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thegreatyin · 2 months ago

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How did you manage to handle not one, but FOUR separate accounts in fl? I recently made the account for my HD little guy but having to do the tutorial again just seems miserable

there's... weirdly several answers to that question, actually??

a HUGE part of it is due to the way FL is structured. the 10-minute action timer is a core part of the game on a fundamental level, and the fact that i can very easily run out of stuff to do on one character and thus have an excuse to quickly and easily swap to another is just... convenient? satisfying? i'm not entirely sure how to explain it. the fact that i can make progress even while i am fundamentally simultaneously Not Making Progress is like pure dopamine for my freak insane awful little brain. there's just something really pleasing about spending all of my actions pursuing The Goal Of The Day™ on one account before casually swapping to another and doing the same without feeling like i'm wasting time or acting to the first account's explicit detriment. the downtime helps! the recharge time helps! the structure really really works!!

i'm technically only actively playing three, maybe two accounts minimum. the only reason the fourth (the one that'll be my future BaL playthrough) currently exists at all is so i can get his earlygame completely out of the way now and not have to waste time running through it all later, when what i actually want to do is play the ambition i've made myself wait a full year to play. and also getting free goodies as seasonal stuff happens,, something something surprise tools to help us later. the only two accounts i'd say i'm really "actively playing" at the moment are caeru and lark- and of the two, lark takes the most priority, since his ambition is the one i'm currently pursuing in earnest. for a couple months now- despite being My Main FL Character- the scoundrel has actually been pretty inactive on a gameplay front outside of the occasional progression in TLC and discordance content. purely by virtue of having Very little left to do outside of Very long-term grinds and vanities. they're in their "now what?" "now you can start playing the game" era. they've graduated to previous protagonist background cameo in a sequel anime series. they're like the yin FLPC equivalent of red at the top of mount silver. they're Literally just vibing rn. i only keep posting about them regardless because i'm insane and i will never ever ever ever ever let that bat go. but yeah, big TLDR, outside of doing the bare minimum to keep making waves/notability up every week, i'm not actually spending that much time on accounts i'm not currently actively interested in playing. and that accounts for way more gaming spoons than you might think.

i have a virtually lifelong history of playing MMOs, especially and specifically world of warcraft. i was born in the endless grind for useless video game pixel vanities and/or bragging rights. molded by it. you all have merely adapted to doing the same piece of content a pointlessly excessive amount of times for literally no reason besides whimsy and folly. me? i've done my time. i've served my sentence. i've spent weeks doing the original burning crusade netherwing dailies. i've devoted days to running praetorium over and over and over again, back-to-back, nonstop, long before square enix cut it in half and made it NOT take at minimum an hour and a half per run. i've perfected my silverwastes + auric basin goldfarming strategies. i've (almost) crafted dragonwrath tarecgosa's rest. i've killed the sha of anger so many times its dying scream of agony is embedded into the very fabric of my being. ""only"" doing making your name content four times over? that is nothing to me. it means nothing to me. it is so infinitesimal i can do the persuasive seduction quests in my sleep. it's not a matter of handling misery, or having the capacity, or even sighing as i remember the brass embassy raid segment of the watchful questline seriously i don't know why i keep forgetting that exists or what even is my problem with it i just am so consistently mildly inconvenienced by it and its highly specific resource requirements and it is the worst thing ever. maybe i'm just so used to the scoundrel's near-infinite money and troves of disposable items that i've completely forgotten what being poor is like. despite having done that step 3 fucking times now. ahem. anyway. i have transcended the feeble mortal bindings of my resistant-to-grinding flesh and ascended to a higher plane of enlightenment, they may call me insane but they will be the ones left laughing when they see what that "insanity" has wrought, i've usurped them, i've usurped them all-

hacks and coughs and awkwardly clears my throat. i mean. uh. um. Ahem.

the empress' court artistry + tales of the university nerfs helped too.

#and yes #before you ask #i have forgotten which account has which items/has done which content many a time #i think the most painful incident was forgetting to keep up the scoundrel's making waves while i was still playing nemesis with caeru #given that im trying to build it up to 12 and reset their specialization... that was uniquely painful #then again they have like 40 BDR so it wasnt actually that inconveniencing lmao #fallen london #ask #long post #sorry for the infodump + sudden villain monologue.#all jokes and personal accounts aside i totally get the apprehension abt doing that stuff again #it's not for everyone. not by a long shot.#im only doing this because im genuinely invested and in love with this silly little browser game #and way back when i started i made a (only half metaphorical) solemn oath to experience all of its ''main stories''#and truly see everything it has to offer #(bc i like. physically cant do hyperfixations by halves. i need to consume Everything abt the thing or i'll explode)#(and even then i'll probably explode anyway. it's either completely drop it or go All In until it stops taking up so much space in my brain #(and. given the track record. that is not happening with FL for a while yet)#but like. that isnt actually normal behavior. just. just to clarify.#from what ive seen a VAST majority of people do not go out of their way to play literally every ambition #and that is so valid. it is so overwhelming. you have to juggle so much.#you have to play the earlygame So Many Goddamn Times.#(as i said. served my time. did my sentence. i am my scars. etc etc)#the best advice i can give as someone who's so completely desensitized to that repetition it doesnt even phase me anymore?#the same advice i can stress to all FL players. legitimately just take ur time with it. play when you want to.#dont when you dont.#sometimes you have to grit your teeth and bear things. and when it comes to alts you Will have to grit your teeth and bear it all again #but the beauty of this being a game that one plays for fun is that unlike. say. crushing deadlines or annoying coworkers in real life #you are completely within your power to decide when where and if you want to grit and bear it all #..wow this is ADVANCED yin rambling holy shit. i actually reached the tag limit. i think this ask should be put on some kind of list

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ghastlybats · 1 year ago

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Anatomy of a Ghost

Steddie, Steve Harrington POV, angst, not actually that steddie-focused but its there

(this is sort of angst with ambiguous ending, I just have a lot of thoughts about the way people treat Steve in regards to Barb's death, and the possibilities of Steves own misconceptions about it and his lack of support system. Honestly I could write an essay about this.)

wc: 1,859

cw/warnings: themes of survivor's guilt, some of this could be dissociation idk

summary: there's a dead girl standing at the edge of Steve's pool, and he's convinced that his house is being sucked into the water. he hasn't slept in a while.

There’s a dead girl outside, and the house is being sucked into the pool.

Every night, Steve sat on the floor in front of the sliding glass doors and stared at it, watched the pool get closer and bigger. He didn’t need his bat, Barb never moved. She always stood in the exact same spot, right there in front of him on the other side of the eerie blue water. Her clothes were always dripping. He would watch the puddle below her grow with each droplet.

When it all started, he might have shrugged it off. Steve used to think he was a reasonable, logical person. Maybe not smart, but he was pretty sure, once, that his house could not possibly be sucked into his pool. The pool was too small to hold the whole house.

Actually, though, there wasn’t much in a house. Mostly drywall and spongy insulation. Some wood, some granite countertops. Metal, glass. Shag carpet and kitchen tile. Maybe his whole house could fit into the pool after all, once it had collapsed and broken. And as he watched the pool, night after night, the truth became undeniable; like a black hole, the pool was pulling him into it.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew that the moment he stepped out into the yard, he would be dragged under the water. So instead, he kept the doors closed and locked and he sat on the Persian rug, picking at the fibers and staring out at the pool, knowing that there would come a day that it devoured him.

Barb knew it too. She stood at the edge of the water and looked down at him. Even when he tried to talk to her, he could find no words, and so he never did. It seemed like she was alright with that arrangement, because she never tried to speak either. She wasn’t the one making his house collapse into the pool. She was just a bystander, the same as Steve. Sometimes, he thought she might be looking at him in pity.

That night, it was storming. The pool was closer than ever before. It was two forty-seven in the morning, but Steve didn’t know that. Upstairs, his walkie-talkie has been going off constantly for the past three hours, but he didn’t know that either. The rain and the crash of thunder masked the sounds of the house. He couldn’t hear each droplet of water that rolled off of Barb’s hands like he usually could. He didn’t hear the knocking on his door, or the shouts of his name. He did not hear the turning of the lock.

That night, the edge of the pool was mere inches away from the doors. Steve was wondering what it would feel like to drown. He had actually considered asking Barb about it. He hadn’t bothered, though, had figured she wouldn’t hear him over the sounds of the rain.

There was a flash of lightning. Silence for several seconds before the roll of thunder.

“Steve?” Said a voice from behind him.

Steve flinched violently. For the first time in maybe weeks, in the dead of night, he pulled his eyes away from the pool to look at Eddie.

“What are you doing, man? Are you okay?” Eddie stood in the doorway to the living room, hair damp and face pale in the lightning that flashed again from outside. That split second of light was enough to see the concern on his face.

“I’m keeping an eye on things,” Steve told him. Thunder. Eddie stepped farther into the room, until he stood just at the edge of that glowing rectangle of light seeping in through the windows.

“Don’t want to disturb her, so I leave my walkie upstairs.” Steve turned his gaze back to the edge of the pool. Eddie followed suit.

“Disturb who, Steve?” He asked.

“Barb. You’ll see her when the lightning strikes again, she’s kind of hard to make out in the dark,” Steve explained, matter-of-factly.

The lightning came again.

“Steve, I… I don't see her. I don't think…” Eddie said quietly. The thunder rumbled.

“Just wait. Maybe you missed her.”

Eddie didn’t speak. Steve didn’t look at him. The pool was still only inches away.

“Have you been doing this every night?”

Steve began picking at the rug again. “The house is getting sucked into the pool,” he explained.

Eddie said nothing.

“It’s not her fault, she’s not the one doing it. The pool gets closer every night. Its only a few inches away now.”

“Steve, it's… it's the same as it always was.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “No. It’s— I can see it getting closer,” he insisted.

“Sweetheart, when was the last time you slept?”

Steve didn’t have an answer for that. Days kind of started blurring together, he hadn’t kept count of nights.

“If the house is collapsing into the pool, then we need to get you out, okay? Let’s get you some clothes and a toothbrush and you can come stay with me for a while, the van’s outside and it should even still be warm,” Eddie murmured, and put a gentle hand right between Steve’s shoulder blades.

“I can’t leave her this time,” Steve said.

“Do you think she wants you to die?”

Steve stared out at the girl across the pool.

“I don’t know. I think that if I was her, I would.”

Lightning.

“Why?”

Thunder, loud enough now to shake the fine China in the cupboard to their left.

“Because it's my fault she died. It’s my pool she died in.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t think it was, for what its worth. You couldn’t have known, Steve. Nancy brought her to your house, Nancy was the one to pick you over her. You had no connection to Barb, right? That’s what you told me,” Eddie said. He paused to gauge Steve’s reaction.

“It was my pool,” Steve said again.

“Jonathan was the last person to see her alive. Why shouldn’t he shoulder this guilt?”

Steve had nothing to say about that.

“I’m not blaming someone else in your place. All I’m saying, Steve, is that this burden never should have been yours. And you know very well how I feel about Nancy putting it onto you.” Eddie sighed, and stood. “I’m going to pack you a bag, alright? You’re going to sleep at my place tonight, and when you wake up, we’re going to figure out what to do next.”

Steve didn’t respond, again. He heard Eddie walk away, his Reeboks squeaking against the hardwood floors of the entryway, then the quiet thumping of footsteps as he climbed the stairs and headed into Steve’s room.

For the first time, Steve was having trouble making out the shape of Barb in the darkness. He stood and, holding on tightly to the doorframe, unlocked the glass door and pushed it open.

He wasn’t dragged immediately into the pool. He was careful, very careful, as he walked around the odd shape of it, to not slip on the narrow ledge. Only a few inches between the house and the pool. It felt like miles on the other side.

Now, he stood opposite to the house, between the pool and the woods, rain soaking his clothes and chilling his skin. It was darker there, he felt. He reached out into the darkness, and found nothing but rain.

Panicked, he stumbled forward and again, found nothing. He stood exactly where Barb would have been standing, should have been standing, and looked back to the house, and the open glass door, and the single lit window just above it where he saw Eddie rushing back and forth in his room. His hair was plastered to his forehead now, his hands hung limply at his sides and he felt the droplets running down his arms, drip-drip-dripping off his hands. The sound of it overpowered the rain and thunder. He hadn’t even noticed the lightning strike.

He felt stuck to that spot, staring in through the door at the spot he had occupied on the floor, god knows how many nights he spent there. He wondered if maybe, one of those nights, he should have offered to let Barb come inside.

Eddie was at his side again, Steve vaguely registered seeing him come back downstairs, watching the fear overtaking his face when he saw the open door, and then the way he hid it when his eyes fell on Steve outside. He was steering Steve back towards the house, and they weren’t being careful on the narrow ledge between the house and the pool that time but they made it inside nonetheless. There was a large duffel bag on the ground, stuffed full. Eddie closed and locked the sliding door again. The drip-drip-drip became muffled by the carpet, but he could still hear it.

There was a towel wrapped around him, gentle hands drying his hair and soaking as much water as possible out of his t-shirt, his pants, brushing the rivulets off his hands and feet. His skin stung with the removal of the constant chill, but he was handed clean, dry clothes right out of the duffle bag, and when he didn’t move to change, Eddie took care in removing his shirt and drying him off again, replacing it with the new one. Then pants and underwear, in a reversal of the way Steve had once looked after Eddie, in the weeks after his death and revival, and long hospital stay. There were no secrets between them, anymore, not really.

The dry clothes did nothing to soothe the sting, but Eddie wrapped a blanket around him, a fluffy throw from the couch, picked up the bag, and with a hand on the small of Steve’s back, walked them to the door. Steve turned back only once, and even in the bright flash of lightning, Barb was nowhere to be found. The pool was getting farther away again, but it might have just been a trick of the light.

The drive to Eddie’s wasn’t silent, but Steve didn’t remember Eddie ever keeping the volume of his radio so low. Whatever tape was in the deck was nothing more than a quiet hum over the rain and the rumble of the engine.

Then they were there, and Eddie was leading him inside with that hand on his back again, and he was being made to lay down on Eddie’s bed, and he tried to ask where Eddie was going to sleep, but he just got a shake of the head and a murmur of assurance, that Eddie would be alright.

For the first time in what must have been a very long time, Steve began to feel sleepy. Eddie was talking quietly, none of the words meant much of anything, but his voice rumbled like the thunder, now far in the distance, and the rain battered the roof of the small bungalow which Wayne and Eddie called home, and the room smelled like smoke and the sheets like sweat. Steve didn’t dream at all, but that blackness of sleep must have lasted forever.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #accidentally wrote a 2000 word fic in about an hour #something came over me and I had to write this #steve harrington whump #maybe?#im gonna be totally honest ive forgotten how to tag things #its been like 7 years since i last posted a fanfic anywhere #steve harrington and eddie munson #steve harrington angst #barbra holland #cw dissociation #cw survivors guilt #this is not an accurate depiction of a mental breakdown

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