" ( @ilbound aira for master michael uvu )

@ilbound

The prayers itch. Holy words against unholy skin and Michael feels his wings flutter, shiver shudder at his back, a silent rebellion of the creature inside the divine being. The Grace tries with all it's might to activate, to respond, but too long has it been smothered under the weight of the Other, of the wretched God nesting in angelic skin suit.

"Honestly I'm not even sure why you're bothering. God doesn't listen to his actual children, never mind whatever Soulless thing you are my dear." Though his words are harsh, his hand is gentle as it passes atop head, sweet caress that leaves ichor streaks behind like oil spill on bird wing. "Still, I suppose we could always capture you a soul?"

Abomination rounds in front of her, wing brushing against stitched skin, oil drip sinking into poorly fixed connection, burrowing inside. An idea he's had but hasn't voiced yet. He crouches, hand wrapped round ankle so very easy to tear away. Thumb brushing over threads as he stares at her. The thing inside watching, measuring. It's so very cramped in here, with the screaming of Michael and his lead heavy grace. He hopes.

"There are Angels who gather them. They flit down on their black wings at the request of their Throne and pluck them as the body breathes it's last. Cradle those so very delicate things to their breast and make their way back up to the Gates." As he talks, fingers walk along line of stitch, following it up calf like child on walls top. "Those Angels aren't very strong you know. Feeble little things, so very easy to crush." Hand clamps like vice around her knee, dragging her forward, further into his space as wings mantle and he looms over her. Pins her down with palm to chest, tapping over breast bone, sticky Void daubing hand print to flesh.

"We could steal one. Fill you up with barely any effort at all." A pause, head tilting as he listens. "You could feast. Angelic flesh is a delicacy."

#michael rp #Aira