#awooo!

The theme for this WIP Wednesday is supporting Women's Wrongs!! Working on the summer queue! 💘🌹 ((tagged by @lizardperson!!! Thank you!! I tag of course licherally everyone because I wanna see your WIPs... but! I'll tag seriously @couriers-mile - @lgbtmi - @hmmm-toastie and @deltastic!!))

Awooo!

May your eyes be bright and claws sharp!

My name is Wesley, I am an alter in 17's system (called Arcadia)!

I use he/him pronouns, I'm 30-ish in the headspace, and well... I'm a werewolf haha!

I'm dating (married?? possibly..) the biggest beach bum hick, Rowan, who is another member of this system. Let us be your dads! Lol!

Lambert has a chat with Eskel. They decide to explore their wolfy sides...

A follow up from this. I’ve started documenting the Cute-agen Chronicles here.

“You just do what makes you happy?” Eskel asked, slowly. The words felt unwieldy in his mouth.

Lambert nodded, eyes squinting. “That’s what he said.”

“Hm,” Eskel, Lambert’s senior by more than a handful of decades, was meant to have all the answers, but even he seemed perplexed by this revelation. They exchanged a glance or two, clearly each coming up with scenarios and urges that they’d experienced in their time as Witchers. “Have you ever—? No, it’s stupid.” Eskel shook his head.

“Come on, it’s me, spit it out.” Lambert looked at him earnestly. Lead the way, Eskel. I rely on you for that.

“When you see someone you like, or when one of us arrives home for the winter, do just want to—?” Eskel trailed off, unsure of the appropriate vocabulary, and then proceeded to wiggle in his seat. It was the single most adorable fucking thing Lambert had ever seen in his life. Eskel was the School of Bear’s lost opportunity—big, beefy, could crush a wyvern’s skull between his bare hands with enough Rook in his system—and there he was, wiggling away like an excitable puppy.

“Yes,” Lambert blurted out, looked briefly embarrassed, and then realised Eskel had just exposed his soul, so he needed to do the same. “And, do you ever just want to… run through the trees? But not on your own, with… everyone else. You know, like we used to on The Killer, but obviously without the impending death.”

“All the time,” Eskel nodded, his expression thoughtful. “And, uh, don’t you sometimes think it’d be nice to sleep in one bed? Just all of us. Like it was in the dormitories.”

Lambert stared at Eskel as his training years were cast in a new light. The instructors allowed them to behave like their namesakes because it was a small shred of comfort in an otherwise appallingly bleak existence. Sleeping in piles, yipping and running through the halls as packs of friends in their downtime, completing the Killer together, permitting playfights and scuffles even though it could be viewed as a loss of discipline. And—holy shit. “Why don’t we do it now?” 

Eskel looked nonplussed. “Well, it’s—,” he cleared his throat, shoulders squared officiously. “We’re Witchers, Lambert. It’s serious. Life or death. There’s no room for childish things.”

“Piles of Purr don’t seem to hurt the Cat Witchers,” Lambert grumbled. “Ever think they took shit away from us just to make us as miserable as possible? Miserable Witchers are focused Witchers.”

“I—,” Eskel started, but he didn’t have an answer. He didn’t like that he didn’t have an answer. Lambert relied on him and the weight of failure settled on his shoulders. Luckily, Lambert’s hand settled there moments later too. 

“Tell you what,” Lambert scratched his beard. “This winter, if we get one of these… urges, we just do it, right? No judgement. None of that. You want to wiggle, big guy. You wiggle. Yeah?”

 Eskel considered it, scarred lips twisting in a troubled frown, but finally he nodded. “Sounds good.”

They had a few days together to experiment. Lambert tackled Eskel in front of the fire one evening and they had a playfight that ended with Eskel’s mouth open over Lambert’s face; dominant victory. In the morning, they went for a run together and ended up shedding their boots so they could feel the ground under their pa—feet, under their feet. Lambert moved his bedding into Eskel’s room and they snoozed in a pile. It felt so comforting. So natural. Lambert spent most of his days fucking smiling. 

By the time Geralt arrived, Lambert and Eskel felt happy and light in a way they hadn’t for years. The White Wolf was met with the sight of two wiggling pack mates in the hall. Vesemir, who’d seen what was happening but permitted it without comment, simply smiled from behind them. Eskel bounced up and licked a long line up Geralt’s face. “Welcome home, wolf.” 

Geralt grimaced, although a smile broke through the middle of it. “What’s got into you?”

*And from his lips erupted a mighty and devastating cry*