heart on fire.

I SLEEP WITH THE GODDAMNED AND YOU GET THE GRACES. [ under co. ]

[ivsreta]

𑣲⋆ 𓂅⋆𓍼 # 𝐈𝐕𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀 : AND I WANT, AND I WANT, AND I WANT, AND I WILL ALWAYS BE HUNGRY. 

an independent, private, & selective original character, machia “veritas” kimura. based in the horror and sci - fi genre ╱ narratively inspired by carrie, akira, annihilation, bioshock, neon genesis evangelion, resident evil, & umineko no naku koro ni ─── as told by kimani. content warnings for body horror, child neglect & abuse, cults, parricide, religious abuse, & self-harm. dossier & rules located here. ❤︎

dni : minors ( ≤ 20 ), pro - shippers. private, very low activity, with a preference for writing with other original characters ( but not averse to canon characters by any means ). psd by theircurse, icon border by whereorion.

[serapime]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫. @ivsreta : “ a person isn’t her body. a person isn’t what's on the outside. ”

𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬. it is important that it is treated without delay to avoid the complete loss of sight. here, her flesh has been carved away from bone and the tiny light burning inside her chest; a different detachment, but one nonetheless, and one that worsens each day. sephiroth is a visitor in this skin. it is not hers and never will be. bare, with a too - long nail, her thumb rubs over the ignition on the smooth metal lighter once, twice before striking it. there is no feeling on the pad of her finger. the peaks and valleys of her face are bathed, momentarily, in that small spotlight, warm as a sunstone or puddle of amber, plunged again back into the cool glare of the unfriendly overhead light once the cigarette catches flame. this is a helpful tool for avoiding conversations she would rather not have, she’s learned.

this chair is uncomfortable and so is the look she’s been leveled with, not quite clinical but like an autopsy regardless, but she stays very still aside from the occupied hand, which removes the cigarette from between parted lips. a long exhale follows, made visible. it hides the impassive mask stretched from chin to crown, but it doesn’t matter; machia can see her, laid bare, protected only by eyelashes. one knee is crossed over the other and a fine ankle is extended towards them. she’s never known what to make of them and still doesn’t. their statement strikes her as odd; misplaced, maybe, or uncharacteristically naive. sephiroth has only ever been a body,  the kind that is for sale. all things have a price. her skin,  still flushed and soft from the womb, was parceled out to the highest bidders,  who have in turn done what they want with her with no regard for the little life inside. this suffering is singular, she thinks. ‘ no - one has bled as much as me. ’

the air here is so close that it is like an embrace. it is less that it is too hot or humid and more that every breath feels heavy with particulate matter, made worse by the greyish plume rising from the cigarette gripped tightly between thumb, index, and middle finger, like a dart. like a landline. without this she would have found herself mute before machia, who, she thinks, has the power to strike fear into any beast. the smoldering tip crumbles into the chrome ash tray between them, in the middle of the glass table. sephiroth smiles at her fellow creature without mirth or teeth and does not look them in the eye.

her voice rocks them gently; the lazy waves of a spring pool. “ you’ve never struck me as the sentimental type. ”  it is not that machia is free of emotion— none are free from that yoke. like all artificial life, sephiroth once thought that she was empty, but then her heart was moved like anyone else’s and she realized all at once that she is flesh and blood. but the woman before her now plays at detachment even now, at least more than her— disinterest is only feigned as a means of protection, of insulation from a world that seeks to obliterate her. her edges are too poorly defined.

“ if people felt that way,  we wouldn’t be here now. ” which is another way of saying, ‘ i have never lived any other way,  how can you expect me to change,  and now? ’ she is young but still eternal behind the unnatural glint in her eyes, she has seen how this story plays out. inside her body is ancient. her head shakes dismissively, from one side to the other. strands of hair catch on extravagant lashes that curl back to the lid and bisect sephiroth’s vision so that machia is not one whole person, but instead, a handful of cleanly sliced parts. they are easier to digest this way. or maybe, it is that they pose less of a threat in pieces.

another drag warms her chest. her blood flows. “ —  but i know what lies in the heart of man.  so do you. ” last night she laid down to rest and dreamt of knives. someone is going to cut a hole in her and fuck her through it. someone dreams of this every night. what does anyone want with her? a) love and understanding, b) souls / colliding, or, c) the tender and yielding flesh, subjugated?  machia knows the answer and sephiroth does, too. there is a mournful resignation in those wintry eyes. “ lying won’t change anything. ”

[ivsreta]

hallo...

[ivsreta]

"there's no need to scream. you look very cute today. don't scream." (leon dkjfdsjfd)

𝑾𝑯𝑶'𝑺 𝑳𝑰𝑳𝑨? 

spencer rain is an umbrella-owned cruise ship that she had been placed on as a means of getting out of her parents’ hair. she never asked about who they worked for or what they did in their professional time so long as she got what she wanted. in this case, what she wanted was to sunbathe on the main deck. what she got was a viral outbreak that left her stranded in the middle of the atlantic.

thankfully, being the child of two scientists with ambiguous connections meant someone was promptly sent to rescue her. she remembers reading his file; her mother had left her office door unlocked–a very rare mistake–which left an opportunity to peek through her desk cabinet. i already know you. “ my mother wouldn’t take kindly to comments like that, you know. she’d find them obscene,” not like she cared. she liked a man with a sense of humor. “ but i appreciate the compliment. ”

[ivsreta]

hallo...

[ivsreta]

hello friends :] i'll be frank: i'm undergoing a lot of major stresses and changes in my personal life (such as being prescribed medication for the first time ever, Yay) which has been disrupting my ability to write and plot with people. im sorry for the low activity on here and discord, but i hope once i get past these stressors in my life i'll get back to it.

[ivsreta]

“ you love when it's about you, don't you? ” :)c

being the offspring of a feared shinra official meant they could do whatever they wanted with the staff. this meant that when they specifically requested for the soldier poster girl to be their bodyguard for outings, no one could actually work up the nerve to say no. machia thinks back to their mother’s stern warning under the guise of gentle chiding: try not to break this one, jasmine.

they couldn’t break her no matter what they did. what fascinated machia the most about sephiroth was how she was untouchable, unmovable. even in the sweltering heat of costa del sol, sephiroth hadn’t even broken a sweat–machia looked unabashedly as the slight bit of skin exposed in her otherwise enveloping leather uniform of hers, scanning for even the hint of bodily shine. her appearance was a stark contrast to machia, who wore a bikini that left little to the imagination. it didn’t matter how much they sighed, moaned, stretched–sephiroth seemed wholly uninterested in their antics, much to machia’s irritation. you should want me, you should envy me. they huffed and sat up, tossing their sunhat to the side so that their sunglassed glare at sephiroth couldn’t be hidden. “ you should be clawing to even graze against me. you’re boring me like this. ”

that’s when sephiroth had uttered words that would set machia’s mood for the rest of the outing: you love when it’s about you, don’t you?

machia is not their sister; they are not humble, selfless, self-pitying. i am undeniable. “ yes. ” she says with no hesitation whatsoever. there’s a hint of irritation beneath their voice; the rasp overworking itself. “ it’s always about me. that’s how i got my hands on you to begin with. ”

they try to leave it there. machia is not their sister; they are not envious, pathetic, wanting. i was made to be feared by humanity. i don’t need to be loved! a simple question, one that very well could have been a tease, flirtation, or an intended insult, was enough to sufficiently get under their skin. they think of sephiroth’s skin–warm to the eyes, cool to the touch, without a blemish. i want to be in your undeniable, loved skin. they’re not sure what they mean by this desire; they’re not sure whether they want to be her, kill her, or feel her. they hate that such desires are even being considered at all. imagine if i broke you. machia delights in the ambiguity of that word, break, broke, breaking. what would that look like in you, if i broke you? 

what if you broke me? they’ve grown tired of these hypotheticals. “ you can go now. send one of your lessers in to take your place. ”

[ivsreta]

"i've died many times, but all i was met with was a different dream." (beato!)

ten wedges to pierce witches, a cross to crucify gods. their similarities don’t stop there–the process of dying over and over but never truly dying is something machia strongly resonates with. he remembers that feeling of being split in half in one world, then decapitated in the next, only for all these deaths to end with being reconstructed by his murderer. “ what dream did you have? ” machia asks. he knows his own answer: i dream about violence. “ i dream about many things. why don’t we share our dreams with each other, like humans often do? ”

 a most interesting fragment indeed. coming from a place so modern and relatively deprived of something so fantastical as magic only furthered his hunger to know more about this witch. not just of her world and the mechanisms of her magic, but also how the smell of iron lingers on her despite being dressed in gold. a gear turns in her head, her basal instinct in motion–that insufferably curious itch that won’t be scratched until she knows everything about the witch and her world. i have to know you, from your dreams to your flesh. he will wait for her answer and listen eagerly. he even leans in much closer than he could ever need to, his eyes never leaving hers. “ well? i’m waiting. ”

[jamsmemes]

(     *     WHO'S LILA?

a selection of dialogue prompts from the game who's lila? feel free to change pronouns / details as needed.

"must be really scary."

"so not existing is like being asleep?"

"you aren't making any sense right now."

"so you are your personality and your memories? is that what you're trying to say?"

"you see, there's a problem with what you just said."

"oh, i wouldn't trust the mirror, my dear. the ghosts on the other side may only look like us."

"the pupil can never see itself."

"you can analyse your memories and your personality, yet the real perceiver always stays in the shadows."

"in that sense, there isn't really a difference between you and other people."

"you have no ability to see what's inside someone's head."

"what's the definition of imaginary?"

"please, don't go closer. stay in the corner there, please."

"they are all dead, aren't they?"

"why did you tell me to stay home that day?"

"i'm sorry, i can't do this anymore. you have to leave."

"please, stop with this nonsense."

"you know, i can't leave you. but something has to change..."

"don't worry too much about it. it's important to keep a clear mind."

"no! don't touch me!"

"it's useless now. you think you've got the upper hand?"

"you are just delaying the inevitable."

"this is so wrong, isn't it?"

"do you love me?"

"i mean, i get it. if i were you, i wouldn't trust myself either."

"no, it's not about that. you just remind me of someone i knew."

"after what i did, i don't really deserve anything better, do i?"

"is that so? honestly, i feel a bit offended."

"what? if it's a joke, i don't get it."

"who's lila? some girl you like?"

"i'm alright. my face just doing its shenanigans again, i guess."

"what the hell's going on?"

"please be quiet. everything's alright. what's gotten into you?"

"this is what you get for trying to get rid of me."

"there's no need to scream. you look very cute today. don't scream."

"it's difficult for me to express emotions."

"i envy other people, they make faces naturally, but i have to make a conscious decision each time i move a muscle."

"every morning i go to the bathroom to rehearse what my face is going to show today."

"do you think we don't know what's happening between you two?"

"it's really not good to spread rumours. that's a sign of a very, very bad friend."

"so you wanted to see so badly? well. feast your eyes."

"well, are you satiated... now?"

"i do not desire to feed for now."

"your endeavours amuse me. but now it's time for us to cease."

"thanks for coming today. i rarely see you these days."

"you see, i've been studying you very intently."

"at the end of the day, i'd like to find out who you are."

"you amuse me. you really are nothing like those fools."

"oh, i expect an exquisite feast."

"we aren't going to talk here. meet me at a familiar place. i'll be waiting."

"well, if that's the game you want to play... let's do it."

"it is delightful to see your optimism."

"oh well, enough chit-chat. please, pick a card."

"i don't envy anybody. there's no use in comparing stupid glass shards, even if you think one of them is yours."

"hm, playful as usual, i see."

"don't worry. i won't stop until i find out."

"are you trying to be funny?"

"no need to be so hostile. after all, you are the one who came here."

"i couldn't help myself, i always come when someone calls."

"so it was you lot who stole all my food?"

"there doesn't seem to be a different way to do it. i'm so sorry."

"it's never that simple, is it?"

"you... you tricked me."

"your sorrow is exquisite."

"you are horrible."

"well, that's a harsh thing to say."

"you need to leave... i need a moment."

"not bad. you are much smarter than you look."

"no nourishment for me today, i guess."

"well, i'm sorry, but you won't trick me that easily."

"i don't believe you."

"was it your plan all along?"

"you don't have to be a genius to understand that there are multiple possible routes."

"you seem to think that some of the dreams you see are more important than others. i suggest you reconsider. all of them are equally ephemeral. all of them are nothing but dreams."

"you might not know it, but i've been watching you intently."

"so? did it help you?"

"if i'm being frank, i have almost no damn idea about what happened before or after this day."

"i appreciate your bluntness."

"to be quite honest with you, i feel a bit cheated."

"i'm not sure if the way it ended was a victory of good, or a terrible mistake."

"i... thought you'd be gone after that."

"does everyone see you the same way?"

"there are some who can see better than others."

"are you afraid of death?"

"i think death means different things to us."

"i've died many times, but all i was met with was a different dream."

"you are in a very special position right now. don't waste it."

"you have the opportunity to either jump into the wheel again, or be free of dreams forever."

"it's such a shame. i wish we could talk more like this."

"so, the trickster gets tricked, eh?"

"are we getting jealous?"

"what? i don't possess such feelings for anyone."

"what was that figure in the corner?"

"you love when it's about you, don't you?"

"i mean, i don't care, we can talk about something else if you'd like."

"you are so close to finding out the truth... do you realise that?"

"why are you saying that it's up to me?"

"come on. you are almost there."

"what a strange outcome that was."

"i wish i could do something about it."

"you do have the power to divert the way some events go."

"you won't lull me into a false sense of safety."

"i'm not sure if i can grasp the picture in its entirety yet."

"i don't think i'll be able to find satisfaction until i understand each little thing."

[ivsreta]

Deliverance shifts his jaw. Like crushing himself into dust, he denies the urge to turn away, and forces himself to look at her. He knows it’s not her—even as her face, lifted from his un-abandoned memories, ripples in front of him. Even as her name catches in his throat as he swallows it down. It catches him by surprise, occasionally. How unbearable the things he effortlessly bears can sometimes seem. He squints, ice-eyed, watching that familiar visage shift between strangers—kaleidoscopic and nauseating. His empty hand tightens around nothing into an impotent fist. For a brief eternity, Deliverance can’t disentangle his soul from ■■’s mirage. Finally, his frigid voice unfurls. He makes a simple demand. “Who are you.”

the only me is me. are you sure the only you is you? his head is splitting; there are names that rush through his head: veritas. jasmine. magdalene. he believes thease are not names that belong to him, yet the familiarity is so comforting, so natural, so undeniable. this figure before him rejects these names, rejects his form--while the body is something that looks like it belongs to him, he knows it does not.

i am ██████. his name, his true name--suddenly it is forgotten, or rather, it cannot be said. he tries the name of his head but it escapes as only a strangled noise. he clutches at his head in pain, struggling to form a single word. voices overlap, voices that sound as if they are his own, but he cannot tell as he cannot speak to confirm as much. this identity being forced upon him, while so familiar and comforting, is being rejected. i must adapt. he tries to silence the voices, silence the creeping feeling of his identity being overwritten, silence this so-called ██████. he lets out a primal scream as an image flashes in his brain--he was split four ways once, and he doesn't remember how or why. new words start to ring in his ears: halite, core, herrscher. he cannot tell if these are words for him, or for the person he is being mistaken for. he cannot erase this overwhelming feeling of loss and confusion. 

“ tell me. ” he manages to say this much, though it feels as if he had to swallow rocks to do so. “ tell me--who do you think i am? ” this is not just a question--it is a plea. put me back together again.

[ivsreta]

dropping my discord under the cut if anyone would like to say hi and plot there :3 its where im most active / easiest to contact.

[ivsreta]

okay here's my starter call that i am posting now but probably won't get to until i get off work later. heehoo.

[ivsreta]

actually, i'm revising this to be a plotting call instead! feel like that's more accurate given my own rules lol. i am a bit tired after work, but expext me in you guys' dms later this week if i haven't been already :)

[ivsreta]

okay here's my starter call that i am posting now but probably won't get to until i get off work later. heehoo.

[post-troy-stress-disorder]

to me the thing about deification is that something fundamental is lost in the process

[post-troy-stress-disorder]

people can’t be immortal. so in order to be immortal you can’t be a person anymore. you have to be distilled. stripped of everything. till you come out the other side as an abstract concept.

[beholdingslut]

andrei tarkovsky

[pro-royalty]

Monaleo x Everthang Pinka Music Video (BTS)