THIS IS NOT YOUR GRAVE

THE PAST IS RIGHT BEHIND YOU.

[karving]

this blog is archived and kara can be found at @maskend

[karving]

something kinda hilarious about an arachnophobic vampire

[karving]

kara has autumn vibes idk

[allmonster]

❛❛ so jayce tells me, ❜❜ the man says, voice fallen flat as though he has a hard time believing it. is this the real me? is this me? who is this?

his memory as of now serves as nothing but a tumbleweed of jumbled voices, none of which belong to him, and fear— and confusion. those don’t belong to him, either. the wails of thousands seared into the hollows of his eardrums, and the lives of so many plastered behind his eyelids when he dares to close them.

his clothes are thin enough that kara may be able to make the outline of his braces, now permanent fixtures of this ‘borg body. it’s strange, to him, that in lieu of all the metal and biomechanical material, he still feels sensations across his skin as if it were still his. his hair has not been cut, remaining tucked behind his ears so it doesn’t fall into his face.

doesn’t even have the same eyes anymore. the ones he was born with, plucked from his skull in a procedure he can’t remember— orange, vibrant as wasteland sunsets peer towards kara, now. not the same eyes as the herald, either.

without first observing their face, viktor’s gaze immediately rests upon the markings he— the machine herald— left behind, and his expression momentarily shifts from grim to mournful. finally, he musters the courage to look them in the eye.

❛❛ i … don’t know what to say, kara. i could give you all the sorries in the world, but i doubt they would make you feel any better. ❜❜ but viktor is : sorry. ❛❛ i’m, i wish i hadn’t- ❜❜ for the first time in a long time, the engineer’s words abandon him at a moment of great need.

❛❛ jayce is a liar. ❜❜ he snaps. sparks of anger, ejected from the ashen wood of his heart. slumping, he rests his face in one palm. ❛❛ he should have left you alone. i told him to leave you alone. ❜❜

what viktor doesn’t admit is that jayce is probably right, because something stirs. a sense that … he missed them. and that is new.

[karving]

kara had never known viktor to be a man who commanded a room, but he had certainly held more of such an air before ... albeit unchanged, on the surface, from the being that had found them—which they now know jayce referred to as the machine herald—everything about his appearance now suggests he is something else entirely. and still he does not appear as the man they thought they knew. it is abundantly clear that he never will be again.

they let him talk, let him look, and watch as he processes. his eyes, too, are changed. again.

"you're right," kara agrees eventually, and with perhaps an uncharacteristic lack of agitation. "i didn't come here for your apologies." that, at least, they agree on; an apology changes nothing, undoes nothing, and soothes neither of them. some selfish part of kara prefers anger over forgiveness. the latter feels wholly unsatisfying. yet there is, surprising perhaps even to themself, only little anger now.

they lean back, fingers toying with the zipper of their jacket. "i came here ..." a pause, as if to sort the words. put them in the right spot, though they never quite seem to land there. everything they'd thought about saying to him has left their mind. kara frowns and studies him. they begin anew and a raw edge appears to their tone, betraying the hurt and the sadness that underlies the question.

"i came here because i have to know why. i didn't think you believed those things you said. but you must've, right? because you let them in, didn't you? so you must've."

[allmonster]

his expression is not wry. not a grimace. it’s nothing, really— tranquil. even as kara struggles, he hardly seems to budge an inch. the additional appendage harshly grips kara’s scalp as they scuffle in vain, only pinning them further.

❛❛ i will never need to let you go, ❜❜ viktor murmurs, in the way one might whisper to a wounded animal in their hands … but, he feels a failure. a disconnect. maybe, he even feels death.

kara’s body shudders, and the herald knows he is done. no longer viable, his target is left abandoned. dropped like a weight.

————

it’ll be in the news for years to come : the strange, possessive virus spreading like the plagues of old throughout night city. like something biblical, an electronic rapture. thousands were afflicted. thousands now bear the hand-marks of an a.i. messiah.

oh, that’ll undoubtedly be in the screamsheets too. more reinforcements needed for the abandoned blackwall, to defend the innocent from the sinister and deranged intelligences that reside behind it ( little does everyone know, they were invited in ). somehow, jayce kept viktor’s name out the limelight, despite his weak arguments for otherwise.

the weeping — the, let me pay for my sins — the guilt — the overwhelm. what’s it like to be a god for a day? horrifying.

viktor remembers very little of the weeks leading up to events. no, that’s not the right word. leading up to cataclysm, destruction on a scale he can hardly fathom. not of property, but of minds. his may be counted amongst the carnage.

it isn’t right. jayce should’ve annihilated the herald and let viktor’s consciousness snuff out wherever the intelligences had left him before he was yanked back into a-… into a body he doesn’t recognize.

but he’s different now. wrong. like he’s missing some links. it isn’t even viktor that extends the offering for reconnection with kara— but jayce has always had a way with words, and he pleads viktor’s case beautifully.

a chance for forgiveness. just one chance.

[karving]

they would remember very little, later, of what came next. only that it felt like an invasion, as if some dam had been broken, and something of this being spilled into them. they were drowning, pulled under by something superhuman. then, nothingness.

when they awoke hours later to a familiar voice, it seemed as though they shouldn't have. they could not comprehend for some time what had happened. that, were it not for the nomad they might have died here, left behind in a puddle of their own fluids as nothing but a failed conversion. (it was stranger still to realise that their 'imperfection', as he called it, had been what saved them from the fate of many.) for the very first time they wept in caesar's arms, curled into them like a burrow.

the mark on their neck pales in comparison to the haunting memory.

and yet ... when jayce asks for them to speak with viktor, supposedly the real viktor, the merc reluctantly agrees. forgiveness has never come easily to them, but kara more than anything want to know how much of him remains. how much of him was there that day. how much of it he meant. did i ever really know you, at all? there is still the ache of knowing that at least some part of viktor might have believed what he said.

kara lingers in the door a moment, studying him. he looks different again, but smaller now. they'd been warned he would not be as he was, but it was one thing to hear it and another to see it so clearly. their own hurt wrestles with concern for a friend. it's harder when they barely recognise him.

"jayce said it would help ... if we talked." they take a few steps into the room and find a seat on the edge of a chair. their hair is freshly cut, their outfit no different from what they would usually wear to an appointment at his lab. the low cut shirt does not hide their neck, and the burn scars that disrupt the flow of ink on their skin. their expression is somewhat clouded. kara often wears their emotions on their sleeve, but today they're doing their best to keep them under wraps. "is it you this time, vik?"

[allmonster]

beyond the door, the presence of chaos begins to spread. there are screams, before eerie silence, as though the fear had been abruptly snuffed. with little drama, that door behind ‘viktor’ opens, revealing a small cluster of people— strangers, yet their eyes are all the same : blue as electricity. it is immediately evident that kara is outnumbered, perhaps only four-to-one, though undoubtedly more have begun sweeping the level outside.

❛❛ choice is otiose, and too often misused. i will relieve all of the exertion of futility. there’ll be no more strife, no more pain. night city is to be liberated from its refuse, kara. ❜❜ they are cornered, and couldn’t run fast enough even if they managed to slip away.

the herald closes the space quickly now, with reflexes that border on transhumanistic. in this machine’s mind, the bond which viktor and kara shared has been twisted into something unrecognizable, though he does not make a mockery of it— the emotion which he seeks to eradicate may perceive this as a slap to the face :

❛❛ viktor spent many of his last moments with you, and we watched. this is his legacy! to be immortalized in the salvation of your sick species. we will fix you, like we fixed him. it’s what he would have wanted. ❜❜ arm snaps out, grasping their neck with strength so inhuman, they cannot writhe away.

behind him, the cluster begins to become a crowd. more numbers joining the throng. they will soon be one of many.

[karving]

their attention snaps to the door and what's beyond it. having been so focused on this being vaguely resembling their friend, they had failed to notice the movement outside. now it spills in, an assortment of people with nothing in common but their soulless eyes, gleaming. is this evolution? "the fuck..." but there is no time for surprise, no time to question or challenge, to draw out what never truly was a conversation.

a message icon appears on their holo. they'd already been late for their meeting. now it seems unlikely they'll make it at all. would caesar come looking, they wonder for a brief moment, and can't quite decide if they'd rather they didn't.

there is no time to think on it longer because 'viktor' closes the gap between them so quickly, it takes kara by surprise. his fingers dig into their neck more powerfully than they would have ever thought him capable of. it pushes the air out of them, their own hand reflexively coming up to try and pull his away. "ah, you—" it burns, like open wires pressed to their flesh. the pain is so surprising, kara forgets to struggle, forgets the knife at their fingertips, and it takes the sound of their own cry to remind them how to control their body.

in a split second, the merc pulls the knife out of its sheath and slams it into his side. there is no more hesitation, no more time to try not to hurt someone who was once a friend. but the knife snaps, its broken blade clattering to the ground. the hilt soon follows, dropping from their limp hand. their heart drops with it. "fuck you, let me ... go ..." they kick, dig the razors implanted into their fingers into his forearm, pull at his hand all in the attempt to fight the horrifying realisation that it's pointless. what he called a cure seems to them nothing but death.

[allmonster]

upon the rejection, the gentle ( almost expectant ) smile on viktor’s alien face begins to fade. there is a switch in the glinting of his eyes, narrowing almost imperceptibly. the hand offered is retracted, joining its companion in holding a cane that is just as unfamiliar : as though the nanotech had infected it, too. the circumstances feel dire, dangerous, and yet the language of his body suggests he is wholly calm.

❛❛ evolved, ❜❜ the voices answer, achieving near-unison in the snap. his expression rests, but there seems to be subtle movement beyond the windows of this structure. like bodies are closing in.

❛❛ there is no use in resisting, kara, though i understand you are afraid. the uncertainty which you now experience, i endured, too— but now i see beyond 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚢 of humanity’s emotions and experience. they are a selfish and corrupt species of animal, killing, stealing, torturing, suffering. 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇. i’m going to alleviate the pain, annihilate those differences which tear them apart. erase that which makes them suffer. you will not have to suffer. ❜❜ so what is the sentiment? they may be wondering, what is the goal? he has arrived for a reason, sinister as it may be. by some twisted way, it means there’s lingering care for kara … albeit changed from what the feelings once were. a desire to help, transformed into something unrecognizable and wrong. the same thing will happen to the mercenary, if he gets a hold of them.

❛❛ i am your 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, kara, ❜❜ the cacophony fractures upon the word. its true, they are viktor’s friend ( at least, to him they were, before whatever cataclysm this is claimed him ), but its almost as if this mechanoid doesn’t believe his own words. the metal arm ( if you could call it that ) looming over his shoulder begins to twitch and whir. it’s ‘ fingers ’ engaging, a glow in its ‘ palm ’. he steps closer.

❛❛ trust me. i will end the struggle of a harsh life in night city. you won’t have to worry ever again. ❜❜

[karving]

"you don't believe that." kara echoes their own, earlier words like a broken record, murmuring as if to remind themself of them. to hold in front of their own eyes the memory of their friend viktor who is—was?—wholly different. whose mind seemed always to run a little faster than kara's could follow, who was witty and dry and sarcastic, but who never spoke of annihilation. of cleansing. what must have infected him, what ... tech, or virus, or cyberdemon taken hold of him? could he be saved still?

as he approaches, the merc takes a step back. a tv flickers in the background, humming ads on a low volume. they glance up at this new appendage, this metal arm that looms above. friend. he says the word as if it meant nothing. as if he were merely repeating intel off a shard that echoes this body's true inhabitant. one more step back and they'll hit the wall. whatever fate he plans for them appears more and more inescapable.

"thought you were my friend, too." how long has it been? it leaves a sour taste in their mouth that they can't recall the number of weeks since last they heard from viktor. but how could i have known? this city doesn't stop moving. i have to keep moving with it. another step. cold concrete cages them in, pressing against their back. "c'mon... what'd you really come here for? you know i'm not one for philosophy..."

there is uncertainty in their hazel eyes. organic, expressive, their very own. fingers close around the hilt of a neurotoxin knife kept on their belt.

"who did this to you? zetatech? scavs? some a.i.?" it is a pained anger that drives them to the recognition of how alone he was. "don't wanna be 'evolved', vik. don't wanna hurt you either. stop—"

[karving]

mantis blades are too much for cyberpunk!kara—who’s generally low chrome, but does have some augmentations/implants—but I do enjoy the thought of them with retractable razorblades under the fingernails like molly in neuromancer.

[karving]

he appears as if some cyber-creature. kara briefly wonders if this is a kind of cyberpsychosis they hadn't yet seen before. but he looks different, somehow hollow, living and speaking yet lacking life. dozens of voices seem to speak through him, taking and bending his voice, his tongue, into speech wholly unlike the man kara came to know. dozens of hours spent in the lab, listening to him mumble and muse over the hum of the machines, his voice sometimes rising and falling on unexpected syllables. his tongue would glide over laterals where it ought to have stopped, his throat aspirate sounds most would make breathless. the melody of his accent was so uniquely his own.

this ... thing speaking in it now lacks all of its musicality.

"cheated death?" pale brows knit, suspicion, concern, and an undeniable swell of fear rising in their chest. kara pushes against it, staying in place even as 'viktor' slowly approaches. they glance at this strange new hue of his skin, if it were somehow reinforced, if the razorblades beneath their fingernails could pierce it, if necessary. a last resort, but much as they wish to help a friend, the merc's priority will always be survival.

he said imperfections? never once had they spoken of curing. even had they deemed it possible, the risk of the attempt would have been too great. no, viktor was to stabilise, to fix the tech in their head and, while he was at it, try to minimise their risk of seizure. but viktor never spoke of removing an imperfection. to think that his pain had been so great, he might have turned to whatever brought this upon him ... rage rises rapidly, fueled by a strange grief for the man whose shell stands in front of them now. "you don't believe that. you never believed that. it was never about curing, you know i can't be. you know that. are you still in there, at all?" they don't take the offered hand. kara stares at him in a mixture of anger and horror.

"what the hell have you done ... ?!"

@allmonster / CONT'D

[karving]

in a tes setting kara would 100% be a bosmer

[karving]

i actually think kara getting kicked out of valenwood and becoming a mercenary, but fully sticking to the carnivore diet and the occasional cannibalism could be interesting— it would be a change from their usual story of running away 🤔

[karving]

❝ no one tolerates boredom worse than the idle rich. ❞ from draco 🔥

the cat school is unique in many ways, known to other witchers to not subscribe to the witcher code, for the circumstances of their genesis had been wholly different. there is one exception, however, in that some cats, particularly those of non-human descent, would hesitate to hunt a dying species. it is a loosely held conviction, sometimes swayed for coin or the promise of adventure, and some hold to it more steadily than others. kara has never particularly cared for this principle—the only reason they refuse to hunt dragons is, well, that they do value their life.

the elf sits on the small cliff's precipice, feet dangling over the edge, and looks down at the camp of mercenaries, adventurers, and sons and daughters of noblemen. their laughter and loud talk echoes throughout the mountain pass. a cruel flicker of amusement passes over their face at the thought of most of them ending as burnt piles of flesh, buried by an avalanche, or robbed by one of the few remaining scoia'tael commandos.

"suppose they get so bored sitting on all that money, they like to find the stupidest ways to die, huh?" they turn to look at the dragon. despite him sitting down, they have to look up to find his eye. "no mages, only one guide, and half of those swords look decorative. they'll walk right past you. idiots." kara's grin flashes pointed teeth.

this hunt is, to them, nothing but a spectacle to observe.

THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS / @hearthalved

[karving]

💋 for kara and moe!

kara flinches at the cool touch of the shears to the space behind their ear, then grumbles as though it were somehow moe's fault. "careful, don't cut my ears off..." but the complaint is short-lived, and soon they go back to picking at their nails and chatting with moe about this or that. well, it's more like talking at her, with her hands occupied and her standing behind the elf, though kara doesn't appear to mind.

clippings of dirty-blonde hair fall like snow around them. their hair isn't particularly thick, but they feel the difference immediately, relaxing under the relief of it no longer tickling their ears and forehead. (they had waited longer than usual for this trim, until their hair had grown to finger length, sticking out in every direction at the slightest bit of wind.)

"mh, must be what a sheep feels like after shearing." kara muses after moe has finished and runs their hand over the top of their head, satisfied with how short the hair is now. "you make a good shepherd." they turn around on their little stool to face her. the grin that spreads on their face harbours affection. arms wrap around moe's waist to pull her closer, hazel eyes sparkling as they look up at her. "thanks," they hum, and tug at her to bend and kiss them. rather than break from her, kara stands up without breaking the kiss and drapes their arms over her shoulders. "need a wash." they retreat just enough to touch their noses together. "care to join me?"

KISSES / @mercysought

[karving]

in a tes setting kara would 100% be a bosmer

[karving]

kara and who

[karving]

kara has pierced nipples in every verse. in modern / cyberpunk settings they have a tongue piercing too.

[karving]

@allmonster's viktor + 💋

it's a day like any other. sand from the badlands has swept into night city, making everything appear dulled in the dusty yellow haze. it's so common a phenomenon, few people even bother to pull masks over their faces, the pollution simply one of many kinds that is a daily reality nobody even thinks twice about. the merc who ducks into the hidden laboratory is no different, simply muttering something about fucking sand getting everywhere the way one might complain about rain when they shake off their jacket at the door. the regulated air inside is a relief nonetheless.

for kara and viktor, it is not quite a day like any other, though it starts off in a way that has become routine. kara disappears into the small bathroom for a moment to wash the sand off of their face and neck, before taking their place in the chair. they note viktor's deteriorating state with increasing concern, but otherwise let him prod here and there, moving at his whim with the occasional comment and grin that flashes a chipped tooth. while he places the final touches to weeks of work, kara can't but feel oddly sad that these meetings will not continue. much as his muttering and dry humour took some adjusting to, they have come to be comfortable in the man's presence. not only by placing their life in his hands.

after his final examination has concluded to, seemingly, his satisfaction, there is a brief moment of suspended silence. kara sits up, feet dangling off the side of the chair, and studies viktor's amber eyes. they are both practical people. the strange feeling that this is a goodbye takes kara by surprise.

"thanks, vik." the short phrase can barely encompass what they owe him. not a cure; they've found no such thing. but he has likely spared them a great deal of suffering. and much as kara tried to make it anything but charity, bringing him food and drink whenever they could scrape together the eddies, it still feels like something they can never repay. but to say anything else feels cheap. so they get up to stretch and grab their things. it only delays the inevitable.

without pausing to think about it, kara pulls him into a hug just before they're about to leave. it's only a brief one, and something in them shudders quietly at how thin he is. "look after yourself, alright?" when viktor reaches to kiss their cheek, kara doesn't flinch away. their smile is earnest. they pat his shoulder. "anyone bothers you, or you need a merc, you holo me." this part is more of a reminder than a question.

somehow they can't shake the feeling they won't see him again. that they will both blend into the flows of the city, its currents carrying them in different directions.

bag slung over their shoulder, they look at him one last time. "don't be a stranger, vik."

[feminurge]

"oh, secretive are we?" the sorceress barely looks up at the witcher, but there is the hint of a smile floating on her lips. it is not the first time they meet, nor is it the first time the sorceress has refused to help. well, if only kara had asked for help. no. the elf had tried to get what they needed under ishtar's nose, and had thought the sorceress would let it slide. as if she had ever let anything slide in her life.

"what is it you're going for, this time? stabbing?" eyes look up, the smile deepens. it is not friendly, but it is amused. in these circumstances, it is perhaps the best of options. when was it the last time they had met? dhufeainnewedd can barely keep count. but she knows that one of those times, kara found themselves with a contract with dhufeainnewedd's name on it. it had been a disaster. it had been gloriously awful.

"stealing? stabbing and then stealing?" she claps her hands, and the candles around them light in one small display of power, "consider me utterly uninterested." @karving

[karving]

"you seem quite interested," the witcher scoffs and pulls back their hood. their dishwater blonde hair, clearly a few weeks' growth out of a closely shorn cut, sticks up stubbornly, even when they run a hand through it. they meet the sorceress's smile and little magic trick with an unimpressed tone. "else you wouldn't be askin' so many questions."

it isn't common to be speaking with a previous target. frankly, were the caravan still around in any capacity, kara might've never heard the end of it. to be facing the very proof of their failure makes the elf's fingers twitch with the desire to give it another shot. not for the money, that's long gone. but purely for the satisfaction of seeing the life drain from ishtar's eyes.

"you must get bored out here. and yet you stay..." they're musing now, turning to the candles. fingers flexing in their leather gloves, kara looks around the place. "hate to disappoint, but i'm not here for your head this time. maybe another day." their grin is more like a flash of teeth. "no, i'm here for a trade."