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wadjaya · 2 years

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So I recently watched Cyberpunk: Edge Runners. Great show, very enjoyable almost made me cry, yadda-yadda. Big spoilers under the cut-

David Hernandez hurts my soul on a deep level, not just because he’s ultimately a tragic character. I don’t think I’m going to be the only one who relates to him in this crowd especially, but it’s all but outright stated that David is a gifted kid. He’s good at school, he gets great grades at one set up for much higher income families than his.

He’s a gifted kid, and he’s experiencing that oh-so familiar burnout at the beginning of the show. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t have the money to get the equipment he needs, he’s only doing it because his mother wants him to.

The kid’s got all A’s in spite of this, so he handled it better than I did by a wide margin before he ultimately drops out due to inciting incident reasons.

I feel this fucking kid so hard. Being in the single-mother household, forcing yourself to make it through school because she wants what’s best for you in spite of how every day feels like getting your soul crushed again and again.

I was never particularly bullied, nor failed to fit in quite as bad as him, so the parallel certainly isn’t 1-to-1.

But, and I think many of us gifted burnouts will get this-

We don’t see David do a lot of particularly ‘smart’ things. Sure, his quick thinking in episode 9 was impressive, but aside from that his only advantages through the series are the speed his Sandevistan gives him and the fact that the people he meets like his drive.

There are some moments where he performs some notable feats of quickhacking, most notably when he releases Lucy’s paralysis near the end of episode 10.

Otherwise? Just a quick kid with common sense more than anything. We’re told he’s this kid prodigy, but he doesn’t act like anything special. Which is a big ‘same, bro’ from me.

And he never really says what he wants- if he’s anything like me, he probably doesn’t really know what he wants. We are led to think the only things he gets to want and do anything to achieve are saving Lucy and killing Faraday.

When he goes Psycho, these are the only two motivating factors that can be used to temper his rampage. Even Rebecca can only respond like she was his mother when he says he’s going to the top of Arasaka Tower.

Every other goal he has in the series is the direct result of expectations placed on him by someone else.

Going to the academy to get a good paying job? That’s all his mom, who wants the best for him.

Learning the criminal trade to prove his value with the Sandevistan, even though that was meant for Maine? Well, he had to prove himself to the group.

Taking Lucy to the moon? He only did that because he thought she wanted to go there. And she did, though it’s implied the moon symbolizes freedom from the system Night City works under. Whole other thing.

But what did David really want for himself? He never really says until he can only look minutes ahead before he would almost certainly perish.

We will never know what David wanted for himself ultimately, and I think that’s because he never knew what he wanted either.

And that is such a relatable experience for me.

Anyway, ramble done

#therabloggin #cyberpunk edgerunners #edgerunners spoilers

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wadjaya · 10 months

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78, 90, 99. Love u. ✌️

Love ya too, buddy (Believe me if i was on mobile I'd have fingerguns or something for this) 78: Can insanity bring on more creativity? I certainly think there's an inherent facade of creativity that comes from a differing perspective. Something which would seem standard to me, a more or less neurotypical guy could probably seem groundbreaking to someone who isn't those things. Likewise, to me a pretty standard line of thought to someone with even something so common as ADHD could be completely new. But I don't think 'insanity' brings creativity necessarily. Unless you mean the process of getting not enough sleep and maybe downing way too much caffeine and seeing god- or something of the sort. Because then yes, absolutely, you will never see the world the same under any other circumstance.

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do? After my initial panic? TBH I probably just go back to bed. If the mummies take me, then so be it.

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say? Finally, it's time to remind the world the horrors of the internet back in the 2000's

#therabloggin #asks #vergilssaltytears #dusts off askbox for the first time in a hot minute lol

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wadjaya · 2 months

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I feel improved

#therabloggin #it’s dako

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wadjaya · 4 months

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In VtM, Wep's friendly Wraith buddy prompted a lowkey crisis, so you know I had to write him angsting about it. Unconsciously, because facing your problems for real is hard.

Maybe he'll catch a break eventually, but this is the World of Darkness, so I doubt it.

Boop!

“I don’t think you’d make a halfway bad dad. Y’know- if you could pull your head out of your ass for more than ten seconds at a time.”

It was just another Monday. The sunlight breaks through the shades and shines across a man’s features, an instinctive groan as the cruel warmth demands he rise for yet another day on the grind. He looks over, spotting a nest of blankets and colorful pink green ???? hair. He smiles, a warmth filling him with the mere sight of her. A mess, as always, when they’re not quite awake just yet.

He lets out a sigh, a content little sound, as a familiar, soft smile breaks his features. He leans over, and gives her a little peck on the forehead. He delights in the sleepy, indignant groan she lets out at the disturbance.

“Mornin, sweetheart.”

“Mmmmph… Five more minutes.”

A simple demand, as she turns over and presses her face into the pillow. All he can do is chuckle, a warmth which was so common to his tone.

“Okay, okay. I’ll get breakfast started.” She always got up when the smell of the eggs and melting cheese wafted over here. Even if he preferred her cooking would prefer to wake her up some other way…

The man begins his morning routine. He wanders into the bathroom to brush his teeth, do a little light shave, wash his face. As he dries his face, he looks into the mirror, and for just a flash he sees a wicked, serpentine creature staring back. A rattle at the end of its tail loudly shaking. A wicked, fanged grin as though it’s ready to strike- and it will enjoy it.

But he blinks, and it’s gone. Just him, shirtless, scars all up and down his arms, shoulders, chest. A little redness from where the razor had irritated his skin, a bit. A wicked mark near his left shoulder- an old scar. And a tattoo, ink peeking around from his back atop his shoulder, as well as another one, a skull with a red crown on his left shoulder. But it’s him.

He shrugs. Weird.

He sets about to getting into the kitchen, tying his apron around his back- the one that never failed to make him smile. A pink, frilly thing, which his wife partner friend ???? had given him, so long ago. It shows some wear and tear, especially at the lower hem, but it had served him faithfully all this time. He valued it, like everything else She’d given him.

The man hums a little tune, one of his recent favorites he’d heard on Soul Punk. It was an album he’d discovered, a solo album from the lead vocalist in one of his favorite bands.Not really to his taste, overall, but there were a few songs he liked. It’s only as he beats the eggs, he looks over to the oven clock. Oh- is it that time, already? She should already be awake…

He dutifully turns on the burner on the stove, leaving his favorite pan and a tablespoon of butter to slowly melt as it warms up, before wiping his hands on a dish towel and taking his long strides to her room. He makes a gentle rapping at the door, and calls out-

“Wednesday, honey? You up?”

And, given a moment, he opens the door. She had warning, she knew how it went. And, sure as day, he’d see Wednesday, sitting up in bed, blearily blinking back at him as he wanders past with a smile. He draws the curtains back, to allow the fresh, morning sunlight to splash over them- which causes her to raise her hand against it, shielding her eyes.

“Good morning…”

For just a moment, there’s a searing pain which flashes over his body. A deeply-rooted fear coursing through him. But he takes a breath, and it’s gone, just like that.

Weird.

“I don’t feel good. Can I stay home, today?”

An innocent question, which after the bewilderment falls away, draws a chuckle from the man as he comes over to her and brushes some of that messy hair out of her face. He plants the back of his hand against her forehead, and it feels warm- but then again, she was usually cocooned in those blankets. Maybe he should give it a few minutes, try again, to be sure.

“Let’s see how you feel after breakfast, okay?”

She seems content with that, for now. Slowly pulling herself out of bed before he gives her a little peck on the forehead.

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

He chuckles, as the responding groan is sounded against his doting.

But the morning goes on, and the man is able to return to his breakfast preparation, the butter mostly melted as the rhythmic clinking of his fork against the side of the bowl signals his egg-beating. It was hard to believe he’d quit cooking, after he left California. What could ever possess him to do that? It was faaar more economical than eating out, all the time. Or getting pre-prepared meals. Something about Summer’s cooking Luna’s appetite settling down had drawn him back to the skill he had almost forgotten his passion for-

He recalls, for a moment. Blood- vomiting when he ate. Kneeling on the sand, with an empty bottle of vodka, as he is forced to unleash the contents of his stomach into the seafoam. He’d lost people, hadn’t he? Some part of himself. What was that?

He smells the butter just beginning to burn, which snaps him out of his recollection.

“Oh, shit.”

The morning, all told, is uneventful. After a bellyful of cheesy eggs and bacon, Wednesday is more than happy to go out to meet the bus. And, as predicted, Summer Luna his wife his partner his best friend the light of his life would emerge and partake, gradually warming up as the food settles into her belly. Satisfied.

He Was Good Enough.

And her satisfaction, their shared banter, the soft atmosphere of love lingering around them… it made him feel somewhat uneasy.

That’s weird.

“I want to see you happy. I want to see a world where you understand how valuable you actually are…”

His vision fades, and clears up. And he’s seated at a familiar lake, his feet dangling over the end of the dock he finds himself seated upon. Beside him, his wife his partner his friend Summer, smiling at him.

“You deserve someone who will treat you like the gift that you are. Even if... I feel the same I can't give you that. And I understand that."

And he feels the ache of his heart, which he feared on that night. The stars partially obscured by the trees around them and the clouds above. The wicked scar near his shoulder pounding with a dull pain.

But… he wipes it away. That didn’t happen, here- or if it had, they had figured something out. Of course they did. They always did. There were strings- he’d cut those strings, and freed her.

Of course he had.

"I can get wanting to protect the people you care for. There's a limit.”

Or… as his vision shifts, and he finds himself staring into the widened, feline pupils of his wife partner friend Luna, draped over his lap, still visibly feeling the euphoria of being fed on their shared passion- does she have fangs? Wait- that’s not what she--

And as Wepwawet finds himself hunched over the bathroom sink, staring into the mirror before him, he doesn’t see the snake. He sees the perfectly normal man- scarred, though he may be- staring back at him with some bewilderment. Eyebrows knotted in concern at what he sees staring back in the mirror.

Himself, a coiled rattlesnake with poison in his fangs, just waiting for an opportunity to strike out at the weak man in front of him.

Separated only by this thin glass layer between them. Eagerly awaiting his chance to pull the life from his veins, to feed his own. He hears that rattling as he stares down his helpless prey.

But… the man on the other side smiles. And that frenzied hunger he always feels stops. Confusion weighs upon his shoulders, and his head tilts as the man on the other side laughs.

It was him, laughing with warmth. Not seeing the threat in the mirror, but an old friend. A Beast, he had moved beyond. A Beast they had all lived in a world without.

What Could Have Been.

Before the mirror cracks, and falls away.

Leaving the Serpent, staring himself down.

The snake strikes out, sinking wretched fangs into a man who may have just deserved better.

"... Who decided that you need to pool your own misery for everyone else? That you weren't worth protecting? And needing someone to protect you."

A Failure. Wasted Potential.

“I can tell you it shouldn't be like that. But I can't tell you to change. I can't tell you to value yourself. Only that you should be valued."

Weak.

As he watches the other him fade, drained clean of his blood. As he removes his fangs from the vessel he could have been, he dares a look to the man’s eyes. His face. Recognizing what exactly he was taking from the world.

And, to the Serpent’s dismay, he sees the dead man smiling. Having lived a life with no regrets, with no Curse befalling him. Blissfully ignorant to the world just parallel to his own, or perhaps existing in a world where there was no other.

Maybe, what makes happiness beautiful isn’t that it lasts.

Maybe it’s because it makes you long less for What Could Have Been.

And the Vampire’s eyes open. The familiar pitch-blackness of the basement surrounding him. A comforting chill.

The sluggishness of rising from the daysleep.

One hand raised to that aggravated scar he’d received, seemingly so long ago, now.

He hadn’t noticed it aching like that in some time, now.

He can’t help but wonder if he’d been dreaming.

Stupid, right?

God, he’s hungry.

#therabloggin #dako writes #wepwawet wadjaya #crossroads vtm

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wadjaya · 4 months

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There are few among those who graduated from Montu Military Academy who find themselves garnering noteworthy amounts of respect.

Doctor Naunet Mesi is one of those few who has given back to the world at large. An inventor at heart and a researcher to her core, she has gleaned significant inspiration from the wildly mutated creatures of our post-evoVirus world. And from that basis, the Tracker uses equipment unlike any available to anyone else.

This is evoBiology. This is evoBioengineering. This is evoBiomechanics. This is...

Magic.

Or, at least, that's the theory.

Naunet Mesi, as drawn in the midst of showing the Tracker at her most inventive. Warm and cozy despite the howling, cold wind outside.

A lovely piece done by RogueUzu on X. After last time, I knew I'd do another eventually, and it's hard to be disappointed!

#therabloggin #evoearth #naunet mesi #oc #characters

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wadjaya · 4 months

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So, in our vampire: the masquerade game, we periodically get free xp for writing little narrative blurbs or poems or whatever. This one probably isn't as strong without some of the surrounding context, but I enjoyed it-

Before the Events of the Eclipse

Shit has officially hit the fan.

He should have known better- calm always means a storm is coming. He doesn’t deserve a moment’s damn peace.

Technically, this didn’t even need to be his problem. Los Panteras wouldn’t go after his, they just want the Kindred to own the underground. That should be good for him, it would be a meteoric rise in power for him.

But he understood it would be wrong to allow it to happen. Were the Stricats any better? Debatable. But they weren’t a Cartel. They weren’t Kindred. They weren’t…

Sabbat.

The Constable rests, seated in the emptying office of what once had been Joseph Trainor’s Warehouse. A truck stop dead on the water as gang activity in the area falls massively sideways. Joey would hate knowing that this is what became of his business, but it’s not as though there was much Wepwawet could do about it.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, considering how best to even proceed. If he could get an idea of what actually happened, he could prepare a countermeasure. Eyewitnesses weren’t helpful. Maria wasn’t helpful. Hopefully she would be, at least. With the clear threat, maybe his offer to help wouldn’t fall on deaf ears.

This was his fault. He had the power to end it all, in one fell swoop. But he fell too in line with the law and order of his Barony, the one he meant to leave anyway.

He got too comfortable, playing a secondary role.

Maybe he got too distracted, with the personal shit.

Wepwawet leans back in his office chair, his head rolling back to rest atop it and stare up into the ceiling.

Despite the guilt, the strife, the struggle in these last couple weeks- there were bright spots. Maybe he shouldn’t have had those, those distracting moments.

A certain Gangrel’s acceptance of his plans going forward. A beautiful young woman, allowing her eyes to shine like they once had with him. A kind King, returning a treasure he had cast away.

A Baron, guiding him away from conflict he had no part in.

A Lost Love, desiring his happiness from a distance.

A Ruler, supporting him in his endeavors.

A Blood Bond, encouraging him to undo those chains he set upon himself.

These people believed in him, when he never really believed in himself. Times like these, he was reminded why he hated himself so strongly. Why he had been so ambivalent to the concept of his own demise for so long.

They also reminded him why he feared death, sometimes.

“I want to see you happy. I want to see a world where you understand how valuable you actually are…”

“You wouldn’t look a crying man in the eye and shut his life down. Not like you’re telling yourself you would.”

“A fight is no fun if both people aren’t giving it their all.”

“For even the smallest chance, we will fight. For them, and ourselves, we will remember.”

The Revenant sighs and pushes himself to his feet, glancing about the mostly empty office space. Times were changing, rapidly. Would he be able to keep up? Only coming on nine years of this shit, and already it seemed things were speeding up around him.

In the space of a week, the most powerful gang in the city was knocked down a few pegs. Along with everyone else.

Except him. An issue that would probably be noticed.

Or a testament to his abilities. Who could say?

He wanders out into the open warehouse floor, shelves largely empty and each one supporting the leaning weight of various people who’d escaped harm. People who’d come to him, seeking safety in territory that had yet to fall. An illusion of safety, yet to crack. From the sound of things, it wouldn’t.

But there was a very real possibility his head would come onto the block, eventually. That’s what Kindred do.

He offers a nod to a man sitting beneath the brightest light in the room, just eating some cup noodle as if it was his last meal.

Would Click enlist his help? Was there help which he should enlist? Should he be coming up with a plan? Or would a plan be given to him, a role to play?

“There are a thousand people who will continue to tell you what to do.”

He couldn’t sit idly by and watch these people suffer. It was needlessly cruel, an evil position to place them in. A man’s will being exercised on a world which did not need him to proceed. On the contrary, likely would be better off without him.

By placing themselves in his care, Wepwawet was now responsible for their safety. These were his people, now. Not just Ammut, but members of all the major gangs in Virginia Beach. Even the Stricats.

He could feel his Beast coiling around them, demanding their safety. The Revenant, the Constable of Ace’s Barony, Wepwawet Wadjaya feels a determination rising within him.

He would be making a choice. Not a wise one. But a choice, nonetheless.

#dako writes #wepwawet wadjaya #therabloggin #crossroads vtm

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