#rae worms

re-reading trc in the year of our lord 2025 and i already got the brain worms

stain you with it (just a little) by raewrites

rodansey | 7.7k words | rated e

Ronan slips a finger into one of the gaps between the pearlescent buttons of Gansey’s collared shirt, tickling the bare skin beneath. Gansey squirms on instinct, and the movement pulls the knot of his tie just that much tighter around his neck. Gansey stills, caught on the precarious boundary between Ronan’s whim and Adam’s mercy.  It’s with acute clarity that Gansey understands the simple fact of his predicament. If he were any other man in the same scenario, he would be a dead one.

where ice carved out the earth: stories from the wisconsin wendigo professional ice hockey team by raewrites

original work | 13.9k words (+ counting) | rated m

ao3 collection | tumblr tag

Hello again Wisconsin Hockey Club fans! Or should I say: Wisconsin Wendigo fans? That’s right, after Wisconsin’s 2019-2020 debut season, we here in Madison have been granted an official team name. A huge step for this fledgling team that’s itching to get back on the ice for their second season in the big leagues. All of us here at the Wisconsin Wendigo media team look forward to bringing you the latest news on this promising young franchise throughout the 2020-2021 season.

Media Archive:

Part 1: Lead Up to the Home Opener 🏒

Training Camp Series ✅

Pre-season Home Series ✅

even though i haven't read the dreamer trilogy yet, i've already fallen head over heals for jordeclan and i've had this au fic in my head for a little while now - niall lynch dies and leaves behind a secret nyc apartment to declan in his will, one declan plans to sell without an immediate second thought because he simply Does Not Have Time For This, Dad. but when he visits the city to meet with a broker, he walks into jordan's art gallery and well plans change pretty quickly after that

meant to feel a little like a nora ephron movie but more importantly like my own love letter to nyc :')

***

Declan tenses at the sound, the rending screech of the train's brakes abrasive and belligerent against his ear drums.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Declan swears, clenching his jaw in a bracing cringe. "That is absolutely unholy."

"As the son of a devil, you would know, wouldn't you?"

Jordan flashes him a dazzling smile over her shoulder as she falls into easy step with the flow of foot traffic on the platform. Declan stumbles after her, a fish unaccustomed to swimming upstream amongst uncaring sharks.

Somehow he manages to be in every wrong place at every wrong time, stepping on feet and bumping shoulders, before finding himself the last poor sardine shoved behind the closing subway doors.

For a stop, he and Jordan eye each other from across the rattling sardine can, swaying in time with the movements of the fellow passengers. She's somehow secured herself a tiny pocket of coveted space near the other set of doors, her hand holding the railing above and arm dangling below in a casual L. Declan's eyes watch the slim muscle of her bicep flex as the train begins its bellowing screech into the next station, the way her stance shifts just slightly and she effortlessly holds herself upright as the brakes engage.

Declan, out of reach of any hand rail and somewhat wary of them to begin with, finds himself the unfortunate victim of the train's unforgiving physics. As the station platform manifests to blurring life outside the grimy windows, his sudden, hurtling momentum is stopped only by the broad shoulders of the middle-aged man squished in beside him, who seems blessedly unconcerned by Declan all but splayed across his back.

As the train comes to a full stop and the doors open again behind him, Declan manages the chaotic flow of passengers slightly better at second pass, setting his jaw and maneuvering himself towards Jordan until he's within reach enough to thread his own fingers on top of hers still secured to the railing. While he's jostled by the influx of new passengers pressing up against his back, the familiar touch of her is a relief that deflates through his chest. As a mild, disembodied voice tells them to Stand clear of the closing doors, please, Declan allows himself the brief indulgence of dropping his forehead to her shoulder, the reward of her breathy, amused laughter curling in his ear and brushing the hair at his temples.

***