#oh and I still have to play the update too

[theorist-fox]

Humvee

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

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Word count: 6.8k (damn)

Summary: You do your best to heal, while Simon follows his own path—until life, in its strange way, brings you back together, with Simon stepping right back in.

18+

CW: fluff, banter, smut (fingering, p in v, car sex). you go on a bad date and simon saves you from it. he's a bit of a cunt but like in a good way.

I said I'd update on Sunday but you're getting it on Saturday!!! Though it's Sunday on this part of the globe, so...

Masterlist 🦊 | Series Masterlist 🦊

"If they ever give ya any grief, you know who to call."

Simon's words have never echoed so fiercely in your head as they do now.

The dress is uncomfortable. The shoes are uncomfortable. The air… is uncomfortable.

The dinner isn’t even that great. Or—well, it is. The restaurant has its perks: the wine is a deep red Shiraz, dry and with that slight bitter aftertaste that just enough balances the salt of your fillet mignon. Rare. Side baked potatoes with a crisp crust that still sizzles with warm olive oil.

It looks great.

Would taste great too, you reckon. Thing is, you’ve been playing with your food ever since the waiter brought it to the table.

You don’t think you’ve spoken a single word, if not your name, ever since you sat down. Mouth latched onto that crystal wine glass that could never be too full.

Fuck dating.

He looked oh, so nice leaning against the bar counter last week.

Leather jacket and a tight-fitting black t-shirt underneath, a softer tummy of a man who likes to train and eat. Big arms, broad shoulders. Thighs looked awfully soft in those blue jeans.

Mediterranean features. A strong nose, high cheekbones. Perhaps Italian origins, you thought, or maybe Spain? Greece?

Olive skin and thick brown curls, messy in that calculated way that only pretends to be tousled. You call it the sex hair. But it’s fake, so it would be like—the fake sex hair.

You love the fake sex hair. Or maybe you don’t. But on him, it looks unbelievably nice.

His eyes have this hazelnut hue, mottled with gold and green speckles. Long, thick lashes, dark like his hair.

Fuck, he looks like a Greek god.

And when he winked at you from the other side of the pub, lifting his glass of whatever he was drinking your way, you thought yourself so very fortunate.

Small blessings.

If only you’d known where those plump lips and feline brown eyes would lead you.

The entrée was accompanied by his favourite way to clean the leather of his sofa. Then he switched the topic to hair gel, because somehow the same company that makes the polish for his stupid couch also makes his stupid hair gel.

And now he’s telling you how much he benches. You should’ve known, to be honest, that somehow the chat would’ve swerved to his herculean strength and raw masculinity.

He oozes testosterone from every pore, reeks of pheromones, and—judging by his character—you wouldn’t rule out the possibility that he’s splurged on one of those dodgy "scientific" perfumes supposedly designed to make women swoon at his feet.

He’s saying how you’d never have to fear a thing if he was in the house, since you’d have him by your side. The urge to roll your eyes is incommensurable: you hide behind your wine glass, taking a generous gulp of Shiraz that’s drying out your tongue.

He’s eating with his mouth open. Chewing loudly. Loud enough to give you PTSD. Fucking hell, why do the handsome ones always have to act like they never set foot outside the house?

He has a pittie, he says.

Your ears perk.

Okay, pitties are nice. Lovely dogs with their big, smiling mouths always drooling for cuddles. You find their awkward stance tenderly charming—wide front legs and wagging tail. Plus, him having a dog means he can take care of fragile things, that he can be sweet and nice and reliable.

It’s a boy.

You smile.

He says he’s trained him to fight. Defend the household and whatnot.

It falters.

Says you could take him for a run if you fancy it. That he would give you (and he makes those awful hand quotations with his fingers) “scary dog privileges.”

You drink.

Scary dog privileges. You’re fighting a scoff so loud the sous chef would hear it from the kitchens.

You have SAS training privileges.

You have gun privileges.

You have scary dog privileges. You are the scary dog.

One glance at his neck, another at the table, and you've already calculated ten different ways to end his life in under a minute—one of which involves a thumbtack pinning the fake flowers to the polyester cube in the centrepiece vase.

You imperceptibly shiver. Shake your thoughts away.

He’s still rambling about his dog and his gym sessions and how he goes for runs every morning, every night, every moment of the bleeding day. Does he work? Have hobbies that don’t include a pissing contest with other men at the gym? Fuck’s sake, that thumbtack is starting to look incredibly inviting—

“So what do you do?” You blurt out.

It comes out so awkwardly that you can only fix it with a nervous laugh. One of those that make you look cute and shy, not weird and spacey.

He seems startled by it. Follows up with an awkward laugh of his own. Ugh. Okay, it’s okay. Maybe he’s nervous too. That can be cute.

“I’m military.”

You blink.

Oh.

Unexpected.

You hadn’t considered that. Granted, he has the stance, the body. He keeps his neck taut and straight, which is something you recognise you do yourself: hard to shake off habits from early training in Pirbright.

Truthfully, you had excluded partners from your same field of work. Didn’t go particularly smoothly last time you tried.

You’d like to come home to normalcy and averageness and homecooked meals and that dog he’s going on and on about, not to more military-related drama and paperwork scattered on the kitchen table.

But this can be nice, you muse.

Maybe straying from the plan you’ve laid out for your date could lead to some unexpected surprises. Maybe you could find a common ground, some shared experiences to discuss.

Anything to divert the topic from how he removes stains from his carpeted floors.

You straighten your spine, smoothing down the creases of your dress even if they’re hidden under the tablecloth.

With your elbow resting on the table, you subtly press your arms together, accentuating your neckline. You tilt your head slightly, chin nestled in your palm and lashes fluttering away.

He sports a smug smile, perhaps recognising the reaction his job must have sparked in many more women before you.

You let it slide.

“What branch?” You ask, trying to sound as naïve as you can.

Men in the military often have great success when it comes to dating. Women in the military, not so much—something about them being stronger than their male counterparts in a relationship seems to unsettle their egos, unchub their cocks.

Which is why you’re pretending you know shite about the topic—you’re just there to look pretty, for now.

“Oh, well,” his voice drops down an octave, and he leans a little closer to the table. The front of his crisp white shirt dips into the sauce covering his pasta.

You try not to stare at the oil stain too much.

He reaches out with his hand, toying with a ring on your finger. Looks around like he’s making sure no one else is listening, and then he smiles at you knowingly.

“It’s classified.”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Alright, this date is botched. Tits up. Fuck him and his beautiful eyes and perfect bone structure. He could have been the love of your life. You would’ve made perfectly beautiful babies with beautiful Mediterranean genes.

You feign surprise. You feign interest.

The least you can do is have fun.

“Oh really?” You open your mouth in a shocked oval. “And—and what is it that you do?”

He leans back in his chair, self-assured. Charming smile. Know-it-all attitude.

“You know,” he shrugs, like it’s something so common and nonchalant. “Missions, deployments. All secret, though. Can’t share, unfortunately.”

He gives you a wink.

“Not even with a pretty girl like you.”

Yuck. Ew. Ugh.

You giggle, crystalline and shy, fingers to your mouth and all.

“Are you like—” You bite your lip, “—like James Bond?”

His chuckle is low, like he wants to show how much of that testosterone is actually brewing in his balls.

“Of sorts.”

“Wow.” You say breathily. “It must be dangerous.”

“It is,” he replies, cocking a confident brow. “Not a thing for girls like you.”

Dickhead.

You smile. Taut. Someone else would’ve noticed how strained it is. Not him though, no. Too self-absorbed to catch onto it. Wouldn’t see how obvious he’s being if it slapped him in the face.

“Hear me out,” he says after a while. “One minute bathroom break, and then I’ll tell you what you want to know, yeah?”

Which is nothing, but you nod anyway.

“Or, well—” he adds, standing up and setting the napkin on the table. “—What I can tell you.”

With a wink, he leaves for the loo.

You deflate. Rub your fingers on your forehead because that man just gave you a migraine.

You pluck your phone from your handbag and thumb through the screen to contact backup.

You think of Johnny, but you two bicker too much, and the possibility of him shooting back with one of your misfortunes is impossibly high. You’d like to keep your failing dates as quiet as possible.

Kyle would be the perfect choice, but he’s not nearby—a trip to somewhere warmer with his partner now that he’s on leave.

Price is not even an option. Who would call their boss to give them a lift out of a bad date?

Which leaves Simon. You know you have to call Simon, as much as you don’t want him to witness the absolute devastation that is your current love life. Granted, you know he would help without a peep—but still, there’s that bit of pride left untouched by the ruin that’s been your "relationship" that you’d like to keep intact.

But grief’s been given. Plenty of it. And, as he said, you know who to call.

With a surrendering sigh, you stuff your pride in a pocket and zip it shut.

As soon as your text goes through, you can’t even blink that three dots are already dancing at his corner of the screen.

Your eyes roll so far back you take a peek at your brain.

The sarcasm is so tangible you almost taste it on your tongue.

Hopefully your reply will manage to convey the urgency of your tone. The absolute sizzling hatred in your eyes.

And then you wait for Mr. Classified to come back from the loo while eating a baked potato or two, even if now they’re awfully cold. Still crunchy and wonderful, though. The restaurant is stellar; it's a shame to have wasted the opportunity with such a painfully obnoxious sod.

When he comes back, he sits all grand at the table. He fixed his hair, you notice. Tried to clean the oil stain on his shirt and only managed to enlarge it—you can tell even if he’s buttoned up his dress jacket.

He tells you he’s a captain.

Yeah. Sure. Go big or go home, mh?

Recounts very generic war stories, one of which really does sound like the plot of a videogame you played with Kyle.

Your back’s to the door, so when he stumbles on his words and his eyes go wide out of the blue, you have no clue what’s got him so rattled.

That is, until you turn and look over your shoulder.

The biggest bloke’s standing at the entrance, seemingly instructing one of the waiters, who looks like he’s lost a few years off his life from how pale he’s gone.

Man dressed in black, helmet with night goggles on.

Show off.

The full shebang: tac vest layered above the bulletproof one, M4 hanging low on his front with clasps, a gun holstered on his hip. The radio pokes from one of the front pockets on his chest.

He has the goddamn skull mask on, for fuck’s sake.

Your eyes widen briefly, and then you fight tooth and nail to stifle a laugh. You wonder what Mr. “I’m military but it’s classified” thinks about “people actually in the classified part of the military”.

You turn to him. Man is shell-shocked.

You snort.

Simon points at you, and the waiter nods vigorously before scurrying over to your table.

He leans down to your level, cheeks so red they look purple, sweat on his forehead, huffing and puffing like he’s run a marathon.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to interrupt, but—” A heaving breath through his stutter. “Your presence seems to be required at-at-at the Hereford SAS headquarters.”

He lowers his voice, then. “Something about the p-passing of an officer, uhm—your husband.”

You choke. Slam a hand on your chest. Mr. Classified seems concerned and has his hands hovering your way but never touching you in the slightest.

Helpful.

“The what?” You hiss, looking behind you at Simon with straight-up murder in your eyes.

The mask hides it, but you know he’s got the biggest smirk plastered on his face.

“You’re married?” Mr. Classified asks. Fuck him too.

“No.” You bark but then realise that it’s not his fault if your lieutenant is a bastard. Gingerly, you clear your throat and add more softly. “Not… anymore.”

Gotta fake it if you want to get out of here.

You sigh.

The waiter stands there awkwardly as you apologise to your date for not telling him about your non-existent dead husband. You stand up from the table, pretending heartache, while the waiter hovers around you and right in your business.

When you feel him too much into your space, you blink at him, plastering on a polite smile.

“Yes?”

He’s sweating profusely. The Ghost effect.

“The-the soldier, there—" he gives a subtle nod to where Simon stands. “—said I have to escort you b-because you’re a suspect.”

The appalled look on your face must be a sight to swear by.

You glare at Simon.

He shifts his weight on his other foot, arms crossed in front of his chest. Smug, like he’s having the time of his life.

“Yes.” You reply with a sigh, “Please, escort me.”

You don’t bother turning around to face Mr. Classified. He must be wearing the same shock the waiter is sporting. After all, in his eyes, hasn’t he just shared a dinner with a murder suspect?

What a tale to share.

“Thank you, sir.” Simon tells the waiter when you both reach him, deep baritone heavy yet gentle.

He grabs you by the crook of your elbow.

“Gonna bring this one to justice.” He adds theatrically.

The waiter nods like his head might crack in half if he doesn’t.

“Thank you, sir.�� He parrots, “Thank you for your service.”

At the statement, used and abused without any regard for its meaning, you scoff in his face.

Simon tugs you by your arm, and your heels scrape against the floor.

Finally, you find your footing and follow him out.

Simon came to pick you up in a fucking Humvee. 

He said it was in case the restaurant had those big windows that look out on the streets, so he could make an even bigger scene. All because you interrupted him while he watched the man u match even if they were painfully losing, he said.

When you asked him where the fuck did he get it since he should’ve been home on R&R and not at base, he told you that he had an IOU to cash in with one of the higher-ranking officers. 

Baffling, to say the least, that he’s used it to embarrass you. 

Yet not something you would put past him.

Still, though, as soon as you enter the car and he starts shedding layers of tac gear, mask included, the first thing he asks isif you’re alright.

You nod with a soft smile.

“McDonald’s?” He asks, then.

You cock a brow.

“I just had dinner.” 

The engine rumbles as he turns the key in the ignition.

“No ya haven’t.”

He drags the shift stick back and puts the car in reverse. His hand comes to grasp the back of your seat as he looks to the rear window.

It takes a whole lot of resolve to not gawk at the way the tendons in his forearm tighten and bulge. You manage. 

Thank fuck he can’t check if you’re salivating, because you are.

Because this car smells of him. It shouldn’t, because it isn’t his car. It’s a military vehicle, a big fat Hummer with enough space to host a task force, and from what you know someone else might have been using it all day before he got the keys. 

And still, his scent invades it, dominates it, and you realize how much you’ve missed it. Missed waking up to it, missed having it stain your clothes, sometimes your uniform too. Memories flood, and something in your chest clenches.

Control yourself, for fuck's sake.

You turn your eyes away from him. 

“How d’you know?”

He shifts into first as he finally leaves the car park. He shoots you a brief side glance, before returning his eyes on the road.

“Clocked your plate full even from afar,” he says plainly. “Bloke talked that much, uh?”

“You got no idea.” You sigh, exhausted. “Told me he’s military and then pulled the classified card.”

His lips twitch, and then his chest rumbles in a low, low chuckle you haven’t heard in a while. 

You laugh with him.

Simon takes you to a drive-through. He orders what he knows you like, because this definitely isn’t the first time you two sneak out in the middle of the night only to eat something that isn’t the slob from the mess hall.

He drives a little further to find that nice parking spot next to the motorway. Once again, not the first time you’ve been here.

Sometimes with Johnny in the back and Kyle smoking a ciggie by the car window—couldn’t have the Humvee smell of nicotine and stale cigarettes when you’d return it (not so) surreptitiously later on.

Sometimes just the two of you, when new soldiers moved in the neighbouring barracks and Simon wanted you to scream without the pressure of being found out.

You punch the straw in your Coke and bring it to your lips. The carton box of chips is precariously balanced on your bare thighs.

Simon’s already munching on his burger.

“Thank you, by the way,” you break the comfortable silence first.

He shrugs.

“He was a right pain,” you go on. “Kept going on about—”

“—His dog, how much he benches, his hair care routine.”

You choke on your coke and then your head swivels to him.

“Okay—were you spying on me?”

He levels you with a deadpan look. 

“Bloke like that’s only got one type o’ chat,” he explains, “And it’s all ‘bout him. You should’ve known, eh?”

He flicks your temple. You splutter.

“What?” He nods in your direction, swallowing a mouthful. “Went on leave an’ lost all those brains?”

You swat his hand away.

“Shut up.” You grumble, feeling your cheeks heat up.

He mercifully lets it go and returns his attention to his meal. 

Even a burger that big looks awfully small in Simon’s hands. You used to look small in Simon’s hands, somehow—skin pliant and soft. Dimpling under his fingertips, folding easily with just the press of his big palm in his desired direction.

Same hands that used to hold you still by the waist, hands that handled you until you’d turn into putty on the mattress. Fingers long and skilled when they curled around your neck, cutting your airways just enough to make your head spin. Fingers that you’ve had all over: in your hair, on your stomach, down your throat, in your cunt.

Fuck.

Some ketchup spills out of his burger and onto his thumb. He brings it to his lips and purses them on his pad to suck it off.

Fuckfuckfuck.

You turn away and stuff your mouth with chips.

“How’d you find him anyway?” He asks after a while. “Apps?”

You balance your cup on the large center console as you shake your head in negative. Your response comes muffled by a mouthful of food.

“Pub down the road,” you tell him, gesturing vaguely at the windshield. “The one close to HQ.”

“The Bell?”

You swallow. Nod your head. “Mhmh.”

“Should’ve known.” He muses, and you hear him scrunching up the paper that once held his burger. “Proper dive, that. Full o’ fucked up blokes.”

You roll your eyes.

“You’re an avid frequenter,” you say, mouth full and eyes averted to your cardboard of chips.

He doesn’t snort, nor does he laugh it off. Instead, you can only hear the rapid tap of fingernails on the leather of the wheel filling the suddenly heavy silence that settled.

“No’ anymore.” He replies after a beat.

The tone doesn’t match the flippant vibe heard in the Humvee until now. He’s serious and levelled, like he’s stating some important matter he needs to unhook from his chest.

You swallow your chips like they’re cement.

“And why’s that?” You venture.

Simon shifts uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. The leather squeaks, his jeans rustle where his thighs rub together.

“Don’t fit with the crowd is all.” He says quietly. 

“What crowd?”

“The fucked up one.”

When you turn his way, you still.

Simon’s eyes are already on you.

His gaze is tangible. Sticks to you like damp fabric. You can almost feel his fingers draw mindless circles there, where your skin is heating up under the heaviness of his eyes.

Whatever reply you had ready for him dies choked in your throat.

Your shoulders are stiff, your body’s too warm. Tongue like sandpaper stuck to your palate.

It’s been so long since Simon looked at you like he truly wanted you—like nothing else in the world mattered more. 

For months, his eyes have wandered everywhere but to you, and until now, you thought that was a blessing. Because if he didn’t look at you this way, maybe letting him go would’ve been easier.

But now, as his eyes hold yours, you can’t fathom how you’ve managed to go so long without it.

You match his intensity, as the air in the Humvee grows heavy and thick. Cement is poured into your chest until you’re not sure how to breathe right anymore.

“Not fucked anymore, you think?” Your voice is raspy and feeble, like there’s something tying your vocal cords in a perfect knot.

You know he can’t affirm anything in that regard. Lord knows he’s fucked, and you can’t even add your two cents about it because you’d act like the pot calling the kettle black.

And yet, he replies softly. “Not as fucked, I reckon, no.”

Your brows pinch. Eyes big and languid, searching his—rich, hooded, sincere.

“And you?” He rumbles, hesitant for the first time.

You blink.

“Me?” You mouth with your lips, voice stuck somewhere in your chest.

He nods your way. “Still an avid frequenter o’ the fucked-up crowd?”

You blink. A laugh breathes out of you without you even considering it first.

Almost naturally, you reply with a whispered, “No. Not as avid, I think.”

Simon’s lips twitch upward, and then his hand lifts your way, though never reaches out enough to touch you. He lets it hover in the space in between, fingers soft and curled inwards.

It trembles. Terrible characteristic for a sniper. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen it happen to him. Always steady, always sure.

Your eyes fall on it. On the scars crisscrossing his knuckles, on the callouses of his pads and the raw spot on his thumb. 

When you look up again, Simon’s eyes are a pool, open wide and waiting for you to just dive in it.

He says your name. Not your rank, callsign, bullshit loves, and pets, and the pretty ensemble. He says it low, heavy, like his tongue is a cinderblock and it’s so, so hard for him to speak it. 

It’s almost a warning, you think. Your brain ponders it: the tone, the lilt, the volume. All of it, and you conclude that you are, in fact, wrong. 

It’s no warning, no threat. It’s a plea.

Your eyes fall instinctively down the curve of his nose, to his lips. Lips you’ve kissed, lips that travelled every inch of your skin. Drank every sound you’ve ever spilled. Worshipped it, made it his. Coveted it carefully, in secret, until you noticed how those same breaths, those same noises, never left your mouth again, not after him.

Lost in his features, you don’t see how his eyes are focused on your lips as well.

And when you look up, he does too.

Something’s exchanged between you. Something written in the line between his brows as he frowns in concentration, in the tremble of your lips as they struggle to form words, requests, the barrage of questions you want to ask.

The mutual, soft, and barely veiled Please, please kiss me again.

His jaw shifts. 

"Just say the word."

You gulp—fruitless. Your throat is dry, your lips unresponsive. Cursing yourself for not being ready now that you need it. Struggling to express the absolute beast that's scratching something violent in your chest.

You barely manage to break through it.

"Kiss me."

You blink and Simon’s lips are on yours.

Your stomach drops. You don’t think you can breathe.

He takes the lead when you go motionless, cupping the back of your head with both hands to pull you in. Your fingers grasp his forearms, flexing around them to make sure he’s real.

Only when your mouth opens and the kiss deepens do you unravel.

You melt in his hold, closing your eyes all the way and breathing heavily from your nose, because you’re not parting from him ever again.

Simon might think the same, because the passion with which you kiss him is thoroughly matched. His arms wrap around your waist, and you don’t spare a moment to turn on the passenger seat until you’re on your knees.

Chips spill everywhere on the floor. None of you care.

He helps you across the centre console until you’re straddling his thighs. Your knee knocks over the cup and coke spills everywhere.

And fuck, none of you care.

Humvees are big but never big enough for this. Granted, it’s not the purpose for which they were created. You hunch down when your head hits the padded roof, holding him by the sides of his face until he tips it back. 

You taste his breath as it puffs on your mouth while he kisses you fiercely.

Simon pulls back. Cradles your face in his hands and his fingers dig into your scalp at the back.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growls. Low, and breathy, and with that hint of disbelief that matches the one in your eyes. He brushes your cheeks with his thumbs, and you do the same.

He lunges forward, then. Captures your mouth briefly before travelling downwards, where open kisses make goosebumps rise on your arms. Big hands envelop your hips as he pulls you down, grinding you against the hard tent of his jeans. 

And you comply, humping your sex—impossibly wet—to the seam covering the zipper. 

He grunts in your neck each time your cunt drags across his. The sound makes you vibrate, a strange sort of power in the knowledge that he’s making it because of you, and you only.

The world moves slowly around you, like it wants the night to last hours and hours more. A small favour in exchange for what you do for it, keeping it clean and all the rubbish you’re told so you can live peacefully with your actions. 

Perhaps tonight you believe them all.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this vocal with him, and it’s not even theatrics.

You just love it.

It’s overwhelming to have him hold you again, touch you, eat at your skin with the same intense desperation you’re gripping his hair with. Pressing his face into your neck as he sucks at the spot where it meets your shoulder, thundering heartbeat under his tongue. Darker spots blossom shameless in his wake, drawing a perfect mosaic of colours you’ll trace with your fingers come morning.

When Simon feels your hips do the work by themselves, he busies his hands with your dress. Rides it up your thighs until it bunches at your waist. Kneads the fat of your ass, landing a slap that makes you jolt. 

Makes you moan.

And Simon drinks it just in time, swallowing it with a kiss that takes your breath away. Then, he rapidly travels down your throat, following the line of love bites all the way to your chest. 

His teeth sink into the softer flesh there. Long fingers pull down the neckline of your dress until your tits spill out. He mouths a path to your nipple, sucking until it pebbles on his tongue. His teeth graze around it and you hiss at the perfect balance of pain and pleasure it creates.

And when his free hand comes to pinch at your other nipple, he pulls a little too hard.

You clench a fist in his hair and look down at him, hips falling still.

“Oi.” You frown.

His chest heaves. Yours matches the pants that leave your lips. 

He wrinkles his nose, in that how dare you stop me way. But this time there’s something impish in there, like he knows what he’s doing and just likes to pull your chain. Lighthearted in a way you never dared to associate with Simon Riley.

How beautiful he looks with this new light bathing his eyes.

“What.”

You scoff. Your heart goes through several different stages of frustration, exasperation, anger, tenderness and love. Familiarity. Settling on the latter, until you recognize the glint in his eyes, the same one he had all those months back, when he was on his knees.

Lust, care, love, regret. 

“Gentle.” You tell him as your chest softens, your voice still mockingly altered. “You’re not tuning the bloody radio.”

“Ha!” His lips twitch upward. “Coulda fooled me.”

Simon pinches your nipple in retaliation, but it makes you chuckle this time. When he’s sure you’re okay, he pulls your lips down in a kiss that’s starting to taste of you, and you like how the salt of your skin seems to belong so naturally on his tongue.

You kiss him through your smile as the air turns hot again. The windows slowly grow misty and opaque, creating a space around you that’s soft and insulated and safe.

Simon splays his palm on your stomach. Turns it so his fingers face downward. He inches closer to your sex, grazing the lace of your underwear, until the pad of his middle finger presses to the wet spot formed on the gusset.

There, he stops. Waits for you.

No need for words. You don’t want his lips to leave yours and you don’t fancy taking the risk of pulling away.

In fact, there’s little hesitation when your hand journeys down his shoulder to his forearm, tracing the hair growing over it and the odd bump of a scar here and there. You travel until your palm cups his knuckles, your middle finger over his, pressing it down to the swollen knot of your clit.

Simon draws a few experimental rolls, ones you encourage with the movement of your hips, with the puffs of breath all but pushed out of you and into the kiss.

A kiss he reciprocates, open and hot.

Moving your panties aside, Simon only brushes your entrance at first, finding it sodden already. And when you more than enthusiastically respond to his touch, he plunges his finger inside. 

Your breath itches, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open against his own.

Simon drags his finger slowly, in and out, not teasingly but to let you adjust, to allow you to mould around his shape. And he does so until he feels you positively drip on his palm, softer around him yet clenching at the welcomed intrusion.

He adds a second finger. The stretch is delicious, fulfilling. Scratches an itch you couldn’t quite reach on your own, nor could the scattered toys you’ve bought and abandoned.

It’s a touch you’re comfortable with, one you know and can predict but not in a way that makes it boring. You just know he’ll feed the starvation, satisfy the drought.

He buries his fingers to the knuckle, until his palm is flat to your sex, heel pressing to your clit. Simon rolls it a few times and then lets you take the lead, keeping his hand still. 

You ride his fingers by canting your hips in the way you like, stimulating both your g-spot and your clit. Simon keeps your mouth on his with a hand of steel glued to the back of your neck—unnecessary, because you have no intention of pulling away.

The first orgasm makes your head spin—you haven’t had a good one like this in quite some time. It coils around your stomach until it's knotted so tight you have no other option but to groan in his mouth to release the tension it built.

Simon’s fingers flex both at your nape and inside of you, pulling you impossibly closer, noses slotting next to each other. He breathes just as heavily as you do, as if your orgasm has somehow rattled him as well.

There are no formalities in the way he moves, in the way he leaves your still clenching cunt empty—wet fingers reaching for his belt, unbuckling in haste. 

The sound of clinking metal manages to pass through the cotton barrier in your ears. It wakes you, prickles your skin that’s already burning hot.

You help him. Yours and his fingers try to work together but somehow make it harder to achieve the same goal. You chuckle when you both reach for the zipper and he playfully swats your hand away, taking the lead instead. 

You feel him twitch a smile against your kiss.

He untucks himself from his briefs. The urge to look down is impossible to resist and so you do, catching the glint on the head of his cock as it leaks with precum, wetter than you’ve ever seen him be. 

Your stomach tightens. Now that's a mouthwatering sight that never ceases to amaze you.

Simon pats your ass as an invite to scoot forward. He languidly drags the tip along your slit to collect some of your wetness. You jolt each time he catches your swollen clit.

When he lines himself with your entrance, you start sinking on him—nails digging into the cotton of his sweatshirt on his shoulders.

Simon stretches you wonderfully. He would slide in easily considering the way you’re dripping—it’s you who wants to take it slow in order to catch each muted reaction with ears and eyes, lips brushing his own.

And then you envelop him fully, taking his cock to the hilt. 

“Fuck.” He croaks, and falls still. 

The hand on your hip grips it painfully tight. The one on your nape locks your forehead to his. His breath comes out in heavy puffs, eyes wrenched closed. 

Simon looks very vulnerable now. Much at your mercy. He doesn’t want you to move, clearly, and has full trust you won’t. For him. Maybe for you too, otherwise this will end much sooner than you both want it to.

But still, you brush the tip of your nose with his. He opens his eyes, iris swallowed whole.

“Alright?” You ask quietly.

He brushes his nose back with yours.

“Alrigh’,” he rumbles. “Been a��while is all.”

You purse your lips in a wry smile.

“Has it now.”

He hums, narrowing his eyes. “Didn’t fancy goin’ ‘round breakin’ any more hearts.”

“How considerate, lieutenant.”

“Aye, that’s me.”

“Not quite.”

He pinches the fat on your hip.

“Cheeky,” he says, watching your eyes smile. 

You scrunch your nose, shaking your head from side to side.

“Eh, you love it.”

And he takes you off guard.

“I do," he says firmly, like that's some fundamental truth.

His hand moves to your cheek, thumb right under your eye brushing softly where the skin is thinner.

You like having him like this, with his face to yours, his lips within reach. It’s a strange thing, not having to turn your head around to reach for a sliver of skin to press a kiss to. Not having to find cotton instead of warm flesh, instead of soft lips.

You feel like you can, now—take the chance without finding a door being shut in your face. 

In fact, your lips find his naturally, and he responds like it’s easy, like it’s something you do every time. 

He kisses you slowly as his hand descends down your back to grab your hip. Then, he guides you, initiating the movements, and you follow through.

It begins gently, with your breaths in sync, lips just close enough for either of you to share a kiss if the moment feels right. Your hands cradle the slopes of his neck, his own fit in the crease between your hips and thighs.

It’s very quiet, you think, unlike the grunts and groans of the previous times. Now there's only Simon’s pants, your own efforts to keep your voice low, breathy moans occasionally interrupted by the smacking of lips.

And then he fits his palms under the round fat of your rear, lifting you up and then guiding you down at once. Your voice cracks, shattered into broken moans that Simon matches with his own.

Suddenly, you both want more. You feel it in the grip he has on your ass, in the hungry shadows of his eyes. You feel it in yourself, the heat pooling lower and lower, starving hands clutching the hair at his nape.

You prop yourself on your knees, as comfortably as you can, and start riding Simon even if your hamstrings are aching, thighs clenched and hard to the touch.

You go on and on, one hand perched on the padded roof and the other flat on the car window, mist disappearing in the shape of dragged fingers and scratching nails.

Warm pleasure collects in your belly. So hot it drips all the way to your toes, curling in your black heels clasped around your ankles. Your pace starts getting frantic, almost clumsy in the desperation to reach that high again, expecting it to be much better than the previous one since now Simon is fully sheathed inside of you.

You hold his eyes as the air catches in your chest and you fall silent. Breaths clipped and choked, like moans that you can’t articulate. Throat tight, tight, and tighter. 

Simon seems to notice the signs, attentive as ever, and he dips three fingers in his mouth before bringing them to your clit. He swipes side to side with the same urgency of your hips, clit pebbled and raw soothed by the warm smoothness of his spit. 

You cum hard. It’s a wave that almost crushes you against him, so hot you feel like suffocating. Your body collapses on him, as you pant loud and shrill into the curve of his neck. Simon’s cock is buried all the way in, while your tired hips twitch helplessly to both prolong your high and escape it.

And so, Simon takes it upon himself. Lifts you up and drops you down until you’re whimpering in his shoulder, teeth sinking in the taut muscles of his traps and nails digging into his back. 

By then, Simon’s hanging on by thread and you know it even in your fucked-out state.

When the overstimulation hits and a rough string of curses leaves your lips right into his ear, Simon snaps.

With a grunt that rattles your chest, he pulls you down until he’s flush with you, and you swear you can feel him in your throat. His hips hump upwards as if that might somehow drive him deeper, and then he fills you with warmth, hot and liquid. Inevitably, it spills out, dripping thick down his thighs and onto the car seats.

Simon holds you like that, catching his breath as you catch yours.

He peppers your shoulder with kisses. Big hands clutch the back of your dress as it dampens with your sweat until his arms finally wrap you whole—so tight your breath leaves you in a gasp.

“Missed you,” he says, breathing your name reverently.

And why on earth should you not believe him, this time—with his face in your neck, his heart on his sleeve.

You lift your head to kiss his cheek. The cracks in your lips sting as they unexpectedly meet fine tracks of salt water.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Missed you too, Si."

[thatonebirdwrites]

@lenaharness or whatever your name is.

Stop.

Do not use disabled people as a shield for your racist (and frankly ableist) bullshit. I get folks are scared right now, but there is no excuse for this behavior.

Generalizations and bad faith arguments like this are hurtful. It adds nothing to the discussion and is a derail. So just stop and take a moment to LISTEN instead of reacting. Expressing frustration about a trend is not the same thing as a blame game, so stop that nonsense too. First off many of us don't want to leave as our mutual aid networks and community are here. Plus, our ancestors fought and bled for this land. We shouldn't have to leave. We have talents and skills to offer the resistance (if the majority of Leftism can get their heads out of their asses and stop being racist and ableist.)

This isn't to say disabled people are all Leftists or intersectional or antiracist. There's some super racist white disabled folks who voted for Trump out there. Those people are irritatingly harmful and making it harder for all of us.

Secondly, Black, Indigenous, and People of Color are more likely to be disabled due to the racist/ableist/classist policies that target those populations. Intersectionality exists, and Disabled people can be of any skin color, any sexuality, any gender -- so lumping us all together as if we're one amorphous blob is irritating as fuck and racist/ableist. Third, we cannot leave this country even if we wanted to because -- get this -- racism and ableism and classism are tied up together. No Western Country will take us due to productivity laws (with sometimes fast-tracking for specific careers) that require any immigrant to be able to work a specific amount of hours to get accepted into the country. They literally word their laws with ableist terms such as "drain" on their state coffers and healthcare. So any of us who fail that ableist litmus test cannot immigrate there. Sure we can apply for asylum, but again, ableism/classism/racism reigns supreme and we can be denied asylum for being disabled.

Many disabled people are tied to local communities for aid and are in forced poverty due to disability programs not being updated since 1980s, which is why benefits are abysmal still. So most of us simply do not have the funds or know people elsewhere to help us move. (As many of us would need assistance to move).

Some of us don't WANT to move, but instead want people to not forget us and continue to support us through these terrifying times. Many of us are doing our part in the resistance the best we can with our limitations.

My own frustrations mirror the original poster. I'm sick of folks leaping immediately to 'oh we need to leave!' the moment things get tough instead of helping their communities with survival and resistance. OP is absolutely correct in their frustrations and reasons why.

I'm also sick of folks leaving us disabled to die and rot. I'm infuriated by people using ableist terms like 'insane' or 'stupid' to describe things they don't like. I'm exhausted by folks who won't acknowledge our ties to the land and the community and act like we're chess chips for whatever 'gotcha game' they're playing. I'm sick to death of Leftists forgetting us in their so-called 'better futures' (which are way too white to begin with).

Expressing our frustrations about these topics is valid and necessary if we're to work together to survive and fight for a better world.

the reason that white Americans going "I'm going to move to ___" during all this insults me so much is not bc I care whether they leave or go. I think it bothers me deeply bc it shows such a... Lack of attachment to the land that so so SO many people suffered and currently suffer for.

The indigenous peoples here were mass murdered for centuries for their own land. My people were brought here in chains for centuries, then bred like they were lower than animals, just to work this land. People of color here and abroad suffer just to maintain this place's spot in the global hierarchy.

A lot of BLOOD went into this soil that y'all's ancestors wanted so fucking bad, a lot of privilege (whether you want it or not) was built through so much suffering for you to have. And as soon as the going got tough, your only comment was "well, I wish I could settle somewhere else now". 😐 It just is truly a slap in the face, that y'all don't even care that much about what was committed for you to stand where you are.

And maybe if people acknowledged that privilege more I'd be less mad, but no. They claim to not even know 😭 like all right then

[paigeswiftsea]

Why Star Stable Online Has Lost it's Players (And How to Fix It) (An Analysis)

Introduction

I've been playing Star Stable Online (SSO) for a long time—around 8-9 years. My older sister introduced me to it during our shared horse phase, and for years, it was an exciting escape that we were both obsessed with. We eagerly awaited new main quests, wondering what the next big story update would bring.

But lately? The magic is gone.

Some might say it’s just nostalgia, that I’ve outgrown the game. While there may be some truth to that, I believe SSO itself has changed in ways that stripped it of its former charm. I used to fight my sister for our family computer just to get my one hour of gameplay each day. Now? I barely log in, only returning for big updates like Christmas, the Medieval Festival, and the Home Stable revamp. I still participate in the fandom and write fanfiction, meaning I engage with the lore—but the actual gameplay? It’s boring.

After reflecting on this, I realized that SSO has lost what made it special. The intrigue, mystery, and excitement have faded, leaving behind a game that feels repetitive, predictable, and uninspired.

And the worst part? It didn’t have to be this way.

The Main Questline

One of the biggest reasons why SSO has lost its mystique is the shift in the main questline.

Back in the earlier years of the game, the main story felt like a real adventure. It had danger, secrecy, and high stakes.

For example, the dark core quests, saving Justin, meeting Fripp for the first time, hell even the opening screen.

They got rid of the first opening screen for a mediocre riding island tutorial. It also contradicts the plot because Lisa and Anne are supposed to be missing at the beginning of the game, yet there they are, welcoming a random new rider to the island? It doesn't make any sense.

And again, The quests now all follow the same formula of:

“Oh no, something bad happens! Quick, MC, do all the work! We believe in you! Yay, friendship! The Dark Riders scowl and leave. Quest complete.”

There’s no real challenge, no real mystery, and barely any tension. The game has become too afraid to put the player in real danger, so everything feels safe and shallow.

Even the Dark Riders don’t feel like villains anymore. They show up, taunt you, and then leave. They don’t feel like an actual threat.

Dark Core? Completely incompetent. The same organization that once kidnapped and brainwashed Justin and had an eerie, powerful presence now feels like a joke.

The stakes are gone. The story is dragging. And at this rate, we’ll still be waiting for the final battle in 2040.

Nothing ever feels genuinely difficult or tense.

Where’s the mystery? Where’s the challenge? Why does it feel like nothing truly matters anymore?

Even the Fort Maria quests, which should have been an exciting addition, were a letdown. Instead of diving deep into the Keepers of Aideen’s past or discovering secrets and lore, we got... daily quests that never gave us any new lore, just MC doing all the work, again. The primaeval tree was interesting I admit, but it also felt like it came out of nowhere, and I still don't really remember the point of those quests. The only interesting parts of those quests to me were opening the portal, which then led to more daily quests while SSE came up with more filler.

Catering to a Younger Audience Backfired

SSO has always been a game for kids, but in the past, it never talked down to its audience. The earlier quests had a level of complexity and emotional weight that made them enjoyable for all players.

Now? It feels like SSE has sacrificed everything that made the story compelling in favor of appealing to a younger audience in the most uninspired way possible.

But here’s the thing: you can make a game appealing to kids without making it boring for older players.

Plenty of games manage to be engaging for both younger and older audiences—think of Minecraft, Pokémon, even certain Roblox games (Dress To impress?). These games balance fun and accessibility while still providing enough depth for older players to enjoy.

Meanwhile, SSO is stuck in an identity crisis. It doesn’t know if it wants to be a fun horse game, an epic fantasy adventure, or a horse shopping simulator. And instead of balancing all of these elements, it’s failing at all three.

The Economy Is Awful (And It’s Driving Players Away)

Let’s be honest: SSO’s in-game economy is a disaster.

Jorvik Shillings are practically useless because items are priced absurdly high, making it impossible for non-Star Riders to afford anything. Even Star Riders struggle because shillings are capped, meaning if you’re maxed out, you’re forced to waste shillings or spend Star Coins. This also doesn't help when you're a free player, and every single item is 9990 shillings.

Star Coins are ridiculously overpriced, and SSE knows it. Prices have gone up, but the value of what you get has gone down. New horses are more expensive than ever, tack and clothes are absurdly priced, and with weekly Star Coin allowances being so low, the game constantly pressures you into spending real money.

No one wants to feel broke in a game. We log in to escape reality, not to feel like a struggling stablehand who can’t even afford a pair of boots.

SSE seems to think they can make more money by increasing Star Coin dependency. But guess what? If the game was actually fun, people would be happy to spend money on it. Instead, more and more players are quitting because it’s just not worth investing in anymore.

SSO’s Most Successful Moments Were Events—So Why Did They Get Rid of Them?

Think about the most active times on SSO in 2024—probably Christmas, main quest updates, and the Equestrian Festival.

What do these all have in common? Limited-time events.

People log in for seasonal events because they’re fun. But instead of keeping beloved events like:

The Birthday Festival

The April Fools Car Prank (ICONIC)

The Pride/Cloud Kingdom Event

Midsummer Festival

Easter

…SSE removed them in favor of shopping/bazaar updates and the permanent Medieval Festival.

Why? Why take away the things that made the game feel alive? Seeing Jorvik change with the seasons, experiencing new limited-time adventures, and collecting fun event-exclusive items were some of the best parts of the game. Removing them just makes Jorvik feel static and lifeless.

New Owners

In 2021 I believe, The game was sold or bought out, something along those lines ( feel free to correct me if I'm wrong on that). And I found this quote from a website about an interview from Stacy Place and CEO Johan Sjöberg. (This is from 2021 so things may have changed but I doubt it.)

“Players want things to do, and the story has to be continued,” Stacy agrees. “There’s definitely a hunger for more endgame content, and we want to deliver that.” Stacy explains that there has not really been a dedicated “Quest Team” at SSO recently, and that as a result, the people who could have been working on that, would keep having other tasks assigned to them. “It’s always about juggling resources,” Stacy goes on, “between new horses, events and updating environments and character designs, it’s been difficult to get resources allocated for the creation of new quests.” But here too, the future is looking promising: “I actually have a meeting on that later today!” Stacy adds. “We need to move this forward in a healthy way.” That does not mean we should expect fewer new horse releases in the future though. “Horses are our main business. They are what keeps the game afloat – and we take them seriously!” Most recently, Star Stable has added the updated American Paint Horse and additional coat variations for six popular breeds.

This just confirms what a lot of players have already suspected—SSO has prioritized horse releases over actual gameplay content. It’s not even a secret anymore; they outright admit that they haven’t had a dedicated Quest Team for a while.

The problem isn’t just a lack of quests—it’s that the entire game feels stagnant because everything revolves around pumping out new horses. Yes, horses are the game’s main source of revenue, but without meaningful content, why should players stay?

They’re acknowledging the issue, which is something, but words don’t mean much if we don’t see real change. A meeting about quest development is great, but will it actually lead to consistent story updates? Or is it just another vague promise to keep players hopeful?

And the fact that they’re still saying, “Horses are our main business” just reinforces that new breeds will always take priority over everything else. That’s not inherently bad—but it shows that story progression, worldbuilding, and forgotten areas like Dino Valley will always come second.

At the end of the day, if the game keeps prioritizing short-term profits (horse releases) over long-term player engagement (quests, events, and actual reasons to keep playing), more players will leave.

They need to have dedicated teams for each sector of the game, not people who work on everything all at once. Quests, horses, other game updates like area updates, character updates need to be specific groups where a team focuses solely on one thing at a time.

Later in the article they rephrase this by saying,

"An addendum, because this part of the article appears to be misunderstood by many readers: That there hasn't been a dedicated quest team does not mean that nobody at SSO has been working on Quests in recent months and years. “When we say we don’t have a ‘dedicated quest team’, we mean that we haven’t always been structured to have a team that specifically works only on quests,” Stacy clarifies in a follow-up email to this article. “Instead, we have multiple teams that work on delivering the game. So the team working on quests doesn’t only work on quests, which are complex and touch many other areas of development.”

This just further highlights the core issue—SSO doesn’t have structured teams dedicated to specific aspects of the game. Instead of having a Quest Team, a Horse Team, an Environment Team, and so on, they have a general development team that has to juggle multiple responsibilities at once.

And this lack of structure shows in the game itself. Quest updates are slow and inconsistent, while new horses get released like clockwork. Environmental updates happen occasionally, but areas like Dino Valley and the old abandoned doors remain untouched. Character updates have been sporadic, with some NPCs looking modern and polished while others still look like they belong in 2015. (long necks anyone? :0)

Their explanation makes it clear: quests are not a priority. If they were, SSO would have a team dedicated solely to working on them, instead of splitting development resources across multiple tasks.

If they really want to fix the game, they need to stop treating everything like an afterthought and start forming specialized teams:

A Quest Team to work exclusively on new storylines, side quests, and meaningful updates.

A Horse Team to continue designing new breeds and variations.

An Environment Team to focus on updating neglected areas like Dino Valley and Epona that don't change the whole game, like Steve's farm, Silverglade village, and the vineyard.

An Events Team to bring back beloved seasonal content and add new, engaging activities.

Without this, we’re going to keep seeing slow, repetitive updates where new horses come first and everything else falls to the wayside. The game needs balance, not just new models.

Speaking of new models,

One of the biggest issues is that our character model doesn’t match the NPC models at all. Some NPCs still have the old, low-poly look, while our characters have a completely different art style and proportions. This makes us look like giants compared to some NPCs, and the contrast is jarring.

SSO shouldn’t have updated the player model without also updating the NPCs. It creates an unpolished experience where the game feels disjointed. If they’re going to revamp one part of the game, they need to follow through and make everything cohesive.

And while body diversity is great, the range of body types still feels limited. There’s no truly skinny option, and while it’s not the biggest issue, true inclusivity means representing everyone. If they want to keep improving, they should expand the customization options—not just body types, but also things like facial features, hairstyles, and animations to make the character feel more natural. And it doesn't help that they promised more to come with the first character update which was when? almost 2 full years ago? They are dropping the ball in multiple areas.

Marketing

SSE does not market as the actual game. It advertises fun and adventure, a silly game for kids when in reality it is nothing to that. It doesn't give that magic or mystery of the old ones. I went and found commercials from different years. There's this old one, and then this short one on youtube I found. Now, let's compare.

That short is so fuckass. like why are they making Darko into a redditor? Plus, it gives major spoilers as well so like if it reaches someone who was thinking about playing the game, it's like an automatic spoiler.

has a completely different tone. It presents the game as an immersive adventure with mystery, danger, and excitement. The stakes feel high, and it showcases the fantasy elements in a way that makes Jorvik feel like a living, magical world.

This shift in marketing reflects the identity crisis SSO is currently facing. It used to be a horse adventure game with strong storytelling, but now it’s marketed as a simple kids' game, which doesn’t align with its actual gameplay or longtime audience. This disconnect contributes to player dissatisfaction and dwindling engagement.

Let's also discuss the tik tok account. I think any tiktoker will remember the pocket Sabine series? The marketing team series they post on tiktok as well are super dumb and cringy as well. Maybe this is really nitpicky, but I think their marketing team should focus a lot more on listening to feedback. This shift misrepresents what SSO once was—an immersive adventure with high stakes and rich storytelling. And, by downplaying the fantasy elements, the marketing alienates the older audience and misleads potential new players about the actual content of the game. The lighthearted TikTok series and other marketing materials have missed the mark, making the game seem trivial when it should be portrayed as the vast, magical world it was originally intended to be.

Updates and Slow Bug fixes

Unresolved Issues Persist: Players have long expressed frustration with the slow pace at which critical bugs are fixed in Star Stable Online. Persistent issues like broken quests, NPCs not triggering dialogue correctly, or horses not responding to commands may go on for weeks—or even months—without resolution. This lack of timely fixes can disrupt the immersion and enjoyment of the game, especially for players who are heavily invested in completing quests or building their horses’ stats.

Performance Problems: Many players have reported performance issues, such as lag, crashing, or long loading times. These technical hiccups are especially detrimental to players who are trying to enjoy the game on a more serious level. Despite these long-standing issues, they are often left unresolved for too long, giving the impression that the development team is more focused on new features than maintaining the current ones.

Impact on Gameplay Experience: The slow patching of bugs and glitches not only frustrates players but can also affect gameplay. For example, if a quest-breaking bug isn’t fixed, it can prevent players from progressing in the game or earning rewards, which could dampen their motivation to keep playing. Players who have experienced the same issue repeatedly may even feel neglected, leading to a decline in player retention.

(psa this was written before the cheating ban update so idk if anything changes here i haven't been online)

Pacing of Updates:

Inconsistent Release Schedule: There is often a lack of consistency in how updates are rolled out in Star Stable Online. Some months may see frequent updates with new content, while others might see a long dry spell where the community feels stagnant. When there is no clear pacing or roadmap, players might lose interest as they wait for new features or events. This inconsistency also makes it difficult to keep players engaged, especially if they feel that updates are sporadic and lack depth.

How SSE Can Fix This

Realistically, will SSE ever see this? Probably not. And even if they did, would they listen? Unlikely. But here’s what they could do to actually make the game engaging again:

Bring back the sense of mystery. The game doesn’t need to be horror, but it does need stakes, suspense, and excitement. Let Dark Core be evil. Make the Dark Riders feel like a real threat. Give us a story where we feel like we’re actually fighting for something.

Stop dumbing down the quests. Kids aren’t stupid. Plenty of kid-friendly media has deep, engaging stories that people of all ages can enjoy. SSO can, too.

Fix the economy. The current system is frustrating, predatory, and making people quit. Lower item prices, increase Jorvik Shilling rewards, and stop making everything feel like a cash grab.

Bring back seasonal events. Festivals, pranks, special decorations—these things made Jorvik feel alive. Removing them was a mistake.

Actually update the main story regularly. One to three main quest updates per year is not enough. The story is dragging, and at this pace, we’ll still be looking for the light ceremony pages in our 90's.

Listen to player feedback. The community has been vocal about these issues for years. Maybe it’s time SSE actually pays attention.

At its core, Star Stable Online has lost its identity. What was once a game about mystery, adventure, and meaningful storytelling has been reduced to a predictable cycle of overpriced horse releases and low-effort updates. The magic of Jorvik, once thriving with high-stakes quests and immersive seasonal events, has been replaced by a shallow, directionless experience that lacks the structure and ambition it desperately needs.

Instead of expanding on the compelling lore they already built, SSE has dragged the main story to a crawl while simultaneously making the Dark Riders and Dark Core feel like minor inconveniences rather than formidable threats. The economic decisions have only worsened the situation, making player engagement feel transactional rather than rewarding. The game’s reliance on overpriced horses and recycled events, coupled with its failure to deliver meaningful gameplay improvements, alienates both new players and longtime fans.

It didn’t have to be this way. With proper development structure, dedicated teams for different aspects of the game, and a renewed focus on engaging storytelling and gameplay, SSO could reclaim its former glory. But as it stands, it feels like SSE is more interested in short-term profit than in nurturing the world they created. If they continue down this path, Star Stable Online will remain in a slow decline, remembered more for what it could have been rather than what it actually became.

I don’t hate SSO. I wouldn’t be writing this if I did. I love the world, the characters, and the potential that’s still there. But right now, the game is failing its players. It’s losing old fans, struggling to keep new ones, and if it doesn’t course-correct soon, it risks fading into irrelevance.

SSO can be an amazing game again. But only if SSE actually puts in the effort.

[kurogane2512]

A bit of announcement and insight into my future plans here. Long read so I'll put read more line

Some of you may have noticed I haven't written Genshin fics for a while. The reason is really just I have lost interest in the game, i still have it but I didn't log in this entire patch and was on and off before it too. Literally didn't even pull Mavuika despite having a guarantee and enough time to farm primos. Many things have bothered me about it for a while, Natlan as a whole didn't pull me in and I just couldn't anymore.

Nevertheless, I still love my waifus in it and won't give up writing them. Genshin started my fanfic journey so I can't really drop it so easily. I'll probably continue to not write Genshin content for a while more, hoping to reignite my passion for the game. The requests I have are all so good so I definitely have the interest to do them, just need motivation. Ptn and hsr content would probably take the front seat for a while, especially ptn since I have an on and off relationship with hsr too.

Currently I'm obsessing over Aglaea and Jade in hsr so they'll keep me motivated for it. But if I don't get another fave in Amphoreus then it's gonna go down. Ptn, however, will stick around all the time. Never dropping this game and I know I'll keep getting new faves it's just that good and appeals to me so much. Aside from this, I play wuthering waves and aether gazer most so I can do requests on them as well. I tend to try most new gachas and get into some of them so you are welcome to ask me if I have a new fixation lol.

Ok moving onto some personal stuff. Starting from 17th February, I will be going out to pursue my master's degree. First I have a 3 days long travel then over there I'll be settling stuff until my course begins on 3rd March. Hence, I won't be posting much- if at all- during the second half of February and early March. After that it depends on the schedule I have there, probably gonna be pretty slow for a while cause it's a new place for me and I need to do many things on my own away from home. I'll keep you all updated how it goes, and if I can write then I'll just post as usual.

Thank you for your support it's honestly so amazing being here, you all are amazing I'm blessed to have such readers. Oh also to those who wish to donate to me or even commission me- I'll be in a different country for my degree and will try to set up patreon or something there since those apps aren't available in India. It'll be helpful for me to have some income from this 😊 thank you once again you guys, love you all ❤️

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

Old Scars (Part 15)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. This chapter's pretty soft actually, no violence for once 😂 Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

Chapter 15 -

The next thing I was aware of was somebody else entering the room, though some time later. Their footsteps rounded the bed to the side I was curled up on and the sudden intrusion of the sound woke me up with a jolt. I looked up to see the familiar tall figure of a man in dress pants and a dishevelled shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked recently showered; his hair was still wet and his bare face still had some traces of shaving foam on it. He clumsily replaced the errant strap of his suspenders as they slid off of his shoulder and crouched down beside me. As I realised who he was, I struggled to untangle the knotted threads of reality and the dream.

"Hello there," he said, with a voice like dry leaves on asphalt.

"I saw you," I murmured shakily.

He sat down beside me on the bed with a hum which suggested he was intrigued.

"And you were afraid."

I pulled myself upright so that I was seated with my legs crossed, and much to my alarm quickly realised how few clothes I was wearing. I hurriedly clutched the bedsheets to me, feeling very exposed but trying (and failing) to play it off like I wasn't. Oh god, there was no way the pair of them hadn't already seen too much.

"Afraid of you? A little, yes, but everything in that place was terrifying. You were just part of the landscape," I said as nonchalantly as I could.

He seemed a little surprised by my candid answer and highly amused by my attempt to preserve some kind of modesty. He handed me a cold glass of water with a tablet fizzing away inside it.

"Drink that."

"What is it?"

"Just drink it."

I sighed, for once not having the energy to argue and began to sip it quickly, not liking the taste. When it was half empty, I put it on the bedside dresser. He stayed sat beside me, fingers pressed together into a steeple as he seemed to drift somewhere far away in his mind. I watched the muscles and tendons of his forearms flex as his fingers moved in repetetive shapes.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I asked in my hoarse voice, recalling that he had used this particular turn of phrase on me before.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in the faintest hint of a smile, recognition of how i'd passed his own words back to him. He didn't share, of course. He never liked to show his hand, no matter what game we were playing.

"What happened to me?" I asked instead.

"You don't remember your little, uh, scuffle with the Russian?"

"Don't be difficult, you know what I mean. What did he stick me with?" I grumbled.

He turned to look me up and down, measuring the depth of my frustration and finding it to be fairly shallow.

"A kind of fear toxin, courtesy of disgraced Arkham psychiatrist Jonathan Crane. I hear it's causing all sorts of trouble in the Narrows since the dealers got hold of it."

"Why would that ever be sold as a recreational drug?" I scoffed in disbelief.

"To be fair," he said, flicking his tongue against his lower lip, "I think it's deliberately mis-sold."

"False advertising," I echoed as I wondered if he'd always had such an unusual tic, or if he'd developed it over time. I still found it unnerving.

"Yes. Maybe he wants to hold people to ransom and grind out a little profit selling the antidote," J added.

"You think that's Crane's M.O.?" I asked.

His tongue clicked against his teeth as he let out a kind of exasperated sigh.

"How should I know? He's crazy."

I failed to stifle a grin at the irony of such a dismissal coming from him, of all people.

"What's so amusing to you?" He asked, his voice slithering back into a slightly more sinister register.

His face took on a serious expression and he flexed his jaw. I realised I might be treading dangerous ground.

"I just find it a little hypocritical. I bet people call you crazy too," I answered earnestly, not wanting his unpredicatable moods to mold my own behaviour.

"I'm not crazy. I'm not," he muttered, though whether he was talking to himself or me was unclear.

"I didn't say you were -".

"Ah but you were thinking it. You were about to," he pointed a finger in my direction as his eyes narrowed.

"I only meant that people would say it, I've no idea whether you actually are. Besides, I wouldn't know what counts as crazy anymore, not after that bad trip," I muttered with a roll of my eyes.

He seemed to ease off a little.

"So how long was I out?" I changed track.

He paused, like he was at an intersection deciding whether to follow me down this new road in conversation, eventually he did.

"A couple of days. We got the antitoxin in you within three hours but you had a highly concentrated dose."

I thought about what the whole syringe might have done to me. Vladislav had clearly meant to kill me, or drive me permanently out of my mind. I shuddered just as Tony reappeared with a bundle of clothes in hand and my duffle bag.

"Here, I washed these for you."

There was something so unexpected about this enormous, fierce man, handing me my clothes like a mother getting a child ready for school. He set down the bag and clothes on the unoccupied side of the bed

"You can go now, I'll call when I need you. You know the drill by now," J said, tossing him a set of jangling keys.

I wondered how long Tony had been away from his family, and tried to remember what having people waiting at home for you felt like. I heard his footsteps fade, a door open and close, and finally, the rumble of a car engine as it pulled away. In his absence, the silence that fell over us was deafening.

"What happened to them?" I finally asked in my desperation to end the quiet.

"Are you sure you'd like to know that?" J asked, his tone dancing between seriousness and playfulness.

"Nicky shot Trigger, and you shot Nicky, but what happened to Vlad?"

Even without the paint, I watched a growing darkness twist the features of the man beside me. I hurriedly turned my eyes away from his face, instead settling on the peeling yellow wall paper in the corner of the room.

"I wasn't sure what to do with him at first. I considered killing him, but he just seemed to go deeper and deeper into madness. It was fascinating to watch."

Unable to stop myself, I turned back towards him, and watched the growing fire in his eyes as he spoke; he was becoming increasingly animated with each word.

"Tony dropped him downtown. Most likely he'll be picked up and carted off to Arkham. His fate is an excellent warning against any of the other men who might be tempted back into Maroni's deep pockets."

"He's stuck in a living nightmare. Yeah, I'd heed that warning," I said dryly.

"Exactly! This is so much better than just shooting him and dumping him in the harbour: the mob are desensetised to that. It's basically a regular tuesday for them, but this? No, no, this is much more of a powerful threat..."

His piercing gaze met my own.

"Still, I suppose you disapprove..." he said with a smirk.

"Are you kidding me? He tried to kill me and nearly had me stuck in some kind of endless hell."

I laughed a little at the idea I was going to be reproachful and I had his intensely undivided attention as I continued:

"It's satisfying to know that he's stuck like that. He set those wheels in motion. Let him suffer like I did."

He made a kind of sound under his breath, like he was pleased with my outburst and I moved to drink the rest of the water, still clutching the blankets to my chest. I still felt like I was nursing the worst hangover of my entire life, like I'd suffered an electric shock. One time I had forgot to unplug the toaster when I was cleaning it with a damp cloth and it felt like someone tied a housebrick with a string connected to each of my fingers and thrown it off of a cliff. The way all of my muscles had snapped taught and suddenly cramped - it was one of the worst pains I had ever experienced. This felt like that but all over, somehow worse. I grasped a tshirt from the fresh pile, and looked pointedly at him.

When he didn't move, I was forced to use words.

"Turn around already," I grumbled.

Both his eyebrows pulled up into a knowing look as he laughed.

"I hate to break it to you doll, but you tore off your clothes whilst screaming like a banshee yesterday evening. It might be a little late for that."

My cheeks flushed red as I felt the sting of embarasment. Still I hurriedly stuffed the t-shirt over my head and pulled it on the moment he made a big scene of turning to face the wall for me.

"You can turn back," I groaned and laid my head back down against the cool pillow, feeling terrible.

The next time I woke up, J was sat on the empty side of the bed, his long legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankle and he was holding out a plate. His face paint had reappeared by now and he wordlessly gestured for me to take the food he'd brought. I sluggishly propped myself up enough to take one, and instead he forcibly shoved the plate into my hands.

"You need to eat these," he said sternly.

Wordlessly and methodically I worked my way through the crackers as he watched me intently. They had a layer of peanut butter and jelly haphazardly slapped on top of them, I assumed for the purpose of giving me some sugar intake.

"It's a good thing i'm not allergic to peanuts, huh? Did you think of that?" I jabbed an elbow into his ribs playfully, somehow forgetting the many reasons not to do that kind of thing.

He looked baffled, which made me laugh a little.

"What's so funny?" He said sounding almost hurt.

"Your face; you just looked so confused."

"People don't tend to touch me," he muttered, rattling over the t sounds..

"Yeah, well people will give you a wide berth if you go around blowing up half the city. Who'd have guessed?" I rolled my eyes.

Suddenly, he produced something from his pocket. It was a brilliant red apple, almost as vibrant as his painted smile. He rubbed it against his waistcoat as though he was polishing it. I watched him quizically as he took a bite and then tossed it into my lap. He had a maddening habit of chewing without properly closing his mouth which immediately made my skin crawl.

"What?" He asked, spotting my change in body language.

I gently put my hand over his mouth.

"Don't you have any manners?" I said as playfully as I could manage.

His eyes locked with my own and he slowly pulled my hand down.

"Define manners... I find that most of them are a waste of time. An unwritten social contract we're all just dragged into."

"Yes, but -" I tried to argue. He cut me off.

"Do you know, what happens if you get lacerations from here, to here? He asked, following the red line of paint which almost went from ear to ear.

"No," I answered, anxiety rising in my chest.

"Well, about here, is something called the parotid duct. It's basically the tube that carries your saliva, from where it is produced further back, into your mouth. If that gets cut, a surgeon will have to try reconstructing it. Even if they are successful, you'll probably have issues with it for life."

He gestured to a point on his cheek about two thirds of the way from his mouth to his ear, right at the top of his longer scar. Instantly, I realised what an asshat I had been and felt a burning shame spreading throughout my body.

"Not to mention, there's all kinds of nerves in here..." he pressed further, tracing the forked outline of some of them against my cheek with a finger.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't think -"

He waved a hand to shut me up, but I ignored him.

"No, I am. That was me being a prick. I of all people should have thought about that."

He placed a finger to my lips in a shushing motion and my words finally came to a halt.

"Don't waste your time, doll. I don't care. Not about manners and not about what you just said." He said, nodding his head affirmatively in a frantic way.

I was sure that I felt a rogue tear slip out and roll down my cheek, despite my attempts to suppress the overwhelming feeling of regret that was welling up inside me. How had I missed the obvious and said something so careless, like so many people had done to me? Before I could wipe it away, he spotted it and pulled his body closer to mine. He cupped my face in his hands with a look of childlike fascination in his features.

"What's this, a tear? For me?" He mused.

I tried to turn my head away, but he tightened his grip in resistance against me. I was then suddenly afraid of what he would do next. He swept the tear away with his thumb and released me from his grasp. Not knowing what had taken over me, I folded my arms around his waist and I laid back down.

He remained sat with his back to the headboard, and surprisingly didn't try to remove my clinging grasp on him as he stayed uncharacteristically still. I felt him rest a hand against the side of my face. Normally I would have recoiled even at the idea of anyone touching my broken skin, but there was something about his touch that felt like it was white hot and purifying. It was the opposite to the feeling of disgust and corruption that my attacker in the alley had left lingering on me.

"Sometimes, when its about to rain, espescially if theres a storm coming, it feels like the plate in my head starts to vibrate."

"So they turned you into a human barometer? That's unfortunate..."

"I mean it's a pretty shit power, it fucking hurts, but I can tell you if it's about to rain really heavily," I smiled weakly.

I felt his hand smooth the hair over the location of my titanium plate.

"You know, I applied for a specialist plastic surgeon to help me heal better," I began, seeing an opportunity for a little dark humour; "to stop me looking like I lost a fight to someone wielding a cheese grater..."

I felt him chuckle at my ridiculous image which was at odds with the emotional weight of what I was sharing.

"but my insurance provider denied me everything except the most basic stitch-up and a permanent plate."

He gave a hum which indicated he was listening intently.

"I can't help thinking maybe I wouldn't have a lifetime of headaches if they hadn't put the cheapest thing possible in there. And, of course, the scars could have been much less noticeable," I sighed, running my hand over the valleys and ridges travelling down from my temple.

"The whole system - It's a bad joke," he muttered.

I nodded with a sigh.

"But it will never change. It's so utterly depressing. I hate it."

I felt his fingers clumsily tracing over my face again.

"We live in a cruel world, it's true."

"Are you wondering how it happened?" I whispered.

"No. The past is the past. When you live in the world we do, the only way to stay sane is to live in the present."

A smile crept its way onto my face.

"If you'd asked, I would've lied to you any way. Even to you, I wouldn't give that away," I admitted, looking up at his face.

He seemed struck by this, looking down at me with a renewed kind of fascination.

"What?"

"Nothing," he answered, patting me on the head.

Unlike him, my thoughts drifted to the future. Whatever this was could not end well: It couldn't last. Reality was always chasing me down.

"Lie to me," I said suddenly.

"What?"

"Tell me we have a future, that there's hope. That whatever this is between us, it will all be okay."

"Doll, you know that's really not -" he began with a sigh and shifted within my grasp.

"It doesn't have to be convincing. I just need to hear the words."

He was silent for a while, as I waited to see if he would do what I'd asked. He sighed and grumbled under his breath as he turned closer to me.

"We can leave all of this behind us. We'll run off into the sunset and live happily ever after. No more batman, no more Gotham city, no more police. I'll take you to the mountains - or are you the sort of girl who prefers the ocean? We can do both, all that greenery, and you can swim in the water."

It didn't matter that I knew the words were empty, or that he himself sounded utterly unconvinced. I picked up the apple, which had already started to brown where the missing piece was, and ate some of it myself. It was surprisingly sweet and crisp. I let my eyes drift closed and fashioned myself a strange sort of Eden in my imagination. I found myself falling back into the dance we had been locked in when I was under Crane's toxin. I was so tired.

I had nearly died a second time, and like the first, it had changed me in ways I didn't yet know...

Link to the masterlist for other chapters:

Tag list:

If I forgot anyone or you want to be removed from the tag list - please let me know! 💕

@dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd

@dance-like-a-clown

@furisodespirit

@heath-ledger-jokers-wife

@sunfyrejoker

@lightsabergirl

@clowning--around

@ruby-da-archangel

@harleenqvinn

@helchronicles

@ostricx

@knoepfl

@jumpingjellyfishhaha

@nicklet94

Dividers by @strangergraphics ✨️

[lunarharp]

fwee top 5 things i had fun with this year :-)

[asmodeusamaryllis]

Man idk the argument about hvy being a Chinese company and so they're restricted on having characters with dark skin tones when dislyte is ALSO a Chinese company and they typically are really good at representing the culture they take from for their characters makes it somewhat mute

[asfdhgsdkjhgb]

guys i need to be dancing at a house party tipsy with someone im attracted to so bad btw. ive never been to a house party in real life (though id quite like to at least once) but i really have been desperately needing that specific (probably awful for me) sensory and social environment so bad lately

[frameconfessions]

I think it’s silly that they removed archon shards from the Kahl ship effectively partially killing the replayability value of the game mode just so they could usher people over to the Entrati Labs mode for (I'm assuming) better play time metrics over there.

.

[frobby]

Hey hey this is kinda random but yall do know how easy it is to get Japanese games(or Chinese or korean) on ur phone right? I saw a bunch of ppl talking about how they're sad they can't play haikyuu touch the dream cuz it's not global but like u totally can and it's super easy

Android: just download qooapp u just gotta look up qooapp and if u want download their app and boom jp games galore! Qooapp is what I use but the caveat is its not for ios

Apple: okay ur getting this info second hand so if someone has more than I do that would be very helpful. From what I've heard u just have to make a Japanese apple ID and I don't have an apple phone so I don't know how it works sorry!

Japanese IP bypass: some Japanese games check if you have a Japanese IP address which makes them harder to download however u can work around it with a VPN. I used tunnelbear when I downloaded magireco and it Def worked. All I did was change my location to Japan and then make a Japanese IP email acc and sign in to the googleplay store. Make sure to set the app to auto update tho so u don't have to deal with it later. Luckily it's only a few games you'll have to do do this for

In conclusion:downloading Asian games is very easy and the only issue is language and u could easily look up translations for story and mission and stuff though I wouldn't recommend story heavy or games where you feel like you would need to be able to read I know some people use like apps that translate in real time but idk how to do that lmao

[ettadunham]

why does horizon zero dawn, a game that came out 7 years ago and only got a PC port in 2020 has a remaster in 2024??? this is absurd.

[unreadpoppy]

i've seen too many people talking about the bg3 fandom dying within the a year and i do have to ask...have y'all never been in another fandom before???

[silverselfshippingchaos]

I had a dream where a 3rd J.udgment game was announced and M.ine showed up for one split second in the reveal trailer with this super hot evil smirk on his face and Twitter was going batshit crazy over it

Then I woke up and got really disappointed

[welcometogrouchland]

EXTREMELY CRUSTY but I’ve been working on oc designs in between DC prompts. My little meow meows im so sorry i neglected you (i will inevitably do it again </3)

[chibishortdeath]

Hmmm I kinda want to make a side blog for RPG Maker game development related things to be able to talk to more experienced people in that community, but at the same time I both don’t really think I’d get much attention and don’t want to accidentally spoil my own game (^^ ; ).

I have a rough story, concept doodles, a tileset, some character sprites, an enemy that walks around but can’t initiate battle yet (if I even decide to have a battle system), a couple rooms with some events, and a functioning run button, but I’m still lost on how to do much else at the moment. Especially since this program has the ability for scripting, meaning I’ll probably have to learn and actually retain another coding language.

So, I’m not very far at all lol. Idk how well that’d go over on the established fandom website, but eh.

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

this is a very venty post don't mind me :D

that nintendo direct was so horrible.

it was literally like 80 percent remakes and remasters.

never in my life have i seen an announcement video exist just to say "every game you've ever known since the 90s is being remade/remastered, sorry, we ran out of originality".

literally like all the video game market is anymore is remakes and the movie industry is just as bad.

the nso releases are fine because they're not like, remakes taking up full game slots. they're old games that are being made accessible and that's great... but there's no need to remake this many games when they can do that. remakes used to be rare. remember stuff like the wii u shop and stuff? with all the games they had on those things? now it's a tiny selection and everything else is a remake :/

also I feel like a lot of new rpgs are just like... lowkey fe knockoffs now instead of original rpgs.

i'm happy for like... two existing remakes, but one of them is mario rpg which people wanted waaaaAAAAAYYYY before the remake and remaster era, and the other is baten kaitos which im not actually happy about remaster-wise (the updated ui is trash, they took out very specific charms of the original ui), just happy that it will get more recognition/notice from people since it was never popular.

they also completely removed the english voice acting which like okay yeah it wasn't always that great but the voices fit perfectly and it wasn't as bad as fans meme on it for! it just sounded like they were talking through a tube and that was actually the worst part of it lol.

someone suggested to me that they may have just lost the data for it, but idk. i wish they'd just admit that somehow if it was the case, because it bugs me that the english audio is just completely gone when ultimately i really liked it. i wanted the game to be accessible to newer players, sure, but i also wanted the english audio there. ig that's because i grew up with it and i liked it, but it's still such a bummer for me!

paper mario being put on the nso and tyd getting a whole remaster does make me sad tho bc it feels like they're leaving the original in the dust when it was so good. if you're gonna do tyd, at least do them both.

good for innersloth though, i'm sure they never imagined being on a nintendo direct. they're the real winners here.