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The Quarry Month - November 2024 Week 1 Pre canon | Bonfire | Movie Night | Suspicion

Week 2 Canon Divergence | Role swap | Shotgun | Lake

Week 3 Aftermath | Sirens | Interrogation | Sole Survivor

Week 4 Post canon | Reconnecting | Grief | Podcast

FAQs || More Information

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Celebrating October with prompts for 31 days of The Quarry!

Low energy, purely for fun... pick your fave word for the day or work them all into a new or existing work, whatever appeals to you. Just have fun and hopefully get inspired to create more for this world!

Thanks @ghostradiodylan for being my sounding board after I got possessed by this idea tonight <3

1. claw / cabin / cards 2. stab / shoot / safe 3. hag / hunger / Hackett 4. lake / lodge / leader 5. gun / gift / ghost 6. bruise / bear / bargain 7. rot / rabid / regret 8. puncture / promise / protect 9. choke / chainsaw / cage 10. radio / rage / red 11. motel / memory / morgue 12. haunt / heart / haven 13. casualty / choice / chase 14. fury / fall / flames 15. teeth / taken / torn 16. shock / selfish / scar 17. bandage / bury / bullet 18. monster / mistake / murder 19. curse / challenge / campfire 20. bitter / balance / bone 21. heavy / hostile / hurt 22. punch / prey / pursue 23. infect / interfere / instinct 24. animal / admire / attack 25. spirit / survive / saint 26. flight / fool / favor 27. predator / plead / party 28. witness / witch / wager 29. hunt / hand / harm 30. worry / wolf / wind 31. bite / bleed / break

Tag with #31 days of the quarry if you feel like sharing!

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Rylan +

"You make me so happy it turns back to sad, there's nothing I hate more than what I can't have, you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad"

🐼 So I'd originally intended for this to be cute but instead it's angsty. Oops tee hee

Dylan is happy. No, really. It turns out being down a hand not only doesn’t affect your ability to kick ass at quantum physics, but it also makes you the most interesting man in the room at nearly every social gathering. Scholarship programs also love a good sob story, so he’s pretty much got a full ride through his master’s degree if he decides to stick with it.

As far as the others, Laura and Max had secretly gotten married and are now planning on opening a refuge for exotic animals.

Abi and Emma had started dating immediately after the charges were cleared, to everyone’s surprise, and now they’re living together in California while Abi finishes her art degree and Emma’s influencer career flourishes.

Nick is back in Australia working at some catering company with his high school sweetheart, whom he’d reconnected with after months of isolation from pretty much everyone.

Jacob and Kaitlyn are living together, not quite dating, but definitely showing signs of something happening. They’ll never admit it, but Dylan knows Kaitlyn’s secretly-has-feelings-for-someone face, and she wears it often when Jacob is around.

And Ryan…well, he’s doing pretty well, too. In fact, judging by his latest social media update, which happens about three times a year, he’s gearing up to move in with his boyfriend, Felix, whom he’s been with for six months. The post is a picture of Ryan sitting on his couch surrounded by cardboard boxes, having a very serious staring contest with Poe, a stray tuxedo cat the couple had found hanging around Ryan’s college dorm one night. Dylan smiles at the cat’s familiar face, as he’s seen it often in the pictures Ryan sends him. He and Ryan have semi-regularly been texting ever since Ryan had scribbled his number on a piece of scrap paper for Dylan two years ago. After their last night at Hackett’s Quarry.

Dylan remembers well their first conversation from right after they’d been released.

-

“That was a crazy first date, huh?” Dylan was doing what Dylan did best, which was flirting inappropriately with his crush to distract both of them from their trauma. Or whatever it was his therapist had told him.

Ryan snorted. “Ha, yeah. I guess you could say that.”

“This is yours, by the way.” He handed Dylan a crumpled, folded up piece of paper.

“Don’t tell me…your number?” Dylan couldn’t help himself.

“Ding ding ding,” Ryan deadpanned.

Dylan’s face grew hot. “Oh. Thanks, man. I’ll keep in touch.”

“You better. I went through a lot of trouble to get that for you.” Ryan’s grin was the most gorgeous thing Dylan had seen in these past months — maybe ever.

-

They had kept in touch, and things looked hopeful for a while — but when the group had their first get-together around New Year’s, something had changed. Dylan couldn’t look at Ryan, much less talk to him at first. He didn’t know if it was nerves, or guilt about making Ryan cut off his hand, or the feeling that he was coming on too strong; whatever it was, he had gotten way too drunk that night and spent most of it stuck in Emma’s bathroom and subsequently sleeping it off in her guest room while the rest of the group had their fun.

He’d woken up the next morning to Emma informing him that Ryan had offered to drive him home — and he’d declined, stating that he already had a boyfriend. Stupid Drunk Dylan. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Not too long after that, Ryan had finally been convinced — mostly by his sister — to accept a generous offer to attend a prestigious animation school in Denver. Then he moved on campus, and he met Felix, and now they’re cohabiting happily with a cat and everything.

Dylan is happy for them.

Before he can comment on Ryan’s post, the image is covered by a text notification. It’s that cute boy from the library asking if Dylan can meet for coffee on the weekend.

He accepts.

Staring back at the picture of Ryan, Dylan’s smile fades. He momentarily entertains countless scenarios where he’d said something, or not said something, or just fucking kissed the guy. Then, he pushes those thoughts away.

Ryan is happy, so Dylan is too.

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I just posted a director's cut of this on ao3!!

LauraMax roleswap as in, she’s the one who gets bitten and he’s the one playing support.

this part’s prob too broad for a drabble but I’m fascinated by imagining how that would even play out bc I just can’t picture him going on a werewolf hunt?! the hurt/comfort of being bitten/the eye gouge scenes would slap tho

🌦️ max “so on board with murder” brinly is faced with having to do it himself…. I offer you some angst

Through the pang of pain in his eye— that had, at one point, gotten so bad that Travis had to give him antibiotics— Max focused on the werewolf.

This was it. He just had to kill a werewolf and then Laura was going to be okay. He didn't know how to shoot as well as Laura did, he wasn't as fearless, he couldn't ever be as relentlessly devoted to anything as she was to everything. Nevertheless, he had to do this for her, now, and he had to get this shot right. If he failed tonight he was coming back next month— as many times as it took.

He crept closer, holding his breath, and aimed to the best of his ability.

The recoil of the gun in his hands and the noise almost took him off his feet. He made the shot. Holy shit, he made the shot.

He wasn't going to stick around because as much as his annoyance at the Hackett family had festered, he didn't want to see if the body was going to turn back into Chris Hackett. It was a werewolf. It was not a man.

Besides, he had to see Laura.

***

He used one of those boats to get back to the island with anticipation in his heart, giddily excited to finally see Laura, now that she was fine. Things could go back to normal now. They'd talked about it all in the cells. Max was gonna get a job and they'd share an apartment while Laura went to veterinary school. It was a better plan than what they were going to do before, because Max didn't actually want to go to grad school, not really— he had just wanted to follow Laura. Plus, him having income would be better than the two of them living on student loans. Max was going to make so many jokes about how Laura's first-hand experience with wolves made her the perfect vet candidate, now that she wasn't living it.

“Laura?” he called out, and got no answer. That made sense, right? She was probably exhausted and passed out when she turned back.

He made his way up the treehouse and called out again, just in case she was actually awake and just hadn't heard him, “Laura?”

Then, it— she— was there, and this was all so wrong. There was a werewolf in front of him and there shouldn't be any werewolves and he knew it was Laura. Why? He had killed Chris— he had killed Chris, right? Was it all wrong? Had he killed someone under a lie, wrongly thinking that it would cure Laura?

He was stuck in place and he knew it was a movie cliché but all he wanted to do was call out to Laura, reach her under the monster that had taken over. She was still there, right? She had to be. He said, desperate, eyes wet, “Laura, it's— it's me, it's Max, you know me, I love y—”

He cut himself off when she moved, and burst into a sprint. His chest heaved and tears pricked in his eyes. God, he had wanted that to work so badly.

Then, she had him in her grip and he was being bitten. It burned like hell, worse than his eye being taken out, worse than the peak of the eye infection, worse than anything he had ever felt.

[wolfawaycamp]

lone star

a very quick, small, non-linear fic about an unplanned pregnancy. emmajake angst time

The timer on her cheap digital watch rings, and she flips over the pregnancy test.

Positive.

Emma leans on the rim of the communal bathroom sink, her eyes fixated on that fucking red symbol.

Her lips part in a sigh.

That sigh becomes a dry sob, and her chest heaves, but no tears will come.

——————————————

Emma sits on the dock, the tips of her toes just barely touching the water. In her hands is the pregnancy test, wrapped in an old bandanna along with some rocks from the shoreline.

She glances over her shoulder— nobody’s there, not even Abi, no matter how badly Emma wishes she was— and winds up, throwing the bundle as far as she can. It hits the water with a solid plunk, and she watches it sink.

——————————————

Emma had passed Jacob her typical flirty note across the counselors’ lunch table. It made her feel nauseous. Her stomach yawns, and she realizes she never ate her dry turkey sandwich.

When her watch clock hits 9:00, she creeps out of her cabin, careful not to wake Abi. She all but tiptoes across the grass, past the tree— Jacob + Emma Forever— and towards Cabin 3. Her throat seizes up, and the sun-dried grass stabs into her bare feet.

Emma’s knuckles rap against the chipping green paint on the door, and Jacob opens it, his wide grin and sunburned nose greeting her. The world spins. She fixes a sultry look upon her face, knowing her hair looks like a mess and her mascara is smeared.

Jacob turns to take his shirt off, and she drops the facade as she drops onto the bed.

“I’m pregnant.”

“That's funny, Em.” Jacob spins around and the corners of his lips quirk up in a grin. Emma has to force herself to look away.

“No.” She swallows the lump in her throat and picks at her scabbed knees. “I got a test. From the drugstore.”

Jacob’s face turns from jovial to horrified, and Emma wonders if she should have even divulged this to him.

His head falls into his hands.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Emma does her best to focus on the texture of the ratty blanket under her bare legs as blood beads around the old scrapes.

“What are we— what are you going to do?” Jacob’s lip wobbles and his hands shake visibly as he sits on the bed, keeping a distance from her.

Emma’s voice comes out in a shaky whisper.

“I don’t know.”

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Can I have some mean infected Dylan please?

It’s not even midnight, but it’s already been a long ass night… and Dylan’s had just about e-fucking-nough of the other boy’s sour attitude and tunnel vision on why he — and apparently ONLY he — has the right to snatch the rifle and run off with their only means of defense. As he spins to face the other counselor, his hands ball into fists, nails digging into the meat of his palms with far more force than ever typically normal for him.

“Jacob,” he snarls, eyes flashing an inhuman gleam with the reflection of the fire. “I’m so fucking sorry your ex swam across a lake in the middle of the night just to get away from your pathetic bullshit — but it doesn’t mean the rest of us have to put up with it instead of her. Sit down and shut the fuck up before I make you.”

🐦‍⬛

[wolfawaycamp]

🐼 write something for your fave rarepair?

🐼EMMALYN TIME

The campers were running late. Again. And it was all due to Emma’s insistence on providing a true, in-depth theatre experience for the kiddos. That was all fine and dandy, but Kaitlyn was gonna blow a gasket if she had to endure another one of Ryan’s passive-aggressive comments about them being behind schedule.

Normally, Kaitlyn was pretty patient and waited outside the lodge, but today she barged right in.

“Ah, perfect timing!” Emma smiled as Kaitlyn entered the room. The campers were already in the process of lining up to leave. Good. “Remember what I told you about teamwork when you go down to the boathouse! It’s all about communication and cooperation! Now fly free, my beautiful butterflies,” she finished with a flourish of her hands, imitating the fluttering of wings.

After the group of kids had been walked down to Ryan (he was in a good mood, which meant he’d live to see another day), Kaitlyn went back to visit Emma. They both had an early lunch on Thursdays, so they’d spend time chatting and catching up on counselor drama.

Emma was cleaning up props that had been strewn about when Kaitlyn returned; she moved in a dance-like fashion, humming as she worked.

“Hey, Em.”

Kaitlyn almost felt rude interrupting, but Emma glanced up at her with that same enthusiastic grin. “Hey cutie. Come by to get a taste of today’s lesson?” She strode toward where Kaitlyn was standing.

“Something about teamwork, right? You teaching them to trust fall?”

“How did you know?” Emma purred.

“I did a bit of theatre in high school.” It wasn’t technically a lie, but the truth was that Kaitlyn had done summer pantomime workshops while Jacob was at football camp, or whatever they called it. She may have been a tad embarrassed about that little tidbit of Kaitlyn Lore.

Emma frowned. “Oh? And you didn’t pursue it in college?”

“Didn’t have time for it,” Kaitlyn stated plainly. Now this was a lie. College was a pipe dream for her, and she was content fixing cars and working at run-down summer camps to make ends meet for the time being.

“Well…you’ve got time now.”

Kaitlyn cocked her head to the side and smirked. “You want me to fall into your arms like a poor damsel in distress?”

A light giggle escaped from Emma’s mouth. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to that. Buuuut…” she pursed her lips and looked off to the side, “…we could try something different, since we’re alone.”

That didn’t sound ideal. “I didn’t take you for that kind of woman, Emma Mountebank,” Kaitlyn declared, feigning shock. Part of her was sure Emma was just being Emma, but another part of her knew that camp counselors were ticking time bombs of repressed sexual energy. Perhaps this was an extremely forward proposition. Don’t flatter yourself, bucko.

“Cute,” Emma remarked, “but I was thinking something more along the lines of…intimacy coordination. Basically, making sure two actors portraying a romantic duo are comfortable and have clearly set boundaries during the performance.”

“Oh, so like, kissing and things like that?” Kaitlyn sensed an odd thumping in her chest at that thought.

And because she’d uttered it, of course Emma pounced on the idea. “Precisely! Would you like to take this rare, once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity to learn how to ‘stage kiss’ from an expert?”

Stage…kiss? Now the thumping had gotten louder. It was at this point that Kaitlyn realized she and Emma were standing only about a foot apart now. She was close enough to smell Emma’s recently-washed hair; Kaitlyn couldn’t quite place the exact scent, but it was woodsy and comforting, appropriate for a camp counselor, she reckoned. “Better make it quick.”

Almost too obediently, Emma brought her hand up, holding it inches from Kaitlyn’s face. “Can I…?”

Kaitlyn nodded encouragingly. Was Emma really just going to straight-up kiss her?

As Emma leaned in, Kaitlyn closed her eyes in anticipation. She’d kissed plenty of girls in her time on this earth, but it had been a while since one had made her stomach do cartwheels like it was currently doing.

Emma’s hand cupped her face. Then, her thumb pressed gently on Kaitlyn’s lips…and she kissed it before pulling away. Kaitlyn tried not to feel a bit of disappointment. It was supposed to be a “safe” alternative, after all.

When Kaitlyn looked back up, Emma was staring at her, seemingly satisfied. Or perhaps amused by the awkwardness of it all. 

“Voila! Stage kiss.”

[wolfawaycamp]

Ryan is sick and stubbornly claiming he's fine (he's not). Dylan is there to help take care of him.

“Babe.”

The only response the inquiry gets is a muffled, distinctly disgruntled groan.

“Hey,” Dylan tries again, voice gentle. “Babe.”

“What?” Ryan grumbles as his head lifts from where his arms were pillowing it on the edge of his laptop keyboard.

“You seriously need to go to bed. I swear I could see the red in your eyes from the front door, Ry.”

“No, I can’t– this is due tomorrow and I’m not even close to finished yet,” his boyfriend protests immediately, shaking his head quickly, but he seems to regret the movement, judging by the way he hisses and squeezes his eyes shut forcefully, curling forward once more so that his forehead rests against the cool surface of their countertop.

“Ry,” Dylan says softly. “There’s no way you can see straight to type. And you’ve, uh… got like five pages of nothing but l’s at the end of this paper. I think sleep’s already won this battle, man.”

Ryan makes a distressed noise, struggling upwards at the new information that he’d seemingly already fallen asleep over his keyboard; Dylan easily beats him to the computer, closing it and sliding it further out of the other boy’s reach, ignoring the squinty, anxious look Ryan followed its progress with before finally surrendering.

“Come on,” Dylan wheedles, working his fingers into the knots of tension in his boyfriend’s hunched shoulders. “I got that soup you love and some more advil on the way home…”

And finally — faced with the promise of painkillers and the ability to curl into his space heater boyfriend and surrender to much-needed rest — Ryan relents.

🐦‍⬛

[wolfawaycamp]

just a very sensitive ryan (potentially pent-up or bordering on subby) wearing one of dylan's oversized hoodies while getting absolutely railed into the sheets by said dylan. this ask was brought to you by the Bottom Ryan Incorporation (and definitely not just cas)

Dear Bottom Ryan Inc.

Please know that your request was treated with the utmost seriousness. We are so sorry it took so long and that we made it 13k+ instead of a short one-off. (We are not the least bit sorry, that is just what we do.)

We hope you enjoy!

🐰 Bunny

(Liz Lapin/Ghostradiodylan)

CEO, Doing Too Much Corp

[wolfawaycamp]

Truth or dare but Kaitlyn dares Emma to kiss her instead

It’s their last night at camp — a bonus last night, at that — and everyone’s being fucking boring. They’re playing truth or dare and everyone’s being fucking boring. Kaitlyn’s like thirty more seconds of awkward truth answers away from bulldozing her way into forcing the group to change games, to anything more entertaining.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for things to take an exciting turn: her chance comes when Ryan calls her name.

“Kaitlyn — truth or dare?”

Her response is easy; she doesn’t have much faith in the quality of possible dares she could be given.

“Truth.”

“Booooo!” Jacob crows, following it up rapidly by flapping some pretend wings and making chicken noises; without missing a beat, Kaitlyn throws a pebble that pings him right in the chest, earning an exaggerated wounded noise.

“Okay, uh… did you ever regret taking the job here?” Ryan asks.

She quirks a brow, amused.

“Seriously regretted? Only once, that night Jacob ‘helped’ Nick in the kitchen.”

“Low blow, Kaity,” the boy retorts, sticking his tongue out at her.

“Do not get me started on that, Jacob,” she snaps back. “There was slimy, half-mixed uncooked egg in the middle of my cake. You’re lucky I’m even still willing to talk to you after that.”

With a grimace, Kaitlyn shakes herself and glances around the circle in search of a target now that it’s her turn to challenge someone… and immediately finds herself captivated by the green-clad girl across the fire ring, still laughing at the bickering of the old friends.

“Emma,” she blurts without thinking. “Truth or dare.”

Across the way, hazel eyes snap up to meet her own, and a delicate eyebrow arches with a clear note of challenge.

“Dare,” Emma says confidently, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder.

Kaitlyn’s mouth felt dry suddenly.

“I dare you… to kiss me.”

Off to the side, someone squeaks — Abi, it can only be Abi, there’s no one else in their group capable of making such a high pitched squeak — and Emma’s other eyebrow jumps upward ever so slightly, like she’s almost surprised enough to put a chip in her calm, cool, and collected facade, before her face settles into a look that seems impressed.

The girl is up on her feet in a heartbeat, and then— she’s there so fast that Kaitlyn’s breath catches ever so slightly as she leans back in order to see the other girl’s face.

“Shaking things up, are we?” Emma accuses.

Wavy blonde hair falls thick on either side of Kaitlyn’s face, like a curtain between them and the rest of the world, narrowing her focus to nothing but the smell of woodsmoke and the goosebump feel of strands tickling her neck— and the press of Emma’s lips against her own.

🐦‍⬛

[wolfawaycamp]

after the rough night ending, emma and kaitlyn go on a date post-game... but kaitlyn goes to jacob for advice.

“Alright, spill,” Jacob demands.

Perfectly in sync with the end of his sentence, he tosses the little balled up wrapper from his long-since-finished burger directly at Kaitlyn’s forehead, where it bounces off as she blinks in stunned disbelief.

“Um,” she starts, fully around a mouthful of fries, free hand flying up to make an indignant gesture at him. “The fuck??”

“Spill!” he orders again. “There’s obviously something up with you, you’re not acting right. So spill! What’s bothering you?”

“What?” Kaitlyn squawks, indignant. “I’m just not talking with my mouth full, dude!”

“You sprayed fry bits at me like ten seconds ago,” he answers, deadpan. “Try again.”

They go back and forth as such, squabbling and picking at each other in the typical manner of those with so much shared history, with Jacob pulling progressively more and more exaggerated kicked puppy-esque expressions and leaning precariously out of his chair in order to force her to look at him. And finally, his obnoxiousness pays off when Kaitlyn’s resolve snaps.

“Okay fine, stop,” she growls. “I asked Emma out!”

Silence. Then Kaitlyn winces, like the words she’d just said had a delayed register in her brain.

“Oh,” Jacob says with an indecipherable expression on his face, and that is a rattlingly unfamiliar concept to her in the face of their many years of friendship. “Um, okay.”

“Okay?!”

“What do you want me to say?!”

“I don’t know!” Kaitlyn practically shouts, throwing her hands up in the air. “I kinda expected you to start yelling at me or something!”

Jacob’s brows pinch, a deeply unhappy look on his face as he suddenly drops his gaze back down to the tabletop. He starts picking at a napkin with his nails, making tiny little tears in the paper.

“I’m not gonna yell at you,” he mutters, eyes rolling. “I don’t want to yell at you, Kaity..”

She huffs, slumping back down into her own seat like all the wind left her sails, disarmed by his unexpected reaction.

“I mean… it would be kind of justified? Kinda feel like I’m trampling on a cardinal friendship rule right now..? No dating your friend’s exes and all that… and I knew you first–”

“Is it dating?” he asks, and he looks up with sudden focus. “Not just a… a fling or whatever?”

“I mean, yeah,” Kaitlyn shrugs. “I asked her out as a date date, like the first of many hopefully so..?”

The boy’s lips quirk, a tiny little hint of a smile breaking free. All it does is make Kaitlyn feel more conflicted, and more confused. She’s been privately plagued by battling feelings of excitement vs guilt and a thousand things somewhere in between, for the whole week she managed to keep this news an unintentional secret from Jacob… in the sense that she had never purposefully chosen to hide it from him, but she had certainly done her best to avoid having to break the news until now.

“Kaitlyn,” he said, with an odd and uncharacteristically serious look on his face, before he just started squinting at her. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to you of all people but I don’t own Emma you know—”

“Yeah no shit, shut the fuck up you little—”

They both cut off abruptly, Jacob laughing as this time it’s his turn to dodge a balled up burger wrapper, and despite the emotional weight on her shoulders Kaitlyn can’t help but grin as she settles back into her seat. As the laughter finally fades out, leaving them again in an uncertain silence, Kaitlyn starts drumming her knee under the table as the worry comes rushing back.

“Seriously though, Jake,” she says. “Are you actually cool with this happening or are you just pretending you are to spare my feelings?”

“And here I thought you didn’t have those,” Jacob snarks — a vain attempt at deflection — then winces as her foot collides with his shin. “OW, Jesus Kaitlyn I thought we had an agreement that you wouldn’t do that anymore with the steel toes on!”

“Be honest!”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Jacob exclaims, throwing his hands up. “It stings a little bit, yeah!”

Kaitlyn wilts ever so slightly in her chair.

“But,” he says quickly, before she has a chance to cut in. “You’ve been my friend for like, my entire life. And.. and I’d like to think Em and I were friends first and friends again now, and I’d kinda like it if you both stuck around. So… yeah, it stings but I’ll get over it.”

He shrugs a little, like his answer is the only option that makes sense, and not blowing Kaitlyn’s mind slightly.

“That… is remarkably mature of you,” she squints suspiciously. “Have you been reading self help books, or–”

“Shut up before I dump this ketchup on you, bitch.”

🐦‍⬛

Anon I've been sitting on this for SO LONG but I just couldn't ever get to a point of her asking for advice without it feeling forced, I'm sorry! Hope you still enjoyed what I came up with <3

[wolfawaycamp]

Anything Bobby/Jacob. Please. I am so tired of paddling my rarepair pool noodle alone in the Quarry pond.

Maybe set when Bobby has to get him down from the trap? I am begging 🙏

🌦️ the monkey’s paw curls. I wrote bobbyjake :)

Jacobus seethed from inside his family’s private box at the Amphitheatrum Flavium. He wished his family never found out he was really an omega, not a beta like he had been pretending to be when he first presented. The patrician class always spoke of male omegas as a gift, as great politicians and orators who could continue the family line without doubt of relation. But male omegas were banned from the military and his best friend Nicolus Furcillus— an equestrian family, not a patrician like Jacobus— had enlisted to fulfil his proper duties as a Roman vir. Jacobus just missed his best friend. He wasn't even very good at being a politician, either— he’d do better in battle, wearing lorica segmentata alongside his comrades.

The venationes were pretty dull today, he thought. Not even the more exotic animals they kept bringing out for the fights made it exciting. He couldn't leave though, for the same reason he had to attend. He needed to keep his public image up if he wanted any chance of keeping his political career afloat now that he was moving into his twenties as an unmated omega.

Then they brought the wolves out and there was a man with rippling muscles exposed for all to see— and a hat Jacobus had never seen before. He had no weapons. Jacobus was immediately intrigued.

There was a bizarre art to the brutality of his fighting style— tearing right through wild wolves like they were nothing. He had to be an alpha. Jacob felt a pang of jealousy at the status he held, even though it was ridiculous because Jacob was in the patrician class and the man was down there. Finally, something interesting.

“Serve, quis est?” Jacobus asked his maid once he took himself out of his trance. (Slave, who is he?)

“Nomen ei est Bobbius Hackettus,” his maid responded quickly. (His name is Bobby Hackett.)

“Quid? Ignobiles— isti Hacketti?” (What? The dishonoured— those Hacketts?)

“Sic. Pugnat ut reddat debita pro familia eius.” (Yes. He fights to pay debts for his family.)

Bobbius was still fighting, still going, dripping with blood. Jacobus had to meet him. After Bobbius had finished, Jacobus decided to slip away from his box— surely no one would question a quick break. He bribed his way into the hunter’s quarters easily with his patrician status and money. They barely cared at all, but when presented with a couple sesterces that care went down to none.

“Hackette!” Jacobus called out upon seeing the familiar rippling back muscles, mid cleaning himself with olive oil. There was still a lot of blood on him. (Hackett!)

“Quis est?” the man asked, turning around. He looked a lot more… innocent up close, somehow. There was a softness in his eyes. (Who is it?)

But still… Jacobus wasn't used to being so much smaller than someone, even alphas— he had always been a tall omega. It felt a little scary, considering the man was cleaning wolf blood from his body— but something deep inside him was preening at the thought of the size difference.

“Jacobus Custo. Pugnabas bene,” he asked awkwardly. He didn't know what he was doing down here, he was running on pure adrenaline. (Jacob Custos. You were fighting well.)

“Bene facis— pugnas?” Bobbius responded, giving him a nod. Jacobus couldn't keep his eyes off the oil and blood on his chest shining in the torchlit room. (Thank you— you fight?)

Jacobus felt shame run through him, which he was sure Bobbius could smell in the pheromones he had suddenly lost control of. “Minime. Vetitus est— sum… omega.” (Nope. It is forbidden— I am… an omega.)

🌦️(if my Latin is wrong it's not my fault, I am sick xoxo)

[wolfawaycamp]

Blygbank soft fluffy post-game smut

🌦️this took me way too long for no reason. I’ve never actually written wlw smut before I don’t think? So maybe it was just getting started with that

Abi assumed that it’d be easier with a girl because she was one. 

Her assumption was wrong, because her hands had shaken so badly that she was unable to take Emma’s bra off for her, when Emma had encouraged her to. Emma had been very kind about it but Abi was mortified. Emma took her own bra off, then her underwear— a nice matching set that Abi had seen in pictures before they had started dating, because Emma had wanted her to pick the best underwear option. Abi averted her gaze, not knowing where to look.

Emma laughed, a light, bubbly thing. “You're allowed to look. This isn't the girl's locker room.”

Abi blinked. “You're… right,” she said, but still struggled to look straight at her, heart rate skyrocketing upon looking at where her chest curved out perfectly.

Abi quickly took off her underwear so that she wouldn't have time to think about it and left her black sports bra on— she told herself she wanted the support, but really she was just nervous. Emma’s gentle fingers were beneath her chin, then there were soft lips against hers, smearing tinted lip-balm on and around them. Timidly, Abi kissed back as well as she could. Emma's hand was on her thigh, and Abi had to remind herself to keep kissing because she got so distracted.

Pulling back, Emma asked, “Can I?” then her hand was inching further up Abi’s thigh, brushing the sensitive skin.

Abi nodded and Emma went back in again, kissing Abi as her fingers gingerly pressed against the hood of her clit— Abi squeaked into the kiss. They moved down— the contact to her clit made her need to put her head into Emma’s shoulder instead— and she realised how embarrassingly wet she was. Emma slowly pushed her back into the pillows and pressed a kiss onto Abi’s cheek, then her jaw, before her fingers trailed back down Abi’s body, kneading the flesh above her hip, tracing the lightly stretch-marked skin.

“Do you want— fingers inside?” Emma started, and Abi blushed. She continued, “We don’t have to do that, I mean.”

“Um. Okay? Yes, I mean. Yes,” Abi said, mind flitting around in excitement and anxiety.

Emma's smooth fingers danced around Abi’s folds, drawing out her anticipation until she finally dipped one finger between them, then pushed it in. Abi took a sharp inhale and let her legs fall open. The bent finger explored inside of her for a second, and she was being fucked with it deftly. It was as if Emma already knew her body intimately, even though they had never gone this far before. She bit back her gasps and moans— tried to, at least. 

Abi was worried, then, that she wasn’t doing anything in return. She reached out blindly to try to touch Emma, but Emma caught her hand with her own free one and interlocked their fingers— the hand that was inside of Abi stilling. Swaying their joined hands in the air, Emma asked, “What’cha doing, babycakes?”

The tips of Abi’s ears burned. “I realised— I was being, um, a pillow princess.”

Emma kissed the tip of her nose, whispered, “I like a pillow princess,” and then kissed her on the lips, deeply, drawing moans out of Abi with her fingers, until she forgot her worries.

[wolfawaycamp]

lots of people write werewolf dylan/human ryan smut, but what if the roles were reversed? i want to see dylan overstimulated out of his mind

🌦️ surprise! trans Ryan 😈 (ik who submitted this don't worry random citizens I won't transify your asks unprompted..)

“Ryan, Ryan— oh m— my god— Ryan,” Dylan gasped, still trying to hold on, blunt nails digging into one of Ryan’s toned thighs— which were flexing as he rode Dylan unrelentingly. Ryan's gaze, a flash of gold, flicked over to him. Dylan’s hips twitched with it, a deep tremor running through him at the way Ryan looked at him; somewhere between want and need.

“‘Re you— fuck— you ‘kay?” As Ryan spoke, Dylan caught glimpses of sharp teeth. Dylan’s nails dragged down and Ryan moaned lowly, from deep in his chest; those teeth poked out and snagged on his lower lip. Ryan's hand reached down to touch himself, hard t-dick rolling between his slick-shiny, loose fingers. Dylan would have done it himself if he wasn't holding on for dear life with his singular remaining hand.

“Close— Ryan, I’m close, please— can I? Fuck, I can't— I can't help it. Too— too good— Ryan, please?” Dylan begged, squeezing his eyes shut, watching the colours dance under his eyelids. He almost got lost in the swirls for a moment.

“Uh— uhuh. Y’can— want you— you to feel— fuck— good.” Ryan's laboured response sounded as overwhelmed as Dylan felt. Everything was relentless sensation, feeling, emotion.

The pleasure mounting in Dylan crested, and he came hard, sensation shaking his entire body. The first thing that came from his throat was a crackling sob, then it was, “Babe— baby— Ryan. I love— love you s— so much.”

Dylan was melting into the bed, boneless, Ryan still taking his pleasure from him as he twitched into the condom for the last time, fully milked for everything left in him. “You're— I love you too— you're so— so perfect,” Ryan breathed out.

Ryan’s pace showed no sign of stopping, instead his hand grew more frantic around his t-dick, working himself, the other moving down to get Dylan’s mussed-up hair out of his face again. Ryan took him deep every time, fully seating himself on Dylan’s lap before raising up again in an easy, practised motion that felt so good but also Dylan was uncontrollably softening after his orgasm and he was overwhelmed and it was all so—

It all fought and won against his willpower and Dylan finally decided to tap out. “I— too much, Ry—”

Ryan looked down at him, stilling quickly, and Dylan finally got a good look at him, too: his veins were blackened in his skin and darkened circles were heavy under his eyes— the contrast making the gold even more apparent. He looked dangerous in a way that made Dylan wish refractory periods were fake. “Sorry— shit,” Ryan said, remorseful, pulling off Dylan, which left him both relieved and wanting that touch back. “Got, um, carried away. Sorry.”

Limbs slackened from release and exhaustion, Dylan tapped lazily near his collarbones, a vague gesture for Ryan to move up. “Use m’mouth. As long as you want. Fuck, wait— wait a sec. Gotta take off— take off the condom. Don't wanna leak, or, I don't know, get an infection or something— can you get an infection like that?— you prob’ly can, but my brain isn't braining properly so I can't—”

Ryan laughed and kissed him reverently, biting a mark onto his jaw for good measure.

[wolfawaycamp]

verb: writhe; continual twisting, squirming movements or contortions of the body, or noun: writhe; the total number of positive crossings minus the total number of negative crossings in a knot

11,981 words, explicit

this fic has been... so long in the making. i about drove myself crazy writing this but i had to get it out. this is a crazy passion project that at times i was afraid i would never finish, and it's the longest thing i have *ever* written. also, over a thousand minecraft diamonds were mined during the duration of this fic because i thought i had a tactic, but it turned out i did not.

this fic is truly dedicated to the quarry brainrot discord server, i would never have gotten this far without all of them :) shoutout to my many beta readers who supported me through the whole process as well!! i love all of you so much :)

feel free to send anon asks if you're not comfy commenting :)

[wolfawaycamp]

I seek Silas getting love

🐼 You have no idea how much I love the concept of expanding upon the barebones lore we have regarding Silas and Eliza's backstory. Here's a little exploration of how they may have come to travel together.

TW: mentioned violence

A rundown motel such as this would be a horrid place to raise a child. He’s isolated from others his own age here, and the only television station with a proper signal is the local news. For tonight, though, it makes little difference; the entertainment is only to pass the time if nothing else. It is, however, unfortunate that they must watch the anchor relay the story of his parents’ passing so nonchalantly.

Perhaps Silas would rather enjoy the silence instead.

The child hasn’t spoken since she retrieved him after the incident. He probably won’t for a long time. That’s okay. She knows what she has to do now; he isn’t her first and will certainly not be her last. He is hers to protect, to mold, and to guide. 

His parents had been young. Overbearingly sweet, with a touch of naïveté, but they were well-intentioned people. The couple had sought her out at the show a month prior, when their son was still sick. They’d expected him to recover; they hadn’t expected him to transform.

Those who reported on the matter had blamed it on an errant rabid animal breaking into the residence; the family’s six-year-old child was glorified as a miraculous survivor of the horrific slaughter. It explained his shell-shocked condition far better than lycanthropy ever could, but it didn’t change what he had become.

“The authorities are not suspecting foul play, but should new evidence come to light—”

Click.

Eliza places the remote on the nightstand. “I think that’s enough for now. Are you ready for sleep, my child?” Silas nods, still staring at the now-blank screen.

He crawls up the bed and under the covers on his own. She reaches for the lamp.

“Leave it on,” the boy whispers.

Ah. So he can speak. “As you wish.”

Eliza settles at the desk in the corner of the room and prepares this evening’s tarot reading. Though she had accounted for contingencies after she’d last visited with the boy, there is still a great deal of uncertainty that lies ahead. Their fates have been tied together, and she must give him the best chance at survival she can offer.

The cards will lead her down the right path, as they always have.

[wolfawaycamp]

Rylan: Dylan has been super frustrated and depressed about the loss of his hand and the fact he isn’t able bodied anymore, he’s upset that Ryan has to do most things for him, even simple mundane things. So Ryan takes Dylan to look at trained service dogs in hopes to adopt one that knows tasks that fit Dylan’s emotional and physical needs :)

🐼 I really wanted to explore this more from the angle of Dylan being the stubborn guy he is + trying to navigate the wolf-related trauma he probably has from Hackett’s Quarry, so it may not exactly be what you expected, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Thanks as always for the ask :)

Dylan would swear to anyone who asked that he was a lover of all animals. Like, the kind of kid who would see a scruffy looking stray on the sidewalk and beg his mother to rescue it from the horrid reality of street life. It had worked once; that was how he’d been introduced to his beloved Schrödinger. It had been raining and she’d sat outside their door mewling pitifully until he’d scooped her up (she was surprisingly docile) and shoved the poor, wet thing in his mom’s face. “Look at her! How can you say no to those eyes?!” he’d begged. One thing had led to another, and now, six years later, Schrodie was living her best pampered life at the Lenivy household.

Dylan would have taken her when he and Ryan had moved in together, but Ryan’s allergies were so bad they’d made the excruciating decision to leave her in his mother’s capable hands — which led them to discussing the prospect of obtaining another furry friend.

The topic first came up when Dylan was having a particularly difficult time untwisting a jar of preserves for his sandwich; the hot water method wasn’t working, nor was the little knife-tap trick he’d learned when was having difficulties with two hands. Ryan walked in on him holding the jar in his hand like Hamlet, attempting to coax it into submission. “Look. I need you to give me what’s inside you so I can consume enough food to have the energy to get you open next time. You like being used, don’t you? So give me what I want and I’ll—” He paused when he noticed his boyfriend’s amused face popping into view.

“This hostage situation seems kind of intense. Should I leave you two alone, or…?” Ryan eyed the helpless jar trapped in Dylan’s palm. 

Dylan placed the jar on the counter. “No, uh, it just needed some…encouragement? Can you…?” He hated asking Ryan to rescue him from the final boss of the kitchen, but someone had to do it.

Ryan gripped the lid with both hands and twisted it with ease. “You know, I’ve heard you can train some service dogs to do this kind of stuff.”

“You want us to get a dog to help me make PB&Js?” Dylan snarked. “That seems like a pretty dumb reason to me.”

“People have gotten them for equally mundane reasons,” Ryan countered.

“Like what?” Dylan gestured vaguely in Ryan’s direction, briefly unconcerned with the fact that he was now brandishing a butter knife.

“I-I don’t know them off the top of my head, man. If you’re really that against it, it’s not a problem.” Shit. Ryan was getting anxious. Knife down, idiot.

Dylan softened his furrowed brow. “I’m not totally against it; I just think, y’know, there are only so many canines in the world and my…needs aren’t that high on the priority list.” Ryan’s face was still slightly dejected. “I appreciate the thought, though. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make art.” He turned back to his half-formed sandwich.

“Careful how you wield that paintbrush. Don’t want you losing the other one,” Ryan commented, leaving the kitchen.

“How would that even work?!” Dylan shouted after Ryan, but he was long gone.

-

The second discussion happened when Dylan was playing on his gaming console; it was a low-intensity adventure game with decent accessibility controls, but one part still required a level of dexterity he couldn’t quite master with just one hand. Ryan was sitting next to him on the couch, quietly watching him play while also scribbling in his sketchbook.

“Fuck! How are you even supposed to get the thingy in the hole with the normal amount of fingers?” Dylan grumbled in frustration.

He realized his terrible choice of words too late; he glanced at Ryan, who looked up from his work-in-progress and decided to speak up. “Whoa, what kind of game is this again?”

“Very funny.” Dylan dropped the controller beside him and rubbed his temple. “I think I’m done for tonight.”

“You sure you don’t want me to—” Ryan started.

“No! I don’t need y—sorry.” Dylan sighed and tried to rein it in. “It’s fucking pathetic to always have you pick up the slack because of this stupid thing.” He held up his left arm. “Like, I know I’m not a helpless idiot but sometimes I sure as hell feel like it.”

Ryan stared at him for a moment, contemplating his response. “Dylan, needing help with certain things isn’t an inconvenience. Not to me, at least.”

“I appreciate the thought, but…I don’t know. It feels different when it’s for shit like this.” He tilted his head toward the TV screen, which was currently displaying the game's pause menu. “I don’t like being reminded of my most brilliant fuck-up to date every time I want to partake in gamer hours.”

“I get it,” Ryan said quietly. Dylan studied his face. It was Ryan’s ‘I want to say something but I’m not going to’ face.

“What?” Dylan pressed.

Ryan held his gaze for a second. “I just…worry.” His eyes darted away, back down to his sketchbook.

Dylan fought the urge to roll his eyes and snap at Ryan. Normally he wasn’t so easily bothered by his boyfriend’s beat-around-the-bush tactics, but he despised people feeling the need to show him pity, or whatever the fuck this was. “If you’re going to bring up getting a service animal again—”

“No—well, not like that. I was thinking more for emotional support.”

“Ryan—” He paused, not quite knowing how to articulate his thoughts. It wasn’t that he didn’t want something to help him cope with the frustration of permanently having 80% of his original function, but the idea of being near anything dog-like was…terrifying. “Fuck. This is going to sound ridiculous, but…I can’t be around a dog! Or like, even one of those miniature ponies. Did you know those were a thing? Therapy horses? Way too fucking big and scary.”

“Maybe we could get a hamster or something,” Ryan offered.

“You mean the animal that infamously will find the most fucked up way to get itself killed and only lives about three years anyway? I’m better off trying to get another plushie from the arcade. I think I’m incapable of being satisfied by anything other than my child.” The image of Schrödinger’s sweet face in Dylan’s mind could’ve brought a tear to his eye. “Fuck your allergies, man.”

Ryan nodded solemnly. “Fuck them, indeed.”

-

He didn’t know why he did it. He’d set himself a boundary, and then two days later he’d crossed it by dragging Ryan to the pet store when he knew they were doing adoptions and he knew they’d have plenty of dogs right in front of the door where he couldn’t avoid them.

They hadn’t even made it within 6 feet of the small dog enclosure before Dylan started feeling…not trapped, given he was outside, but rather confined. The barking, the mannerisms, the smell…

“Yep, this isn’t going to happen,” Dylan said decisively, turning on his heels and booking it to the car. Ryan followed close behind, making no protest.

Once in the car, they sat in silence for a few seconds. Ryan spoke in a calm yet concerned tone, “You gonna be okay?”

“What? You think a little old Pomeranian is gonna scare me?” Dylan was trying so very hard — and failing — to hide the fading panic in his voice.

“I mean, that is kind of what happened,” Ryan pointed out.

“Nothing gets past you, huh?”

Ryan shook his head. “Nope.”

“Look, I just wanted to make sure we exhausted every option before committing to something. Dogs are cute, and fluffy, and sweet, and,” he looked sheepishly at Ryan, “now I can’t fucking stand being around them anymore.”

“I shouldn’t have let you convince me to come here,” Ryan lamented.

“No—don’t do that whole ‘I have to take responsibility’ thing. It’s just a pet shop. We can, I don’t know, go get fro-yo or something to make the trip worthwhile.” Dylan knew he had to pull out the puppy-dog eyes — Hmm, not the best choice of words — for this one.

Ryan didn’t hesitate to take Dylan up on his offer. “Deal.”

-

That night, Dylan had stayed up far later than normal, coming to bed hours after Ryan.

He quietly entered the room, keeping the lights off as he fumbled his way to the bed. Once he was comfortable, he wrapped his arm around a sleeping Ryan’s shoulder.

“Mm?”

“I have a surprise for you.” Dylan whispered.

“Is it a boyfriend who doesn’t wake me up at 2 a.m.?” Ryan mumbled into his pillow.

“Close. How do you feel about needles?”

Ryan turned to face him. “They’re…not that bad? What are you planning on injecting me with?”

Dylan knew Ryan couldn’t really see his face in the dark, but he grinned regardless. “I talked to my mom. She told me about these allergy shots — they’re like, kind of expensive but they work super well — and she said she’d be willing to pay for your doctor’s visits.”

“Why would I need allergy shots…?” Oops. He forgot to give Ryan context.

“For the cat, of course. She and I both agreed that Schrodie living with us would probably help the morale around here,” he rubbed his hand up and down Ryan’s arm, “I mean, if it’s okay with you. I can always keep looking. Snakes are pretty rad—”

“I think your mom’s got the right idea,” Ryan interrupted. “Tell her I said thanks.”

Dylan snuggled closer, positioning his face inches from Ryan’s. “I will. And also, thank you for caring so much.” He gave him a quick kiss, pulling away sooner than Ryan seemed to anticipate. “I can’t believe I’m gonna finally have my baby back. It’s a Christmas miracle.”

Ryan snorted. “So miraculous it’s happening in February?”

“Okay, a Valentine’s miracle? That’s kind of romantic.” Dylan leaned back in.

Ryan took the bait, kissing him again, albeit more lazily this time. “Go to sleep.”

“Can’t. Too excited.”

“The earlier you wake up, the earlier we can start getting this place ready for Schrodie.” Ryan turned back around, clearly trying to manipulate Dylan into making good choices.

It almost worked. “What if she doesn’t like me anymore?” Dylan mused.

“Not possible,” he heard Ryan mutter softly.