santorie

[santorie]

𝔗ATTOO MARKINGS AND THEIR MEANINGS.

matías’ tattoo’s are less tattoos — as they were not ink punctured onto his skin — and more so markings. his tattoos are manifestations of celestial and infernal energy. they’re all black and greyscale that reflects his connection to the fall. they were imposed on him as punishment, and as a mark of exile to represent his fallen status and equally binding his power to prevent him from ascending again ( he does though, in his guardian angel verse ). there are a few reasons why they’re there, those primarily being:  as marks of power and binding, connection to his newfound mortality, and symbolism of his fall from grace. 

his tattoos also serve as seals that anchor his essence to the mortal plane, granting him the ability to interact with the physical world. without his tattoos, he would be unable to maintain his actual form. in being cast out of heaven, mat was also obligated to bind himself to his original tangible form, accepting the limitations to experience life as mortals ( without being able to physically feel or die as they would, which is the worst punishment of all for him ). since he can’t be injured in a physical sense as i’d mentioned in another post, the tattoos also represent emotional scars from his fall — they’re visible reminders.

the serpent, it weaves up the side of his neck and twists around until the mouth opens up at the nape of his neck.

his serpent is a deeply symbolic act by the heavens, meant to remind matías — and anyone who sees it or knows about it — of his transgression. the serpent represents cunning, rebellion, and the betrayal in eden. by marking mat with this, the heavens managed to brand him as both a warning and a cautionary tale. 

but his punishment isn’t just physical or symbolic, it’s also living. it’s a living creature. he can actually feel the serpent subtly writhing and coiling under his skin, reminding him of his betrayal with every movement. he can even hear the whispers of the serpent when he’s in doubt, reflecting his turmoil and the voice of temptation that he’d initially succumbed to.

the heavens branding him with this also serves as a paradoxical gift:    a chance for redemption. while it surely feels like a badge of shame, the serpent can also represent transformation. when matías comes to terms with his actions ( which is not in the slightest difficult given that his transgression was merely his desire to be human, the serpent can start to change, becoming a little brighter or radiant to his eyes and a few others — proof of his growth and worthiness of forgiveness, even for his worst sins as a fallen angel.

angel wings, they spread out across his chest and run across his pectorals.

he was also marked with the wings that he’d lost as a reminder of the celestial beauty and grace they embodied. so they aren't necessarily symbolic of shame — but they're a constant, painful reminder of what he can no longer possess. and the placement itself is deliberate because it’s over his heart, in a way to brand his soul with the weight of his betrayal. unlike his real wings, these tattoos are lifeless and static. but his punishment is layered:    his chest wings are imbued with a faint, holy glow that becomes visible in moments of regret, guilt, or shame, exposing his anguish to those who vibrate at a similar frequency. 

the wings are tied to emotions — when mat tries to rise above his past and seek redemption, he may at times feel a phantom ache from his chest and all the way through his shoulder blades where his wing scars lie, as if the wings on his chest are longing to spread and take flight, but they never will. the heavens made sure that this mark be both a brand of judgment and an anchor to mat’s remorse.

similarly to the serpent, it also has dual symbolism in the potential for redemption. they can transform and glow brighter as his actions deepen his fall or lead him toward atonement. mat carries the weight of his punishment literally on his body, but they can very much so also carry the hope that the heavens have not completely given up on him, even if that hope is faint.

scattered feathers, run along the underside of his forearm, curving and ending along the top of his hand. these don't hold as much significance, but their purpose is the same as the other two.

[santorie]

drowning in work today because end of the month and i’m cursed with a horrible migraine. will be back sometime next week i believe, besitos

[santorie]

absolutely begging for regency era things

[santorie]

      𝕬 𝕯AMNED 𝕿HORN 𓂃₊☁︎  a selective and private blog for a fantasy & slavic folklore-based zoya nazyalenskaya completely detached from the grishaverse fandom 

CAUGHT IN THE SIDE OF 𝕲𝙊𝘿 * ( headcanon & alternate universe heavy / prev. #godwitch ⊹  ━ exalted by corazón, she/they, 21+, est. 2018

[santorie]

the mutilated flesh of his back is a derisive keepsake of penalty and exile.    years following his fall,  he wonders if it’s truly a punishment to merely long for the touch of humanity.    for the gentle and harsh strokes of life.    perhaps he could come to accept the circumstances behind his banishment,  but the prolonged torment is one he will resist until hell eats him whole.    earlier that day,  eyes had flickered down to the pendant that glitters around tessa’s neck,  he had swallowed thickly,  sensibly refraining from snatching it with a flawed hand.    the urge still consumes him at times,  but her attachment to it doesn’t go unnoticed.    he’s a at a crossroads  —  he’s grown affection for her,  for all of them,  and he’s torn between vengeance and the connections he’s ached for over a century.    

he conceals his scars well,  beneath shirts and coats that cling securely around his back.    but there are times such as these,  when skin becomes slightly too exposed,  when the coat falls from his shoulders and the shirt is torn from his back.,  when he’s too bare and subject to commiseration or disgust.    these times aversion and hostility seep into his mind as a first line of defense.     but around these parts,   it isn't so bad.     around tessa and jem,  even will,  though it took him a little longer to come around,   he feels like he wasn’t alone in such sentiment.    to be welcomed,  he’d proved his loyalty and sworn to roam about with forethought and ultimately avoid intrusion by the clave.    glancing down at himself,  tattered clothes and grime-filled nail beds,  he recognizes that he isn't doing the best job of that.

though he’d peeled off his shirt in the hallway moments before as it’d been caught in the crossfire of conflict,  he’d waited until he’d slipped into his temporary quarters,  door slightly ajar,  to take a meditative breath.    consumed by the easing of his thoughts,  he hadn’t noted the presence that appeared at his flank.    he’d caught sight of her watchful eyes in his peripheral as he’d turned to collect a fresh shirt,  clearing his throat before turning to face her but knowing full well that she likely saw his scars    “ forgive me, ”    he begins lowly,  eyes routinely flickering to the angel around her neck before meeting her eyes,    “ i presumed i was alone.    did you find what you were in search of earlier? ”

within quarters at the london institute, @skinclocks. ✞

[santorie]

there's an infinite gloom that blankets earth.    it carries an overarching despair that extends over humanities remnants and grinds down with agonizing deliberation.    he’d been brought to his knees when the end of times ravaged through mankind,  chained to their agony and seemingly endless pangs of loss and terror.    with catastrophic events severely disarraying the symmetry and footing of the realms,  it's noxiously messed with what he physically symbolizes.    his existence is for nothing,  he's now futile.    he is now expendable.    with both of his worlds now destabilized,  his purpose to be part of mankind again was clearly a wasted effort,  he’s different now.    matías pushes open the door to the nearest convenience store,  eyes vacant as they swiftly settle on a familiar figure slipping through the emptied shelves.    raven.    her presence alone wills his very chest to deflate,  his shoulders to loosen,  it’d been days since they’d lost one another to the fray.    his affect reflects the emotion that sweeps through him and settles,   a smile forming along the curve of his lips.     “ you’re back, ”     he murmurs,  body stepping inside as his hand releases the door and allows it to fall shut behind him.    

he may have chosen to relinquish to destruction itself,  to figuratively waste away rather than fight and resist the anguish that wreaks havoc in his mind.    but meeting raven didn't solely save him,  it restored his faith.    “  it’s been days,  rae—   you had me worried,  this is the longest you have been gone. ”    he mirrors her movements and halts solely when he’s at her side and within reach,  head tipping to place a kiss at the crown of her head in greeting.    “  dime... where did destruction take you? ”     

in a ransacked convenience store, @azarathian.

[santorie]

the stars glisten above them; they’re littered across the onyx abyss that surrounds him day in and day out. It envelops this planet.    the night sky,  there is always something so peaceful when utterly embraced by it.    “ you have saved me,  cariño, ”     sincerity slips past his lips like a melody,  and his very confession imbues his heart with comfort as he turns his head to gaze at her laying alongside on the buildings rooftop.    elevation offers solace,  heights yield clarity  —  here he can think clearly,  without the convolution of distant sounds and voices,  absent of the echoes of his own ailments and faults rearing their ugly heads.    in truth,  he has never experienced another like her,  someone both equally within his range of protection but also not at all,  he’ll protect her heart and soul at any cost,  but her immortality…    it brings him the deepest sorrow and joy.

“ did you know that?    i should have been the one saving you all of those years ago…    but no.    i didn’t.    you saved a soul damned. ”    she deserves to know the depths of his emotion, even if in his most profound crevices she'd find contrition and ache for failing her so irredeemably, but her forgiveness remains a cure on his fated soul.    he deems himself unforgivable for it, the self-hatred rattling his bones every time eyes fall upon gold irises,   but it’s an outrage he’ll keep rigidly stowed within himself.    he’s never felt her,  her skin against his own,  the waft of her breath against his neck.   he’s never felt it,  but he can imagine what it’s like when he closes his eyes,  or when he watches her touch drag along his skin, perpetually aching to feel the coolness of her.

laying together on the rooftop of their building, @iridescint. ✞

[santorie]

" for your angel character, will you use them? " yes i will 😭

[santorie]

VERSE, THE INFERNAL DEVICES. background revolves around this trilogy, but due to his immortality it can branch into the mortal instruments, etc.

matías has this weathered beauty about him despite being completely ageless, the scars on his back and tattoo markings are present, but in addition to those, he has two pale scars running parallel his brows into his hairline

both seraph and infernal weaponry can be deadly if impaled in his wing scars

brown eyes glow faintly in dim light, can look otherworldly

highly compassionate and empathetic, often drawn to protect the weak and vulnerable which actually does add fuel to his vengeful mission 

he wrestles with the moral complexities of his fall

the same abilities that are present in main verse are here

knowledge of celestial and infernal languages, which can at times be used to decipher runes or communicate with beings unseen to the naked eye

seeks camaraderie with the shadowhunters, can be seen as useful or suspicious, but he does employ honesty with them once his desperation passes

𝕭iography, backstory.

matías was once a being of unimaginable light, he was an angel who held the omnipotence of the heavens within his fingertips. after his fall from grace, fragments of that divine power remained embedded in his soul, lingering like dying embers of what he once was. but his immortality as a fallen angel is not a gift; it remains a punishment — a cruel sentence from the heavens meant to ensure he never forgets his exile.

he wanders earth for quite a long time, neither seeking redemption nor harboring hatred for the heavens that cast him out because his bitterness is solely reserved for a single celestial entity. it was the being responsible for orchestrating his fall ( only in this verse ). this entity goes unpunished and untouched by the rules they so strictly impose on others, and it delights in tormenting those who've fallen, matías most of all. so his purpose solidified:  vengeance, but not against heaven itself.

he’s rather cryptic and enigmatic for a while here, and really tries to hide his motives from the world. his quest for retribution led him to chase whispers of an ancient relic — a legendary artifact said to have the power to tear open the boundary between heaven and earth if wielded by the right hands. he was made to believe that his object could allow him to bring his tormentor to justice by creating this rift.

𝕬rrival to london and the institute.

his hunt for the relic leads him to victorian london, where the rumors continue to reach him about the mysterious clockwork angel pendant. he’s convinced that this is the key to his vengeance, and as a result crosses paths with the shadowhunters of the london institute. his arrival unsettles the group, as his nature as a fallen angel and his warnings of celestial dangers ( the one who wronged him ) throw their already chaotic lives into even more disarray probably.

but as time progresses and he becomes wrapped up in their battles against mortmain and his infernal devices etc, he discovers the truth about the relic he seeks:   the clockwork angel is not the one he needs. the real artifact he needs — the one capable of breaching the divide between heaven and earth — is something else entirely, hidden and kept protected in ways he never thought possible.

when he discovers that mortmain's machines were being fueled by demon energy, it enrages matías because the fact that its fuel is harvested from any being, whether celestial or infernal, brings him the deepest ache. with time though, he learns and gains understanding of what exactly the shadowhunters do, what they are, who they're up against, and there are few things that matías is capable of ( if you don't want some/all to be present in our plot, just lmk! ):

he can still retain some traces of divine power. he might be able to bless and/or saturate nephilim weapons with divine remnants, making them effective against the clockwork creatures.

he can have a dwindling reserve of divine energy that can be used sparingly, and it forces him to make difficult choices about when to intervene in battles.

matías understands both celestial and infernal forces. he can recognize flaws in mortmain's designs, like any instability in the demonic energy that powers the machines. this could help the shadowhunters develop new strategies.

later, he struggles even more with his identity. because even if he were to try and reclaim his grace despite all of his plotting against the entity that torments him, he doesn't know if he could ever regain his celestial nature. but if he does... he also wouldn’t know if he’d be able to leave humanity, and the bonds he’s come to build, behind. there also comes in the concept of redemption and being redeemable. 

but by this point, he’s bound to the shadowhunters by both circumstance and camaraderie, so he finds himself caught between his quest for vengeance and the growing realization that his actions could drastically upset the balance between worlds. the more time he spends with them, the harder it becomes to remain true to his initial mission. here, matías needs to confront the shadow of his past, and the question of whether vengeance is really the only answer — or if redemption might still be within reach, no matter how far he's fallen. depending on how things go in plots, he can either begin to grapple with the choice of leaving, as he’d be convinced that his fall and arrival to london has only brought them harm, or, if he’s to stay. 

[santorie]

heard some really troubling news so i'll be mostly quiet for today. making an effort to be more active before the hard hiatus comes but today's rough. gonna dive into getting some starters out later this weekend 💕

[santorie]

do i re-add my old infernal devices verse

[santorie]

Adonis, Selected Poems; “Desire Moving Through Maps of Matter” (tr. Khaled Mattawa) [transcript below cut]

Keep reading

[santorie]

THE AGONY OF UNMADE DECISIONS ,

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from the novel if we were villains by m.l. rio. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to, murder, death, and violence. change verbiage as needed.

why are you here? you should know by now i’m not going to tell you anything.

seems safer to let sleeping dogs lie.

it must eat you alive, not knowing. not knowing who, not knowing how, not knowing why.

you’ve kept your secrets all this time. it would drive anyone else crazy. why do it?

want to come out for a smoke? might help you relax.

your time will come to be the tragic hero.

let’s go skinny-dipping! i haven’t been swimming all summer.

seems like just yesterday my dad was shouting at me for throwing my life away.

you can’t do good work if you’re hiding, so we’re going to get all of the ugliness out in the open.

if you haven’t made any enemies in life, you’ve been living too safely.

you make a surprisingly convincing villain.

i know what you’re doing. you’re baiting me.

i don’t know about you, but i want to get cleaned up and go to bed and pretend this didn’t happen for like at least eight hours.

i think we were all fucked up from the start.

you promised me you wouldn’t say a word, so don’t.

i’m sorry, what the fuck just happened?

you know, people aren’t going to put up with your bullshit for much longer.

you’re probably the only person he’d listen to.

where’ve you been all night?

i was making the rounds for a while, but i got overwhelmed and snuck upstairs to do some reading.

i’m done with this fucking party, with all of them down there. what do you want?

why don’t you just tell me what happened? no performance. no poetics.

we can’t just stand around arguing about how it happened, we have to do something.

look, i know you have a pathological need to play the hero, but right now you need to stop and ask yourself if that’s really what’s best for everyone.

someone’s dead and you don’t know where you were?

before last night, everything was fine.

i care about you, and what might happen if you carry on like this.

he wasn’t an easy person to like, but he was an easy person to love.

what do you do? ignore your grief, or indulge in it?

maybe every day we let grief in, we’ll also let a little bit of it out, and eventually we’ll be able to breathe again.

i’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.

it doesn’t add up. we’re missing something.

you look like you might need someone to carry you.

i’m going to bed unless you’ve got something to say.

i’ve had enough of your sexual misadventures for one year, thanks.

it’s fucking freesing and i’m not leaving you out here alone.

when did we become such terrible people?

why don’t we get a drink or something? just us. i can’t think straight with everyone watching like we’re a reality show.

i just–maybe it’s because you’re you, and i mean, look at you–but i don’t understand. why me? i’m nobody.

you know, everyone calls you ‘nice,’ but that’s not the word. you’re good. you’re so good you have no idea how good you are.

we carry on as usual, or they’re going to want to ask all kinds of questions we don’t want to answer.

are you going to cold-shoulder me all night?

what’s gotten into you? you don’t sound like yourself.

you’re smarter than this. 

i’m not keeping any more secrets for you.

you can justify anything if you do it poetically enough.

you’re just going to leave me?

i think hell may have frozen over.

when you enter the theatre, there are three things you must leave at the door: dignity, modesty, and personal space.

anything can feel like punishment if you’re taught poorly.

you can’t quantify humanity. you can’t measure it–not the way you mean to. people are passionate and flawed and fallible. they make mistakes. their memories fade. their eyes deceive them.

i want so badly to be so mad at you that i could kill you, but i can’t, so i’m mad at myself instead. do you even understand how unfair that is?

i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i want to hurt the whole world.

why don’t you sit, and i’ll pour tea?

he was my friend—much more than that, truthfully—and that was enough. i didn’t need to know why.

can i help? i still–i want to help.

let me put myself back together and then i’ll come find you.

it’s like i look at you and suddenly the sonnets make sense.

tell me you didn’t do it.

i never wanted you to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.

we have to go back and act like nothing’s wrong. we’ve got to get through tonight, and then we’ll worry about it. all right?

you know, it’s not too late if there’s another version of the truth you want to tell me.

will you rest easier with one less mystery on your mind?

you were real to me. sometimes i thought you were the only real thing.

[santorie]

matías really struggled to know who he was following the fall. he compartmentalized his identities, referred to them in third person sometimes, and found it difficult to reconcile each facet of himself with the being he thinks he is, or at least with who wants to be

[santorie]

memory. sender steps into one of receiver's memories, @dvaurga

there was once a time where he apperceived peace and harmony,   perfect serenity without a single care of who came or went,   of which civilizations fell to ruins and which prospered.    he knew of them all during this time,   when omnipotence was one with him.    now it guardedly tarries between the grooves of his soul,   solely serving to maintain just enough divinity and his immortal life,   but for nothing else.    the surge of knowledge albeit intact,   at times can feel distant and out of close reach as if grasping for remembrance.    similar to moments like the present,   when he narrates chronicles of fallen empires,   the legends do not come to him with immediacy as they once would,   they are no longer as if he’d once lived them.    though he never did,  as they were times long before him,   it was still how he was made to recall them until he fell. just as he'd come to verbalize of such dominions, he abruptly slips into a memory he'd presumed had been obsolete. revisiting it feels like the pull of a rubber band, tense and ever resistant, primed to snap or tear at too much pull. similarly to how he's transferred thoughts into the minds of others, his memories may slip through just the same despite the biting objection in his gut. words barrel across his tongue mercilessly, chanting in time with the images that now stain behind both of their eyes.

he's unaware of where he was in his recounting when he physically recoils, as if scorched to the touch, as if he could feel her even if she'd touched him. when in reality, they remain seated a ways away from one another, and even if so desired, he wouldn't have felt a thing. “ why did you do that, ”    he sneers, chest heaving with the weight of relived anguish. he would've willingly shared any memory of his blurred existence, of ideologies when far removed from this plane, but never of the agony of losing his wings. matías knew full well she did nothing to deserve his ire, for his tongue managed to loosen and the memories escaped from his grasp on their own, as they may often do.  perhaps it is he who should be on the receiving end of his impertinence.     moments such as these he wishes to heave himself out of this oblivion and devastate his fate, but what is punishment if he could so freely die?    he’s aware that he can’t do such a thing,   such an illusion impracticable.    a steadying breath escapes him in the dead of night,   brown hues flickering down from the night sky to regard her closely. the whispers of an apology tickle his lips and a guarded gaze softens. “ pleased with what you saw? ”

[santorie]

rare thoughts of matías stroking someone's cheek, of coming up behind someone he lets himself feel for and pressing a kiss to their shoulder. murmuring sweet nothings in their ear, but sometimes inaudibly into their skin too. and also... his rough kisses. closed off kisses when he's too afraid or angry to speak. and falling in love can be a vice for him. cause depending on the circumstances and if within one to three years post-fall, love can be all-consuming and can result in a loss of self considering how lost he literally is

[santorie]

here's a short starter call to get the ball rolling, ♡