#won’t the real Za/um please stand up?

[soundsanssprechen]

Security

>FROM: A Fake Name <information.security@lothlorien.net>

>SUBJECT: a tHiNg thát’ms sshhhInî

It’s yesterday’s game They’re playing 3D chess Above our heads right now Manoeuvring their pieces Into more optimal positions Calculating the optimum amount of patience To make that next worst nuke more deadly They’ve dropped 2 on human filled cities already I promise you I know they’re up there now Just like they hide them deep down below So you don’t listen To “Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima and Nagasaki” Don’t listen to them Don’t listen to me Go! Listen! Mankind be vigilant Play Disco Elysium Again

[caramujotan]

disco elysium text-form #thots:

i finished my first run last friday because i went stupid and played the game for nearly 24h straight. i could literally not drop it. i called it a 10/10 when i was about 2h away from finishing it, finished it and kept that score. it’s a real good game and you can stop here with my endorsement but if you want some more in-depth spoiler-free thoughts on it you can read the rest of this post. it’s big.

due to the content of the game, i talk about mental health topics, suicide, drug use and - obviously - cops 🐷

in a way calling this by numbers feels reductive (scalding hot review take, i know). a 10/10 score doesn’t reflect the awe i felt when gilding through the end-game. it doesn’t say a thing about how viscerally my body reacted to a few pixels and lines of text. it can’t tell you that i spent 2h in bed trying to sleep but couldn’t keep my brain off of it and got up at 8AM to finish it; or how much i’ve been replaying the game in my head, curious about how certain quests or events would have gone if i’d tried a different approach or character build.

i have this funky little medical condition that goes with my autism that makes it difficult for me to identify and process most emotions that i feel. but i can tell you how my body reacted. this game went into my gut. it felt like a leaded fist burrowed through my throat into the pit of my stomach and shredded my insides. it got me fucked up, is what i’m saying.

obviously i can’t go into what caused me to react like that without spoiling the shit out of this game, and since i wish i could gently lobotomize myself in order to experience it again for the first time, i heavily recommend you go through it knowing as little as possible. what i can do, however, is talk about the technical elements of it.

the art is beautiful. the art direction is top-notch and it was definitely of the things that drew me to this game first. the oil painting aesthetic is sublime - gritty and ethereal in equal parts whenever each purpose is called for. finding out that the art team was spearheaded by painting majors from russian fine-art schools made perfect sense - it shows, and the game made peak use of it. the philosophy behind their visual approach is woven into the fabric of the game itself - it’s a perfect compliment to the writing and storytelling, and i’d struggle to imagine this game without it. it permeates and elevates every environment, every interaction, every character build choice - from the character portraits, to the UI, to certain skills and game events. real art cop hours all my homies kin the art cop.

the music by british sea power is subsided and haunting and gives the game that british/european post-industrial melancholic flavor. i’m no music critic sadly. it fits the mood and it stands out beautifully in a few key scenes, but that’s as much as i can say.

the biggest turn off for me was in the voice acting. if you’re interested in playing this game i’m going to assume with 75% certainty you’re in your early 20s to 30s and are politically located to the left side of liberal at a minimum - so i’ll just come out and say it plainly: every second NPC (especially in the late game) is voiced by a leftist podcaster. i’m sure this is a plus for some, and it’s not the kind of thing you’d immediately notice anyway unless you’re a quote unquote dirtbag leftist with terminal irony poisoning twitter brainrot. most of them do competent work, but the sound mixing and general performance is weaker in comparison to the NPCs voiced by actual voice actors. 

it’s not that bad, but it’s there - and the fact that this is probably my biggest complaint about the game should say enough of my opinion on it. either way i was cringing with recognition every time it happened and it took me out on more than one occasion because i kept hearing felix chapotraphouse in one of the game’s big tense climatic scenes.

‘but caramujo!’ you say ‘this doesn’t tell me what this game is about’. hold on, i’m about to blow the ��i can’t do literary analysis unless things are explained to me in clear cut absolute terms’ gang out of a career and spell the themes of this game out for you in detail:

it’s about loss, and renewal - both personal and interpersonal. it’s about rising from the ruins of something that’s been in motion long before you were even thought of, having little power over it, and soldiering on. it’s about heartbreak and the end of a relationship and how that can warp your mind and infect everything around you. and you won’t get better right away - the end game doesn’t wrap everything up with a little bow and lets you cause systematic upheaval. you can’t revolutionize your way out of this one. shit will, for the time being, continue to suck. 

it’s about waking up in a body that’s fucked up with a heart that aches in a world that’s been torn apart - and still making the decision to try to make it better - because you’re alive, and your heart beats, and there’s other beings in the world that are tethered to you and we all owe it to ourselves to make it better. communism hasn’t worked, baby - but so hasn’t love - and we’re not gonna give up on that. that’s what it’s all about.

it should be pretty clear right now that i did my first run as a bisexual/questioning communist feminist hobo who kinned karl marx. but i can assure you there’s other ways to play this game, and there’s more to it than that because of it. 

the quests (both side quests and a main story) are varied and had me laughing and dropping into existential despair on different occasions. other than trying to be the biggest communism builder, this game is also about:

- having a heart attack because a chair is too uncomfortable, but it’s OK because your buddy cop holds you in his arms like in the buddy cop movies. 

- doing copious amounts of drugs and turning on, tuning in and dropping out, maaaaan. 

- going on an x-files monster of the week episode to track down a curse that’s dooming the local businesses.

- shilling for the free market to come fix it all with its beatific invisible hand while standing in a town so fucked over by economic embargoes and poverty that the local union leader is a corrupt toad with a plan to revitalize the region by gathering the work force into a nationalized worker owned drug enterprise of the legal and illegal varieties - and it still comes off as one of the more levelheaded economic decisions one could make in that situation. 

- trying not to fucking kill yourself even though you have to live with that thought every single day. 

- winning the trust of a 12 year old crackhead with a deadbeat dad by becoming a positive masculine role model. 

- turning into a fascist you so can get buffs from drinking alcohol, and therefore becoming a raging alcoholic and having to walk up to important story events carrying half a liquor store in your inventory so you don’t have a mental breakdown or kill yourself from lack of morale whenever someone calls you out on your ethnonationalist bullshit.

it’s also - and i cannot stress this enough - about making sure you can find a tape to sing karaoke and make kim kitsuragi smile. it slaps. it’s real good writing.

i don’t know what else can say. pretty sure the game is on sale on steam now. anyway please play this absolute masterpiece and stan studio za/um for clear skin. ACAB.

[nais-nook]

Elijah (3)

(Hey there! You may be liking/reblogging something without links to new pieces I may have written for this character, just letting you know in case you’re interested in reading more!)

My dad (love him to bits but damn) wanted me to make a three point turn before even learning the biting point properly. Thank god my mama was in the car to talk some sense into him.

also jojo references at the end because im a weeb

~***~

(1), (2)

Summary: You come home grumpy after a terrible driving lesson, and Elijah reminds you that things will work out. Eventually.

Pairing: Male Spider Kin x Gender Neutral Reader.

Words: 1328.

You couldn't turn the key fast enough, giving the lock a well needed jiggle before the door swung open, only to be slammed behind you. The hinges screeched, but you paid no mind to their protests as you slumped against the door. The embarrassment you were drowning in moments ago dissipated, leaving exhaustion in its wake. 

Your husband's sonorous voice piped up from the kitchen. “(Y/n)? That you?” 

“Eli, who else has the key to our house?”

“... Doesn't your sister have a spare?”

“Right. Forgot about that.” A hollow thud echoed in the narrow hall as your head hit the solid wood. You slid down its surface rather gracelessly, settling as a pile on the floor. 

“Sweetheart, are you okay? You sound kind of -” Elijah rounded the corner, letting loose a gasp when he saw you huddled up against the door. “Oh, honey, what's wrong?”

“I’m just tired.” He tilted his head, eyes focused on you. All six of his hands were fidgeting, his brows knitted together as he looked at you with tentative concern. Yet he did not say anything. “Eli, you gonna tell me what you're thinking or what?”

“Dinners ready. Come on, let's get some good food into your tummy.”

You shrugged off your coat and kicked off your shoes. “My legs kinda hurt.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m a strong boy then, isn’t it?”

The faint smell of his earthy cologne clinging to his shirt enveloped you as Elijah gathered you into his arms. You heard the crinkle of your jacket as it was hung, accompanied by the thump of your boots being dropped back onto the shoe rack. You thanked him quietly, splaying your fingers over his neck, his steady pulse and warmth relaxing you. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you snuggled closer.

“It’s not a problem, love. However, you being sad and tired is.”

“I never said I was sad.”

“Maybe not sad, but definitely frustrated.”

“I never said I was frustrated.”

“When you get frustrated you do this thing where you kinda flare your nostrils and squish your mouth into a squiggly line and try to avoid looking at me like you’re doing now and -”

“Okay I get it, I’m very bad at hiding my emotions, you don’t need to tell me, jeez!”

“But that’s the thing, I don’t want you to hide your emotions.” A mattress creaked below you, and immediately you knew you were in your bedroom. “Are you going to tell me what the problem is? I know it’s got something to do with the driving lesson you just had. You were really chipper before you left the house for it.”

His fingers found their way into your hair, gently brushing through the stands, occasionally scratching your scalp tenderly. “It was just… bad.”

“How bad is ‘bad’?”

“Like I stalled multiple times.”

He laughed, the rise and fall of his chest making your head bob. “Oh, sweetheart, I thought something actually bad had happened. That’s normal! You think I managed to pull off without stalling in the beginning? It took me ages before the whole biting point thing clicked, and then I had to get used to it in different cars.”

“I know, I know I won’t get it straight away, but my inferiority complex won’t let me live it down.”

“I understand honey, really, I do,” Elijah cooed, placing a kiss on your forehead, the curve of his smile soft against your skin.

“I also slammed the breaks. And I’m pretty sure I’m damaging the driving instructor's clutch, but I don’t know.”

“Is that so?” He stroked your face, coaxing your eyes open.

“Hi.”

“Hello sweetie. Care to explain why your legs hurt?”

“I was, uh - I was clenching my leg muscles. Like real bad.”

“Aw, my poor baby.”

“Oh, hush,” you groaned, rolling over and smothering your face into a pillow, the mortification of reliving the moment more than you could handle. His fingers ghosted along your legs, and you rolled over into his lap.

“Want me to rub your legs for you?”

“No, I think I’ll be fine, I’m being kinda dramatic honestly.”

“You, dramatic?” He raised a brow. “Never.”

“Right answer.”

Elijah hummed, twirling your hair around his deft fingers. “I know it’s a part of your process to have a breakdown before you’re fine, but can you skip the falling apart bit and just get to the part where you get super confident and happy and all?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here sweetheart.” Elijah effortlessly lifted you into his arms yet again, and just as easily strode he to the far wall, flicking on the bright white fairy lights as he pulled you further into his chest. “Tell me what these are.”

“A bunch of picture pegs and fairy lights?” You ran your fingers over a glossy picture of Elijah standing awkwardly with your family and smiled fondly. The picture was taken soon after your first date, and you knew from the way he tried so hard to garner the approval of your family that he was the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

“Well, yes, but do you remember when you refused to hang these? I remember it clearly.” His hand ran up and down your spine soothingly. “You had taken a whole bunch of photos using that lovely polaroid camera of yours, and then you were in a slump for days after I suggested you hung them up. And why was that?”

“... Because they weren’t good enough to hang.”

“No, because you thought they weren’t good enough to hang, there’s a difference. But look at them now.”

“What about them?”

“They’re all hanging, pretty and proud. Kinda like you.”

“Very funny.” You shoved a hand into his chest, little force behind it.

“How about this,” he delicately pulls a photo from the string of lights and lay it on your face. After a giggle you took a peek. On its glossy surface you were splayed out on a floor. You recognised it as your old dorm room when you were at university. Papers were scattered everywhere, like a wind had whipped through the room and you were bundled up in your favourite blanket. Scoffing, you reached over and pinned it back up. 

“The last day of final year exams.”

“Precisely, and how many times did you try to give up, only to get off your butt and try again?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Exactly. Look at this one - house hunting. We had finally signed all the paperwork. Again, you thought you’d never make it through, and again you did. And you’re always stronger when you pull through on the other side. You’ll get through this, no problem. And even if you don’t -”

“W-woah -”

You were expertly flipped, your legs tucked around his slender waist and your arms guided around his neck. Elijah leaned in, nose touching yours for a moment before he placed a quick peck on your lips. “I’m here. And I’ll try my damndest to help you through this, just like you do with me and all my troubles. Yeah?”

“... Yeah.”

“That’s my baby. Now, it’s probably a stellar idea to go down and eat the lasagne I made before it goes stone cold.”

You nuzzled into the spot just below his ear and mumbled, “Can you carry me?”

“What’s the magic word?” he asked, his tone more than a little teasing. Despite his question he began to take leisurely strides towards the kitchen.

“Please?”

“Actually, it was Kakyoin, but please works too.”

“How in the world -”

“Don’t you mean ‘za warudo’ -”

“- was I supposed to guess that?”

Elijah shrugged with a broad grin, your whole body moving with him. “Luck I guess.”

“... Hey Elijah, how many more lessons do you think it’ll take before I get the hang of driving?”

“Oh, god, um, like twenty?”

“Ugh.”