#i love my world ending lesbians

[eternalpariah]

her iconic hair flip

girlfriend (madoka) art

[lab-gr0wn-lambs]

This scene is so cute I'm gonna throw up

[mayahawkeswife]

‘so, i’ll hold you to my knife…’

[crimson-nail]

DROP HER DESIGN RIGHT NOW

[cosettegf]

i love the penumbra podcast and i love second citadel and i really enjoyed listening to the finale but i feel. weird about the way this show treats its female characters???

[skrunksthatwunk]

you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.

you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.

so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.

you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.

you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.

you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.

you know you broke the rule by interacting.

but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.

[quietwingsinthesky]

everyone wants eleven when she’s whimsical but not when she’s a deadbeat husband in her terrible marriage with river <3 none of you love her for her true self

[blissfulalchemist]

Clídna x Jill x Clive (Final Fantasy XVI) Alma x Joshua (Final Fantasy XVI) // Clio x Nat (The Wayhaven Chronicles)

Tagged by @statichvm to make some cute couples in this picrew! So have these three ships near and dear to my heart. Tagging in turn @adelaidedrubman @belorage @florbelles @strafethesesinners

@confidentandgood @shallow-gravy @jackiesarch @shellibisshe @leviiackrman

@chyrstis @unholymilf and anyone else that wants to!

[monards]

everytime i find out someone has assumed i had a crush on them because i treat them with (normal) platonic affection i die a little inside. i fear people have unnormalized just being decent and kind a little *too* much

[unfinishedslurs]

do u love the colors of the comphet

When it’s over, when Henry Creel is dead and dust and they’ve emerged battered and triumphant. When she and Jonathan have ended things. When there is no more fighting to be done, she and Steve give it another go. 

She knows he’s going to ask the same way she knew in ‘83. There’s no waiting this time, no need to wonder if Jonathan might want her too. They gave it the old college try (He lied to her. He was lying to her for months, and she knew something was wrong before that. She thought they could work it out. She’s so fucking sick of lying to herself being lied to). 

He asks with wide, hopeful eyes, running a nervous hand through his hair. He doesn’t have anything to be nervous about. She made up her mind before he even asked. 

She can do it right this time. She can love this boy the way she wants to. The way he wants her to. They’ve both grown in the years since. She’s going to do this right. 

That’s the mantra she keeps in her head when he picks her up and spins her. I can do this. 

She can’t do this. 

It’s somehow the same and different from when they dated the first time. They’re going through the same motions, but there’s something lacking. They’re both older, more jaded. They’re not kids anymore, and it shows. 

They rarely kiss. He hesitates now in a way he didn’t before. Sex is something they don’t bring up at all. Eddie makes a crude joke once, something or other about what Nancy is like in bed, and she and Steve make eye contact. There’s something there, something like mutual understanding, before Robin smacks Eddie upside the back of the head and the moment breaks. She keeps thinking about it long after. Whatever it is that they shared, they don’t talk about it. 

Maybe they’re lying to themselves, both of them. Puppets going through the motions, too stubborn to admit they’re play acting as real people. Still, she can’t give this up. She can’t make the same mistakes all over again. 

Robin corners her two months into the relationship. Part of Nancy is surprised it took her this long. The rest of her is angry she brings it up at all. 

Saying she’s cornered might be doing her a disservice. They’re having a sleepover, painting their nails and talking about boys. Everything a girl is supposed to do. Except Robin is awkward and fumbling, and every name she brings up sounds like a question. Nancy only has Steve to talk about, and barely talks about him at all. 

Finally Robin sighs and puts down the nail polish. “I feel like this subject is making us both miserable,” she declares. “I don’t want to talk about boys, I was just doing it because I thought that’s what you’re supposed to do at girl sleepovers. I haven’t actually been to a sleepover since I was in middle school and the other girls decided I was weird, but I’m pretty sure the point is to have fun. This is not fun. This is agonizing. We should talk about something else.”

“Steve isn’t making me miserable!” She snaps, before realizing she sounds way too defensive. 

Robin peers at her. “Yeah, see, that’s not what I said. That’s not even a little bit close to what I said. Maybe we should talk about this instead. What’s the deal with you and Steve?”

“What deal? There’s no deal.” She turns around and rummages through the nail polish selection. Robin doesn’t exactly have a variety. Her options are red, dark red, and black. She chooses the brighter red with the absent thought that the black would look good on Robin, with her long fingers and dark eyeliner. Then she banishes that thought away. 

“There’s definitely some kind of deal.”

“There isn’t.”

“Nance.” 

She can’t help but turn around then, drawn in by the tone of her voice. There’s a glass wall inside of her, and someone is pounding on it, trying to get out. She wants Robin to see it. She wants someone to see behind the glass. There’s something in her trying to get out. 

“Nancy,” she says again, eyes searing into her soul, “are you happy?”

She smiles, fake and fixed on her face. The glass stays firmly in place.  “Of course I am,” she replies. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The next time Robin wants to hang out, she’s busy with college preparations. 

It’s not just Robin. She thinks everyone can tell something’s wrong with her. Eddie gives her these looks every time she and Steve are in front of him, like he’s putting together a puzzle. Her mom keeps trying to talk to her. Jonathan keeps trying to talk to her. 

They know, she thinks wildly, every time. She doesn’t know what it is they know. She doesn’t want to find out. 

She avoids them all. 

When she and Steve go to dinner, the waitress captivates her. 

Long, dark hair in braids. Long fingers tapping against the notepad. Dark eyes in a dark face. She’s always loved brown eyes. Nancy has never been one to be jealous of other girls (lie, lie, lie), but suddenly heat floods her body. She wants to be as gorgeous as this woman. She wants her full lips, popping gum. She wants the woman’s swaying hips as she turns and leaves their table. She wants— she wants—

She tears her gaze away to find Steve already looking at her. 

The heat is dosed by the ice that fills her veins. All her senses go on high alert until she realizes he’s actually staring past her. She turns around to see the bartender. He’s handsome, she thinks, tall with tan skin and brown hair carefully styled. He’s talking to a customer, teeth shining as he laughs. 

When she turns back, Steve has firmly fixed his eyes on her. She could almost believe he’d never been staring at the bartender at all. 

There’s something there. Something just out of reach, something she could put a finger out and touch if she were braver. She doesn’t. There’s no gun in her hand here, no adrenaline to keep her going after it all falls apart. 

“What did your dumb boyfriend do this time?” Mike demands, storming in her room. Nancy has half a mind to yell at him to knock first before she registers his words. 

“Steve is- Steve is fine,” she says, startled. “He’s great, actually. Nothings wrong.“

“Then why are you so miserable all the time?” Mike accuses. 

“I am not miserable!”

“You are! You both are, and neither of you will tell anyone what’s wrong, or why-“

“I don’t know why!” She shrieks. Mike falls silent, eyes wide, and Nancy suddenly realizes she’s crying. 

“I don’t know why,” she repeats. “Everything is fine. He’s like, the perfect fucking boyfriend. It’s me, I’m the problem. There’s something wrong with me. There’s a beautiful boy who loves me, and I’m- I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to love him back, but I can’t. I can’t. There’s something wrong with me.” She’s desperate now, wiping away tears as she curls into a ball. She feels pathetic, crying in front of her little brother. She’s the oldest, she should be keeping it together, she shouldn’t let him see her like this. But she can’t help it. There’s something in her screaming to get out. 

Mike, with all the grace and bewilderment of a newborn deer, gingerly pats her shoulder. 

“Have you…talked to Steve about it?”

She gives him a cutting look. It’s probably not as effective as she wants it to be, with her red eyes and tear streaked face. Mike holds his hands up. 

“I’m just saying! He’s your boyfriend, you should talk to him. And if you don’t want him to be your boyfriend, you should really talk to him.”

“I want him to be my boyfriend, I just need to get past whatever this is—“

“Nancy,” Mike says. “It’s not just you. He’s miserable too.”

“Because of me. I just need to—“

Mike shakes his head. “I don’t think it is. If it were because of you, he’d be acting different. More…kicked puppy, or whatever. He’s just being weird,  and won’t tell anyone why. Dustin said he asked Robin, and she doesn’t even know.”

Nancy doesn’t have anything to say to that. 

“I think you need to talk to him,” he says again. “I think you need to talk to each other.”

“When did you get so smart?” She asks, instead of crying again. 

“I’ve always been smarter than you.”

She kicks him for that blatant lie.

“Are we holding onto a dead thing?” She asks out loud. 

He rolls over and looks at her. She’s worried she’s hurt his feelings, broken his heart again, killed any chance they have at a relationship, romantic or not. Then he snorts. 

“Robin got to you too, huh?” He asks, flopping back onto his back to look up at the sky. 

“Mike, actually.”

“Mike? That shithead? What does he know about relationship problems?”

“Are we having relationship problems?”

“I mean,” he says, wry twist to his mouth, “we haven’t had any arguments.”

“Nope.”

“Or general drama.”

“That might be debatable.”

“There’s no need to spice up our sex life.”

She snacks him for that one, and he laughs. She props herself up to look him in the eye. His face is more open than she’s seen it the entire time they’ve been dating. 

“I think you have to be in a relationship to have ‘relationship problems,’” she tells him. “Are we in a relationship?”

He visibly considers this. “I mean, I asked you out, and you said yes. And we never broke up.”

“We haven’t kissed in at least two weeks.”

“Did you want to?”

She takes a moment to think about it. “Not really,” she admits, and his face splits into a grin. 

“Not that you’re not still wonderful, Nancy Wheeler,” he says, teeth shining, “but I don’t think I want to kiss you either. Isn’t that weird?”

When they dated in high school, it was like he couldn’t stand being away from her. He spent every moment he could kissing her, wherever he could. Sometimes it felt almost like a performance he put on for the people around them, lifting her up and spinning her just so everyone would know how in love they were. It was stifling at times, feeling like something to prove. Still, it was how he was, so in love he could burst with it. 

Now, she wonders if it was always a performance. Maybe they’ve both been on a stage, and neither of them noticed the lights blinding them until now. 

“It is a little weird,” she says finally.

“Right?!”

He holds out a hand to shake, the other one firmly in his pocket. God, she wishes she could love him. “Good go, eh Wheeler?” He asks, smile crooked and shaky. 

She snorts. “We made ourselves and everyone around us miserable,” she points out. But she takes his hand. 

[thevampirearchive]

There’s something I've been meaning to say but I haven't had the words till now. There is something that deeply upsets me about witnessing stories where villains, who are literal killers, fall in love and somehow become good or act outside of what is expected from them. I love love, love is beautfiul, it is powerful and it can truly change a lot. But to sit, and write a killer suddenly go "actually, this one can stay because I am in love for the first time" is such a weird concept to me. Is this happening because as a sociaty we're trying to convince ourselves that deeply disturbed people can be cured by the power of love? That if they just find the right person, they would stop the masacer? or at least no longer feel the need to kill how they were or at least let their person live? And I am not mad at the love, I do belive anyone can fall deeply in love, but my issue is with how it ends. I want to witness the unthinkable — I want to see is exactly what we expect but hoped won't happen, happening. A gut wrenching truth that stays true to who we have been witnessing, despite the "I can change them" dance. And perhaps people hate this idea because they want to belive that anyone can change if only they meet the right one, or that we can change the monsters in our lives with affection, but trust most likly is that they cannot be changed. And I can understand that to some this is then seen as an illusion. "oh then this was never true love", why can the two not exist? Do we not hurt those we love? Maybe not kill them, but someone elses hurt could feel like a small death to me, and vice versa.

Examples, so that you are not confused as to what I am reffering too;

Killing Eve; I stopped watching when Villanelle was shown shooting Eve. It felt true to her character, even if it hurt. She is a killer, we knew that and so did Eve. Regardless of her love, that was what was always going to happen so why were we given additional seaons of this fanatsy of a declawed Villanelle?

Hannibal; It should have ended with the death of Will, and possibly Hannibal consuming him. Didn't Hannibal say that the consumption of Will would somehow join them in a deeper way?Something so disturbing that only could make sense to a serial killing-cannibal. And I would have watched with wide eyes, and gone to sleep staring at the ceiling.

Interveiw With The Vampire; Louis' death in the hand of a Lestat would have made sense, and despite his dramatics, Lestat would have not committed suicide but instead burried himself in deep regret untill he was too numb to his own feelings that he could return to the world of the living. He would have never forgotten Louis, nor what he did, but he would have moved on beause Lestat is not a good person. He's deeply disturbed and Louis knew this. I don't even aknoclege that beatdown episode because Lestat may be a killer, but he's a drama queen first and formost. Louis' death would have been poetic, beautiful and grusom like a greek tragedy without an audiance.

Bonus - Twilight; I could not end without adding my own favorite, and despite this path never being teased to the audiance the same way the other's were, I would have loved the book simply ending because Edward did as he said he would - drained Bella like a Caprisun on a hot summer day. Because what is love agaisnt animalistic urgase (I understand why it is much hotter that he is simply so retsrained and devoted that he resists her, but I'd pay good money for an AU)

At the end of it all, I think want I want is for sociaty to get over the idea that a good woman, love or any form of kindness can change who some people are. Love can do many things - look at crimes of passion! And to some extend I belive that these villain's love were true, possibly not the way we imagine them - which is less so "I love you too" and more so, "wow, finally someone I can manipulate and obsess over. Someone who I can mold, someone who is alone in the world like me" only to realize that is not true.

So why do we make love into what it isnt? Even when the scene is set for us to be shown the truth, writers and the audiance always make the plot lean towards whatever fits so that we can have that "happy ending".

Honorable mentions;

God should have killed Lucifer, I know the bible and christianity is not technically fiction for all, but the idea that he is forgivin but lets the biggest meanness HE CREATED terrorize everybody is evil. Take him out or let somebody else do it homie.

[flowersandfashion]

so, we all agree that Jo March is a lesbian, right?

[autisticbillpotts]

god I looooooove doctor who so much that was some of the stupidest shit I have ever seen :))))))

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

danny talking about how resentful she became when nobody who she self-sacrificed for cared when she died and then leaving kirsch with laura and carmilla bc "if he stays with me i might lose control again and kill him" kinda confirms my thoughts abt both newly-turnedness and anger making vampires more vampiry

but also makes me think that in more usual circumstances, when the dean turned vampires like carmilla and mattie, that shes really nice at the start to temper any of that unruly anger

[zukkaoru]

turns out lesbians having a radar for trans women before they come out is real. and it happened to me.

[hanzajesthanza]

hi hello i am several pages into your cahir tag and had a couple of questions if you feel like sharing your thoughts! when geralt first confronts cahir on the island in baptism of fire, there's the line "cahir said nothing. geralt felt bad. very bad." and i would love to know what your take on that is - 'very bad' in particular intrigues me. also, you reblogged a great analysis post about cahir and ciri that mentions publishing pressure laced with homophobia - do you have any info on that?

i'm so flattered, and also i love talking about these characters so i'll be glad to share my thoughts!

re: "geralt felt bad. very bad.":

the confrontation between geralt and cahir begins with geralt holding it over cahir's head, reminding him that he spared his life on thanedd. in which he calls him chłystku, "Żal mi się ciebie zrobiło, chłystku." this was translated as "I felt sorry for you, whippersnapper," though chłystek can also be "pipsqueak," "brat." what geralt is saying is, you young man (derogatory, with contempt).

cahir is something like 20, well, actually more like 30 to 40 years geralt's junior, and this is mentioned a couple of times times already (observations by dandelion's POV, that cahir was incapable of growing a beard, haha).

geralt is effectively scolding cahir in this confrontation, and cahir is not fighting him, taking the verbal beating.

‘(...) I’m preoccupied with one thought: to get my hands on the people who harmed Ciri. I’ve sworn that those who’ve harmed her will pay for it with their blood.’ Cahir did not speak. ‘Your revelations, which Milva has told me about, don’t change anything. There’s only one conclusion: you were unable to abduct Ciri on Thanedd, despite your best efforts. Now you’re trailing me, so that I can lead you to her. So that you can get your hands on her again, because then your imperator might spare you and not send you to the scaffold.’ Cahir said nothing. Geralt felt bad. Very bad. ‘She cried out in the night because of you,’ he snapped. ‘You grew to nightmarish proportions in her child’s eyes. But actually, you were–and are–only a tool, a wretched minion of your imperator.’

if cahir had piped up as geralt was scolding him here, if he had denied geralt's accusations, if he had bridled, if he had fought him like he had requested in ch. 2, that would have given geralt full rein to lay the smackdown. as the saying goes... "Go ahead, make my day..."

but cahir didn't make his day.

cahir is not really one to debase himself. as in tower of the swallow ch. 5 when he and geralt fight, cahir, like geralt, is obsessed with his own honor:

‘I’m not what I appear,’ said the young Nilfgaardian in a powerful, resonant voice. ‘Unfortunately, I can’t prove it. But I can do something else. Do what befits me, what I have to do, when I’m being slandered and insulted, when my honour is besmirched and my dignity sullied.’

geralt finally has in his clutches the black knight of cintra, his little girl's nightmare. and, like any father, wants to curbstomp him. badly. he wanted to do the same when he first met him, on thanedd:

‘I know who you are, Nilfgaardian,’ said the white-haired fiend, kicking the helmet with the hacked-up wings. ‘You have been pursuing her doggedly and long. But now you will harm her no more.’

but this is geralt: held back by his morals, by his scruples. who he has isn't the black knight of cintra, anymore.

and this is cahir:

There was no black knight of Cintra. There was a pale, dark-haired young man with stupefyingly blue eyes and a mouth distorted in a grimace of fear, kneeling in a pool of blood. (...) The terrified, cowering young man bleeding profusely was no one.

cahir is now only "a young face, which hadn’t grown much more stubble since the adventure under the beech tree." and again, geralt "[is] getting old, [and] starting to develop scruples."

geralt feels bad, very bad (it's just "źle, bardzo źle" in polish, so no weird translation issues from what i can tell) for two reasons:

‘I don’t know what you did to become a nightmare for her. And (...) I don’t understand why in spite of everything I can’t kill you. I don’t understand what’s holding me back.’

firstly, geralt is recalling how ciri suffered because of cahir, how she awoke in the night due to nightmares, nightmares which he could not help her with (and thus enlisted the help of triss, and later yennefer, who actually helped her with the trauma-related nightmares).

secondly, he is unconsciously holding himself back from killing cahir, because cahir is a sad-eyed young man who is no longer the black knight of cintra. geralt, as we know, loathes harming innocents, and can't bear to kill anything that doesn't deserve it. and cahir isn't doing anything (not being a threat, not even talking back) to deserve it.

and then, of course, further motivation to work together: cahir and geralt have in common that they want to rescue ciri, and they are both dreaming of her.

but geralt's inability to kill cahir always gets me, for how it emphasizes their characters: geralt, hounded by his scruples, and cahir, just a young man...

re: ringkvinna's analysis of cahir, imperialism, his love for ciri and about publishing pressure:

(damn, i love this analysis, haha. i also feel similarly about cahir and ciri, the paragraph beginning "In my opinion, it is the only way in which" is especially accurate, i think).

it was once a speculation of mine that a heterosexual romance was pushed for ciri because of homophobic attitudes from the publisher. nowadays i don't terribly stand by this, it's kind of just a theory, a book theory...

but it is true that there were reactions to mistle and ciri:

( John ) Did you know from the beginning that Ciri would fall in love with Mistle? ( AS ) Of course. It was one of the elements of the plan that was ready from the beginning. ( John ) And the scene in the library? ( AS ) And this is one of the things that came after the plan, there was no place in the original plan for Fringilla Vigo. When writing the scene in the library, I played with the idea of ​​writing it against people who say that it is impossible to do such a thing in Polish without falling into a vocabulary of gynecology or foul words. And I came up with an idea with books. But it still did not help, the newspaper that printed "Lady of the Lake" in parts, demanded from SuperNOWA, to cut that scene as pornographic. They were mocked by SuperNOWA. The Russians reacted to my alleged "pornography" even more ridiculously. I noticed while reading the translation that the Mistle-Ciri scene was heavily watered down. The translator, to whom I complained, stated that I should thank him, because at first the publisher demanded - demanded from the translator, I emphasize - to change Mistle into a boy.

Q&A with Sapkowski from the mid 2000's (Reddit, English translation) | F8 Key (Polish original text)

another time he mentioned this:

A. S.: Can I mention this story? Some lesbian elements were considered extremely dirty and without notifying the author, they decided to solve the problem by changing the gender of one of the girls. T. G .: I would have a stroke. A. S .: And Weisbrot strongly opposed (because I wasn't notified) and made them keep the original text. But even so, the whole fragment was strongly castrated. And since the whole story consisted of the three sentences, after the castration very little remained. Because it turned out, you know, that it is a complete pornography. 

"We will not tolerate pornography!" (Reddit, English translation)

(for context, sapkowski had a good friendship with russian translator eugene weisbrot, and actually dedicated lux perpetua (3rd book of the hussite trilogy) to him).

my speculation, then, was that because mistle's assault of ciri happens in time of contempt, and they begin a relationship in baptism of fire, i thought it would be possible for a homophobic attitude to rear its head in-between baptism of fire and tower of the swallow, that: 'ciri should have a male love interest, i hope that she will be delivered from this foulness by a decent boy.'

well, i don't disagree that this a potential thought of a publisher or even a reader, but i also think that sapkowski may have expected this too, and as always, was playing 4D chess with us.

because, in historia i fantastyka with stanisław bereś:

BS: Your women leave the role of the charming concubines. They not only kill as deftly as men, but in addition do not want to go to bed with them, because they prefer their girlfriends. Why, for example, did you make Ciri a lesbian? Why almost all the girls in the "Witch of Derby" tasted the fruits of same-sex love? Or is it some kind of psychoanalytic revenge? AS: I'm not sure. But I am certain that I'm not a lesbian. Although, on the other hand, the attraction that I sometimes feel for women, would claim the opposite. However, so that you do not have any doubts, I declare: I do not intend to shock anyone with such stories. For Russians, for example, as follows from numerous reviews, there were some complaints about these heroines and they even called me perverse and dirty. The Russian publishing house was so outraged that if not for my translator who, like a wolf and a hare in one person, lay down on the threshold and defended the work - they would've changed without the essence of the book, "bringing sex back to normal", that is by simply changing the gender of the characters. However, if there was any intention to show the women in this way - and there was - it was caused by the desire to move away from a stereotype, which states that the appearance of a woman in a transparent bra and lace panties in fantasy pursues one goal: to give rest to a warrior, who should treat this woman as an instrument (read: to fuck). So why can't she be a rest for a female warrior? The fact that I depict female characters in such a way does not mean that I am writing caricatures of real people! I parody the canon. A reader who knows fantasy well, after seeing that a lady in an openwork bra and transparent panties appeared in the book, thinks: "Oh! Another minute and! .. "And then - ay-ay-ay - nothing like that !!! I do this intentionally from purely insidious considerations. However, I was terribly touched by a certain author of fantasy, who stupidly and senselessly deprived his heroine of her virginity. At first he portrayed the heroine in such a way that the reader was 100% sure that she would, like Helena Kurcewicz, wander with her virginal hymn until the last scene of the book, in which she'll give it to the protagonist on the first wedding night. And this author suddenly, for no reason at all, without any seemingly grounded reason, makes his heroine give - excusez moi le mot! - her ass and to God knows who! Oh, how excited I got! "How is it possible?" I exclaimed. But then I thought: no, there is something in it. If I can, then I'll make someone nervous too. The reader will start thinking about, reflecting on which warrior should claim Ciri ... But then! This is the reason that motivated me to describe such female characters in my books. And consequently, this is not projection - in what you suspect me - of my own vaginal complications and phobias. I think if I had such problems, I probably would have known.

Andrzej Sapkowski and Stanisław Bereś "History and fantasy" (2007)

sapkowski often predicts what his readers will think, and then preemptively does something with the story to challenge their expectations.

in the case of mistle and ciri, he wanted to challenge the expectation that any (male) warrior would end up "claiming" ciri, instead it being a woman who takes ciri's virginity, and also showing the realistic, traumatic and devastating reality of this, of rape. all to push back on the fantasy trope of a male warrior "claiming" a girl.

back to cahir, i think that sapkowski may have also predicted that some readers were expecting a boy (as in: male love interest) to 'save' ciri from this relationship, and he introduced the cahir-ciri storyline as something which he knew would not be consummated in the end, which would end tragically.

this 'decent boy' comes across in cahir (who fails, as he is not the grail knight) and later, galahad (who succeeds, as he is the grail knight).

also, for how sapkowski has spoken of cahir and ciri:

Out of nobility (and love, because he protects Ciri), Cahir, a knight and officer, dies. Will a knight and officer defending his lady run away because he "soberly and thoughtfully" decides that it is unwise to fight, even if the opponent is a type like Bonhart? This would destroy the entire legendary history and the entire matiere de la chevalerie! It couldn't be like this! And this is apart from the fact that Cahir, alive, was in no way suitable for me to continue the action.

Sapkowski answers the questions of the active users of "Sapkowski Zone" (2001) (Reddit, English translation) | Active interview of Zone readers with Andrzej Sapkowski (Polish original text)

it's all just playing with tropes, with the fantasy canon...

‘Run away,’ whispered Ciri, seeing who was approaching along the corridor. ‘He’s the devil incarnate. But he only wants me. He won’t come after you … Run … Help Geralt …’ Cahir shook his head. ‘Ciri,’ he said kindly. ‘I’m surprised by what you’re saying. I came here from the end of the world to find you, rescue you and defend you. And now you want me to run away?’ ‘You don’t know who you’re up against.’