#peg gratton

[lucimiir]

Peg Gratton is everything Puck can and will become, and I think that’s sorta nice

#the scorpio races #puck connolly #kate connolly #peg gratton #tsr #scorpio races

[esmesqualor-not-esmecullen]

Romantic Subtext for Gabe in The Scorpio Races?

For those of you who’ve read The Scorpio Races, please weigh in on this. (If you haven’t read it, don’t keep reading this, go get a copy of the book now.)

My memory from my first read of The Scorpio Races was that Gabe and Tommy were queer-coded as a gay couple.

But I just finished my reread, and I didn’t get the feeling that they were more than friends at all. Was this a wishful ship on my part?

Even more surprising, on this reread it seemed to hint to me that Gabe was having an affair with Peg Gratton. And that’s why he was leaving the island, to escape the temptation of an affair with a married woman.

Did anyone else find hints of a romantic relationship between Gabe and anyone in the book? Am I imagining things that aren’t there?

#maggie stiefvater #the scorpio races #gabe connolly #tommy falk #peg gratton

[melyzard]

“All I’m saying is that you’re asking them to treat you like a man. And I’m not sure either of you want that.”

“I just want to be left alone,” I say.

“Like I said,” Peg replies. “You’re asking to be treated like a man.”

#the scorpio races #puck connelly #peg gratton #feminism #book quote #i feel this one in my bones #q 2so

[thegrattonsbutchershop]

coming at cha with some original content... 

Welcome to the Scorpio Festival, folks! 

@welcometothisby 

#welcome to grattons #the scorpio races #I am so so alive #peg gratton is ready to fuck you up this scorpio season bitches

[babydillpickle]

SEAN

It’s a cold May morning, and the wind is stirring up trouble from the dormant sea.

I have Corr on my longest lunge line, his legs wrapped in seaweed and one of Peg Gratton's poultices, and he walks slowly through the salty cove, where Fundamental died.

He’s getting lazy, hopping a step rather than using the leg, but when I speak to him low, he remembers himself. I see him remember his speed, and his pain, and the call of the sea. I see him give it up for me all over again.

It's bitter work.

The sky is still slate-grey, the gulls shriek like they always do, the salt spray lashes my cheek, where I still feel the imprint of Puck Connolly’s sheets, and I realize with a start that, if only for a moment, I’d rather still be in her bed than out here with every other thing that I love.

When Puck touches me, I'm reminded of my skin in the strangest places. She'll brush a finger along my collarbone, and I'll remember the thin skin on the backs of my knees, or my pale, prickly scalp, under the hair that she tugs in her fists.

I imagine it's how Corr feels when I run iron on his veins - he remembers the possibility of changing shape even as I stop him from shifting.

One day, I might shiver right out of my skin, or maybe Puck Connolly will give up touching me for good. I think, shamefully, that I'm not sure which will do me more harm.

Corr keens low from where he stands, up to his knees in the water, and tells me to wake up from such comfortable dreams.

It’s no good thinking on Kate Connolly when I have work to do.

“I’ll be damned,” says a familiar voice. “I wouldn’t have put money on seeing that horse walk again.”

George Holly has walked up behind us. He looks like an islander today, letting the May wind play with his sandy hair, turn his grinning boyish face rosy pink.

(continued under cut)

“I’d think you’d know better than to bet against me,” I say, not taking my eyes off Corr.

“True enough!” Holly looks as pleased as ever by my curt replies.

“He’s not running again,” I say, reaching for stillness and coming up short.

“Not today anyway,” says Holly.

Corr’s gait is worsening, and the tide’s coming in high. I click my tongue at him, already dreading the arduous process of getting him in the trailer.

“Staying with Annie?” I ask Holly. If I can get him talking, I think he’ll stay and help with Corr.

Holly spreads his hands, and his grin widens. “Annie’s staying with me!”

Corr looks at me reproachfully as my hands tighten on the lunge.

“Is that right?”

“Well Sean Kendrick, is that a smile I see on your face? If I’d known it would make you so happy I’d have moved here months ago!”

I let a chuckle leak out, even as I turn Corr away from the surf, gritting my teeth against his pain.

“A laugh, too! People will talk if you keep fawning over me like this. What would your Kate Connolly think?”

“She wouldn’t think much of my taste.”

Corr has gotten through the loose scree of the bank, every step a new agony.

“Here, open the trailer door would you? You don’t have to get too close.”

I draw a semi-circle in front of Corr and spit in it as Holly prepares the trailer for him. Between the two of us, we manage to haul him in. Finally I can turn to face him, hold out my hand to shake.

He hauls me in for a one-armed hug, though I’m not prepared for it so it’s more of a mutual thump on the back. He has a lipstick stain on his ear, and his sweater looks older than I am.

“Need a ride?” I ask.

“It’s not a long walk.”

“Climb in.”

He shoves aside the pile of ribbons, old stirrups and Puck’s jacket from the passenger seat and settles in on the horse blanket there, comfortable as anything.

He’s bought the Farleys’ old cottage; a pretty, moss-covered place not far from my own. Some civic minded soul has filled in the pot holes, so Corr is calm all the way there.

I don’t ask Holly about what finally brought him here for good, and he doesn’t ask me about Puck again, though I know he noticed the jacket.

Instead he regales me with the story of his old secretary, now the chief manager of his operations on the mainland. He seems to have been pretty reluctant to take the job, and the final agreement involved a fair bit more of Holly’s best whiskey than sounded strictly above-board to me.

“Come for dinner tomorrow,” he says while hopping down from the cab. His tone is friendly but I know better than to argue. “And bring your lady friend, I’d like to be scowled at by both of you over the mutton pie.”

“I guess Puck’ll decide for herself,” I say, “But I’ll come.”

#the scorpio races #just finished my november reread so here have some plotless dialogue #sean kendrick #george holly #puck connolly #into the abyss #gilly writes

[aphrodasiac]

Scorpio Races Epilogue (Fanfiction, Part 1 of 2)

Sean Kendrick

I woke before the sun, my hand tangled in a knot of red hair. Puck lay beside me, the curve of her slender shoulder pale in the twilight. The cold air nipped at my arms above the quilt, raising goosebumps along my skin. Slowly I reached out my hand to pull Puck closer to me, her soft body warm against mine. I allowed myself the indulgence of nestling my head between her shoulder and her neck, pressing my lips to the skin there, hair tickling my nose and temples.

There was a curious wrinkle between her brows, as if she were solving puzzles in her dreams and I found myself thanking whichever goddess it was that had allowed me this gift. I lay there, with the Queen of Skarmouth in my arms, our chests moving in tandem, her heart pulsing steadily where my lips were pressed to her throat. 

    Then Corr was huffing in his stall, his hoofs stamping impatiently, and I forced myself to move. 

    I dressed and padded silently through the house on socked feet, my boots held in my hand. I did not put them on until I had reached the front door where my jacket was hung up on a peg, freshly cleaned and dried. Puck has made me civilized. 

    The day was cold but not unbearably so and the birds were beginning to chirp softly in the nearby trees. Corr keened, his head bobbing as I approached him, his eye on the parcel that stuck out from my jacket pocket. I reached out and flattened my hand against his nose, my fingers rubbing circles between his eyes. 

I slipped his halter over his head and clipped on the long leather lead I had bought at the tack shop in Skarmouth three days ago. The old one had ended up in the ocean along with the capaill uisce I had been trying to catch. 

Slowly, I led him out of the stall and out into the crisp morning air. The dawn was breaking beyond the cliffline and a line of golden orange lit the silhouette of the trees around us. Corr nudged his head against my pocket and I pushed him away. I got him inside the round pen that Tom Gratton had helped me build and tied his lead to one of the posts. Unwrapping the parcel of meat, I placed it on the ground in front of him drawing a circle around him and the meal with my foot, adding my spit to the dirt at his hooves. 

I hurried back to the shelter to find my brushes but stopped when I glimpsed a spot of purple by the foot of the doorway. It was a small bush of bell heather, late blooming somehow unfazed by the threat of frost. I looked at the flower and thought of the girl in my bed. 

I spared a glance at Corr and found him watching me, his mouth working around a piece of meat. 

I looked at the flower again, debating. 

It wouldn’t take long. 

#fanfic #fluff #scorpio races #sean kendrick #puck connolly #maggie stiefvater #writing

[gthechangeling]

“I can see her clearly, standing on the rock beside Peg Gratton, unflinching before Eaton and the rest of the race committee. I can’t remember when I’ve been that brave, and it shames me. The truth is, I feel myself being fascinated and repelled by her: She’s both a mirror of myself and a door to the part of this island that I’m not.” - The Scorpio Races, page 206

this book is EVERYTHING and i’m obsessed with this scene

#the scorpio races #puck connolly #sean kendrick #the rock scene!!!!!!!!! i love it #idk there's just SOMETHING about how it makes puck feel and then hearing sean talk about how it made HIM feel #idk okay i just love the entire festival scene a lot #my art

[auraispurple]

sweater weather!

Scorpio Races fluff below the cut, please beware

Thisby women have a long history of battling the elements with handicrafts. Though not as famous as Fair Isle sweaters, Harris tweed, or even Irish mohair, Thisby wool is known for being so durable it can be worn for years and passed down through families; from jumpers to scarves and hats without the dyes fading or the threads fraying.

Even if Puck had the skill for the spindle and knitting needles, there was no one to teach her after her mother passed. The Maud women ran a crash course in pottery painting for the Connolly youngsters when it became clear that they needed the cash, but the sisters didn’t have time for the feminine arts (unless you counted flirting). They had sight enough for two out of three, and patience enough only for one.

But needs must. Tradition demanded tiny booties and hats and blankets, as baby Kendrick was well on its way already.

Puck rests her work on her belly, which has a healthy swell to it. The biggest hardship of pregnancy so far has been giving up riding, but trying to cast on is a close second. Her fingers are still strong and calloused from Dove's reins, but knitting is less about strength and more about witchcraft it seems.

Finn had found her a knitting primer in Fathom & Sons years back and given it to her as a joke, because Puck knitting was like seeing a barn cat walk on hind legs. Less funny now that she’s actually trying to make a go of it, however.

Her patience runs out. She’s made stitches so tight she can barely get the needles out of the loops, so she decides to get some air.

Corr and Dove are happy to see her as she approaches the paddock Sean fashioned on the old Kendrick farm.

Dove nudges her shoulder with her nose and Puck feels a deep pang. “Sorry, I miss our rides too.”

Her horse snorts back, Corr clucks. Then the baby kicks and Puck feels ganged up on.

“I know, I said I’m sorry!”

Dove is placated by Puck’s hands stroking her withers, but Corr has other ideas and makes to sniff at her coat pockets.

“I don’t have any scraps to spare, I’m afraid.”

Corr thumps a hoof on the ground and turns to smell the sea, always nearby on misty days. It’s not quite mid-October but the capaill uisce have already been spotted in the currents, hunting.

Dove rests her nose on Puck’s belly, seemingly to investigate.

“The doctor says it’ll be a while before I can ride again even after the baby comes, because my womb may wander. Which sounds like utter nonsense to me.”

The horses don’t disagree, but then again they don’t have the power of words either way.

Puck feels the baby again— a flip near Dove’s nose. This child already loves horses and it hasn’t even been born yet.

Dove accepts a cheek pat in lieu of a mount, but Corr gives her a look.

“Next time I’ll bring something for you, I promise.”

“You already have.”

Puck whirls around, nearly stepping on a deposit left by Dove. “You dirty sneak!"

Sean Kendrick has a gift for approaching quietly and scaring the daylights out of his wife. He must have walked Dove and Corr’s yearling to the far barn already, quieted by the foggy weather. Sure enough, Sunrise’s tail is twitching at the water trough.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh, you would never,” Puck smiles.

He hugs her and rests his hand where everything is happening-- where their future is percolating.

“How is our family today?”

“Annoyed, mostly. Malvern kicked me off duty, and Holly agreed. Just because I can’t ride, doesn’t mean I can’t still be useful. Apparently it’s unseemly for a woman in the family way to be seen mucking out stalls. I’ve also given up on knitting, and this one won’t stop kicking.”

Sean kisses her cheek, thinking. Always thinking.

His eyes twinkle. “You can muck out the stalls here as long as you like. We can wipe down the baby with fresh hay when she’s born, just like with the foals.”

Puck mocks disgust, but can’t keep up the ruse and laughs. Sean making a joke needs to be cherished and savored always. “What makes you so sure she’s a girl?”

“Just a notion.”

They walk back to the gate of the paddock, holding hands.

“Peg Gratton’s pendant says it’s a boy.”

“She finally cornered you?”

“We were out of Corr’s meat, and I needed a walk. I had to sit down to catch my breath--”

Sean’s hackles raise. “What do you mean, catch your breath?”

“Calm yourself, we’re fine. It’s just quite a walk up the hill from Malvern’s yard, you know. And I’m no longer fighting fit.”

He answers by sliding a protective arm around her shoulder, as if he might carry her across the threshold, or anywhere else she needs to go.

“You worry too much.”

He blinks at her like Finn's trusting cat Puffin. “I just love you, that’s all."

After three years married, surely she should be used to it. But her throat still bobbles at his earnestness, his troth to her for the race and at the church:  that he would always be at her side.

“I love you, I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.”

He looks like he’s formulating a reply when they hear a distant honk. Finn’s dusty truck is pulling up the drive, a gift from George Holly a few Novembers back when Finn fixed it for him.

Sean waves and turns back to the paddock to put Dove and Corr through their paces, probably also to give the siblings privacy.

Finn climbs out of the front seat, an old box in his hands.

“Puck!”

"Hello! You can join us for supper if you don’t mind cooking.”

He’s a scurry of excitement, barely listening. "I was in the cellar, trying to find some twine to fix a window sash and I found this.”

A flurry of dust is disturbed by him pushing the box’s lid aside to reveal— impossibly—tiny homespun wool garments, baby and toddler-sized and dyed a simple gray.

“Oh, Finn!"

He smiles, proud of himself. “I found it in a crate of Fathom & Sons catalogs and fabric scraps."

Puck is completely overcome— she has no memory of baby Finn, because she too was small. But of course these would have been saved. Only Gabe would have known these existed, and he’s not here to testify.

She can’t help herself, she begins to cry. Curse these weaker pregnancy moments.

Finn looks panicked, at sea in any kind of display of emotion. “Oh dear! What’s wrong?”

Through tears, Puck says. “Nothing’s wrong, everything’s perfect.”

Finn visibly relaxes as Puck picks up the tiniest bootie, somehow preserved in the cellar for all of those years. Thisby wool knitted by her ancestors, and saved by her mother in hope for the future with all of the sacrifice that entails.

Sean looks over to them from across the yard, and she has everything she needs to move forward.

#stuff i write #it's been a while #influenced by quarantine crazies #and binging Call the Midwife #the scorpio races #fanfic #alonereed

[ravingirls]

Ravin’ Girls Special Ep: The Scorpio Races

Episode Summary:

We usually promise no Grey Man violence, but today is the first day of November, and so today someone will die. That’s right, this special episode has carnivorous horses, red ribbons, and... baking? It’s The Ravin’ Girls cover The Scorpio Races! Hear our headcanon for Sean. Find out why Shannon is fired. Learn about Katamari Kelpies. Also, Shannon revels in being a Scorpio, we talk (a lot) about Water Horse myths, and The Ravin’ Girls make (and eat) their first November Cakes.

Subscribe at: https://ravingirls.podiant.co or wherever you get your podcasts, and please comment, rate, or review!

- - - - -

Next Episodes:

Please stay tuned to social media & subscribed to our feed for announcements of upcoming episode releases! Past Episode Guide: https://ravingirls.tumblr.com/episodes

Follow Us: Twitter: https://twitter.com/ravingirls Tumblr: https://ravingirls.tumblr.com Facebook: https://facebook.com/ravingirls WordPress: https://ravingirls.wordpress.com

- - - - -

Links to Articles, Websites, and Other Discussions:

Scorpio Races alternate chapter from Finn’s POV: https://www.wattpad.com/353259148-the-scorpio-races-alternate-chapter-twenty-nine

Description of The Scorpio Races: https://www.maggiestiefvater.com/the-scorpio-races/

Pronunciation: https://twitter.com/mstiefvater/status/636881682373718017

Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream (full play): http://shakespeare.mit.edu/midsummer/full.html

The myth of Thysbe: https://www.greekmythology.com/Myths/Mortals/Thisbe/thisbe.html

Puck’s brothers were stolen from Maggie’s: https://www.theguardian.com/childrens-books-site/2014/jul/07/maggie-stiefvater-interview-shiver-trilogy-sinner

Nostalgia: http://maggie-stiefvater.tumblr.com/post/140387335906/hi-maggie-im-a-bookstore-manager-in-qu%C3%A9bec-the

Protection from Fae: http://www.medbherenn.com/faerie-lore.html

Gabe/Tommy Falk/Peg Gratton: http://maggie-stiefvater.tumblr.com/post/121537966321/i-always-considered-gabes-relationship-with-tommy

Eric Edwards, “The Waterhorse and the Kelpie”: https://ericwedwards.wordpress.com/2014/04/11/the-waterhorse-and-the-kelpie/

Puca: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P%C3%BAca

Irish folklore of the Pooka: https://www.irishcentral.com/tales-of-the-pooka

https://ansionnachfionn.com/seanchas-mythology/na-pucai/

Scottish folklore: https://www.scotland.org/features/scottish-myths-folklore-and-legends

The Kelpie: https://www.historic-uk.com/CultureUK/The-Kelpie/

Robert Burns’ poem, Address to the Deil (1785): http://www.robertburns.org/works/83.shtml

Kelpie drowns its victims: http://karlshuker.blogspot.com/2015/04/keeping-clear-of-kelpies-and-other.html

Is Nessie a kelpie?: http://www.strangehistory.net/2013/12/22/was-nessie-a-kelpie/

St. Columba repels the Loch Ness Monster: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loch_Ness_Monster

Misinterpreting The Scorpio Races as Greek: https://bibliophilemad.wordpress.com/2016/02/29/its-all-greek-to-me-misreading-the-scorpio-races/

Q&A:https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/authors/interviews/article/48971-q-a-with-maggie-stiefvater.html

The Black Stallion: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/272895.The_Black_Stallion

Each Uisge: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Each-uisge

The Leprechuan’s Kingdom: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/134073.The_Irish_Leprechaun_s_Kingdom

The Mermaids Singing: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23700.The_Mermaids_Singing

Mendacity: https://www.fimfiction.net/story/26192/mendacity

**MAGGIEWATCH**

Maggie is doing a Scorpio Races readalong starting November 1st, 2018: https://twitter.com/mstiefvater/status/1054786018254163970

Announcements:

Please keep an eye on our social media for announcements of when will will officially kick off Season2: The Dream Thieves! Thank you all so much for your patience.

- - - - -

Acknowledgements: The Scorpio Races and all affiliated properties are copyright Maggie Stiefvater and Scholastic, Inc. The Ravin’ Girls reference these properties for the purpose of literary analysis.

Intro and Outro music by Damiano Baldoni, used under CC Attribution License: http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Damiano_Baldoni/Lost_Dinasty/

The original tracks have been edited for the podcast.

Ravin’ Girls logo and banner art © 2018 Mio Mäkijärvi, All Rights Reserved. Please visit  http://kojotei.tumblr.com/ for more information.

#scorpio races #puck connolly #sean kendrick #maggie stiefvater #special episode #Ravin' Girls: A Raven Cycle Podcast #ravin' girls #raven cycle podcast #podcast #ya lit #literary analysis

[macabrehunger]

Rider Challenge: Rider’s Parade and a Goddess

Max Wilde

(@thescorpioracesfestival )

The Skarmouth I lay my eyes on as I follow Jesse into it is wild, carnal, and covered by people from the mainland and Thisby alike. The scent of perfume reminds me of Kida- who I can only wonder about since he vanished into these crowds the night before after touching Jasper. In the distance, the drums are pounding to every rider's heartbeat, slowly getting louder as they wind through the thickening crowd of people. I'm unsure if I'm even still following my brother at this point, but with my own wild eyes devouring the scene around us, I catch his silver hair every time.

Still on track.

Everything is awash with golds and reds and blacks and blues under the lights of Skarmouth, and everything smells like alcohol, sweet pastries, perfumes, colognes, and blood. I'm sure I'm imagining the blood part of that, maybe it's just burned into my nose, but I doubt it. The crowd is sluggish as it parts before Jesse and I, and as I walk along, I catch glimpses of red-lipped women's smiles and hope they aren't aimed toward us. Maybe they are. The tinny ringing of bells is piercing under the voices of the crowd, jingling from the ankles of dancing girls and boys alike. For a brief moment, I envy them- they don't fear anything on these streets, not even the idea that a capaill could come and murder anyone here.

Jesse's rough hand pulls me out of my daze as he yanks me over to the side of the street, and we watch the fourteen enthusiastic drummers cross our path. Their sound is ragged and feels like the ocean's voice, which only sends my brain spinning once the feeling hits my veins. The tourists are clapping, the locals are stomping to them, and then it feels as if everyone goes silent all at once.

The mare goddess.

The head's eyes wink at us under the golden lights as she dances up behind them, and the smell of blood becomes even thicker, nearly overwhelming. I see Jesse close his eyes and can even tell when the breath rushes out of him as if he were in time with the ocean's pounding waves when her head turns our way. Sand spills from her hands to her bare feet, a mere distraction for them to come and roughly cup my cheeks. The hair on the head is matted with age and the eyes are winking ever brighter now, I almost feel fear thickening in my chest. The goddess is all head and body and inseperable and I can't tell where any part of her ends- all it is now is blood and saltwater and the sea screaming in my ears. The blood from her palms is startlingly cold on my cheeks, and I feel her breath coming out in short bursts from her nostrils for a moment before her head turns and she regards Jesse. "Did you get what you wanted, Wilde?" She asks him, and the fact that she regards him by his last name catches me off guard. Her voice is otherworldly at this time of night. I see his hand shift in his pocket and he nods, unable to look away from her either.

Her attention returns to me, and she runs the pads of her thumbs up over my cheekbones. The blood smears, and I feel my skin grow hot when it does. "Max, do not waste this chance." Her voice is almost a growl- I imagine it would be what Andraste would sound like if she were able to speak like this. More sand spills from her hands when she releases my face from her grasp and then she dances away, leaving me nearly gasping for air. It felt like I had just resurfaced from being held underwater for too long, watching the colors from the edges of my vision fade away.

There's a smear of blood on the collar of my shirt.

Jesse tugs me in the direction of Gratton's to get us both settled with the race, and as he does, I catch a glimpse of the rock we will soon spill our blood on. The night sky is spotted with stars behind it, as empty as my chest currently feels. I'm grateful for my brother leading me along- without him, I wasn't sure if I would have made it after the interaction with the goddess. The shop is blindingly bright as always when we step inside of it, and as Jesse orders meat for Jasper and Andraste, my eyes wander across the board above our heads.

Every name feels like a curse to think about, knowing many of the ones up there will die this month, either with or without their mount. My stomach knots again, and I move my gaze to where Peg is talking to my brother. "You like a damn demon, Max. Don't be so silent like your brother," she says in more of a teasing way than anything, and I can't help but break into a smile. "Forgive me this time, Peg," I call across the shop in return, moving out into the cool shadows outside as Jesse slides back through the crowd of betting men. I can see her smile through the windows as I wait for my brother, who once he gets outside, walks quickly toward the rock. Toward the crowd of other riders. Toward the start.

No longer in the shop, Peg Gratton stands before us, eerily lit by a nearby fire with a knife in her hand. She's always here. With every man and woman that steps up on that blood-washed and stained boulder to her, I can recall seeing it on the board. These are the people that could die this month. It almost feels more horrific now, seeing them in person. Brushing the thought aside, I stepped forward, looking into Peg's eyes again, my hand extended. She doesn't smile as the knife slices into my hand, heat blazing up my arm into my chest for a brief moment, and I watch my blood fall onto the boulder below.

"Max Wilde. Andraste. By my blood."

I am no longer the golden retriever turned over gently by the island. I am a lion again- my lips carving a deadly smile on my face as I look down at the slice on my hand. I can tell Jesse recognizes this- and that makes the world turn even slower.

Thisby is calling. I am rooted to her as I step down, my knees shaking ever so slightly as I watch my brother follow up behind me. Two weeks. Two. The races have never felt so close, and I have never felt so perilously on the edge of them. God save us all.

#thescorpioracesfestival #tsrf2018 #max wilde #jesse wilde #andraste #jasper #long post #writing

[ao3feed-thescorpioraces]

silk and sea glass

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2pUv33A

by skatzaa

I meet Sean on the cliffs after Mass on Sunday. Sometime in the past week the island has decided that it’s true spring, and the cliffs overlooking the race beach are now overrun with the small purple wildflowers that bloom every year.

Sean is waiting with her back to the island and her hands in her jacket pockets, looking out toward the sea.

Words: 1535, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Puck Connolly, Sean Kendrick, Finn Connolly, George Holly, Dory Maud, Elizabeth (The Scorpio Races), Annie (The Scorpio Races), Peg Gratton

Relationships: Puck Connolly/Sean Kendrick

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Female Sean Kendrick, Spring, Weddings

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2pUv33A

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #the scorpio races #maggie stiefvater

[acourtofhopeanddreams]

The Scorpio Races Festival 2017

Rider Challenge #5: Rider's Parade

Rider: Charlie Miller Capall Uisce: Bud Wordcount: 1257 Triggerwarnings: None Written for: @thescorpioracesfestival 2017 AO3 || WATTPAD

My hands are sticky  and I feel like my teeth have all lost their protective coating, but I have to admit that Hannah and Daniel were right. Those november cakes are the best treats I’ve ever had in my life and if the lines weren’t this awfully long, I would have gotten myself another one.

“And?” Hannah reaches for my arm and raises her voice in an attempt to be louder than the music that’s surrounding us. “Are you nervous already?” Her lips curl up into a smile.

Last year I carried her all the way up to the top to officially sign her up for the race. This year I will be the one going up there. I wish I could answer that I am not nervous at all. After all, I have already signed up on the chalkboard. But somehow this feels different. As if right now I could still change my mind if I want, as if this is the point of no return, as if this is the true moment I decide I’m gonna race Bud.

“You look nervous, but there is nothing to be nervous about.” Hannah squeezes my arm and then she turns her face back to Daniel. “Did I look that nervous last year?”

A grin spreads across his face. “No, love, you looked even worse.” The lights of the festivities are reflected in his eyes and my sister lets out a small chuckle.

“You don’t regret not riding yourself, do you?” I’ve asked Hannah that question over and over again, but I want to be sure that her answer is still no before I go up there, before I cut my palm, before my blood drops on the red stone, before Bud and I have no choice but to show up on the beach on the first of November.

“Charlie…” Hannah rolls her eyes and lets out a deep breath. “No, I don’t regret not racing myself. I’ve did it last year. I didn’t finish last. There is nothing to gain for me anymore.”

“You could try to win this year.” I mumble. Somehow I want Hannah to race Bud again. Somehow I want her to change her mind. It would give me an excuse to back down, to give up, despite the progress I’m booking with Richard’s help.

“Mister Miller!” Richard straightens his back while he makes his way through the crowd towards me. His hands look as sticky as mine and even now the sun has already set his bright blue eyes are still sparkling. “I already hoped I would manage to find you before the rider’s parade starts.” He has his lips curled up into a bright smile and with steady steps he walks towards my sister with his hand already stretched out. “Miss Hannah Miller, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Richard Lionheart and I admire your impressive achievement from last year.” He brings her knuckles to his red lips and kisses her hand gently.

“Richard?” Hannah bites her lip while she pulls her hand back. “The Richard? The man who’s been helping to train my brother because my advice to let his emotions guide him doesn’t work for him?”

Richard exchanges a short glance with me and I feel how my cheeks heat up. “I might have told her the entire story of how we met and such…” I am not completely honest. I have told her a lot more than that, but I am not ready for him to hear that.

“It’s a pleasure to meet the guy who’s spending more time with my brother than I am!”

I remember how I felt about Daniel last year, how jealous I was of Bud, but I don’t hear the same jealousy in Hannah’s words.

“This is Daniel Whittemore, I met him last year in Thisby, but we’re now living together on the Mainland.” Hannah entwines her fingers with Daniel’s and in that moment I wish I could be as happy for her as she seems to be for me. She seems to know that she will never lose me, but somehow I am still afraid to lose her even though I know that it won’t happen.

“It is an honor to meet one of the very few who has managed to convince a true born Thisbier to leave this Island.” Richard firmly shakes Daniel’s hand and Daniel shrugs his shoulders.

“I promised her we’ll always come back for race season.” Daniel pulls his hand back and then he curls his fingers around Hannah’s handlebars. “Maybe we should go find a spot for the rider’s parader somewhere?” He locks his glance with Hannah’s.

I know that she actually wants to go up there with me, but it will be too much of a hassle.

Her wheelchair is beach proof, but it is not rock proof. Or Thisby still isn’t wheelchair proof.

I don’t think it will ever be.

“Good luck, Charlie. You can do it.” Hannah reaches for my hand one more time before she allows Daniel to ride her away from me.

“So…” I burry my sticky hands in the pockets of my jeans. The evening wind is chilly, but I’m still sweating.

“So…” Richard replies and silently he stands next to me until a clear and loud voice defies the noise.

“Riders? Make your way to the rock!”

I bite my lip. My heart is racing in my chest and I feel the veins in my neck beating. My new beginning is officially waiting for me on top of that rock. I take one more deep breath and then I feel a strong hand reaching for mine.

“I want to make sure we don’t lose each other in the crowd.” Richard seems sincere, but I feel my skin tingling where his hand touches mine. “I know only one person can win, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t become friends with other riders before the race.”

I curl my lips up into a smile, not capable of answering. All my nerves for the rider’s parade have disappeared, but they are replaced by different kind of nerves.

“Charlie Miller and Richard Lionheart, which one of you will go first?” Peg Gratton curls her lips up into a smile and I realize that Richard is still holding onto my hand, even though we are not in the crowd anymore, even though we have reached the top, even though there are only riders surrounding us.

“I hope you will make your sister proud.” Richard pulls his hand back, but when I hesitate he places it on my lower back to push me forward.

“O, yes, of course.” I swallow and I  straighten my back and lift my chin while I walk towards the bloodied rock that smells like iron. “I will ride.” My voice isn’t as steady as I have hoped it would be, maybe because I’m very aware that somewhere, invisible for me, my sister is staring at me with a proud smile on her face.

Peg pierces my finger with her sharp knife and I watch how the drops of blood fall onto the rest of them.

“Charlie Miller. Bud. By my blood.” I speak fast, maybe a little too fast, but somehow I am relieved when I’ve finally said the words out loud. Especially when I feel Richard’s shoulder touching mine while he passes me to complete his ritual.

My new life has begun and all I need is the courage to make it better than the one I led so far.

#maggie stiefvater #the scorpio races #the scorpio races festival #tsrf2017 #thescorpioracesfestival #rider track #rider challenge 5 #fc: claire holt #fc: Daniel Sharman #fc: Charlie Carver #fc: Richard Madden

[welcometothisby]

Things I'd be down with: Gabe brings a girl back to the Island during the festival

OH THAT MAKES ME SO CURIOUS??? How would Puck react? Is this the first time he’s returned? Is the trip a surprise? Is the girl a surprise? Did he bring her as a buffer so Puck would not murder him in front of company? What sort of girl would Gabe fall for? I mean, it would be a BIG deal to bring an outsider into the vestiges of his past life. He would have so much baggage. 

Thisby is a place where:

His parents died

His one true love best friend died

His dreams died

He had an affair with a married woman, who is probably still living there

He almost left his younger siblings homeless

He is known to everybody on the island and they all know his business better than he does

He still smells like fish

How much would she know about Thisby and what it means to Gabe? Would he conceal everything from her behind his shiny new mainland facade? Would the evasiveness and tension and the shame and the hurt spark and explode among the bonfires? Would they cross paths with Peg? Would there be jealousy or, possibly worse, indifference? Would anyone’s heart be cut out neat? Or would all the hearts be too broken to be worth the effort?

Or perhaps this mainland girl has long-since cracked Gabe’s shell, freeing him from the weight of secrets so that he could become rather philosophical about it all? Would her eyes light up with curiosity and recognition as the things she knows about Gabe suddenly come into focus in this strange place? Could he dance with her through the streets like a tourist? Would he be able to find some bit of happiness on Thisby, enough to carry away in his pocket as the ferry takes him home—to her home—to their home?

And would they be back? Because what would happen if she fell in love with Thisby? What in the world would he do then?

#PLEASE SOMEBODY WRITE ME THIS FIC #I AM DOWN FOR DRAMA #wanderingmercenary #the scorpio races #maggie stiefvater #gabriel connolly #confession #headcanon #meta #the scorpio festival #peg gratton #peg x gabe #tommy x gabe

[thegrattonsbutchershop]

It is a day closer to November, but the sea might usher it in before the calendar does. The morning is bristly, unfriendly: fog clings to the fields and the streets, hugging the houses and the beach, while a sharp rain beats down from clouds overhead. Reilly pulls his hat down, his jacket tighter.

He didn’t expect the beach to be too full during this wretched weather, but the storm from the early morning brought in a horde of capaill uisce onto the island and the stock of potential mounts is rich. Reilly knows that a capall washed ashore during a storm is more dangerous than any other horse on this beach, and he suddenly wants to go back to Gratton’s and the chalkboard and undo what was done.

The sad smile Peg would bestow on him for doing that, however, makes Reilly stay rooted in his spot on the cliff above the sand below.

A scream comes from down the beach, and Reilly turns to watch. His stomach churns as he sees a hoof flinging upward, into the hair, followed by a flurry of thick mane, then nothing. Blood pools where a man stands, the uisce fleeing into the sea with a line trailing behind it, no longer held by a hand that is no longer there.

The rain has lightened by now to a fine mist. Reilly looks over the top of the cliffs, past the outskirts of Skarmouth, where Malvern’s yard lies. Tourists in fine coats line white fences holding highly valued horseflesh, some of them with remnants of capaill blood. He wishes he had a mount from that yard instead of a mount from the sea, but Reilly has yet to unearth the proverbial pot of gold.

He remembers the chalkboard now, the blank space next to his name glaringly empty, and he begins his journey down to the beach, steeling himself against the brutal weather and the harsh, unguarded stares of those around him.

 . . .

When he gets to the sand, stands on it, breathes in the salt from the ocean reaching out in front of him for miles and miles, it is unlike anything he has ever experienced before. All around him is chaos, but the feeling of being completely lost in a melee of men, capaill uisce, and the sea makes him calm, and he knows himself.

Reilly has never known himself more than now.

He carves his way through the beach to a man in a bowler hat shouting words into the wind while a horse is winning the battle on turning him into a kite.

“When did you fish this one out of the ocean?” Reilly also shouts into the wind, but aimed closer to the man near him, hopefully.

The man turns, gives a sharp tug on the line tethering the uisce to him, and tosses a few chips of metal at it. Iron. “This morning! Fine one, ain’t it?”

Reilly cringes, except unlike that time with Peg and the chalkboard--he means it. “Aye!” He replies, his words lost on the man when he leaves.

The next man Reilly finds is slightly more organized. This one is a true horsemonger, with a little harem of capaill in his possession and a few men scattered around him doing various things with the devils or admiring them. Reilly recognizes the man from Gratton’s, but doesn’t approach him, instead watching the horses mill about. One of them reminds him of Skata, the infamous horse from a few years back who took Mutt Malvern to the sea, and another reminds him of dark root cellars during a winter storm. He focuses not on those two. All of the uisce here reek of the ocean, most of their manes still dripping, flowers woven into their forelocks and bells around their pasterns.

These smoke and mirrors will not keep them away from the waves, not in this weather, not in Scorpio season.

At the end of the line lurks a capall, dangerous like a wasp on your shoulder. Reilly watches her, entranced. He can’t distinguish if her charm is the lullaby of the sea or a certain appreciation. She does not lunge at the dogs running the beach, or the stable boy holding her down, or for the sea, and her eyes hold a strange calmness.

She knows herself.

Reilly decides it is time to find a different man harking horses at the crowds.

#welcome to grattons #tsrf2017 #thescorpioracesfestival #the scorpio races #capaill uisce #welcometothisby

[clanceylance-blog]

The Scorpio Races 2017

Rider Challenge #5

The Scorpio festival was renouned for the amount of people it brought to Skarmouth each year. As Tess stood at the beach she wondered about Sean Kendrick and why he left, humming to her self an old song "My heart is peirced by cupid, i distain all glitering gold, there is nothing to console me but my jolly salior bold." She kept singing, her sweet voice harmoniseing with the sea, oblivious to Marin walking up to her. "Come all you pretty fair-maids, who ever you may be, who loves a jolly salior that plpows the raging sea," he joined in, voice startling Tess. "we need to stop coming here before the Capall find us and kill us," Marin said quite bluntly, "we should, but we won't and you know it," Tess replied, voice betraying the fear she had. "hmm? what are you thinking Tess," he asked, still facing the sea, "I-I-I- don't know, i love he Capall and i trust them, well at least Sea Song, but... i'm worried about the race, i don't trust some of the riders," Tess paused before going on "I'm worried, i remeber when Puck Connolly had her leg sliced open, i remeber when Mutt malvern was draged into the sea after mutilating Skata, i remeber Sean Kendrick lying under Corr and i don't what that to happen to me... or you," her voice faltering at the end. "that won't happen and you know it, your Capall trusts you as much as you trust him, and the sea sings to you both and here you are, you ride those beaches even during the worst of winter, that won't happen to you," marin said with a raging sea burning in his eyes, and with a shrug "either way, we will have to go to the rock soon anyway."

As they both walked through Skarmouth to the rock, Tess saw the Mare goddess walk toward her, the crowd parting without hesitation. "The sea, it sings to you more than the boy, and more than the horses," her voice raspy and powerful, "the sea knows you better than most," and with that the mare goddess wiped her bloodied hands over Tesss cheakbone, so similar to what she did to Sean kendrick 5 years ago. Tess was frozen in place, and as Marin pulled her toward the riders parade, she realised that the mare goddess was right, the sea had sung to her and she had sung back.

Together Tess and marin climbed the clif to the riders parade, the old stone covered in the blood of the riders and the one who will not. "Rider without a name, Horse without a name. By his Blood." the words that marked the real start of the races. One by one, each rider walked over to Peg Gratton, a small blade cutting each rider and their blood marking them into the races. Soon, Marin went up "I will ride," he said voice calm, "Marin Anteaus. Lir. By my blood." then he walked back to stand next to Tess. Soon she too walked up, looking like she would be washed away by the smallest wave, head watching the ocean. Peg cut her finger and she spoke, voice much softer than the sea below, but just as powerful "Tess Morat. Sea Song. By my blood," and as if by magic, the sea erupted, a blood red Capall burtsing onto the cliff, sea mad and from the crowd terrified gasps came over the crowd. then Tess realised who that Capall belonged to, only one rider ever had a Capall that colour, "Sean Kendrick," the crowd whispered, Tess walked closer to Corr, singing like the sea. "How-" people were asking, as she walked closer, just as he came into the range of Corr, "hey now, is that any way to say hello?" Sean said, his sudden reapearence causing the crowd to erupt into chaos.

#tsrf2017 #thescorpioracesfestival #boi #hes back #h hs bee ound

[roseravenkey]

Rider Challenge #5: Riders’ Parade

@thescorpioracesfestival

I come in the house one evening from feeding Sleipnir and Dor. I take off my coat, boots and gloves and grab myself an apple from the bowl on the counter. I hear the TV on once again and go in to see what’s on. Before anything else I see my brother asleep on the couch, so naturally I pick up a cushion from an armchair and raise it above my head. Just as I’m about to bring it down over Sebs’ face he mutters “Don’t you f**king dare.” without even opening his eyes. 

Shit! Abort! Not asleep! I repeat, NOT ASLEEP! I panic internally as I squeak and drop the pillow behind me. Stupidly I ask, “Don’t who dare do what?”

“I could hear you, you moron.” He replies, finally opening his eyes and sitting up. “Are we going to the festival then?”

“Yeah just let me shower quick first.” Dor has a habit of getting excited around his food and throws it about. I was in the line of fire today and he got blood all over me. 

~~~Timeskip to arriving at the Skarmouth~~~

“Tessy!” I hear as I step out the car in Skarmouth.

“Hey Maggie!” I call back, picking up my little sister into a hug. She hangs on around my neck as I greet my parents too. Soon Maggie begins to wriggle in my arms so I set her down so she can greet our big brother. I use my newfound freedom to give my parents a hug. We don’t see them too often; they live the other side of the island so we only see them a couple of times a month or so. It’s not that we don’t like our family, we love them with all our hearts, but we’re all just so busy. 

“November cakes?” I hear Sebs ask. A chorus of “Yes!” from us and hyperactive squeaking from Maggie. So Sebs sets off in search of the treats. Not far. The bakery isn’t exactly hard to find either. You can smell the sugar from miles away. I look around Skarmouth for a while with my parents but they can’t stay for long. Not with little Maggie. Sebs finds us and hands each of us a sticky November cake. I love these things. They’re so sweet and the honey oozes out onto my hand. I eat it quick as I can while still savouring it so that it doesn’t drip onto me any more. My parents have to leave soon after so Sebs and I wander the streets, dodging the increasing number of drunk locals, riders and tourists alike.

“Hey Tessa!” I look over to where I heard the voice come from and see none other than Rea pushing her way through the crowd towards us.

“Hey Rea! How you doing? Jetta any better behaved?” I say to her.

“I’m not doing bad myself but as for Jetta, what do you think?!” She laughs. I hear a cough from behind me and a poke in the ribs. I turn and say, “What do you want? Oh right, Rea this is my brother Sebastian. Sebs this is Rea from the beach the other day.”

“Ah sweet. You racing this year, Sebastian?” She asks.

“No... I injured myself a few months ago. Won’t be able to race again ‘til next year. Got my capall still though.” He said awkwardly. He’s not used to talking to my friends. He always stays out the way. He makes his excuses and leaves to go find some of his own friends down by the quay. 

“Don’t forget your riders’ parade, Tess!” He calls over his shoulder.

“You know I won’t!” I call back.

Once again I set off wandering around Skarmouth waiting for the riders’ parade, this time with Rea in tow. We mostly talk about our capaill. We both love them so much. 

After a couple of hours we hear the shouts of “Riders! Riders follow me! Riders to the rock!” It’s not really much of a parade really. It’s mostly just riders pushing their way through the crowds of drunks.

“I’m so excited!” Rea squeaks as she takes hold of my arm and pulls me through the crowd. I laugh, “You’re not even racing, Rea!”

“I know, but I’m excited for you!”

We walk up the hills to the cliffs above the racing beaches where most of the light comes from the bonfires alone. The crowd is rough around us, occasionally pushing into one or both of us. I can see the shape of the rock a little way in front of us, the light of the bonfires flickering over the streaks of old blood stained onto its surface. The crowd hushes as once again, Frank Eaton, carrying his bowl of sheep’s blood, climbs up onto the rock and begins the ritual. 

“It falls to me to speak for the man who will not ride.” He calls out over the island. He starts to slowly pour the blood from the bowl onto the rock. We all watch with wide eyes. We know what the blood’s for. It’s an offering to the island before the races in the hopes she won’t take as much during the races. Rea and I cling to each others’ arms as we watch.

“Rider without a name,” Eaton says. “Horse without a name. By his blood.” He steps back as the mare goddess stands where he poured the blood. Like every year, the stuffed horse head mask seems to stare over the crowd with its polished eyes as the woman inside begins to speak, but it’s muffled and we can hardly hear it this far back.

“Epona.” I hear whispered behind me. I jump and almost squeak out loud as my brother puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that! And I know what her name is!” I hiss.

“Shh. Go on. They’re calling for the riders. No time for arguing with your brother.” Rea mumbles at me, pushing me towards the rock.

“Once again, I know guys! I’ve done this before!” I say as I push through the crowd.

As I get to the rock I see the mare goddess slip away from the rock and the well known Peg Gratton in her creepy puffin-looking attire takes her place at the top of the natural steps in the rock. A few riders go before me and I rehearse what I’m supposed to say in my head before I go up there. I’m not making a fool of myself in front of the whole island! 

It’s finally my turn. I climb the steps carefully. My legs shake under me. I’m nervous of course! I was last year and it’s the same tonight. After a small eternity I get to the flat top of the rock. I stand in front of Peg and glance down and the wet surface of the rock. Up until a few years ago, only men would sign up for the races. Kate Connolly changed that. Even when she was stood here and told she couldn’t race she refused to back down. Since then a few more women have joined the races each year. 

“I will ride.” I say, extending my hand towards Peg. She brings forwards her knife and cuts my finger, my blood dripping joining the riders’ before me. It doesn’t hurt. Not really.

“Tessa Westfall. Sleipnir. By my blood.”

“Thank you.” Peg says, in the same way she did to the riders before me. I turn to walk back down the steps, my nerves gone completely now. I feel exhilarated. I see Sebs and Rea at the bottom of the steps and they congratulate me on officially being a part of the races, bound by blood now! Sebs holds out a small length of medical tape and a tissue for my hand. I bandage myself up and watch the rest of the riders go up and say their name and their capaill’s name. As the last rider steps off the rock, the crowd becomes more elated as Peg shouts over us all, “By their blood, let the races begin!”

#tsrf2017 #thescorpioracesfestival