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It will be a year ago this august that I painted this wallpaper. So I decided to repaint it, after some folks mentioned enjoying it over on Discord.

I’ll drop a link here to the google drive I made with the wallpaper and the printable file:

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started making a leg study

had a silly idea

bon appetit

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what does each incarnation think of the other?

lachesis → atropos

lachesis does not hate atropos. hate would imply a personal attachment, and they were born into this world driftless. what lachesis feels is something closer to disdain mixed with grim acknowledgment. atropos was the fire, the blade, the beast of burden forged in loss and rage. they share in that wrath and ambition, but as far as lachesis is concerned? they stopped there. atropos abandoned humanity; others’, and their own. they chose to be a monster. chose submission under the guise of freedom. with such power... it's the weak route out, letting your anger control you instead of the other way around.

lachesis sees atropos as a waste of potential. yes, atropos suffered. yes, they had reason to be furious. but they could have turned that pain outward, used it to build, not just destroy. lachesis took up that work, the impossible labor of creating meaning, reform, justice, control. in that light, atropos is seen as a coward: someone who could only sever, never stitch. something lachesis never wanted to mirror.

but lachesis also understands atropos is their root. without atropos’ violence, there would have been no uprising. no divinity. no them. and yet, lachesis spends their entire life trying to undo what atropos became, and would die fully believing that atropos—while necessary—was a mistake.

lachesis → clotho

lachesis dies knowing clotho will be born, and with them, the last piece of the cycle. in their final breath, they ask for love on clotho’s behalf. not because they believe in it as far as longing goes, but because they know how much the absence of it shaped atropos, and how much their own life suffered for the same lack.

lachesis sees clotho as dangerous in a different way. too fluid, too passive, too willing to let things be. clotho won’t fight, won’t rule, won’t control—and to lachesis, this feels like failure. but they also see that clotho may go further than either of them ever could, not through force, but through persistence. clotho might outlive them all simply by never needing to win. lachesis would not admire that, but they would respect the strangeness—and ultimately, the abstract success of it.

they do not love clotho. they do not trust them.

but they hope, in their own cold, dying way, that clotho finds something better.

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clotho → atropos

clotho adores atropos. not as a person, but as a concept. there is something beautiful about atropos’ purity of purpose, their unapologetic animalism, the brutal clarity with which they embodied destruction. atropos fascinates clotho the way storms do; no morality, just movement. clotho mourns atropos not out of pity, but because they were so... stagnant, so incapable of turning. atropos embodies, so radically, the antithesis to who clotho is that they have to respect it.

atropos is a relic. the first fracture. a shadow cast on a wall that no longer exists. clotho doesn’t care about legacy, doesn’t care about whether atropos was right or wrong—they just find them interesting. like a fossilized predator. dangerous, lovely in their way, but already over.

they would want to face atropos out of sheer curiosity. see if lifetimes of unyielding suffering has bored them. if atropos refused to change?

clotho would put them back in the ground, with no regret.

clotho → lachesis

clotho sees lachesis as the opposite problem to atropos. where atropos was all instinct, lachesis was all structure. clotho admires lachesis’ vision, even shares it to a degree—but cannot agree with the execution. lachesis wanted too much from the world, demanded too much from people. they believed they could force peace. and clotho knows peace, like resurrection, like change, must be chosen.

they think lachesis was lonely, too full of longing, and too convinced of their own righteousness to ever be truly free. and they're right—they're born of it. clotho doesn’t hate them. in fact, they grieve them somewhat more than they do, atropos. lachesis chose their path, no matter how lost and painful, where atropos lost themself in oblivion—because they believed it was imperative for change. there is a certain kinship in that. besides, they have lachesis to thank for what little luxuries they have received.

clotho sees lachesis’ death not as tragedy, but as natural. something bloomed; something burned.

time to grow something new in the ash.

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atropos → lachesis (hypothetical)

what a joke.

atropos would be furious that lachesis even attempted to "fix" the world. because to atropos, the world isn’t broken in a way that can be repaired. it’s rotten to its root. atropos believes in obliteration, not correction. that destruction is righteous. that salvation is a lie. when lachesis tried to refine atropos’ rage into justice, into logic, into a better system? they defiled the purity of that original purpose.

atropos would feel betrayed that lachesis turned their pain into policy. the revolution wasn’t meant to be governed; it was meant to burn.

and yet—atropos would still find something admirable in the ambition. they would hate lachesis. absolutely. but there’d be a brutal respect in knowing lachesis had the spine to challenge the allmother. to commit god-murder in progress. to spit into the mouth of fate.

but that respect is immediately swallowed by spite.

because in the end, lachesis failed.

they became what atropos always feared they would—a god with good intentions.

the most dangerous kind. and worse of all? a sore loser. atropos wouldn’t mourn lachesis’ fall. they’d call it deserved.

they would sneer at their sacrifice.

because lachesis thought they could be more than a monster.

atropos always knew they couldn’t.

atropos → clotho (hypothetical)

atropos would not know what to do with clotho. they would understand their ability to kill, to endure, to move without regret. that would resonate. but clotho’s patience, their acceptance of death and resurrection as cycles, not endpoints—that would infuriate them.

atropos would not fear clotho in the existential, awe-struck way one might fear something greater. atropos does not fear gods. they do not believe in higher things, in better outcomes, in mercy that doesn't rot. what they do fear—what curdles in them like blood gone sour—is the idea that their suffering might be overwritten. that their pain, which they turned into a reason to pursue eternity, might be viewed as a step in a cycle rather than a definitive end.

clotho, in their quiet refusal to see atropos as an end, the future of all things, is an insult.

worse: they are an erasure.

atropos clawed their way into monstrosity so their suffering would mean something. so that the world would never forget their brutality. and here is clotho, who lets things die, lets things live again, who nurtures and kills and sees no contradiction in it. clotho who treats atropos like compost. a necessary decay, nothing more.

that’s the hatred.

atropos resents clotho’s detachment, their patience, their refusal to treat legacy with reverence. they would call it cowardice. clotho doesn’t take a side. they don’t seek vengeance. they don’t care enough to punish atropos, or honor them. and atropos, who wanted the world to suffer as they had, would loathe clotho’s gentleness most of all.

a world that keeps turning without atropos in it.

a world that moves on. that’s worse than death.

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Oh hey it’s Vere

I’m planning on studying the rest of the casts’ faces so I can draw them lol, Kuras is next

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everybody swarm the man for his birthday while i steal his knife and key

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i know i said i wanted to explore animalism, humanism, and divinity with my 3 girls. but the fates already do that. atropos is animal instinct—to hunt or be hunted. broken first by circumstance, then by choice. their town was destroyed by monsters, and in the aftermath, they learned quickly that monsters had no shape. they could be clawed or smiling, inhuman or wearing the faces of those you love. atropos came to understand that nothing in the world could be trusted: not beasts, not people, not gods. that not even goodness could spare you from tragedy.

they were found in the wreckage by lovent—rescued, if you could call it that. but atropos, they wanted a reason. they wanted to kill. their hate was absolute. monsters stole their home. humans failed them. the holy abandoned them. atropos hates everything because everything had a chance to be good and chose not to be. and so atropos resolved to become something honest, something that would know no beginning and no ending: ruin.

of course they offered themselves up to experimentation by lovent, to be torn apart and reassembled, enhanced until nothing remained but metal, bone, and trigger response. every mutilation was just one step closer to a worldview that had only targets left to identify. to only embody a function, a purpose... isn't that the purest oblivion? they became a weapon with dogma, willingly. because being a person hurt too much. because people are weak, and they never want to be weak again. and to devour the world, you must first sink your teeth into every neck to find.

if you command them, they will obey—but not out of faith. out of function. atropos is a blade that chooses to be held. not because they love the hand, but because it gives them direction, and justification. choosing to wield them means your neck is the first they'll seek when power and affection has lost meaning in their dogged pursuit.

when atropos finally strikes the pact with the allmother, it is the final step in annihilation. they want the power to judge even the gods, to drag the divine down into the blood-soaked dust they know so well. and the allmother, in her cruel grace, agrees. in return, atropos’ soul is removed from their body. cast off. scrubbed clean. their consciousness is to be reborn elsewhere, into lachesis—a separate being. but this body, this engine of vengeance, remains. undying. unthinking. a weapon purified of memory or feeling. the ultimate endpoint of atropos’ philosophy: to destroy the world, one must first destroy the self.

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what do you MEAN the anne hathaway cannibalism tweet was from 2022 i thought it was from like 2017

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i do enjoy "living weapon" characters but specifically living weapons who did in fact do absolutely horrific things which at least a part of them enjoyed and thought was good and right at the time, and that no amount of not knowing any better or guilt they feel in hindsight will ever make up for. i love living weapons who are "irredeemable", and no it's not their fault that they were made that way or pointed in the directions they were by the hand that wielded them, and yes they are victims, but so were their victims. living weapons who some people will never be able to forgive, but who still wake up every day and try to do better than what's expected of them. a sword that uses its blade to cut wheat to make bread for the people who once lived in fear of its arc falling on their heads.

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my pretty girls

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Hey Touchstarved fans, my take on Leander

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bsc didn't link to the steam cloud so it didn't save my saves lmfaoooooo 😍😍😍😍

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im too nosy for games like scarlet hollow and best served cold i be asking every fucking thang

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don’t breathe her in

Tiên is ever surrounded by her own blood.

Not visibly so, of course, but as a byproduct of keeping a limitless amount of blood inside the constraints of her body, lest she slowly flood the world, there are constant trace amounts in the surrounding air. For all intents and purposes, this cloud of blood vapour practically functions as a magical aura, though it is one less grounded in sorcery and more in the physical side effects that Tiên’s monstrous blood is capable of inducing in others.

This is because the toxicity of Tiên’s blood when in another’s system depends on her recognition of them—if there is little to none and you frequent her presence too much, then a loss of the self where you lose everything but a knowledge of Tiên is entirely possible. A loss that Tiên cannot prevent nor protect you from, because her inability to differentiate between personality to a conscious degree will mean that she will not see the shift. She may not want to inflict violence on others, but that doesn’t mean she understands how even her mere company is capable of a kind of death: one of individuality.

Indeed, it might be safer not to associate with her at all, and this is something that will be felt even on the instinctual level—not in a way that could be parsed in a cognizant manner, but in the sense that Tiên will inevitably feel… off. Stray animals bolt at the sight and scent of her and most humans feel that prickling sensation of danger—even if they have nothing to fear outside of the occasion that the Senobium has decided they’re a target, Tiên has no way of communicating this information to them.

And, on the off chance she does recognise you enough that her mere existence does not slowly poison your mind until its functional erasure, the impact will still never be at an absolute zero.

An entity you might be able to barely impact, if at all, yet she will always inevitably reshape you in some unfathomable way should you chance it. She will not know your face nor of your personhood, and can only offer you the cruelness of violent change within you that she will never be able to acknowledge.

Tiên’s world is surely meant to be of isolation and literal darkness: where she even sees not with sight but with a physical kind of sonar—her blood in the air to press against the shape and silhouette of things and to inform her what is where. She cannot see you with this. She cannot comprehend you with this. A form truly made to be a lonesome one.

Truly, almost terribly godlike of them, where it is not wise to even just linger. At least at a distance, she can be little more than a figure of quiet grace. It is all the same to her, after all.

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IT IS DONE

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OKAY GAMERS I HAVE APPROXIMATELY 30 DOLLARS whatever shall i buy

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And so we begin 👀✨