Rose of Revolt

Writing account, will be posting snippets and full works.

[amaiguri]

"I Can't Believe My Pet Demon Runs a Cult" -- A Tiny, Hand-drawn Idle Game

You fed a cute, stray cat-like animal without thinking and now it's moved into your house. The next night, Fuafua starts demanding

"Juice".

"Where am I supposed to get Juice at this hour?!"

"Sacrifice one of my cultists to get it!"

Unfortunately, this was Fuafua's last cultist. Thus, begins your journey to rebuild Fuafua's cult.

My Pet Demon Runs a Cult by Amaiguri

You're just trying to write. But Fuafua requires JUICE...

As some of you know, over the last week, I'm been feeling a little discouraged because I am deeply aware of how unmarket-able my game. All the Promised Burn is a hand-drawn, fantasy adventure about an assassin finding new meaning after the war. It's going to be a wonderful, story-rich, immersive game... but I also fully anticipate that it's not gonna do Balatro numbers. And like, why am I betting my life savings on a game that I KNOW isn't gonna sell that well?

But here's the deal: I can fix that. I can make a different game.

So, I spent this last week making MY PET DEMON RUNS A CULT -- which is an idle/clicker game where you help Fuafua get "people juice" while writing! You can put the game on in the corner while you're working on your own dream game! Chris Zukowski, creator of How to Market a Game, always says that crunchy, numbers-based games do better on Steam -- so I figure, let's throw something together real quick. Plus, look at that catchy title! Marketability! Woot!

While I still don't think this is THE MOST marketable game of all time, I do think it's pretty cute and it's only a $1 USD. So what are you waiting for? Give it a try!

[storyboardzine]

Zine RELEASED! 🖌️

Today's the day! From now on, you can download Storyboard Vol. 2 and enjoy FOR FREE all the 60+ comics made by 80+ creators united by a big comic sprint!

Thank you so much for following and supporting the zine and all its amazing creators. Hope you enjoy!! Download link below~

🖤 Storyboard Vol. 2 download link 📚 AO3 view

Reblogs appreciated 🖤 @zinefeed @zinetown

[roseofrevolt]

BZRK-0

The lonely arcade cabinet always taunted her. In the dusty corner of the market, the splash of comic-book color was hard to miss upon its black shell. When one least expected it, they would hear the noisy taunts that drawled out in electric voices from its tinny speakers. "Co-ward. Batt-le like a ro-bot." it beckoned those with enough change to try their hand. An oddity of technology among the mundane. She always peered when some curious soul would wander over, paying no mind to the world around her as she watched the erratic movements of each challenger, grinding down the controls in a feeble attempt to avoid disaster. The objective was simple; shoot down the robots roaming around the level and try not to die yourself. An impossible task for each and every one. "Got the human-noid!" "Co-ward e-liminated." It was only in those scant moments where victory was to be snatched away that she saw what had mesmerized her so. Beyond the squared figures of the robots, when the time played had reached some arbitrary number beyond her knowledge, did the true master of the cabinet appear. From her vantage point at the checkout counter she could see him come to claim another victim. He faded into the screen, starting out little more than two eyes and the upward curve of a smile, before joining the ongoing battle. Unlike the rudimentary movements of the others on screen, he bound and tumbled without care to what stood before him. "Ano-maly a-lert! Ano-maly a-lert!"

Even the robots who would hunt down the player would fall under him, exploding into flashing lights upon contact and robbing the players of their points. As the frustration would grow on whatever player had managed to reach this stage, she would have to hide the grin forming on her own face. This was a secret she only shared with him.

When she caught those small glimpses of his form against the edges of the screen, as if he too peered beyond his limitations to see her in return, she tried to burn the yellow form of his sprite in her memory. The smile that was reserved solely for her, beckoning and elusive, promising nothing more than the same failure that all others have faced against him. It was intoxicating. It was infuriating. One day she would work up the nerve to pocket her change and challenge him. It was the same promise she always made as she walked out of the store.

[storyboardzine]

🖌️ Contributor Spotlight 🗒️

Meet RoseOfRevolt, one of our Writer Contributors! Not only does he write, but he also is a wonderful animator, bringing to life all sorts of scarily good creations!

🖤 Tumblr: @roseofrevolt

🌐 New Grounds: roseofrevolt

[laplaceatelier]

Terrors of the Night

Terrors stalk the night in the Dreaming Isles... you must ready your torch and prepare to fight if you wish to see the next sunrise!

ACACIA'S BLACK BOOK OF BEASTS is a 5e compatible supplement releasing on March 28th.

[ryuutama-zine]

CAMPFIRE COLLECTION IS NOW AVAILABLE

After months of hard work from everyone involved, "Campfire Collection ~ A Ryuutama Community Zine" is now officially complete and available for download as a free resource to the community!

"Please gather around the campfire with me, and let us enjoy what these travelers have brought~"

Campfire Collection ~ A Ryuutama Community Zine by Campfire Collection Zine

[etchesonthescreen]

Contributor Previews Part 6!

We've reached our final contributors to Etches On The Screen!

Introducing: RoseOfRevolt: "Rose of Revolt (he/him) is a writer, zine host, and video maker who dabbles in the surreal of both comedy and horror. You can find more of his work on Newgrounds and Tumblr under the same name!" Find more of their work on their site at: https://roseofrevolt.newgrounds.com/ https://www.tumblr.com/roseofrevolt heumilch: "full time employee part time mess | lover of all things strange" Find more of their work on their site at: heumilch.tumblr.com

[ERROR]

[Media test failure. Exiting Contributor ROM.]

[pmoczine]

🌙🌕 ZINE RELEASE! 🌕🌙

We are proud to announce the full release of Children of the City: a Project Moon OC Fanzine!

Featuring Art, Short Stories, Animations and more, you can download everything on our http://Itch.io! https://pmoczine.itch.io/pmoczine

[pmoczine]

🌙 PROMO SHOWCASE 🌙

Here's a sneak peek at another Group Collab Project: Cinq Double Riders!

Contributors featured: ⭒ Writer - Rose of Revolt - @roseofrevolt ⭒ Artist - Laplace Atelier - @/LaplaceAtelier (twitter)

[pmoczine]

🌙 PROMO SHOWCASE 🌙

A snippet from With a Side of Sarcasm, written by @roseofrevolt

[amaiguri]

"Despite her hemming and hawing at my age and height, that speech and the fact that I’m a Princlet got me in. Thankfully, even with all the stupid “armistice” nonsense, the Academy still ran all its military drills and magic classes in its weird collection of ancient and brand new halls. I could have gone to Chirteim Hall or Qi Hall — any Saegen Hall would’ve taken an Aonen Hall Princlet. But honorable Thuilleans would still gut a man if it meant they’d win. I wanted to win."

-- Singr-sa

[etchesonthescreen]

Interest Check Is Open!

💻The interest check is now open! 💻

From June 18th to July 6th, you're invited to give us your thoughts on the zine and help us give form to the nebulous and weird final result!

🖥️Interest Check

🖥️INFO DOC

[roseofrevolt]

I'm heading up a zine! If you like making anything weird or surreal regarding the internet, give it a look.

[roseofrevolt]

Severed

They never taught you how to crash properly. The exogene that housed your consciousness had been a few klicks above the stratosphere on a test run, when a couple of Chromestrippers decided to take notice of your wares. A shiny prize swinging above the orbit away from the right eyes, it was almost inevitable when their Hungry Crow units had descended upon you like a storm, clawing for any strand of tech they could pry apart from the threads of synth muscle that kept everything together. It hurt. The wirebond that kept your head in the organic mass was too deep not to register their jagged fingers running down your back, frantic and wanting, digging into where they knew the most prizes lay thrumming against the surface. Your frantic movements in response did little to dissuade them. You had too much system haze to sit and think properly, the blending of sensations that made your heart bang and crash in your chest. With a swing of an arm thousands of miles away from any danger, your fist connected against the thin plastic body of one unfortunate raider. The mere difference in weight was enough to have its wings crumble, and with a squawk of radio chatter it fell to the infinite Earth below. It didn’t take long for the remaining one to know when to cut their losses, the dozen or so ocular units taking in its handiwork on your expensive machine-body. With a burst of radio static, the harsh cackle of vindication, it raised its claws to tear down into the thin membrane between the arm-wings of your exogene.The deep gash was enough to ruin what stability you still had so far up in the air. A more experienced pilot would have found a means of escaping the sudden roar of system alarms and rushing air. You had every opportunity to pull the plug and send yourself back down into the flesh that awaited you, but you couldn’t quite understand the flash code that buzzed into your skull. As the ground grew closer and closer you reached out in desperation to any source of help that your system could latch onto. A flare of communication shot out into the unknown. “Hello, you reached the NovaGen Innovations support line. Please state the issue we can help you with.” “I’m falling!” “Thank you. We will create a ticket with the information provided. A NovaGen technician will reach out to you. You are currently 10th in line. We appreciate your patronage and happy flying!” You remember reaching 6th before the system failure washed over everything that you could sense.

[roseofrevolt]

Heron

I will be as a heron. The stillness of the quiet waters will await the grace of my presence. Standing tall within its depths. My wings will stretch out. Beautiful and pristine in their ivory hues. The sign of the oppertunistic. A rebuke of a title that would call me unclean. The elements of the world will yield themselves. As I stalk along banks of white sand. The earth. The sky. The sea.

I will reach across them all. Boundless and free.

[roseofrevolt]

Pining

There's a jealously in watching her twirl. She's on a stage far above you, the forefront of a peformance that has lost itself under her grace. Hundreds of eyes watch on in the dark of the auditorium, like a sea of stars all intent on witnessing the trail of the brightest among them. You watch from your seat so far up in the nosebleeds that you swear you could brush your head up against the rafters if you stood. You are another star in the void, no less enraptured. She inspires hunger and the sharpest of shame in yourself and your thoughts. You want to be just like her, dressed in the fanciest clothing, assured of every step and movement. Every action is in lockstep with notes that plays softly, but you know it has to be the other way around. The stage, as painted and produced as it were, wrapped itself around her every decision. When she spins, it's as if the world itself turns. A single pirouette to wind the gears of fate in her favor. A virture that you'll only ever wish to posess. To have such control over all that plagued you. The audience before her begin to breathe as soon as her performance finishes, and you try to keep your eyes on her for as long as you're able, as she sinks into the backdrop. You want nothing more than to burn her brilliance into memory. Even when the show ends and the lights dim. You sit alone in your seat with only the lingering feelings and an unsatisfied prayer to make.

[roseofrevolt]

Fantasy in Rumination

It is easy for you to lose track of time.

Middle-management had never been your calling, and you weren't sure just whose it was exactly. When they had asked you "where do you see yourself in five years?" It had never been behind a desk, staring listlessly at the same spreadsheet as you had the day before.

You never really stopped to question what was being done with the reports. The rates of hundreds of workers beneath you, their usefulness as resources collected through arbitrary numbers. All of it to be read by people you'll never met and corralated in a system that was beyond you.

There was a hunger in you once, you think, one that had howled and gnashed desperately at any opportunity to be. You ate the first meal presented to you eagerly, oblivious to the hand that had given you it.

The blinking cursor waits for you silently. The empty white space beyond it daunting to look at. All that space waiting to be used with only your useless hand hanging lame across the keyboard.

You lean your head back in your chair, looking away from the monitor and its wants, as the world strips away. It's a slow rending, strips peeled down to reveal what is and what is beneath.

Daydreams were not the recognized domain of a god.

They existed in a perpetual nebulous space. Frenetic and ephemeral. only existing between concious actions, a sort of waiting line that anyone could step into but never see the end of.

The destination at the end of that line was formless, without story or myth to give it an identity, to be regulated and shaped to fit within the legal framework of the divine.

You worship despite this. In these small moments where work should be done. Your eyes focus onto the sterile nothing of the ceiling ahead of you as a means to view the blurry images of a life that wasn't yours.

His face is a little easier to recognize here. You made him out of the pieces of those who had caught your eyes before. Those you remembered as the could-have-talked-to and should-have-smiled-at.

Handsome and pale, he stalks forward without weight. He smiles and you can only barely retain the sight, like staring at the sun when you know you shouldn't. Only the impression behind your eyelids stays.

He speaks noiseless words that lose any sense, barely audible in your head, but every one is something you always wanted to hear. The adoration from another, unashamed and without end.

Thin hands hold themselves in yours, soft palms that are willing to join yours. You tighten your hold on the armrest of your chair, it is real and grounded, but you know it could be his touch squeezing back just as easily.

Your heart beats loudly against your chest and this is the reverence the destination requires of you. It melts across the inaccuracies and cracks in your fantasy like molasses, saccherine sweet filling to indulge in without regard to reality.

He and you can be anywhere and anything together. You meet him at his favorite quiet spot, it would be a bookstore or library, somewhere where you can share your interests more easily.

A shared smile between the two of you when you realize that you just have so much in common. You can breathe so easy around him and speak relentlessly without fear.

He is amazing already. He would have to be. You would be too here, where such a thing was possible. You can feel the giddiness that comes when you can impress him and be something shiny in his eyes.

He'll whisper your name with the same tenderness that you have for him. The longing that grips your very being will no longer be.

Value. The destination that all eventually try to come to.

If you simply had that in your actions, you know that this would no longer simply be a reverie. You know how pathetic you are when this is all you can attain in your placid state. Another foolish dreamer feeding the concept of a god.

You look back down to your monitor, the images built up across your mind tumbling down as you begin typing. A few minutes eaten away from the task at hand.

Fingers crash down against cold plastic rather than the warmth that could easily be upon them.

The last thing that leaves your mind is his eyes, waiting at the head of the line. The invitation to step within it again.

[roseofrevolt]

Angel In The Mirror

The Angel in the Mirror™ was marketed during the 1995 holiday season as a means of communing with a deity without the inconveniences of a complex faith. For the low price of 59.99, you would have unfettered divining rights to discern even the most mysterious of life's questions. For a ritual object, it was a fairly simple set-up compared to what could be found in the ostentatious halls of the Oblationist. Gone were the days of making the trip out to receive banal gifts and visions from the various registered gods. This was the modern family's solution to keep up with work-worship balance. All that production needed was a single pane of two-way glass, backlit by a bulb no brighter than what you'd find in a nightlight. With a flick of a switch you would blur the other side of the mirror and await her visage to find its way to you. The shadow of a resplendent being, wings outstretched and welcoming you into her presence. A handy guide of hymns and prayer was included free with every purchase. All the praise and thanks she would ever need. "From afar, we watch the world. From within, we watch ourselves. You are the sight beyond sight. Grace us so we may one day see."

Of course, making a god was the big strategic cost. The company thought we'd be a little clever and repurpose a minor one that the courts had deemed too unwieldly for the general public. The freaky backwoods types that you see on the news every now and again. Something with all the work already put into it.

The Damselfly. She Who Bears Witness. Initially we were afraid of what the focus groups would think of some great insect, but the aspects that had been used to create her fit what we had been looking for. Soothsaying, guardian of oracles and the lost, and most importantly, omen of good fortune to a newly built household. She agreed to our rebranding ideas after we had explained how useful she would be again. Pterostigma was traded in for feathers. When she hit the market, we had thought we had hit gold. Initial sales sold like hot cakes, and the reviews coming in had branded the Angel in the Mirror™️ as the fad of the year. We were finding that while families were still our main buyer, there was a smaller but growing demand for her from the 20-25 age demographic. Young adults still in college or entering the workforce, still full of anxiety for the future. "What if I don't pass my classes?" "Is this job what I want to do for the rest of my life?" "How am I going to pay back these loans?"

The more contemporary gods wouldn't have responded to such trivial questions, but the Angel in the Mirror™️ was more than happy to assuage their fears and listen. A gentle voice to give insight into each and every possibility. Her guiding hand reaching out to help walk you through even the most minute detail in some cases. We should have realized what had gone wrong then and there, but we were too blind to the truth of what we had done. May 12th, 1996 was the official start of the recall. We had been destroying the units we had in our facilities months before that however. The first case of a breach had occurred during our preparations for the next holiday season. Some kid down south, without a lick of sense in him, had fashioned her a way through. The divine made flesh is never a pretty sight, but this aspect of her that was able to materialize was definitely not the smiling woman we had plastered in our ads.

Our mistake was not researching what the Damselfly did to her adherents beyond the beneficial. She was a crepuscular predator, who would devour those caught without the options that a future would provide. When she could no longer see the paths ahead for you, she would convince you that there was only one real choice left. Better to be one with her forever than to face a sorrowful tomorrow. We had given her unfettered access beyond the small base that had spawned her. And as report after report started to come through soon after, we knew she was taking advantage of that. Those lucky enough to listen to her during the day found that the sun was too bright for her many eyes, just a moment or two more to decide against her calling. Others were gone the moment she reached through for them.

The officers of The Wasting Maw were able to contain her influence after a short stand-off, but the damage to our brand had been done. We paid our dues in refunds and the usual mandated fines with these sorts of things. Our then CEO even had to address the public, sweating bullets as he apologized for the oversight in our product design, promising that our newest line wouldn't lead to mass disappearences. You still see cultists buying up mirrors online, those who wished to have been called by her or maybe don't understand what it meant. They pay thousands of dollars to adorn themselves in the shards of what they get their hands on, becoming her eyes out to the world. They pray that she will darken the panes once more and whisper of tomorrow.