#Retropunk

[peteramthor]

[here-comes-peace]

[avielangley]

NO PUEDO DEJAR QUE LAS COSAS SEAN ASI, PODEMOS SER MARAVILLOSOS.

PODEMOS SER MAGNÍFICOS, PODEMOS CAMBIAR ESTA MIERDA.

[filipmagnuswrites]

American Arcadia is Biting Social Satire | Video Game Review

Now and then comes a narrative game that will glue me to the screen. 2023 has been excellent at offering me those, and all of them different experiences: from the survival narrative of The Pale Beyond to the fantastic saga of Baldur’s Gate 3 to the metanarrative mind-bending horror of Alan Wake 2, I’ve played through more unforgettable narrative experiences in the last half year than across the…

[zymzalchemy]

Rachael

[saxhatproject]

I did some adjustments since the first version of Anka's work and living place. I guess this SCREAMS "Retro Private office". However I didn't want to go too much cliché and do something too grey. There is a bit of color here and there that makes the place not too depressing.

Also I don't know why but I really wanted a weird shaped big window like this...

[lonewolf3d]

[shadowwingtronix]

"Yesterday's" Comic> Retropunk #1

BW's "Yesterday's" Comic> Retropunk #1

I haven’t seen enough of Appleseed to make what I’m sure are obvious references. Retropunk #1 Markosia (August, 2014) “Stray Cats And Tin Men” WRITERS: James Surdez & Matthew Ritter ARTIST: Jhomar Soriano Continue reading “Yesterday’s” Comic> Retropunk #1

[rainneondecay]

[comicsispeople]

This looks like the future.

Currently obsessed with the aesthetic of The Palm Report

[odo-apologist]

Smegtober #9: Music

Warning: there is a description of someone getting sick, so if you have emetophobia/find that uncomfortable, this is a heads up!

     Arnold was perched gingerly at the edge of his chair, shoulders scrunched about his neck and left leg bouncing away in discomfort. His eyes darted about the room, squinting in the low light, searching for the classmates who had taken him on this trip as an “initiation” to their group, but a knot of fear and shame grew in the pit of his stomach along with the realization that this was all some humiliating prank and he had been ditched in a dingy bar approximately 500 million miles from home.

     The place reeked of stale sweat, smoke, and cheap beer. The soles of Arnold's shoes had caught on the sticky floors when he walked, and he wondered how long it had been since they were mopped. He dreaded having to get up and navigate his way through the thick swathe of people shouting, laughing, and dancing to the music. And that was another problem: the music, if you could call it that. His parents would have called it chaotic noise, and he was inclined to agree. The live band produced a discordant, unharmonious cacophony upon poorly-tuned strings and clacking keyboards. The lead singer droned the uninspired lyrics out of time with the playing (to use the word liberally) of the tune (to use that word liberally).

     Eventually, the performance ended while Arnold had still spotted none of the people who brought him here. The knot had transformed into nausea and his breathing was coming quicker and someone brushed against him and stepped on his foot and his head was pounding and the glasses of lager that were thrust upon him by his peers wasn't helping any of it and he realized he was going to be sick. He stood up, swayed a moment, and shoved himself through the crowd until he got to the restroom. He had a moment to see himself in the mirror looking positively green before vomiting in, on, and over the sink. He took labored, gulping breaths between his retching, the effort, panic, and sting of stomach acid on his tongue causing tears to form in his eyes. Then he jumped as he felt a hand rest upon his shoulder.

     “Hey man, you alright?”

     Arnold had just enough strength to pause in evacuating his stomach of its little content to answer shortly, “Do I look alright to you?” He followed the question with another retch.

     “Look, I'm just trying to help, yeah? Seems like you need it.” The hand returned tentatively to Arnold's upper back, and its owner asked, “Is this okay?”

     Arnold didn't have the ability to respond, but he didn't flinch from it this time. He reveled in the act of comfort that was given so freely. Eventually, the heaving subsided. He groaned weakly, face reddened and cheeks wet. The hand vanished from his shoulder; he just managed to stifle a noise of protest when it came into his field of vision holding a wad of paper towels.

     “Thanks,” Arnold replied quietly. He wiped at his eyes and his mouth. Turning on the sink, he cupped his palm and drank the water he collected, washing away the taste. He turned at last to the person who helped him. His face fell with recognition.

     It was the lead singer of that godawful band. His hair managed to be styled into both an afro and locks that ran past his shoulders. The jean jacket he wore was an eyesore, covered in sparkly, gaudy pins that seemed not just to catch but emit light, contrasting with the dim, bare bulb hanging above their heads; Arnold felt compelled to shield his eyes.

     Turned from the sink, no longer doubled over, the man in front of Dave was easier to take in. He recognized this guy as the one pressed into the corner of the pub during his performance; he stuck out so much from the usual crowd, he was hard to forget. Dave had noted his slicked-down hair (though some curls had come loose since then), the tweed blazer and starched shirt underneath (now slightly rumpled), the bow tie (clawed at until it hung undone around his neck). “You're not a usual around here, are you?”

     The question must have roused something in his thoughts, because Dave watched his face grow tight with anxiety. “No, I'm-I'm not supposed to be here. I don't know why I believed them, of course it was just another stupid prank! But I d-don't know where they went, I'm just stuck here, and now I've got to find a way home and I'll be late for class and I'll get bad marks again and-and Father–” Beginning to hyperventilate, he practically gagged with anxiety, threatening to get sick a second time.

     “Woah, woah, you're gonna puke again; just try to breathe.” As Dave watched him sputter out a few deeper breaths, he continued, “How about I walk you home? You aren't in a state to go by yourself. Where do you live?”

     He was met with a humorless laugh. “Io.”

     “Smeg!” No wonder the guy was nervous, being left on his own on an unfamiliar planet. “Who left you here? How'd you get here?”

     He looked away from Dave in embarrassment. “One of my brothers…well, he's a test pilot for new demi-light-speed zippers. And another student at my school happened to get access to one through their parents, and he and his friends said I could prove myself if I do near what my brother did and ride it with them to Earth.”

     “You'd really go through all that trouble to impress a bunch of crypto-fascist arseholes who'd ditch you as part of a joke?”

     The Ionian looked at him like he was crazy. “Of course! What do you expect me to do?”

     “If it were me, I'd tell them to smeg off. How about calling your brother? Couldn't you do that?”

     Arnold paled; out of all his brothers, John would be the least reluctant to help him out, but that wasn't saying much. Still, unless his fellow students returned to mock him (not an unlikely scenario) or he miraculously found them, there wasn't a much better alternative. He sighed. “I suppose so.”

     The singer appeared to catch his hesitation and was on the verge of speaking again when the door opened. It was another member of the band.

     “Dave, what's keeping you? We've got another set to prepare for!”

      “Yeah, give me a minute, okay?” As Dave spoke, Arnold headed toward the exit. But he called to Arnold, “Wait, you alright to head out?”

     “Oh, yes, I'm fine, tickety-boo.” He was sure everything else about him said otherwise, but the interruption of their conversation made him feel the sudden urge to get out of the bar, away from this atmosphere, and in contact with his brother as soon as he could. Besides, Dave had done enough, more than pretty much anyone in his life had. He didn't want to impose further, not when he didn't really deserve it. Still, before rushing off, he gave him a small, genuine smile and said softly, “Thanks for your help, Dave.”

      Dave barely had time to process this as the man slipped away, heading out of the bar. He hoped he made it back home alright. The idea of taking one of those zippers here was totally mad. Dave shook his head; he'd have to be out of his mind before he'd ever do such a thing.

[here-comes-peace]

. ☆•radio aesthetic icons•☆ .

[br1sanz]

[dannybobany]

oh yeah life SUCKS for people in this universe or at the very least Americans (corporatocracy much?)

As for potential faz-mind-control I think that’s a maybe, why control someone’s mind to do something when a robot can do it just as well?but of course you gotta keep SOME humans around, presumably the people who handle food and probably the department managers are human (after all someone has to make sure the staff bots aren’t literally poisoning people right?

But I do think fazENT might be controlling their employees in other ways! Maybe the chips in their brains have a way of altering emotions, like some significantly worse version of Pavlov training where doing a good job sends out positive signals and doing a bad job sends out negative signals so you literally become depressed if you aren’t working hard enough :) and of course FazENT are also the ones providing your therapist because that’s not a conflict of interest at all :)!!

Oh also they provide your housing(canon) …and medical (probably canon) … and childcare (probably canon)

Criticize our company all you want! You’re fucked if you quit!!

Oh yeah it SUCKS living in the fnaf universe

Bears are extinct in FNAF.. Is the eco-system would probably collapse In multiple places if they're all extinct. Everyone in the FNAF world is going through a giant climate disaster!!

[arnamantle]

Can a house be haunted even while it burns down?

A not-so-hypothetical question in a world with Embergeists – spirits so mournful or vindictive that their very ectoplasm combusts, setting their haunts ablaze. Players enter the scene as a brigade of Burnaways – mercenaries who must act as fire fighters, detectives, and ghost hunters to stop the Embergeists by means of force or empathy.

A near-future retropunk setting and “grimhope” tone puts focus on narrative growth, contrasted with a unique “level-down” advancement mechanic in a lightweight, accessible system geared toward one-shots and short campaigns.  

WHAT MAKES BURNAWAY UNIQUE?

🔥 Burnaway’s mechanics are easy to pick up for first-timers, while still offering depth and detail in skilled hands. The hit-based system allows the use of any type of dice, so bring your favorite mix to the table!

🔥 Each mission is a unique puzzle with many different solutions, though not all of them are satisfying, and the puzzle is constantly on fire. Characters’ decisions are the greatest determiner of their fate, with no railroading to hamper their actions (or to protect them from fatal disaster).

🔥 Who said anything about getting stronger? BURNAWAY eschews traditional TTRPG power up mechanics. In a line of work where retirement or death are the only prospects, it’s up to the characters to process their own Grief and avoid suffering permanent Burns at the end of each session.

🔥 Acknowledgement of hope is just as important as the acceptance of Grief. Characters may build Bonds with each other, relationships forged in literal fire, and gain mechanical benefits from their evolving interpersonal dynamics.

🔥 BURNAWAY adapts to how your group wants to game, providing a full ruleset for traditional, GM-lead or collaborative GM-less play.

KICKSTARTER FUNDING NOW!

READ MORE ON OUR SITE!

[saxhatproject]

Little illustration re-using the telephone neon concept I made.