#dressage test

[freddie-dressage]

For the love of God can dressage spectators stop trying to do the awful clapping thing during freestyles?? Especially when it makes zero sense for the music PLEASE

[whenyourheartstopsbeating]

You guys are lucky I don’t know how to gif because I would be spamming with the equestrian part of the Olympics

[louthingg]

FUCK yeah 59% on my dressage test and it’s my first ever off property show

i’m so proud of him

[aldieb]

this is such a dorky approach to exercise yes but i love the insight that cardio gives me into the biomechanics of riding. like “you need to get the horse to support themself through down transitions rather than just letting them fall out” becomes so much more concrete when you feel the difference between using your muscles to go from a jog to a walk in a controlled way and just letting yourself do an exhausted flop out of the jog.

[track2hack]

FUCK SHIT PISS COCK AND BALLS

[bomb-proof]

My friend Becky and Honey from the horse show last weekend bopping around in the 18" jumpers!

LAJUF May 2023

Pc: Shannon Castenada Photography

[thunderboltfire]

Honestly where I come from horse riding is pretty expensive and if you say you can ride, it's expected that you can fully control a horse in three basic gaits - it's usually a prerequisite to a trail ride, so you have to take lessons beforehand - often many hours - and those aren't cheap. That's why I pretty much haven't even started the lessons until I had my own money to spend. Just sitting throughout the ride is alright and I believe people can do it with little training, but controlling the exact tempo and direction in canter is a whole different thing.

[crashtestvideo]

J'ai enfin réussi à faire un live correct, vidéo clean et audio propre et synchronisé, ce qui n'est pas évident quand le meilleur micro que j'ai est celui de la webcam. Je ne savais pas de quoi j'allais parler et je suis parti sur le traitement de la douleur aux urgences (physique et psychique, c'est aussi bien géré).

[skycowboys]

Oh my god. Would dressage pegs be trained to show off their wings??? Peacock dressage babies????

Hi!

That'd be pretty neat to have the wings be a part of the moves, like being held in different positions for flare/fanciness. Or taking into account how the tail feathers swish around when you pirouette. Things would def be more difficult if the pegasus has to hold it's wings in different positions throughout the test instead of just having them folded at their sides.

~ Larn

[cuubism]

as a certified horse obsessed freak i'm obliged to have an equestrian au so here's an equestrian au. make it olympics flavored for relevance. but there will be no sex in hay!! EVER!!!

it is smutty though.

--

Dream Endleas’s reputation for being difficult preceded him. His critical eye, his adherence to perfection, his crisp turnout and refusal to ever appear the slightest bit disheveled even after competing in the summer heat; his family, his money, his luxury-brand sponsorships—Hob had seen enough videos of Dream’s Grand Prix tests to be prepared for all of it. But he wasn’t prepared for the force of seeing it in person.

Dream in person was somehow even more perfect and posh than he appeared on video. Hob hadn’t actually spoken to him yet, had only communicated through his groom, Matthew, while getting the horses settled in—but God, he looked like such a prat. He looked like the type of snotty kid Hob had seen around the yard growing up, the type who thought they could ride because their parents had bought them a fifty-thousand pound pony. The type that persisted into adulthood, rolling up in a Range Rover to get on an already tacked horse, later handing their fancy horse back to the groom before stalking back out of the stable in pristine white breeches, leaving all the care to others.

Hob might have had a bit of a chip on his shoulder about that sort of thing.

It would have been easy to hate Dream, except that, fancy horse or not, he actually could ride, exceedingly well at that, and—and Hob was feeling very betrayed by his dick on this one—he was also blisteringly hot.

Dressage competition wear was, by and large, not one’s first choice of clothes that would be considered “sexy.” The combination of “business formal” and “cavalry officer on parade” wasn’t exactly giving come hither, but Hob took one look at Dream stalking down the center aisle of the barn in his clean white breeches and his high boots and his black coat with its little fucking Union Jack embroidery and he wanted. It was a good thing thoughts were an internal situation because it was embarrassing how quickly he went to I want those skinny little thighs wrapped around my head. Mortifying, really.

He was thinking about it so hard he didn’t immediately realize Dream was coming for him.

“You,” Dream said, stopping before him. “You are the stable manager.”

“That’s me,” Hob agreed. Regretting it more every minute, too. Managing the horses for the Olympic team had sounded like a good gig in theory…

“Why have the horses not been turned out?” Dream demanded.

“Aren’t you competing in—” Hob checked his watch— “an hour? Why are you asking me this now?”

“Because it came to my attention that things were mismanaged,” Dream said, unrepentant, then stood, waiting for his answer.

Hob sighed. “They didn’t provide us any turnout space.”

“They did not provide—” Dream started, then stopped, apparently flummoxed. “That is unacceptable.”

Hob had to grudgingly admit that it was to his credit that he cared. Not everyone did. “Tell me about it. But if you hadn’t noticed, we’re in a several hundred year old stable and they weren’t about to revamp the entire situation for us.”

“As per usual, horse welfare comes last,” Dream said, narrowing his eyes. Jesus Christ, Hob thought, he’s wearing eyeliner. “Be advised that I will be paying close attention going forward—” he looked at Hob’s name badge— “Hob Gadling.”

And with that ominous statement, he turned and stalked off.

“Good luck with your test,” Hob offered, half-heartedly, to Dream’s retreating back. Then, to himself, “Really? That prick’s the one you want?”

He could hardly be angry with Dream for being upset about it, though. Hob certainly had a bone to pick with the organizers about the horses being stalled 24/7. But he doubted that the people who managed The Palace of Versailles gave a fuck what he thought.

It did mean less for Hob to do, though. So once he’d done another round of their team’s wing of the stables he headed out to the arena to watch Dream’s test. There was no way Hob was going to miss watching him ride after a performance like that. If you were going to live up to your reputation of being rude and difficult you had damn well better live up to your reputation for skill as well.

Unfortunately for Hob, Dream did in fact live up to that reputation. He and Jessamy were gorgeous together. She was a smaller and lighter horse than many of the others and seemed to practically float across the ring. Dream made it look so easy when Hob knew damn well it was not. Hob could have watched him for hours, though of course the test was only a few minutes long.

In addition to watching Dream’s test, he was keeping an eye on the horses going in and out of the stable, keeping up to date on any injuries or soreness, though each had its own groom who was responsible for the horse’s immediate care. At the conclusion of Dream’s test, Hob expected him to hand Jessamy off to Matthew, but instead Dream just dropped his stirrups, letting Jessamy steer on a long rein as he wandered off towards the grassy area past the border of the dressage arena.

“Oi!” Hob called, catching up to him. “Where are you going?”

“I am going for a hack,” Dream said, hardly sparing him a passing glance.

Hob followed the direction he was headed. “On the cross-country course?”

“They aren’t using it,” Dream said, uncaring. “We”—presumably he meant himself and the horse—“are sick of being in the stable.”

So saying, he started off again, Jessamy’s ears pricked forward in interest as she picked her way across the grass.

Hob doubted he could stop him. And he had to admit it was probably more entertaining for the horse to go for a walk than to sit in her stall. It seemed a strange thing for Dream to do, though, wander off across the grass, legs swinging free out of the stirrups, instead of maintaining a strict training regimen in the arena.

Dream stopped before he was too far away, turning over his shoulder to call out: “I will be back before the final test is complete. If scheduling concerns you.”

So there was some recognition of the fact that it would be Hob’s neck if the horses weren’t where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, waving a hand. “Though given your score, I’d imagine you want to be back before they announce the medals.”

He got a half-smile from Dream for this, and then he was wandering off again, sitting comfortably in the saddle with the reins long, Jessamy’s tail swishing away the summer flies.

Hob watched his retreating back for a long moment, then turned back to the ring to keep an eye on the rest of the horses.

As Hob had predicted, Dream did win gold. He showed up just in time for it, finally giving Jessamy back to Matthew to take inside. She’d picked up some grass stains on her white socks, though Dream’s clothes were as pristine as ever. He seemed immune to dishevelment. He accepted his medal with predictable stoicism and bore the obligatory photos with grace and poise but what seemed to Hob like resignation rather than enjoyment of the attention.

Hob didn’t see where he ended up next. He had horses to feed and water and tack to be sure was in order for tomorrow’s events. In fact, he doubted he’d see Dream again at all. It should have been a good thing, for all Dream was a source of frustration for him. Instead, he found himself feeling disappointed. 

Hob was always the last one in the barn at night. Partly out of obsessiveness, partly due to the fact that unlike the riders, his lodgings were actually on the stable grounds. So he did his final round looking in on the horses at around 9 p.m. Not that there was much to do—check water, throw a little hay, make sure none of the horses had managed to keel over in the last two hours since he’d seen them—but it was a soothing ritual, making sure everything was shut up tight before going to bed himself.

Or it would have been soothing, if there wasn’t somebody else there.

The distant sound of a stall door sliding open had Hob immediately on edge. No one else had cause to be here this late, and at such a high profile event, he couldn’t rule out the possibility of ill intentions—or just of a horse getting out past an improperly latched door. He walked quickly towards that wing of the stable, though there had been no more sounds since—

Oh. It was Jessamy’s stall. Hopefully that meant it was Dream, or at least Matthew, because otherwise Dream would be royally fucking pissed.

Hob peered around the door where it was cracked open. And then just stood there, frozen, because it was Dream, crouched down in the shavings cleaning the grass stains from Jessamy’s leg—but not Dream like Hob had ever seen him.

For one, he was wearing shorts. Actual jean shorts that fell to mid-thigh, legs bare down to his paddock boots. Legs which were just as wiry and pale as Hob had imagined under his breeches, but covered in dust, with a streak of mud across one knee and a small bruise on the other thigh of the type you inevitably get when you spend enough time in the barn. Instead of his crisp white shirt and black jacket of earlier, he was wearing a loose black t-shirt spotted with water across the chest—watching the way Jessamy was sloshing about in her water bucket, now full of hydrating additives, Hob could just about guess how that had occurred. Dream even had a piece of hay stuck in his hair.

It was all so shocking Hob didn’t realize Dream was calling his name until he’d said it a second time.

“Hob Gadling. Do you require something, or can I be left in peace for the first time today?”

“You’re wearing shorts,” Hob said, dumbfounded.

Dream raised an eyebrow. “It is very hot out, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I just— I can’t imagine you in shorts.” Or covered in dirt, for that matter. Dream was so pristine, so refined. Except for now, when he was at least fifty percent dust.

“Do you imagine me frequently?” Dream asked, and Hob was grateful that the low lighting disguised the way his cheeks flushed.

“No, I—” he did, though. He’d imagined Dream constantly since first seeing him. Since first learning they’d be crossing paths at the Olympics, really. “Maybe.”

Dream smirked, and stood, stepping out of the stall and perching instead on his tack trunk in the aisle, latching the door behind him. “What about me makes you think I do not own shorts?”

Hob was definitely blushing now. “You just. Always look so put together. And now you’re…” he gestured to the various bits of grime sticking to Dream.

“Of course I am put together at a show, Hob,” Dream said, rolling his eyes. “You could hardly expect me to show up to the Olympic final with mud smeared across my face.”

This was a good point, actually.

“I did not intend to be seen like this at all,” Dream added, giving him a pointed look.

Hob found it charming, though. The fact that Dream’s relative familiarity in being sticky with sweat and hay dust meant he did at least some of his own horse care regularly. The fact he didn’t just show up to get on and off.

“Why are you here so late?” Hob asked, glancing over at Jessamy. “I think she’ll survive with some grass stains until tomorrow. You’re done competing anyway.”

Dream’s brow pinched. “The amount of socializing at this event is stressful. And there is no reprieve in my rooms.”

This made Hob grin. “Not having fun in the Olympic Village?”

Dream wrinkled his nose. “I do not like having a roommate,” he said, and Hob had to laugh at the disgust in his tone. “I considered booking my own hotel room, but was informed this was not demonstrative of team spirit.”

“Oh no, you had to be part of a team at a team event, that’s terrible,” Hob said, still grinning. “Poor Dream.”

Dream’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but it did reach his eyes, Hob saw it. “Terrible,” he agreed. “Hence, I am hiding in the barn.”

“And you wanted to check on your horse,” Hob guessed, softening. He had finally reached the conclusion that he had been wrong about the type of horseman Dream was likely to be. And shouldn’t have assumed it in the first place.

“I worry about them overheating,” Dream said. “This barn has poor airflow.”

“You’ve got better at your place back home?”

“My horses live outside,” Dream said.

Hob had really been wrong about the type of horseman Dream was.

“Now you will tell me they will break themselves in the field,” Dream sighed, apparently well-used to the argument.

“Nope,” said Hob. “So do mine.”

Then, Dream looked at him in surprise and, if Hob wasn’t mistaken, a new hint of grudging respect.

“Mine aren’t as expensive as yours, of course,” Hob teased. He could only guess at the price tag on Dream’s Grand Prix dressage horses.

“They are insured,” Dream said, dismissively. “I care little for how much they cost me. They are happier out of their stalls.”

Hob smiled, and felt the softness of it on his own face. Goddammit. Now he wasn’t only finding Dream hot, which he could maybe have coped with, but going soft on him, too. “I really am sorry about the turnout situation here. There’s just not much we can do about it. I did ask.”

“It’s no matter.” He’d apparently decided to give up on his annoyance with Hob about it. “I may bring her home early. Though I doubt they will let me leave until the end.”

“No one’s ever been less excited to be at the Olympics than you, Dream,” Hob said, laughing, and Dream cracked another smile. He was very pretty when he smiled. He was pretty when he was stern and focused, too. Really, all of him was doing it for Hob.

“I am not very good at dealing with people,” Dream admitted.

Hob felt abruptly bad for him and the reputation he’d developed. Not that Dream hadn’t done anything to justify it. But it couldn’t make it any easier to make friends. He looked so much smaller, too, sitting on the tack trunk in his shorts and t-shirt, covered in dust and hay. Far from the stern and unapproachable Dream Hob had seen earlier.

“Come take a walk with me,” he suggested. “We’ll finish checking in on the horses and then, I don’t know. Get a drink or something.”

It felt too bold a suggestion as soon as Hob suggested it, but Dream sighed and stood, dusting off his shorts. “I suppose I should try not to sequester myself.”

“That’s the enthusiasm I like to see,” Hob said, and got another smile out of Dream. He was quickly becoming addicted to getting those smiles.

Dream followed as Hob checked in on the remaining horses, helping him top off waters and throw hay. By the end Hob was just as covered in dust as Dream, t-shirt drenched in sweat, and had tied up his hair in a bun to get it off the back of his neck, not that it helped much. Dream had been right, the barn was poorly ventilated, and they were both suffering the results of that.

When he turned from tying up his hair, he found Dream watching him, gaze tracking the movement of Hob’s hands, the fall of his hair, then back to his face.

“What?” Hob asked.

“I—” Dream swallowed, throat catching. “Was I. Wrong. To think I caught you looking before?”

Somehow Hob knew exactly what he meant. He probably should have felt embarrassed about it—but it was hard to when Dream was looking at him like that now. Dust sticking to his hair, sweat gleaming along his neck, and he was looking at Hob like he’d suddenly found something very compelling to cut through the weariness of the day.

“No,” Hob said. “Did it bother you?”

Dream shook his head. “No one looks at me like that.”

“Seriously? But you’re gorgeous.”

Dream’s mouth popped open, and even in the semi-dark Hob thought he saw his eyes dilate. “Am I?”

“Maybe they’re all just too intimidated by you to show it,” Hob said, taking a step closer to him.

“And are you?” Dream asked. “Am I so terrifying?”

“I think I can handle it,” Hob said, and closed the remaining distance between them, sparing one moment to think I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this before he took Dream’s face between his hands and kissed him.

Dream whimpered into the kiss, clutching at Hob’s wrists. He opened his mouth to Hob, head tipping back. Dream had such a strong presence that Hob hadn’t realized there was a slight height difference between them, but he took full advantage of it now, pressing him back, letting go of his face to catch him around the waist.

Dream pulled away long enough to take a breath, then dove back immediately into the kiss, sucking on Hob’s lower lip, digging his fingers into Hob’s hair. Hob steered him back, half-blind for kissing, until they stumbled into one of the empty stalls being used to store extra tack, where he pushed Dream down to sit on one of the tack trunks.

Dream’s breath caught, his pulse hammering where Hob set his lips and teeth to it, sucking a mark into his throat on his way to kneeling between Dream’s spread thighs. “I was thinking about you as well,” Dream admitted, once Hob had detached from his neck and dropped fully to kneel on the floor, grinding dirt into his knees. “Seeing you. Carrying bags of feed over your shoulder like they weighed nothing. Mmm. Your shoulders.”

“Oh, yeah?” That was heady to think about, Dream watching him like that. Hob undid the button on his shorts, skimming them and his underwear down and off over his paddock boots. This revealed Dream’s pretty pink cock, already plumping up as he leaned back on his hands on the tack trunk. Hob nosed at the base, taking in the sweat and musk of him, hearing Dream’s breath hitch. “You know what I was thinking about?”

“What?”

“Doing this.” Hob took the head of Dream’s cock in his mouth, pulling a wrenching cry from Dream as he twitched where he sat, thighs trembling. Hob bobbed his head, sucked up the length of him, pulling off with a pop and saying, “This is exactly where I wanted you.”

“Indeed?” The word was shaky. Dream’s fingers twitched on the wood of the trunk.

“Go on,” Hob told him, and Dream’s hands went to his hair, pulling it from its bun, directing Hob back down onto his cock. Hob took him deep, pressing his nose into the hair at the base of Dream’s pelvis. The weight of Dream in his mouth was addicting, and then Dream’s legs shifted and he tucked them up and over Hob’s shoulders, thighs pressing in against his head—yes, perfect.

Dream pulled him close, thrust his hips up into Hob’s mouth, hesitant at first then bolder when Hob hummed in encouragement. Dream’s fingers combed through his hair, not quite pulling but tugging and tangling in little pinpricks of delicious pain, and Hob closed his eyes, surrendering to the experience of satisfying him, so hard in his own jeans but ignoring it for now—it only made everything feel more vivid, anyway.

“Hob,” Dream cried, cock twitching, pre-come spilling over Hob’s tongue. Hob didn't let up, only took him deeper, Dream bumping against the back of his throat as he swallowed.

Dream cried out as he came, hands clenching to the point of pain in Hob’s hair, legs tightening around Hob’s head. Hob nearly came himself at the feeling. Instead he swallowed again, sucking on Dream’s cock as it softened until Dream whimpered from overstimulation, and then Hob carefully let him go, finally able to take a full breath as Dream curled around his head, thighs trembling against Hob’s cheeks.

Hob turned his head to kiss his thigh, grazing his teeth over the small bruise he’d seen earlier, making Dream gasp. He uncurled himself from Hob, letting go of his death grip on Hob’s hair to instead caress his cheeks, run his thumb over Hob’s wet lower lip. Hob looked up, met his gaze, nearly perished at the look of blown-out pleasure there. He could live on that look, he thought, feed himself on it every day.

“Come here,” Dream ordered. Hob was helpless but to obey. He let Dream draw him up, disentangle them so Dream’s legs were around his waist instead of over his shoulders, and Dream plucked open the button on Hob’s jeans, pushed his underwear down far enough to take him out. Dream took him in hand, humming in appreciation.

“Like what you see?” Hob teased, but it came out far breathier than he intended, all of him going taut with Dream's hand on him. Dream only smiled slowly, stroking Hob, slow but firm.

“I do,” he said, and drew Hob in with his other hand wrapped around the back of Hob’s neck, sticking in the new sweat that had beaded along his skin, letting Hob rut into his fist. Hob kissed up the side of his neck, leaving marks, breath catching when Dream hooked a leg around the back of his thigh to pull him even closer.

“So perfect for me,” Dream praised, hand sliding up to curl in his hair while his other kept expertly working Hob’s cock. “Mmm. Later, I want you to fuck me properly. I want that gorgeous cock inside me. I know you will fill me so well. I want to feel you.”

All it really took was Dream’s sweet words to send Hob’s arousal boiling over. He gasped into Dream’s throat as he came, hips stuttering into Dream’s fist. Dream pet his hair as he came down from the high, wiping his hand off on his shirt. Hob kissed the side of his neck once more for good measure, tasting the sweat there, before finally pulling away.

“You really want me to fuck you?” he asked. “You going to—”

Dream laid a finger over his lips. “If you make a joke about me riding you I will walk out of this stable and never return.”

Hob broke down laughing, pressing his forehead against Dream’s shoulder. “You get that one a lot?”

“Constantly.”

“I’ll bet.”

Dream was chuckling, too, chest rumbling against Hob’s body. Hob liked the sound of it.

“Cross my heart, I swear I won’t make any jokes,” Hob promised.

He liked this. Leaning against Dream. Touching him. Sharing a soft moment. He liked it a lot.

Dream tipped his face back up with a fingertip under his chin. “I do still want you to fuck me,” he said, watching Hob with dark eyes. Hob swallowed hard. “Will you take me back to your rooms? For we are certainly not going back to mine.”

“Don’t want to involve your roommate?” Hob teased, and Dream sighed.

“Don’t make fun of my indignities,” he complained, and Hob laughed.

“I’m sorry, darling. You suffer so much. Your life is terribly difficult.”

“And you are making it worse by making me wait,” Dream complained.

Hob certainly didn’t want that. So he stood, tucking himself away again, and rearranged Dream in his shorts, helping him up. He paused then, wondering just how far this burgeoning thing between them went, before deciding, fuck it, and pulled Dream in for a soft kiss, hands light on his lower back. Hob was feeling very fond of him right then. He might as well show it.

Dream hummed into the kiss, sinking into him. When they separated, his lips curved into a soft smile.

“Perhaps you might make me breakfast in the morning, too,” he said, taking Hob’s hand.

“If you’re willing to wake up at six,” Hob said. “Because that’s when the horses get breakfast.”

Dream groaned dramatically, but didn’t let go of Hob’s hand, and as Hob tugged him out past the stall door and towards his lodgings at the far end of the stable, he was smiling, eyes bright. And Hob thought waking up to him before sunrise might be very beautiful indeed.

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Way I Feel Under Your Command

Chapter II: Magic Between You and I Prev I Next I Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: Aemond stays true to his promise, and hates himself for it. Our dance instructor does the best with what she's given, even if that is Westeros' most off-putting and pretentious Valyrian.

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, Aemond is a condescending a-hole (but you already knew that), Aegon slander, sexual tension, dry humping, thigh riding, blue balls but make it AFAB

A/N: Chapter one and two are basically a deep-dive into the psyche of Aemond in this modern setting, but I promise some dirty dancing at the end of this chapter 🕺🏼 and just imagine how much better the smutty, sexy stuff will hit when we’ve built their dynamic 😙 bear with me! Enjoy!

Aemond would never admit to his brother that his goading got to him. 

He wouldn’t even fully admit it to himself. How different would his life be if he hadn’t allowed his temper to be dependent on Aegon? If he didn’t feel like being berated by his older brother sent him back to when they were kids and he’d do anything to impress him? To make him see him as a brother, an equal, and not a plaything? 

He shakes his head to kick the thought away. 

His head’s still pounding, just as it had an hour ago when he woke. Noticing how strange his tongue feels in his mouth, he realises that he’s thirstier than he’d been in a long time. 

Fucking Aegon. 

He’d never be here, walking towards the boathouse, if not for his brother dragging him to that party yesterday and force-feeding him alcohol. 

Pushing him out of his comfort zone. 

Making him feel less than.

As always.

There were several reasons Aemond didn’t like to get drunk. 

One was the gradual loss of control he felt as the alcohol made his usually sharp mind slow down.

Another was his temper; something he’d disciplined himself to control after years of practice. 

As a child, he’d been the kind to cry when his brother and nephews ‘jokes’ got to him, or when he scored low on a dressage test. 

Wearing his frustrations on the outside only taught him how awful being looked at with pity can be. That specific type of vulnerability and shame you feel when someone looks at you and thinks: “poor thing”. 

Therefore, he’s grown used to being in control of himself; of his moods and urges. 

Until he’s drunk. 

He spots her where she said she’d be, right next to the boathouse, stretching her legs. She’s definitely in better shape than him; hardly appearing different from yesterday evening. 

Locking eyes with her, she seems surprised to see him. 

Did she expect me not to come?

To Aemond’s recollection, she’d practically begged for a dance partner. He had said yes, mostly due to his intoxicated state, but also because of Aegon’s insults. 

She smiles as he comes closer, “How we feeling today?”

“Fine”

“Okay”, her smile falters at his short, unfriendly answer, 

“Let’s get started then”

Her routine is simple; an original piece she’d put together to showcase her greatest strengths as a dancer, 

“Despite only making the reserve list”, she jokes, but the forced smile doesn’t reach her eyes. 

She gives him a quick run-through of it; going into detail about the meaning behind her dance, how she got started, why she chose the movements she did. 

Aemond barely listens. 

His head is throbbing, pain elevated by the sharp sting erratically stabbing the nerves behind his left eye. His features don’t change as he half-heartedly listens to what she says, occasionally nodding. 

Whatever, can’t be that hard. 

“You’re posture is great”, she compliments him, eyes scanning him critically, “try to relax your shoulders a bit more” 

He does as he’s told, yet the tension in his back doesn’t fully ease. He can’t truly shake his internal stiffness; he’s always on alert. 

She continues to guide him, freely grabbing his hands to place them on her body, causing him to briefly recoil at the sudden heat of her skin. 

How long has it been since someone touched me like this? 

“I think we can finish here for today. Great work!”

Her hand is still holding onto his as she gives him an approving smile. There’s something different about how she looks at him now; she seems more relaxed, like they’re familiar with each other. 

“I really appreciate you doing this for me”

Aemond feels his cheeks heat up. His mouth is drier and palm, still in her grip, damper. 

He jerks away from her, causing her hand to slip out of his. His head is still pounding furiously, and without a word, he turns around to go back to the Targaryen villa. 

Every corner of Red Lake Resort is carefully curated. 

It may not seem like it; in the way the vibrant flowers appear to grow widely on the sides of the houses, stretching all the way up to the pillar-enclosed balconies reminiscent of a time when the castle ruins, now hosting the elite of Westeros each summer, used to host House Crane of the Reach. Still, every flower, every branch, every leaf, was there for a reason; for the ‘Monet-esque’ beauty created by the slight chaos of stoney ruins, colourful greenery, and sporadic ponds scattered between the large buildings. 

There is an understanding that, at Red Lake, residents can forget the stressors of their everyday lives. For the esteemed guests 'comfortable’ enough to afford a stay there, such stressors might include running an enterprise, hosting a charity gala, or berating an underpaid maid for not polishing the silver thoroughly enough. 

It was a place where ‘the customer is always right’ got hammered into the staff with such ferocity that they could almost feel the nails of submission penetrate their skulls. 

The perfect place for those who did not wish for the hierarchy they sat at the top of in their everyday lives to sway even in the slightest. 

A comfortable place for the current head of Targaryen Holdings to spend sparse time with his family. 

Ever a man of comfort, Viserys Targaryen’s distaste for change means that the Targaryen-Hightowers always stay in the same villa, big enough to host not only the family but any guests they may invite. 

Aemond always stays in the same room, located at the end of the hallway of the second floor, tucked in a corner. He had chosen that exact one since it was the only room dark enough for him to comfortably hide in when his head hurt from an old eye injury he had since childhood, and one of the privileges of being the ‘broken’ child was that he got first pick of trivial things such as room assignment. 

Aegon and Daeron share the room next to his, and Helaena’s is next to theirs.

As an anxious child, the only downside of his secluded corner had been the nights he woke up in cold sweat, mind plagued with night terrors and head pounding. Then, the short distance walking past his siblings' rooms to his mother’s felt colossal. 

Now he revelled in the privacy, preferring to stay in and get lost in his thoughts as often as possible. Spending time with his family was just too draining. 

Yet for some reason, today he craves distraction from his pounding head and strange inner sensation. And if there’s something that can pull him out of his thoughts, often by force, it’s his family. 

Most times when he sought a distraction, he’d bury his head in work, preferring to stay ever productive. 

He knows that there’s always something that needs to be done; some nearly disastrous hypothetical fire threatening to burn the Targaryen empire down to ashes. 

That’s one of the reasons why Viserys insists on staying in the same villa each year; the large office on the first floor is the perfect place for him and Otto Hightower, Aemond’s grandfather, to spend the entire holiday working. 

It has always been Otto that’s been keen on having Aemond join the company, proudly laying a hand on his shoulder as he showcases the skills he’s acquired to please his father. Viserys, on the other hand, is not as easily impressed, nor does he seem to think much of Aemond’s diligent work. 

In his current state, however, Aemond knows that he won’t produce the results he’d want, and that kind of embarrassment and potential spiralling into an afternoon filled with dwelling in self-hatred was better avoided. 

Entering the large open-plan kitchen and living room of the villa, he spots the family menace snoring with an open mouth on the sofa, TV turned on to some brain-dead reality show and an open bag of crisps resting on his stomach. 

His older brother is somewhat of an enigma to Aemond. How could someone with so many opportunities, so much handed to him on a silver platter, fumble everything given to him so badly? 

Aegon’s always been volatile, and prone to getting into trouble, but his destructive tendencies have mellowed out somewhat since he promised to not do drugs anymore, a lifestyle change prompted by his mother telling him she’d revoke his access to his trust fund. Aemond knew better than to smile at his brother's misery in front of his mum, but seeing her scold him for his pathetic life choices felt so gratifying he’d had to hide the grin breaking out across his face behind his hand. 

Something about seeing Aegon miserable made Aemond feel a sick sense of satisfaction, like the one you have after indulging in too many sweets and consequently left feeling like you’ll be sick. 

Overindulging in self-righteousness.  

He spots Helaena in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water and placing it in the crocheted bag hanging off her shoulder.

“You alright, Aemond?”, her gentle voice asks, smiling faintly as she observes him.

“Yeah”, he says, too exhausted to even begin to explain the whirlwind of occurrences happening in the last 12 hours, “Where are you off to?”

Her eyes light up in an instant, “Oh, I heard from Grandfather that the large oak tree we saw by the restaurant yesterday is positively teeming with bugs”

Aemond spots the art supplies in her bag; acrylic pastel colours, brushes of varying sizes and a block of thick, white paper. 

“Mind if I join you?”

“Actually, I need some time alone. You understand”, she replies in her usual sweet tone, leaving her younger brother alone once again. Helaena had always been blunt, maybe even a bit too much so for most people’s liking. Aemond knows that she means no harm by it, she just prefers to communicate her needs frankly with him. 

Still, he wishes she’d had entertained him by allowing him to join her, if even just for an hour. 

His search for distraction continues, leading him to wander around the large villa in hopes of running into his younger brother. 

When Aemond left his room at 6.45, looking more similar to a ghost than his usual carefully curated image, the only other family member awake had been Daeron, always cheery and on his way to meet up with some guys he’d acquainted days prior for an early morning rock climbing session. 

He’s probably not even back yet. 

Aemond curses himself for the second time today. His usual instinct would be to go with his younger brother; to do sometimes productive and fulfilling rather than attending a party filled with senseless idiots looking for no more stimulation than that of an easy fuck. 

Fucking Aegon! 

His footsteps grow harsher as he heads up to his secluded room to grab his pack of Marlboros, half-running down the stairs again to quickly get out of the villa and onto the gratuitous patio. 

His mother hates when he smokes too close to the inside living space, but seeing as she’s not here, he doesn’t bother to walk the extra metres he usually grants her. 

Instead, he slouches against the facade of the extravagant holiday home, gazes out over the resort and inhales the strange mixture of cigarette smoke and roses. The entire front of the building is covered in heirloom rose bushes, causing not only the patio, but the kitchen and living room as well, to bathe in the familiar scent. 

To Aemond, roses mean summer homework, family dinners, swimming in Red Lake, looking for bugs with Helaena, playing tennis with Daeron, listening to Aegon chat his ear off, 

And her. 

There she is again. Surrounded by a group of elderly guests dressed in flower-printed dresses, linen suits, and trilby hats. 

She’s in the arms of some melting, old skinbag, with a belly so round it prevents the geezer from truly pressing her body against his. 

The smile on his face causes Aemond’s hungover stomach to flip, and the hand he’s placed on her waist seems to want to squeeze her flesh a bit more than necessary. 

She laughs at something he says, giving the old man a friendly pat on the shoulder. 

To Aemond, it looks like she enjoys the attention. 

Revels in it. 

He crushes the bud of the cigarette against the white, stone wall, exhaling a low scoff before turning around. 

Figures. 

“So, yesterday I noticed you were a bit stiff” 

She has to stretch her neck to meet his eyes; one lilac and one deep blue. 

Does he have heterochromia? 

They’re in the same place, at the same time. This morning, however, Aemond has pulled his long, Valyrian hair back into a low bun, causing her gaze to shamefully flicker down to his sharp jaw and strong, masculine neck. There’s one delicate, blue-green vein running down the side of it; from his ear to his shoulder, and for some reason the sight of it makes her flustered. 

His eyes stay trained on hers, waiting for her to continue. 

She already feels like she has a good grasp of who he is. 

He is a man of few words, preferring to answer in grunts and hums. 

He is intense, evident from his stare never leaving her; evident in how it emits from him like smoke; latent vehemence. 

It excites and frightens her in equal measure, a strange cocktail of sensations and impressions swirling in her stomach after only knowing him for less than 72 hours. 

She’d initially gone with her regular approach to new dance partners; flattery in the form of exaggerated praise, so that the inevitable criticism doesn’t sting as badly. 

It had not worked on Aemond Targaryen, however, who’s stoic face and nonchalant attitude did not waver or crack down even after the 20th “Great work!”

Might as well enjoy the straightforwardness of going right into the critique. 

“When you dance you need to be precise”, she explains, 

“You need to have good posture, and be aware of your entire body, but it still needs to seem like you are just naturally moving this way out of coincidence”, her voice falters somewhat as she sees his eyebrows raise ever so slightly in question, 

“It's not supposed to look as calculated as it is”, she clarifies. 

Aemond hums. The non-verbal standard reply almost irks her, but she bites her lip and forces it into a smile. 

If she had any other option; any other person who could help her with the audition, she’d probably thank Mr Targaryen for his time and ask him to go back to being sulky and rude at parties. Regrettably, he happens to be one of the few men at Red Lake who’s under 60 and has the physique and the durability to actually do her routine. He doesn’t need to be perfect, he just needs to be her sturdy backdrop. 

Besides, she’s more than used to demanding dance partners. 

He’ll budge too. 

He has to. 

“You know at the party… Did you see how we were dancing?”

“Hm”

“It’s a great way to get you to loosen up and really use those hips, you’ll need to learn how to move like that for the routine to work”

His gaze almost makes her cower; incredibly stern and thoroughly unimpressed. 

Still, she stands her ground, moving closer to him to place her legs on either side of one of his. 

“Like this”, she says, voice coming out far lower than she’d planned for. 

Don’t let him intimidate you! 

“A-, and then you place your hands on my hips”, she continues, grabbing his hands and placing them on herself. 

His hands are soft and hard at the same time; roughened with strength yet his skin is soft. And warm. Her fingers linger on his for a second too long before she places her own hands on his shoulders.

His eyes never leave her face.

Is he studying me? 

Waiting for a mistake?

“Since you’ve done horseback riding, I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly”, she says with a anxious smile.

Fuck, why does he make me so nervous!?

“When you gallop, you move together with the horse in a steady movement, right?”

One of her hands slip down the side of his arm, travelling from his shoulder to his hip. 

Roughened with strength yet his skin is soft.

She moves her body slightly in a slow rhythm, pushing on his hip to guide him with her, “Like this”

His persistent eye contact burns; surely leaving a hole in her head. His features don’t change, but she knows he’s paying attention to her instructions from the way his hips start to move in tandem with hers. 

She has danced with so many people, in so many settings, yet this makes her cheeks heat up.

Her tongue comes out to wet her drying lips, eyes still locked with his. 

“Good, you’re getting the hang of it”, she praises, hoping he’ll relax a bit at the compliment. 

In truth he’s still quite stiff, but not in the uncomfortable way she cannot help but be. He’s still on alert, refusing to let his guard down, even as he stands with her between his legs and grinds. 

One of his eyes, the lilac one, appears to darken, narrowing in challenge at her. 

She feels his hands on her hips tighten as he picks up the pace, dancing with more vigour than before; than her. Suddenly he’s leading them as he rolls his hips at her and moves her body to match his pace with his firm grip. 

His demanding hold on her forces her closer to him, and with each movement a spark of pleasure runs up her core. 

Panic washes over her like a cold shower at the realisation, still she can’t abruptly stop. 

Do I want to stop? 

With every push of his leg against her hidden, swollen clit, she feels hot; on edge.

She’s no longer on the grass field by the boathouse. She’s somewhere else, somewhere he’s taken her. 

All she senses is him. 

His lean arms on each side of her, flexing as he moves her body. His eyes, looking down at her with that same intensity that has her head spinning. 

They’re locked together. It’s all too fast, too slow, too long, too short. 

Aemond, after what feels like an eternity, breaks eye contact to duck his head down, body still dancing with hers. 

His lips ghost over the shell of her ear. She feels his breath fan over the delicate skin there. Another bolt of want shoots through her.  

Fuck!

In a low, borderline mocking voice, he softly asks, “You think I don’t know how to do this?”

He delivers one final, harsh and precise thrust between her legs before withdrawing completely, turning around to grab his bag and hastily walk away from her panting silhouette. 

Left is the smell of cigarettes, sandalwood and.. roses?

A/N: This is your sign to put on Hungry Eyes and lose your shit at the fantastic saxophone solo! Thank you for reading, kisses!

[sirisim4]

Lemieux Saddle pads, earbonnets and legwraps set

This is my first ever CC I am going to share. I’m aware that it is not perfect but I still wanted to share my creations with this amazing community. The Sims 4 horse ranch is lacking, and together we can create some beautiful horse-cc!

I managed to create 8 swatches of existing Lemieux colors. The colors I included are bluebell, mink, mulberry, peacock, hunter green, dijon, watermelon and black.

I hope that you will enjoy this as much as I do. I would love to see pictures of your horses with this gear. I think these are the first earbonnets in TS4, so please be kind to me :)

Details - 8 swatches - tested in-game - for adult/elder horses

Downloads

Saddle pad - SFS download Leg wraps - SFS  download Ear bonnets - SFS  download

Please do not recolor and then claim as your own.

In the pictures I used some amazing CC of other creators which I will mention here: Simple Snaffle bridle - @studiosweetpeacc​ Eyes default preset -  @someone-elsa Skin default preset -  @minervamagicka Dressage poses -  @wheatgrassfarmsims

And for the length of the legwraps I used @studiosweetpeacc​ ‘s legwraps as an indication because ea’s legwraps suck. 

[minervamagicka]

[SSO Conversion] Sheepskin Pad

For the SSO Dressage Saddle only!

Can't stress this enough, it will ONLY fit that saddle as it was designed to do so, even in SSO! That being said, versions to fit the Realistic & the EA Fit versions of said saddle are included :>

...Anyhow, an addon! This is a Saddlepad Overlay, meaning it will replace the default white pad on the SSO Dressage Saddle, but it will also add a little 3d sheepskin pad to it that I meshed based on the SSO textures to make it a bit more 3D. The swatches (~7) all come directly from SSO!

DL, info, etc. under the cut!

By myself & Schrodcat @ DA 🖤

Choosing a Version

Note: If you've already read this from the SSO Dressage Saddle you can safely skip! You should just grab the count version that matches whatever you installed for the Dressage Saddle.

First things first; in the download folder there are two different .rar files to choose from. One is labelled Highpoly and the other is labelled Maxispoly. YOU MUST CHOOSE ONE. THEY WILL OVERRIDE EACHOTHER IF YOU INSTALL BOTH HIGHPOLY AND MAXISPOLY TOGETHER.

The Highpoly version of the saddles is based on the original mesh resolution of SSO (Clocking in at ~4500 polys on LOD0 )which is why we have labelled this version as Highpoly. We offer it primarily for simmers who plan to be taking screenshots vs actually playing the game for extended periods of time, or for those with stronger PCs.

The Maxispoly version of the saddle is a decimated version of the mesh intended to be more in-line with Maxis polycounts, and therefore be more performance-friendly. It's about 50% less dense in polys than the Highpoly counterpart (LOD0 on the Maxispoly clocks in at ~2,339 polys), however it is still higher-poly other EA meshes. YMMV!

Custom Thumbnails appear as follows, with the version made to fit the EA-specific Dressage Saddle labelled as such! If you try to use the Realistic one with the EA saddle and vice-versa, the halfpad WILL look wonky!

Terms of Use

Credit/link to me AND Schrodcat AND note it is a conversion from SSO if you intend to edit, replicate or otherwise use this .package, meshes & textures as a base for your own derivative work. Additionally, at this time, we both ask you do not backport this model or its' textures to TS3.

Do not sell or post behind a paywall, even a timed one. This tumblr is anti-paywall to the extreme. This includes any content that might be created under Rule One. Do not do this. I will think you are an asshole. I have had issues with this in the past and my tolerance for it is absolutely zero. Additionally this asset is exported from a copyrighted game with the intention of it being used transformatively for derivative fanworks; it may be actually illegal to profit from it!

Do not reupload. If you let me know if there's an issue with SFS, I'll reupload it myself. Please link to this post or to the .package on SFS when sharing.

Credits: SSO for the textures; Schrodcat with fitting the meshes & testing/screenshots, me with meshing the 3d halfpad using the SSO textures for reference & for putting it all together into one diabolical package.

Download [SFS]

☕ Buy me a coffee!

☕ Buy SchrodCat a coffee!

[allsouls-emma]

would loveee a léon marchand fanfic in which they’re both olympic athletes!! it would be so cute them cheering each other on!

✧Hearts of Gold✧ ─

Léon Marchand x Female! Reader

Hello Anon, Thank you ever so much for this exciting request. I will admit I had lots of fun writing this! I hope I did created your idea well !

Warnings: Established relationship, time frames, unrealistic timings and settings, no prior knowledge of swimming nor equestrian. Enjoy!

The Olympic Village was a microcosm of the world’s most intense emotions—a mix of fierce competition and deep camaraderie. For Léon Marchand and Camille Durand, it was a place where dreams could either flourish or be shattered. But the couple, who had been together for three years, were determined to make these Olympics their greatest triumph.

Léon, the golden boy of French swimming, was aiming for four gold medals. Camille, a rising star in equestrian, had her sights set on three. They were each other’s biggest supporters, and their love had only grown stronger under the pressure of competition. Now, in the heart of the Olympic Games, their bond would be tested and celebrated as they chased their dreams together.

---

**Day 1: 400m Individual Medley - Léon’s First Event**

The aquatic center buzzed with energy as spectators filled the stands, the air thick with anticipation. Camille found a spot close to the pool, her heart racing as she watched Léon prepare for the 400m individual medley, one of his strongest events.

She could see the focused determination in his eyes, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed as he shook out his limbs, preparing his body for the grueling race ahead. Camille’s fingers gripped the railing in front of her, her knuckles turning white as she whispered a silent prayer for him.

The buzzer sounded, and Léon exploded off the starting block, diving into the water with a grace that took Camille’s breath away. The race was intense from the start, each swimmer pushing themselves to the limit. Léon was in second place after the butterfly, but Camille wasn’t worried—she knew he was holding back, saving his energy for the latter half of the race.

As the swimmers transitioned into the breaststroke, Léon began to pull ahead, his powerful strokes propelling him through the water with unmatched speed. Camille’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched him close the gap and then surge into the lead during the freestyle. The crowd’s roar was deafening as Léon touched the wall first, securing his first gold of the Games.

Camille’s eyes filled with tears of pride as she watched Léon climb out of the pool, his chest heaving with exertion. He looked up into the stands, searching for her, and when their eyes met, the world seemed to melt away.

She was the first to rush down to the poolside, and as soon as Léon was close enough, she threw her arms around him, uncaring of the water soaking her clothes. “You did it, Léon!” she exclaimed, her voice choked with emotion.

Léon held her tightly, his wet hair clinging to his forehead as he laughed, the sound rich with relief and joy. “For you, Camille. I did it for you.”

Their lips met in a kiss, one filled with all the love and support they had for each other. It was a promise of more to come, of standing by each other through every victory and defeat.

---

**Day 2: Dressage - Camille’s First Event**

The next day, it was Léon’s turn to be the nervous spectator. Camille was a vision of elegance and poise as she entered the equestrian arena, her horse, Étoile, moving beneath her with a grace that took Léon’s breath away. Dressage was Camille’s passion, a discipline that required absolute harmony between rider and horse, and Léon knew how much this moment meant to her.

Léon stood at the edge of the arena, his heart in his throat as he watched Camille guide Étoile through their routine. Every movement was fluid, every transition seamless. The bond between Camille and Étoile was evident in every step, every turn. She looked so calm, so in control, but Léon knew the intensity behind her focus, the fire that drove her to be the best.

As the final movement ended, there was a moment of silence before the arena erupted into applause. The judges’ scores flashed on the screen, and Léon’s heart soared when he saw that Camille had earned the highest marks. She had done it—gold.

He couldn’t contain his excitement as he rushed to meet her. Camille was just dismounting when Léon reached her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around in a joyful embrace. “You were incredible, Camille!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with pride and admiration.

Camille’s laughter was like music to his ears, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “I had to match your gold somehow,” she teased, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Léon kissed her back, his heart swelling with love. “We’re unstoppable together,” he murmured against her lips. “I love you, Camille. More than anything.”

“I love you too, Léon,” Camille replied, her voice filled with emotion. “And I’ll always be here, cheering you on, just like you are for me.”

---

**Day 4: 200m Butterfly - Léon’s Second Event**

The days blurred together in a whirlwind of competition, but each event brought Léon and Camille closer. They supported each other through the highs and lows, their love strengthening with each shared experience.

The 200m butterfly was Léon’s next challenge, and Camille was once again on the edge of her seat, her heart racing as she watched him step onto the starting block. This race was one of his specialties, but the competition was fierce, and Camille could feel the tension in the air.

The race began, and Léon dove into the water, his powerful strokes cutting through the waves with precision. Camille held her breath as he battled it out with the other swimmers, the lead changing hands several times. By the final lap, it was neck and neck, and Camille could barely contain her anxiety as Léon pushed himself to the limit.

In the final few meters, Léon found an extra burst of speed, surging ahead to touch the wall just a fraction of a second before his closest competitor. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Camille’s heart soared with pride. Another gold for Léon.

She was at the edge of the pool before he even climbed out, her heart racing as she saw the triumphant smile on his face. “You were amazing, Léon!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him the moment he was within reach.

Léon’s chest was still heaving with exertion, but he pulled her close, his wet skin cool against her own. “I could hear you cheering me on,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “It gave me the strength I needed.”

Camille kissed him, pouring all her love and pride into the kiss. “And I’ll always be here, Léon. Always.”

---

**Day 5: Cross-Country - Camille’s Second Event**

Cross-country was Camille’s second event, and it was one of the most demanding. The course was challenging, the terrain rugged, but Camille and Étoile were more than ready. Léon watched from the sidelines, his heart pounding as he saw Camille navigate the course with skill and precision.

Every jump, every turn was a test of endurance and trust between Camille and her horse, and Léon could see the bond they shared in every movement. Camille’s face was a picture of concentration, but there was also a look of pure joy—she loved this, the thrill of the challenge, the connection with Étoile.

Léon’s breath caught in his throat as Camille and Étoile approached the final jump. The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath as they soared over the obstacle, landing perfectly on the other side. Camille crossed the finish line with the fastest time of the day, securing her second gold.

Léon’s heart swelled with pride as he ran to meet her, catching her in his arms as she dismounted. “You did it, Camille! You’re incredible!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with awe.

Camille’s eyes were bright with tears of joy as she hugged him tightly. “I couldn’t have done it without knowing you were here, Léon,” she whispered. “You give me strength.”

Léon cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “And you’re my inspiration, Camille. I love you so much.”

Their kiss was tender, filled with the deep love and connection they shared. Together, they were unstoppable, their hearts beating as one.

---

**Day 7: 4x100m Freestyle Relay - Léon’s Final Event**

The 4x100m freestyle relay was Léon’s final event, and it was the one he wanted the most. He had already won three golds, but this one was special—a team effort that could bring France another victory.

Camille was in the stands, her hands clenched tightly together as she watched the relay unfold. Léon was swimming the anchor leg, and as the race progressed, it became clear that it would come down to the final few seconds. The tension was unbearable as Léon took off, his powerful strokes propelling him through the water with incredible speed.

The French team was trailing slightly, but Léon dug deep, finding a reserve of energy that pushed him ahead in the final meters. The stadium erupted in cheers as Léon touched the wall first, securing his fourth gold medal of the Games.

Camille felt tears of pride and joy stream down her face as she watched Léon climb out of the pool, his teammates surrounding him in celebration. He had done it—four gold medals. When their eyes met across the crowded pool deck, Léon broke away from his team, making his way to her.

Camille was waiting for him with open arms, and as soon as he reached her, she pulled him into a tight embrace. “You did it, Léon! Four.

---

The Olympic Games had been an unforgettable whirlwind of emotion, competition, and triumph for Léon Marchand and Camille Durand. Their love had been their strength, carrying them through the intense highs and lows of the competition. Together, they had won seven gold medals for France—four for Léon and three for Camille. But as the final day of the Games approached, there was one last moment that would make these Olympics truly unforgettable.

---

**Day 8: Show Jumping - Camille’s Final Event**

The atmosphere in the arena was electric as Camille prepared for her final event: the show jumping competition. She had already secured two gold medals in dressage and cross-country, and now, all that stood between her and a third gold was this last event. Léon watched her from the stands, his heart racing, not just with anticipation for her performance, but for what he planned to do afterward.

Camille looked stunning in her riding gear, her face a mask of concentration as she guided Étoile, her beloved white stallion, into the arena. The crowd fell silent, all eyes on the duo as they approached the first jump.

Léon held his breath, his hands clasped tightly together as Camille and Étoile moved through the course with incredible precision and grace. Every jump was flawless, every turn smooth and controlled. Camille and Étoile were in perfect harmony, moving as one through the difficult course.

As they approached the final jump, the entire arena seemed to hold its breath. Léon’s heart pounded in his chest, and when Camille and Étoile cleared the jump flawlessly, the crowd erupted in cheers. She had done it—Camille had secured her third gold medal of the Games.

Léon felt a surge of pride and love as he watched her dismount, her face glowing with happiness. But even as she was surrounded by her teammates and the press, Camille’s eyes sought Léon’s in the crowd, and when they met, she smiled, a smile that made Léon’s heart swell with emotion.

---

**The Proposal**

As Camille was handed her gold medal during the podium ceremony, Léon was already in motion. He had planned every detail of what was about to happen, and with a deep breath, he walked onto the arena floor, carrying a small velvet box in his hand.

Camille’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Léon approaching her. The crowd was still cheering, their excitement for her victory filling the air, but suddenly, everything else faded away. All she could see was Léon, his eyes shining with love and something else—something that made her pulse quicken.

As Léon reached her, the arena fell into a hush, the spectators sensing that something special was about to happen. Camille looked at him, her heart in her throat, as he took her hand in his.

“Camille,” Léon began, his voice steady but filled with emotion, “these past few weeks have been the most incredible of my life, and not just because of the medals. You’ve been by my side through every race, every challenge, and I’ve never been more sure of anything than I am of this.”

He dropped to one knee, and the crowd gasped in unison. Camille’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as Léon opened the velvet box to reveal a beautiful diamond ring.

“Camille Durand,” Léon said, his voice trembling slightly as he looked up at her, “I love you more than anything in this world. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, Camille couldn’t speak, her heart so full of love and joy that it felt like it might burst. The world around them seemed to disappear, and all that remained was Léon, down on one knee, asking her to spend the rest of her life with him.

“Yes,” she finally whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. “Yes, Léon, I’ll marry you.”

The crowd erupted into cheers as Léon slipped the ring onto her finger, rising to his feet to pull her into his arms. Camille laughed through her tears, wrapping her arms around his neck as their lips met in a kiss that felt like the beginning of forever.

The cheers of the crowd surrounded them, the cameras capturing every moment, but Léon and Camille were lost in their own world, their hearts beating as one. As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, they knew that this moment was more precious than any medal they could ever win.

They had come to the Olympics as athletes, determined to make their mark on the world. But they were leaving as something even more—partners, ready to face the future together, hand in hand, with a love that would last a lifetime.

**The End**

[whatwewrotepodcast]

Equestrian Writing Resource

Hi everyone,

I've seen some how to write horses posts going around recently that contain some . . very not true things about horses. As a Certified Horse Girl TM I thought I might clarify a few things for any one out there wanting to write anything that includes horses.

My credentials are that I've been riding for as long as I remember, have owned horses for 15 years and currently compete at a state and national level in dressage.

Facts below the cut!

Travelling by horseback

Horses cannot gallop or even canter endlessly. This is something I see a lot of in movies and games and media like that. Even an extremely fit horse can only really gallop flat out for 10-15 minutes. A steady canter they can go for longer, but if you watch endurance races (where horses are ridden for 100s of kms over sometimes several days), the riders will mix periods of walk and trot to let the horses catch their breath and recover.

There are a couple of reasons for this. Horses do not have strong enough diaphragms to inflate their lungs fully. There are some cursed interior nonsenses going on here, but essentially at a gallop, a horse can only breathe once per stride. This means there is only a matter of time before they are no longer able to get enough oxygen to their muscles.

Which leads into the next thing . . .

Horses get hot easily and can struggle to cool down

Horses sweat, just like humans, but because of their mass, their interior temp can get very high and may need assistance to be brought down. That's why at the end of a cross country course (where horses are galloping for anywhere between 5-12 minutes and jumping fences) they often have buckets of water thrown on them to help them cool down.

A well trained horse can be ridden by anyone

I've seen some posts around recently that said that horses will try and throw off unfamiliar riders and that you can't ride a horse who doesn't know you. This is . . . ridiculous. If your horse has been trained properly anyone can get on and ride it. Ride it well? Maybe not, but if the person is a good rider they'll be able to do the basics. I've ridden my friends horses, and they've ridden my horse. I've put an 8 year old on my horse and let her walk around. If you horse is so insane it tosses anyone other than you, you've done a terrible job training it.

However, if a horse has not been broken to saddle, then yes, if you try and hop on it, it will probably try and get rid of you. If you just try and get on a horse bareback in the paddock, it will probably go poorly. A lot of horses don't take well to being ridden bareback initially, but they can all get used to it in time.

Horses are sensitive but you can just let them graze

It's a common joke amongst horse people that horses will drop dead of anything and this is true to an extent, but they would be entirely unviable lifeforms if you had to inspect every patch of grass before you let them eat it. In general, horses won't eat toxic plants if they have a choice. I'm not sure how people thing mustangs and other feral horses survive in the wild if every paddock needs to be check for toxic plants because horses can't tell what will kill them and what won't. It's usually perfectly fine to let your horse graze outside their paddock. On that note - if you horse breaks into the feed shed, it *can* cause colic, and depending what they eat, it can be an extremely serious circumstance, but also many horses break into feed sheds, gorge themselves, and walk away fine. Mine has done it more than once.

Horse riding IS hard

One thing other posts have gotten correct is that riding a horse is hard. It's not something you can do well from the get go no matter how amazing you are. Riding a horse the first few times will make muscles hurt you didn't even know you had. Riding a dressage test gets my heart rate nearly as high as going for a run.

Horses are kinda smart . . and kinda stupid

Yes horses all have personalities and they can be really clever, but they can also be extremely stupid and this is because they are flight animals. Some are braver, some are smarter, some are stupid, some are flighty. But a horse is generally not as smart as a dog, and some of them are as dumb as a bag of rocks.

Riding bareback is hard and not good for your horse's back

There's a reason we invented saddles and it's to help distribute a rider's weight more evenly over the horse's back. Horse spines are suspended like a cable between their hips and shoulders. There is nothing in the middle to hold it up but muscle, and you sit right on that thing. Riding bareback puts a lot of weight and pressure on their spine and the muscles around it. Riding with a (well fitted) saddle will help distribute the weight. However, well fitted is the key thing here. You can't just put any saddle on any horse. If the saddle doesn't fit, it can cause rubbing, pain, and eventually long term damage. It's best practice to get a saddle fitted every 12 months at least.

Sweat doesn't really make your horse more slippery though and if you saddle slides right off, your girth wasn't done up tight enough or some part of your tack failed.

Horses should be tied up while you tack and untack

Horses are flight animals and they will piss off if something scares them, which can be dangerous if they're half-tacked or untacked. However, if your horse tries to bite you just because you haven't tied them up then you are doing something that is causing them discomfort or you haven't trained them properly. For the love of god don't let your horse bite you?? What is wrong with you?? The girth should not be painful or uncomfortable for the horse. You don't need to do it as tightly as possible, just enough that it won't slide. Most horses have what is called a "girth groove" which is where the girth sits in front of their ribcage. Because their shoulder is in front and their rib cage widens out behind, the girth sitting in the groove stops the saddle moving.

Training a horse does take a while . . . but them liking you doesn't really factor

Training or breaking a horse to take a saddle and accept a bit and aids does take a long time. You can't just jump on a feral horse and expect them to listen to you. Horses are usually backed (sat on) at between 4-6 years old but they may have had a saddle and bit on for short periods before hand. Horses don't accept tack because they care about whether it helps their rider not fall off, they do it because they have been trained to do it.

Crops and spurs

Crops (whips) and spurs are both aids that, when used properly, cue horses to perform certain movements. Both are more than capable of being abused. You can hurt a horse with a whip just as easily as with a spur, however, used properly, a spur allows you to make smaller, more finnessed aids with your leg than using your heel. A whip or crop can be used in a similar way, especially with horses who like to swing their shoulders or hips one way or the other - the whip just extends your reach.

English vs western

English and western are the two main styles of riding that are most common these days.

English riding includes dressage, jumping, and eventing. These sports are complicated so I won't go into them, but generally the saddles are lighter and allow for a closer connection to the horse, and more ability to move in the saddle - to stand in the stirrups, to get deeper into the saddle, etc.

Western riding is more ranch style riding, and include disciplines like reining, barrel racing, cutting and other sports involving cows. Western saddles are what you see in cowboy movies, and tend to be much heavier and more restrictive - they down allow you to move around so much.

Horses can be affectionate

It does depend a bit on the horse, but horses can absolutely be affectionate. They do this by calling out to you, coming over to you in the paddock, and sniffing and nuzzling at you. They do think with their stomach though, and a great way to get your horse to be excited to see you is to always bring them food.

Horses don't neigh that much

This is a big bug bear in movies. Horses really really really don't usually neigh that much. In fact, they don't make a lot of noise at all in general. They will call to their friends sometimes, and they make a range of whuffling, nickering, snuffling sounds, snorts and grunts, but the way movies show horses screaming their heads off all the time is totally false. They're usually pretty quiet.

That's it for now, but feel free to reach out if you have any other questions. I hope this post spreads as far as the other one did because. . .yikes there was a lot of wrong information in there!

[piecesofchess]

After a couple years of being at the bottom of my drafts, I've finally finished the first concept of the Armada Elite Steeds. The Clockwork Steed is a beautiful mount and I've always wondered why they were created. I think they could be an advantage to the Court, so here are some fan-made designs and concepts (below).

I wanted to make them represent the Elite that owns them, which explains the design choices. Headcanons for each Elite + their Steed below the cut:

Shadow (Bishop's Steed):

The most agile Clockwork Steed. Bishop rarely uses / rides Shadow, but it comes in handy if he’s in the middle of fleeing an area and needs a quicker means of escaping.

He uses Shadow to test any improvements / upgrades to the clockwork steeds, so its look and function is always changing. This means it’s also the most advanced clockwork steed.

Note: The design shown here is Shadow's 'default' / first modification.

Trivel (Phule’s Steed):

The youngest of the Elite steeds and therefore the most energetic. Trivel was  going to be scrapped because it needed taming and wasn’t built correctly - however, Phule was sympathetic and found it reminded him of himself. He managed with patience and eventually tamed Trivel.

Phule technically works as King Casimir’s Court Jester, so he is sometimes sent into battlefield and carries/delivers messages between the Armada and the enemy using Trivel. Being a clockwork is a huge advantage since he usually returns unscathed.

^ Phule boosts morale for the Armada soldiers by giving them speeches beforehand. He also cavorts with Trivel when the enemies are in their opposing positions, usually just to taunt them.

Goliath (Rooke’s Steed):

The biggest and strongest Elite steed. Essentially a warhorse. It wears armor for protection while Rooke uses it on the battlefield. He rides Goliath into battle, serving as heavy cavalry if needed.

Goliath has a bit of a bad temper compared to the usual Dragoon’s warhorses. Rooke handles it easily and is therefore the only one to ever ride it.

Echo (Kane & Queen’s steed):

Echo is used in Valencia’s horse shows to showcase the beauty and advancements of the clockwork steeds. It’s programmed to do tricks and be ridden for dressage. (I know, I KNOW, ‘technicalities’. But they’re CLOCKWORK.)

The steed is shared between Kane and Queen, who either ride it on their own or together. They use Echo when the King and Queen request to go horseback riding with other nobility.

Echo was one of the first Clockwork Steeds manufactured and therefore maintains its simplified design.

Traveler (Deacon’s Steed):

Uses Traveler to go long distances on land, if he’s not on his ship. Has a lot of pockets on it to keep Deacon’s possessions and carry important things for him like treaties and deeds.

It’s also used to carry a prisoner or two back to his ship, for long-traveling distances. This is why it usually carries rope / handcuffs.

Additional headcanons:

There are Clockwork Steeds provided to the soldiers/dragoons/etc. for Cavalry. They are less advanced than the Elite’s Steeds, and usually not dressed. They’re constantly being broken, so the parts are often recycled to make new ones.

Only special nobility / upper classes in Valencia own a clockwork steed, but they’re strictly for show and leisurely riding. These steeds belong to anyone that the Armada can closely monitor, since the horses are still under testing.