#non-binary cahir

[limerental]

ficletober day 9 - geralt, yennefer & ciri's huge, weird extended family modern au

Worried for their 13y/o daughter, Geralt and Yennefer call a meeting of their strange extended family of choice.

Contains ensemble found family shenanigans, wholesome family moments, and non-binary Mistle/Ciri

"She's hiding something. And acting different."

"Probably several somethings," said Yennefer. "She's a teenaged girl." 

Poor Geralt looked stricken, as though the thought had just occurred to him, despite celebrating Ciri's thirteenth birthday months ago now.

"Now, now, Geralt, it's a perfectly natural phenomenon. She's blossoming into a young woman. She's–"

"Shut it, Jaskier. Who invited him to this meeting anyway?"

"I'm her godfather!"

"Regis is her godfather."

"Right. Well, I'm her fun uncle."

"Naw, sorry, Coen, Eskel, and I have split custody of fun uncle responsibilities," said Lambert.

"Well then I'm… musical accompaniment. Who else would sing her songs by that one popstar she likes?"

"That was years ago," said Yennefer. "These days, she mostly listens to… frankly I wouldn't call it music necessarily."

"Lots of screaming," said Geralt, frowning. "Very angry. That's part of the problem. It's a sign that something isn't right."

Sprawled on the couch, Lambert whistled innocently, as though he was not the most likely subject to have influenced their daughter's unusual music choice. 

"She's a teenaged girl, like you said," said Milva, shrugging. "She'll do worse than have questionable music taste. I sure did."

The other women in the strange ensemble gathered in the front room of the Rivia-Vengerberg household offered their agreement. Triss aborted her agreement when she saw the look on Geralt's face, smiling reassuringly and shaking her head instead.

"Have either of you tried talking to the girl about it?" asked Nenneke as she passed around a platter of cookies. 

Geralt and Yennefer looked at one another.

"Did you?"

"No, I thought–"

"You called the meeting, I assumed that meant–"

"No, I said 'maybe we should call a meeting' and then you called the meeting."

"Did you ask her–"

"No, I thought you did. That's why I–"

Their back and forth devolved into full-blown petty squabbling.

Eskel and Lambert had started discussing their rival sports teams in what they clearly thought were lowered tones. Cahir scrolled through his phone while Regis watched over his shoulder, announcing to the group's bemusement that he too had a Tiktok where he discussed native flora and had quite the following. Jaskier, grown bored and nosy, fumbled the elegant horse statue on the mantle of the fireplace, which Coen leaned to catch at the last moment. Milva pinched the moon-eyed Triss, who had been staring with blatant envy and sentimental longing at the arguing couple. Triss yelped. Vesemir snorted awake in Geralt's recliner.

Said couple showed no signs of slowing down, their accusations growing more pointed and scathing and increasingly irrelevant to the subject at hand.

Suddenly, the front door burst inward, and young Ciri appeared in the midst of the front room. 

She seemed unsurprised to see her entire extended family gathered together, her expression stormy and determined. She held the hand of an individual her own age whose closely-shorn hair was dyed a vibrant pink.

"I don't know why you people have to be so dramatic about everything," Ciri huffed. "This is Mistle. They're my partner. And I don't care if you're disappointed. We'll run away together if you don't like it."

The gathering hushed.

"Disappointed?" asked Geralt.

"Why on earth would we be disappointed?" asked Yennefer.

"Regis said you would be."

All eyes turned to Regis, who smiled innocently.

"Oh yes, I caught these two together last week."

"And you neglected to say anything?"

"And told our daughter we would be disappointed about it?"

"Young Mistle is my neighbor. I often hear that gang of theirs torturing animals in the garage, I'm afraid."

"It's not a gang! It's a band! We're called the Rats."

"Mistle said they might let me join. I can't play an instrument but I'm getting pretty good at screaming."

Jaskier, who had spent many determined hours trying to get young Ciri interested in music, looked aghast. The rest stared in perplexed interest, not saying a word.

"Ciri," said Geralt, shuffling forward to lay a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "We're not disappointed."

"Except maybe disappointed in ourselves," Yennefer corrected as stepped up beside him, "that we made you feel that we would be."

"I only thought… well, Mistle's not a boy, you know."

"Yes," said Yennefer. "And?"

"They're not a girl either."

"And?"

"And they and their friends seem to enjoy torturing rats," said Regis unhelpfully, smiling.

"Mistle," said Yennefer, and the gangly kid holding Ciri's hand tightly straightened up. "You're invited to family dinner tomorrow."

"Mama, neither of you can cook."

"You're invited to family pizza night tomorrow." Yennefer eyed the rest of the family. "None of you are though. This meeting was a disaster. You've been horrendously unhelpful. Especially you, Jaskier."

"What did I do?!"

"You would have done something eventually."

The gathering concluded with a round of hugging and well wishes with Ciri and Mistle at the middle of it all, beaming. 

Ciri felt very lucky to have this many people who gave a shit about her well-being. Mistle had two living parents who didn't give a shit about them, and Ciri was fortunate enough to have a whole ensemble. When she said so later that evening, Yennefer chastised her foul language even as she and Geralt grew teary-eyed. They embraced her together, wiping away her own spill of tears.

Ciri felt far less lucky several weeks later when half the family appeared at her very first informal basement performance of her experimental teenaged grunge band bearing video cameras and wolf-whistling.

That their opening act went viral on Tiktok thanks to Uncle Regis' strange following soothed little of the hopeless mortification.

But later, when Mistle wept in her arms and said they'd never felt that kind of love in their whole damn lives, Ciri could feel nothing but warmth and softness and good fortune.

[descaladumidera]

Drew this pride commission back in June for @ladyoftheshrimp!

As always, it was lovely working with you!

ID in alt text and under the cut.

[ID:

A drawing of, from left to right, Eskel, Cahir, and Lambert from the Witcher in chibi form.

Cahir is in the middle, looking pleasantly surprised, hands cupping his cheeks. He is wearing his black robes with golden accents from season 2.

Left of Cahir is Eskel, standing on his toes, and giving Cahir a kiss on the cheek. Lambert is mirroring him on Cahir's right side. They're both stretching their arms out a bit behind them to keep their balance.

In the background is the non-binary pride flag.

End ID.]

[jaskiersvalley]

Themme Fatale

Moving from the army to intelligence wasn’t something Cahir ever thought he would do. But the opportunity came up and he’d hoped he’d be able to leave behind the hyper-masculine environment. That had been difficult to fit in with and he had to keep parts of himself under wraps so tightly, he sometimes worried he’d forget who he was. Stepping into the office on his first day, his heart sank a little as he took in the people he would be working with. The men were muscle bound, jostling and laughing much like those in the army had. Meanwhile, the women were all terrifyingly beautiful, feminine and almost otherworldly. Despite the warm welcome, the firm claps to the back and handshakes, Cahir wondered whether he would ever truly fit in.

“We’ve got the morning briefing then we’ll do introductions properly,” the man who introduced himself as Geralt said.

From across the room, someone hollered, “Hey Wolf, your Magpie back yet?”

Rolling his eyes, Geralt turned to yell back. “Ask Yennefer, she’s the one who sent him out.”

“Well, Witch?”

“He’s getting coffee if he knows what’s good for him,” one of the women growled back, glaring. “And if he wants to come tonight, he’s not getting you any Lambert.”

The morning meeting involved having Cahir stand at the front of the room and smile awkwardly while he was introduced to the room at large. It was a blessing to be able to sit back down again and try to become one with the chair so nobody stared at him curiously anymore. It was almost like they could sense his otherness, at least, that was what it felt like to Cahir.

All of a sudden the door to the meeting room flung open and a whirlwind of colour and chaos bundled in.

“Sorry I’m late! I brought coffee to make up for it.” Cups were distributed with winks and grins. “Who am I kidding, I wanted coffee, knew I was going to be late so got everyone else coffees so I wouldn’t get into trouble. Oh hello, who is this cutie?”

Cahir stared up at big blue eyes from where he had slid down in his chair. Obviously he’d found the token employee who had let his fingers linger on Yennefer’s as he passed her a cup before sitting down next to Geralt, pressing obnoxiously into his space to stare at Cahir.

“If you’d been here on time,” Vesemir sighed, “you would have met Cahir, the newest member of our team.”

It was only when he pinched the bridge of his nose that Cahir thought he saw a hint of nail varnish, subtle but there. It gave him a tiny bit of hope, along with Jaskier’s bitchy fawning over Yennefer and Geralt. It was Eskel who spotted his staring and beckoned him over.

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t say anything about them. It’s a sure fire way to not make friends around here.”

In a way it was sweet how Eskel and everyone else seemed to support the trio but Cahir felt awful that it was assumed he would judge or say something unsavoury. That’s what he got for having an army background he supposed.

He had been warned that his hours could be erratic and sometimes he might be called in on a day off. What he didn’t expect was for that very thing to happen not a week later when he was dressed comfortably, not expecting to go out. His phone rang, Vesemir was summoning him in. There was barely any time to swap out the billowy shirt for something more traditional before a car turned up for him. Going in, Cahir didn’t expect Jaskier to squeal and jump in his way, heading him off.

“Oh I just love your eyes!” The eyeliner that Cahir had put on earlier, that he’d completely forgotten about, not like he’d have had time to wipe it off. Before he could make up any excuse, Jaskier had him by the arm and was dragging him towards Lambert. “Look! Lamby! His wings are even sharper than yours. Aren’t they amazing?”

A gentle hand reached for Cahir but waited for his nod before it gripped his chin, turning his face this way and that. Lambert let out a low whistle.

“You’ll have to teach me. It would drive the others wild.”

“If you could please not steal my operative,” Tissaia interrupted and beckoned Cahir away. “There’s a charity fundraiser tonight. I was going to send Renfri but they’ve come down with a cold. So you’ll have to take their place. It’s nothing risky, we just need to make sure it goes off without a hitch. There have been threats from the more narrowminded groups. Triss and Yennefer will set you up with your outfit and tech.”

Which was how Cahir found himself in a room full of clothes of every size and colour. While Yennefer rifled through the suits, eyeing him up, Triss was talking through the ear piece, how to change channels and the like. It seemed like pretty standard fare, what he’d used in the army before. Of course, as it seemed to be the norm for Jaskier, he bundled in just as Cahir was eyeing up some of the dresses.

“Yen, my darling, have you no taste?” He bounced over to her and looked at the black on black suit she was pulling out. “That’s so severe. I think we can go a little more native for the fundraiser.”

That made no sense and Cahir raised an eyebrow in question. It had Jaskier grinning. “It’s for an LGBTQ+ charity, didn’t Tissaia tell you? Pretty big deal, most of us will be there in some capacity. Lambert will make for a fantastic waiter, don’t you think? I had Aiden pestering me to make sure he’s in a classic bunny outfit, cute little tail and all. But sadly that’s far too crass for the evening. But there is a Lambert sized outfit now winging its way to their house now. Eskel’s good like that and helped me pick the right size.”

With so many words spouting out of Jaskier, Cahir barely could keep up until he realised that something silky was being pressed into his arms.

“Tell me if this isn’t your kind of thing.”

Cahir stared at the dress, a soft grey dress that promised to be figure hugging. It was gorgeous but Cahir was almost scared to put it on. He didn’t know how everyone else would react, because it wasn’t like he wanted to be seen as a woman. But he didn’t really like being seen as a man either.

“You can pick the suit, I just had a hunch. My apologies if I got it wrong.” Jaskier’s voice was quiet.

“Have you broken him?” Yennefer snapped, stalking closer.

“He is making a choice.”

Which was true, but it wasn’t the choice Jaskier thought he was making. Still staring at the dress, Cahir steeled himself.

“They. They’re still making a choice. And I think it’s the dress please.”

There was no dramatic gasp, no growl, no glare, not even a gleeful cry of “knew it” with demands for bets to be paid up. Instead, Cahir was allowed ushered towards a curtained off bit to get changed. As Yennefer walked them over, she turned and asked in a low voice, “want me to tell the others?”. Maybe it was a cowardly thing to do but Cahir nodded, not sure how the office would take it.

It shouldn’t have been a worry, it turned out. As Cahir shimmied into the dress, turned in the mirror to admire the lowcut back, everything felt right. Stepping out, there were a few more people in the room. Lambert was the one to let out a sharp, appreciative whistle.

Bounding forwards, Jaskier fussed a little with how the dress fell before stepping back with a wide grin.

“Everyone, please tell Sabrina to step aside from her usual role. The office now has a new Themme Fatale.”

[jaskierswolf]

I talked to Sock the other day about Cahir in a dress. And I saw your hug prompt. The number doesn't matter as such, but could enby Cahir in a dress get a hug??

This is set loosely before the Battle at KM in TW3.

CW: coming out

_

Kaer Morhen, the infamous keep in the mountains and the one place that Cahir had never expected to end up, but Ciri had needed them. Cahir had never been able to say no to the princess, even when they’d been stuck under Nilfgaards’s thumb.

The tension was thick in the keep, everyone preparing for the battle, but there was always a calm before the storm that Cahir found addictive, that hyper awareness of one’s own mortality that made their hair stand on end. Everyone was processing the pre-battle nerves in their way. Vesemir had decided on an early night to get some rest and go into battle as bright eyed as he could be, suggesting in a gruff voice that they all do the same, but Lambert’s home-made vodka had become the preferred activity of choice. The dining hall was buzzing with drunken witchers, bards and well… Cahir.

So with a loose tongue, Cahir let their secrets fall from their lips. If they were going to die the next day then they wanted to die as themself; no more hiding.

“I’m not a man,” they blurted out, not really sure how to explain it.

Three pairs of golden eyes stared back at them, and there was the sound of lute strings twanging from the corner as cornflower blue eyes peered up from under Dandelion’s hat.

“Cahir?” Dandelion asked with a tilt of his head.

“I- I’m not quite sure, but I’m not a man, but- but, well, I’m not a woman either,” they stammered.

Lambert just grinned widely and jumped up from the table before scurrying from the room, leaving Cahir feeling a little lost.

“I-” Cahir felt their heart sink. It wasn’t as if they’d been expecting acceptance but to have Lambert flee from the room in such a manner hurt more than they’d anticipated.

Before they could spiral too much, Eskel’s hand was on their shoulder. Strong, dependable, caring Eskel who’d known what was wrong before Cahir could voice it. A warm crooked smile on his lips, giving Cahir hope when hope was in short supply.

“He’s tactless, but just wait,” Eskel’s deep bass rumbled in their ear. “Bastard’s just excited.”

And sure enough, Lambert returned soon after with bundles of cloth in his arms. He beamed brightly at Cahir as he offered the bundle to them. “I Know you said you aren’t a woman, but these aren’t women’s clothes, they’re mine, and well, I thought maybe you’d like to try one on, see how it feels?” Lambert trailed off, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. It had been more words than Cahir had ever heard him say at once before.

Cahir’s cheeks flushed and they felt their heart race a little faster, tears springing to their eyes at the blatant display of acceptance. The dresses in their hands were soft against their war-hardened skin and they quickly chose a silk garment to try on. They’d never worn a dress before, too scared of the people around them, but here, in an old crumbling castle filled with witchers, bards and mages… they felt at home.

The dress flowed around their ankles, dancing in the air as they span, and Dandelion wolf whilst, his bright cornflower blue eyes sparkling. Cahir felt like themself for possibly the first time in their life, and they fell to the ground, overwhelmed by all the emotions that swirled inside of them. Lost and found, happy and sad, confused and yet seeing clearer than they had ever before.

Arms wrapped around them, then another pair and another, until Cahir was buried under three witchers and a bard, a long feather tickling their nose. It was hard to breathe under the combined weight, but it was oddly comforting regardless, and Cahir found they were quite content to remain there for the rest of the evening.

_

Tag list undercut:

@geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @unyielding-as-the-sea @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik

[gayregis]

d&d alignments

geralt: top-leaning vers

dandelion: bottom

milva: service top

regis: bottom

detlaff: vers. but he doesn’t Fuck, so nothing i guess

orianna: top-leaning vers

vitrillenmeth or hwowvee the FUCK you spell that dragon’s name: top