#prophetic events

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

...Turns out gay sex actually was the solution.

(This is basically a redraw, come read the real deal over at Tiger Tiger)

[marmaladeinlemonade]

Event tickets in sky were never going to work anyway.

It's way too good to be true; a currency that cannot be transferred across events or into candles/hearts for the sole purpose of making event cosmetics easier to obtain, that is collected by participating in the event itself? Thats already fishy enough by tgc's standards.

Thatgamecompany has a habit of making short term solutions for long term problems because of the sheer amount of content they make yearly, leaving less room to optimize regular gameplay. ET has probably been the most apparent example of this. (MAAAAJOR YAP SESSION AHEAD!)

When event tickets were first released, I was ecstatic. I was already struggling to keep up with Days of Bloom and Mischief since I have taken many breaks from sky, but I couldn't begin to fathom how the prices may feel to a new player. I also hated picking and choosing between what items to buy simply because i didn't dedicate the past two weeks so candlerunning alone. Hopefully this new addition of ET would take off that load and i can enjoy the following events to it's fullest, and well, I did.

For the first year that is. These cosmetics that costed ET were damn near free for me. Yet, in the back of my head i always wondered what would happen the following year once these ET cosmetics came back, alongside the new ones that were to be released. Would they cost just as much ET as last year's items? Then collecting ET would only get more stressful and inflate its value. Would the past items go away? That is unfair to new players and pushes FOMO to get everything every year.

Maybe the total price could stay the same but older items depreciate each year as newer ones release, making the oldest ones the cheapest.

And to my great surprise as i look at beta logs for this year's days of summer, not a single item from the year before is under 90 candles! How could this possibly be fair to new players who are trying to enjoy sky for what it is and get items? I've seen some people argue that the player has the choice to not get all cosmetics, which is true, but I'd like to show you what thought process is implied with this system. Think:

"We know you don't fully know your way around sky's economy, or don't have the time to grind everyday, but for this year only these new items are free just by participating in the event! And if you don't, for any reason, the price of the items will be worth 3-6 hours of candlerunning on top of MORE cosmetics! But it's all up to you!"

This isn't to say us as a playerbase have zero autonomy, but i hope you can see how FOMO is enforced when you add a currency with zero value outside of an annual 2 week event that gives players a "now or never" mindset. This is great in the moment, it pushes people to participate! Yet, this ruthlessly punishes players who aren't available for any reason, even those who weren't aware of sky before joining.

Sky is still a new game. Event tickets were only introduced a year ago, but if tgc keeps going down this economic pattern then imagine the amount of cosmetics locked away from new players, or players who took breaks, because of this exponential increase in pricing!

This is a more subjective opinion- but let me be honest; these cosmetics are not worth their candle/heart prices.

I was lucky enough to get all the days of style and days of summer items from last year for ET and i barely wore them, i can only imagine ONE item from each event being rewearable. I didn't mind though because i knew the towel capes and silly glasses were nice starter items for moths, but it's not even moth friendly anymore?! In the past only items that were in high demand were priced outrageously like rhythm and lightseeker TS, and now I'm spending extra for a purple top hat that doesn't even match any of the other purples in this game☠️☠️ you're getting less bang for your buck with a 110 candle towel cape bro

And lastly, there are other issues I've seen in sky that i would say are parallel to this whole event ticket situation. The time gaps between seasons have grown significantly smaller, and each seasonal update has been saturated with glitches and disappointment. Season of the Nine-Colored Deer is another very apparent example of this for me. The castle and crescent lake is done beautifully and the quests are decent, but no one is returning to the area. The rest of the town is empty and awkward, and half the map is in a canyon where you spawn so it's already a good 2-3 minutes getting out of that area alone. The place is just rushed. Its inconvenient.

Ill be posting a poll right after this post, but me personally i would not mind having 3 seasons a year if it meant higher quality content and more breaks from events. More spirits that are well thought out, detailed seasonal quests that arent cleanups or scavenger hunts, less quantity but higher quality cosmetics and emotes, and elder appearances! It's clear that tgc has a more complex world design outside of Sky: cotl when we look at The Two Embers, but that the energy it takes to make it in game is placed elsewhere.

Thatgamecompany is pushing out more content than they ever have before and I think their work is starting to crumble under the weight.

If you made it here THANK YOU!!! you're a lifesaver, theres so much that i want to say and i really hope a lot of skids see this post so that we can get a cohesive discussion going❤️

[gayestbinnie]

ok but irl when glenn got stuck in the parking garage and was having his thing he said that he called rob after to debrief about it. rob immediately was like “i know this story because he called me to tell me right after it all happened :)” sooooo…. since the plot of dtamhd is based on that… then…………..

[quackity1999]

AVIAN EVENT — # PENNED BY PROPHET.

WELCOME TO LAS NEVADAS! THE PROUDEST ENTERTAINMENT CAPITAL OF THE WORLD. SO INDULGE YOURSELF IN THE LAVISH LIFESTYLE YOU NEVER KNEW YOU COULD HA— . . shit. wait.

chk—!

WE APOLOGISE FOR THE DISRUPTION.

PRES. QUACKITY IS CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE.

[ REGULAR PINNED. ]

↓ IMPORTANT INFO UNDER CUT. ↓

you rn: UHHHH BIG P WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

hi hi hello its me!! prophet. aka the fella who's writing this blog :3 here's the details for the week (and a half) ahead.

+ c!quackity is an avian. duh. which therefore means he's got instincts/habits/routines: preening, nesting, mating season, what have you. all that snazzy stuff. this event is mainly to depict what happens when quackity has delayed nesting for months at a time, and how his instincts take over when his body has simply had enough.

+ send in asks as usual! there will possibly be more literate snippets in replies, but please . try to keep it short i Cannot manage lengthy stuff with the amount of interactions this blog gets <3 the tag for this event is pretty cut and dry: #avian event :]

+ while nesting, quackity tends to return to a lot of primal instincts rather than maintaining his usual business persona. he's in what he regards to be his safe space— where nobody can bother him or place expectations on him.

+ this also means that las nevadas is . . lacking in their main figure. charlie is probably trying his best to manage, but for the most part quackity's nation is unmanned. (any charlie responses will be located from quackity's office, whereas quackity's will be from his nest.)

[ for some backstory; quackity has been nesting his whole life. huddling up in an amethyst geode or literally building one himself, spending a good amount of time in there to preen and catch a break from the world. cool! swag! awesome! woohoo!

when he married schlatt, it became evident that nesting was considered a disgusting trait— and schlatt banned quackity from nesting altogether. upon his engagement to karl and sapnap, quackity was extremely apprehensive to the relationship in general, and thus he refused to partake in his instincts until he learned to trust them. they were the only people who had respected his nesting boundaries until that point.

until he himself decided it wasn't worth it. now running las nevadas, quackity hasn't given himself the time to slow down and return to some semblance of self-care since leaving them behind. hence his recent decline in behavior due to the fact his instincts are forcing him to nest. ]

FOR ANONS: all regular quackity plots and asks will be kept safe in my drafts. i'll have responses for you after the event ends. thank u for ur patience!

WITH ALL THAT SAID!!!!!! i hope u all enjoy. you'll learn a shit ton of this blogs take on avian culture as well as a Lot of q's genuine vulnerabilities. it'll be fun, i promise <3

if u read this far. ily — xoxo prophet

[tracle0]

Snippet Sunday VIII

I think it's the eighth Sunday...? Maybe maybe! Here's some prophet story I wrote freshly for you (yes, you!)

A hand raised to his chest, trying to find the mutilation that had forced his ribs to poke out like ageing farmhouse fencing. His skin was sealed, unblemished under his fingers; sticky from his blood, but otherwise untouched. An identical inspection around his throat found the same. No hole for pathetic, fleshy pleas to wheeze through. All fixed. All perfect.

“You saved me,” he finally whispered, eyes wide and awed. “You – you didn’t have to, but you…?”

The Blight – previously quiet, considerate, letting him get to terms with the gift of his life – curled in his head, content. You’ve done me well, it said simply. I don’t want to lose you yet.

He probed carefully at his skull, hair sliding between his fingers. He could see where shards of his skull had been ejected, pick them up and inspect them, but he found no hollows in his head, no blemishes. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I… thank you.”

Your brother is almost here.

Cain blinked, the brief memory of something – a squirrel? – flashing through his mind, before he shook it away, focused. “We should go, then,” he said, starting to stand. The ground glimmered. His surroundings groaned and sobbed, the forgotten guards whimpering and wheezing, the fury surrendering them to shock and agony. “To Body?”

It hesitated. As he started to walk past a pair of guards, one pinned down by the other, bloodied and bruised, it drew his attention down to the ground, to a discarded knife next to the freed, fighting pair. See if you can slow him down, it suggested idly.

[druidonity2]

I wonder what Velen is up to these days...

[mlp-natural]

We cut from Cas and Jody to the exterior of Jody's house. A phone vibrates

The phone continues as we move through the kitchen, a case of beer on the counter by the window

Looks like the noise from Castiel's phone woke up someone.

Why, its Alex Jones! (as a pony) She must have had a late shift last night.

She answers the phone, it is Sam calling, he relays a message to her to pass to Cas, 'Let Cas know we made it to Garth's place.' That's the main thing to note from this conversation we see one side of.

Alex says a few words, some less polite which is to be expected at this early hour, so Sam thanks her and mentions passing along a 'Hello' to the others (Claire, Jody, Jack) for him. Sam hangs up the phone and turns the engine of the car off. He turns around-

-and tells Dean to get up. Looks like Dean had a rough night and wanted to get a bit more sleep before trudging through research with Garth today.

Weary, but glad to have made it to Garth's in relatively good time, Sam unloads his saddle pack with his road gear and clothes, and some books from the library that may be helpful for identifying the monster Garth has been tracking. Dean is not awake enough for this. However, Garth and Bess certainly are as they greet the brothers eagerly.

The werewolf ponies have more dog like tails and fangs, and bright welcoming smiles. A stark contrast to the burly hunters that just arrived. Three curious faces are in the window, it is Gertie, Sam, and Castiel, Bess and Garth's kids. It had been some time since the Winchesters last saw them, but they seem well.

Inside the main entrance, Bess escorts Sam and Dean to Garth's hunting office where the three will run over the case and what they know for certain. Sam and Dean believe it may be a non-native monster, something that hitched a ride and is becoming a problem to local wildlife and people. They are planning on staying a couple days before driving the twelve hours back to the bunker, so Bess and Garth set up the guest room for them to rest between scrambling over lore and the actual hunt.

Bess comments on the last time they saw each other, when the Winchesters were out of luck. The Chuck situation was messy, and in the supernatural in my head a lot of minor things got rewritten which changed the outcomes and some development to make things make sense but I'm not getting into that. All you need to know is that Chuck is not god anymore and they are alive. Dean has accepted his fate of being hugged by Garth (the strength of whom he will never get used to)

(part five btw)

[ova-kakyoin]

i had a dream the newest proseka event was abt kohane coming out as a trans man

[thedeafprophet]

Alex's gardening arc interupted too soon :( poor one out for him

he does not approve of this change in events adkfkfkgh

[probably-impossible]

Crush

A story about the End of the Wild West; or, the Prophet sees two trains explode on his one-hundred-and-fourth birthday.

(Aka my Activity 1 for the @dollarstrilogyevent that I got way too into hahahaha)

By his own reckoning, Prophet was one-hundred and four years old as of that September in 1896. Perhaps unsurprisingly he had lost most of his hearing, but his vision was still good. He saw the door of his shack swing open, and he struggled to sit up in bed. “I've already found Jesus and I'm not buying anything!”

The face that poked around the door belonged to Fluke Dudley, a young man who worked on the ranch that had sprung up next door. He was just about the only one who visited him anymore. “It's me, Prophet,” he said. “I w- - - - - to - - - - you- -”

“Speak up, boy!”

“I SAID THERE'S SOMEWHERE I'D LIKE TO TAKE YOU TODAY!”

“What? Where's that, then?”

“IT'S A SURPRISE!” Fluke scratched his nose and grinned. “For your birthday. You'll like it, sir, I promise.”

Prophet grumbled but allowed Fluke to lift him into the rickety wheelchair that sat beside his bed. “Don't need remindin’ about no birthday,” he said. “I've had about ten too many of ‘em, I reckon. Wish someone had put me out of my misery back when the goddamn good-for-nothing trains took my hearing!”

“Oh, don't talk like that.” 

“I'm a hundred and four years old, I'll talk however I damn well please!” 

Fluke rolled him out of the shack, towards one of the ranch's small one-horse wagons. He lifted the old man up onto the seat and stowed the chair in the bed, then jumped up and flicked the reins.

Prophet squinted at the scenery as they rolled slowly alongside the train tracks. “I used to get visits from all sorts of people, you know,” he said. “I used to know everything about everybody in these parts. They'd come from miles around to see me. To get their information.”

Fluke nodded. He'd heard this story before. 

“Lawmen, outlaws, drifters,” Prophet continued. “Bounty killers. I've seen them all. But they just don't make men like that anymore. I tell you, boy, things have got too civilized around here.”

“ - - - - ”

“What?”

“I SAID YOU'RE RIGHT!”

“Damn sure I'm right.” Prophet leaned over the side of the wagon to glare down at the tracks. “It's all the fault of those trains! They take all the civilized folk from out east, load ‘em up into their carriage cars with the lacy curtains and little fruity drink trolleys, and send ‘em out here. And soon enough there's so much civilization around a man can't hardly be himself anymore.”

Prophet leaned back and went silent for a while. “I wonder how many of those young men who used to come and see me are still alive,” he said. “They strung up Willie Foster last year, I know that. And Kid Frasier fell off his hoss. That old marshal Colby… whatever happened to him?”

“He got killed in a shootout, you said.”

“Right, right. Davey and Red Kelly done it, and then they run off to Mexico.” He blinked as another wagon passed by them. It was loaded up with people, chatting and laughing. He lost his thought for a moment, then picked it back up again. “Angel Eyes… he's long gone. That retired colonel went back to North Carolina. Now what was that young buck's name… Manco. Fell off the face of the earth, far as I can remember. And worst of all, poor old Cheyenne…”

“Shot in the gut by the president of the railroad company,” Fluke muttered.

“...shot in the gut by the president of the railroad company! Did you ever hear of a worse way to go?!” Prophet sighed. “Somehow I outlived them all. Now I'm the last of a dyin’ breed. They just don't make men like us anymore.”

“No sir,” Fluke said. There were more wagons around now, and people walking along the tracks, too. They all seemed to be going in the same direction. Fluke tipped his hat as they passed by a group of ladies holding parasols.

Prophet looked at him skeptically. “Where exactly are you taking me? There sure are a lot of other people headed this way.”

“You'll find out soon,” Fluke said. “We're almost there.” 

“There’s nothin’ wrong with my hair!”

“I SAID WE'RE ALMOST THERE!”

As they kept riding the crowd really started to thicken. They passed by lemonade stands and carnival games, a grandstand with a band, even a circus tent. “Just this once I'm glad I'm deaf,” Prophet muttered. “Who's runnin’ a goddamn county fair along the train tracks?”

Fluke slowly drew the wagon to a stop and pointed up at a large banner that had been hoisted next to a section of the track. It read ‘Crush, Texas. Est. September 15, 1896.’

“The railroad company's putting on a demonstration,” Fluke said, raising his voice even more than usual over the sound of the crowd. “They're gonna take two old steam engines, run ‘em as fast as they can, and crash ‘em right into each other!” He beamed with pride. “How do you like that for a birthday present, sir? You and me are gonna watch two trains smash each other to smithereens!”

Prophet blinked. “...What? The railroad company’s gonna smash their own trains?” he said, puzzled. “What for?”

“They're old engines, I guess,” Fluke said. “No use for ‘em anymore.”

“So they're crashing them? What, with all these people around?” 

“It's supposed to be very safe. No chance of the boilers exploding or anything, that's what the man from the railroad said.”

Prophet went quiet for a while. Fluke felt his own excitement start to deflate. He'd been so sure the old man would love to see this. All he ever talked about was how much he hated trains! The whole affair seemed perfectly designed with him in mind. But he didn't look excited. In fact, he seemed a little… sad.

“The railroad company…” he muttered. “Making a whole damn spectacle out of busting up some old trains that aren't good for nothing anymore. And it's perfectly safe. ‘Course it is.”

A ripple of excitement went through the crowd; rumbling could be heard in the distance. Fluke slouched on the bench of the wagon. “...I'm sorry, Prophet. I thought for sure you'd like to see it.”

“Oh, don't look so damn mopey, boy,” Prophet said, gently. “Old bastards like me can't ever be satisfied with nothin’, that's all.”

They sat there in silence for a while. Fluke listened to the rumbling while Prophet watched two black dots appear on either end of the horizon and grow steadily closer. 

Eventually the rumbling grew to a roar, and an anticipatory hush fell over the crowd. The ground began to shake. The trains were close enough to their destined meeting place now that Prophet could make out the shape of the engine cars, could see the smoke billowing from their antiquated stacks. For the first time in his life, the sight of the damn things didn't fill him entirely with hatred. They were being put out to pasture, just like him. To make way for newer, better trains. And when it happened it would be a perfectly-designed show, perfectly safe. Perfectly civilized. 

The two trains met right beneath the banner. There was a mighty crash, so loud that even Prophet could hear it, and the sound of splintering wood. Then, a moment of total silence. 

When the explosion began, time seemed to slow for Prophet. He could see a bright orange light well up within each of the smashed engines, then blossom into two beautiful balls of flame. The light danced in his eyes, and he smiled with glee. The boilers of the old engines had blown up after all. The sight of it was breathtaking. 

All this took place within less than a second. As the fire billowed outwards, the force of the explosion sent millions of pieces of metallic debris straight into the gathered crowd. Prophet grinned with ecstasy and thought about how awful this was going to be for the railroad company. Oh, they were going to have hell to pay for this. It was a fiasco. Maybe it would even drive them out of business...! Of all the ways for a man like him to go, this was a fine one. He was grateful the boy had brought him out here, after all.

The explosion nearly knocked Fluke from the wagon, and he felt a stinging pain in his forearms as he shielded his face. It was all over in only a moment. He could hear groans and shouts from the crowd as he slowly regained his senses. He looked down at his arms; he'd been hit by some shrapnel, but not badly. 

He turned quickly towards Prophet, then froze. The old man lay flopped backwards over the wagon bench, unmoving. 

A metal bolt had gone straight into his forehead. Even so, there was a satisfied smile on his face.

[uselessalexis165]

LET’S GO FULL ACE ATTORNEY!!!

[sparingiscaring]

Oh, London...

Once again, awe-inspiring, in scope and terror and in how much I will be thinking about this for the rest of the week

But also

[eiry-a-treomar-sentinel]

My contribution to Arrival Celebration ✨

[quackity1999]

[ OOC: i feel like its a bit early in this blog's existence to do an event of any sort but at rhe Same time. there's so many possibilities.

q's already half blind due to the loss of his eye, imagine him losing the entirety of a whole different sense. the adjustment period. Woughe!!!! as for the nesting thing. i can smell the character development. let this bitch go instinct crazy and perhaps fuck up las nevadas' stability for half a second due to his absence pleasj

anyway! choose. ]

[dr-abitat-blog]

Day 5: "I can't take this anymore."

T/W: Disturbing visions, violence, implied harm or death, vivid sensory descriptions, implied SA (in a vision), pushed to breaking point, ladywhump, superheroes, 'can't-save-everyone'.

@ailesswhumptober A/N: As much as I love medical whump and lab whump, I decided to try different styles and situations as well so it wasn't as repetitive and some prompts are more fitting for that sort of whump than others, so rest assured there will be more med/lab whump to come later in the month! ^^ Thank you so much for all of your support and follows so far it truly means a lot ^^ xx

They say that Allah will never give us more than we can bear. That he will never burden us with more than he knows we can physically take. I have never questioned that myself. He gave me this gift for a purpose — and it is my duty to use it to the very best of my ability as one of the city's sidekicks, to do good for others, as he would want. That's what I tell myself every day — no matter what kind of strain it puts on me, Allah knows I can take it.

"Take your time, alright? We have a lot to get through today."

I read Liam's lips carefully, fiddling with my hearing aids to be sure that I understood everything correctly. 

Take my time he says, but every second counts...

Slowly, I step up to the tables in front of me, silently adjusting my hijab. On top of them are various items found from the latest missing person investigations. Their nature varies from stray articles of clothing to a small plush rabbit. Each of them are no doubt precious or related to someone — some poor missing soul in need of our help.

And I have the chance to save them.

Drawing in a breath, I reach out for the first item — a yellow silk scarf. Closing my hands over it, I close my eyes — and allow my prophetical Third Eye to naturally activate. I focus fully on the scarf, on the soft sensation in my hands, on the sweet floral perfume scent of its wearer. The aroma fills my nostrils, joined by—

Aftershave. Strong overpowering aftershave. The scent makes me gag as it constricts my throat. A man hovers over me. Forties. Tanned. Brunette. I take in every feature. I have to remember it, as if my life depends on it. Terror suddenly rushes through me. I feel my heart pounding in my chest. The cool air brushes across my exposed skin. His rough hands grab at my face, tilting it back. He sneers at me. I can see his lips moving, but I cannot hear the words. No sounds at all. I don't need them to know what will happen next—

"Dua?"

N-no, NO—!

Gasping, my hands tear up the next item in my desperation to escape — a small leather wallet. The scenes morphs around me—

"Dua, what is it? What's going on?"

The mattress creaks. He's sitting up, grabbing at my shirt. He tears it open down the middle, exposing my abs. His hands mercilessly invade me, before slowly reaching for his belt. I try to kick, but my feet are tied. I've never been so scared in life. His pants come off—

"Dua!"

I'm barely aware of the tears running down my cheeks as I frantically grab onto the next item—

Cold. Icy cold. My muscles are locked, frozen. Everything ripples and shimmers around me. Every move is too much. Water rushes into my lungs. I'm so cold, so cold — I should have listened to Mom—!

"I-I'm sorry...!"

A sob slips free. I almost knock the table over as I grab onto the furry bunny—

Cigarette smoke. It’s him. He's coming. He's going to keep hurting me. No matter how much I plead. The pain hurts so much. Why won’t he stop hitting me? W-was I a bad boy? Oh God, send me an angel to—!

The smells. The sights. The sensations. The pain. The terror—

The next one—

Scattered leaves. Hooded figures. Blood sticking to my hands. Sharp chemical fumes—

It's too much—

Red soaking into my shirt.  Multiple boxes. A distant warehouse. Blindingly bright lights. A raised shining blade—

"Dua!"

T-too much!

The next—

Smoke. Thick pungent smoke filling the air. A stronger scent accompanies it. Petrol. Fumes. It's suffocating. Can’t breathe — can’t BREATHE! 

"Hnnk!”

"Dua — Mark, get her away from there—!"

Pain erupting through my body. Flames licking my limbs. The nauseating stench of burning flesh. Coarse material biting into my wrists with every struggle. Scorching fire engulfing me. Can't move — can't MOVE—!

A scream rips free from my throat.

I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die—

"DUA!"

Hands grab onto me, yanking me away from the table. I kick and thrash against them, shrieking. My forehead sears with agony. Everything blends into one darkening haze. The scents linger in my nostrils, making me choke. Tears seep down my cheeks. I pant and gasp for breath, half-sobbing.

"N-no more...n-n-no more..."

I’m barely able to get the words out, gulping.

"Dua, look at me."

Liam's blurred face hovers in front of me. Concern creases his features. "You're safe. We've got you."

I can’t answer him, staring vacantly ahead, trapped in the nightmare of visions. as my knees quiver. "Do you want one of us to step out with you before you try again?”

For the first time since I can remember —  I give in with a pitiful sob.

"I...I-I can't take this anymore. I-I'm...sor...ry..."

With that reluctant murmur of defeat, I surrender to the darkness.