#The Dark Urge is very much a threat though and you can't quite pull the two identities apart that easily

[y-rhywbeth2]

*This is the one Sceleritas sent you to kill. Every scrap of your marrow years to end her.* Isobel: "On with you. Unless you want to come back to a gaggle of shadow-cursed Harpers." The Dark Urge: "My blood... It's telling me to kill you. Isobel: "And yet you hesitate." *She doesn't believe you will do it. You can see, she wants to believe there is mercy in all, even in the worst.* Isobel: "You aren't the first to threaten me. But I know the eyes of a killer when I see them. You mean me no harm. Do you? An experienced cleric can tell such things." *The Urge within does not want to talk. The restless Urge starts to scream* Durge: Chase away your putrid desires. *As suddenly as it started, you have tamed the Urge. It slumbers again.* Isobel: "There we are. The real you. Your - affliction, is it? - doesn't rule you, does it."

Her wife might be a half-celestial, but Isobel is the literal angel; some twitchy guy comes up to her and says they want to kill her and she doesn't bat an eyelid or change her tone, she's perfectly calm and talks them down.

On a less positive note: this should've required a will save to repress the Urge. Very anticlimactic.

Although I will handwave it as Bhaal going: "You think you can just say no to me? Fine, spare the cleric. Let yourself believe it's that easy. See how the real you fares when I make you butcher your lover in her place."

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Hey, I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader convinces Geralt to go on a quest to help her retrieve a notebook that a dragon stole from her. And along the way, Geralt catches feeling for the reader and can't figure out why he has such a compulsion to protect her. And then it dawns on him that she's half witcher, and maybe that's where maybe some angst kicks in?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Geralt x ReaderWord Count: 1,925Rating: TTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract@your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan a/n: This was an interesting premise! I hope I did it justice! Thanks!

Geralt was at a point in his career where he could pick and choose jobs as he wished and yours wasn’t the kind he’d usually pick. Retrieving a notebook from a dragon seemed ridiculous. At first he’d gruffly rebuffed you, telling you to buy a new notebook and getting up to walk away. But when you’d called after him that you’d just go on your own if you had to, a strange feeling overcame him. He’d immediately turned around and accepted the job, barking that you’d leave tomorrow at first light, and turned back around before he could see the relieved smile light up your face. Something about you compelled him to keep you safe. He hadn’t felt that kind of pull since Ciri had entered his life but you were no child and the way he felt as he looked at you was far from paternal. He was a professional, though, and he would escort you there and back and that would be it.

That was his plan, at least. A well laid and ultimately useless one. For all that he tried to wedge distance between the two of you, you found your way in. You were funny and charming and the way the fire illuminated your face made you lovelier than all the stars in the skies above you. More than once he felt the urge to pull you close but he fought against it. Partially out of professionalism but more out of fear. He didn’t know what caused this intense attraction but he didn’t trust it.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said one day, hoping that he may learn something that would help him like you less. You walked alongside of Roach and glanced up at the witcher who loomed large above you.

“Why?” you asked bluntly.

“If we are to travel together we may as well learn more about each other,” he replied.

“Alright,” you said, “You go first.”

“I asked first,” he countered.

“What do you want to know?” you asked, pretend he hadn’t just given the most childish rebuttal imaginable.

“Tell me about your family,” he offered. You were quiet for a long moment and he began to regret the question. He had a soft spot in his heart for people with unfortunate families.

“I don’t know much about them,” you admitted.

“Orphaned?”

“Yes, you?”

“Don’t remember them so yes,” he replied.

“Any family at all then?” you asked, seamlessly taking up the mantle of interrogator. Geralt thought of Ciri and Jaskier and everyone at Kaer Morhen.

“Some,” he answered, “Yourself?”

“Some,” you replied with a little smile playing about your lips as you thought of the people you’d come to know and trust in your life.

“So tell me something,” Geralt said, trying another tactic, “Why a witcher to retrieve a notebook? Do you want me to slay the dragon because I can tell you right now that unless the beast is going around eating people I will leave it as it lives.”

“Of course I don’t want you to kill it,” you answered, tone severe and face contorted into a scowl, “I happen to have a tenderness towards monsters. If it were just a matter of killing it I’d be fine. It is specifically because I don’t wish to hurt it that I asked a professional monster wrangler to aid me.”

Geralt’s face crumpled into a very disgruntled expression. You’d answered perfectly and what’s worse his heart had skipped an already slow beat at your mention of feeling tenderness towards monsters.

“Stupid,” he bit out, “It’s stupid to feel tender towards monsters. Good way to get eaten.”

You stopped walking and he paused Roach’s steps, looking back at you. You gave him a cool, withering expression that cut through the layers of thick leather armor on his body, chilling him to the bone.

“Do not underestimate me, Witcher,” you said, “I know of what I speak when it comes to monsters.”

You began to walk again, striding ahead with your head held high as Geralt grumpily trotted after you, falling into a silence that was far less enjoyable than the one before. This, Geralt thought to himself bitterly, is what comes of small talk.

That evening Geralt scouted the area around the campsite twice, senses heightened with the need to ensure your safety. The anxiety for your wellbeing buzzed in his mind like a particularly persistent gnat. You were oblivious it seemed. You made the fire while he was gone and even fed Roach and, to Geralt’s horror, was brushing her coat when he returned. The horse seemed as enchanted with you as Geralt was and his stomach pitched at the thought of how well you seemed to fit into their little life together. He went to his bedroll without a word and went to sleep while you stayed up a bit longer tending the fire and petting Roach.

Somehow Geralt fell asleep but when he woke it was to a sharp spike of panic running through him. He stood up, already reaching for his sword, and a hand clamped around his mouth. He tore at it but he soon recognized it and stilled as you leaned to whisper in his ear.

“I think we found our dragon.”

A brilliant flash of golden scales, illuminated by the fire which was a pile of glowing embers now, rustled through the trees and you kept your hand on Geralt’s mouth, face pressed by his as you watched carefully to see if the dragon would come towards you or move on unimpeded. Geralt’s mind was torn between focusing on the threat and trying to figure out how you had perceived it before he did and how you were strong enough to keep your hand clamped tight around him. The only person who had ever been able to sneak up on him in the past was a fellow witcher and you were not-

Geralt glanced, your face closer than it had ever been and even in the darkness he began to notice little things. Your eyes, though Y/E/C and not the usual witcher’s yellow hue, glowed slightly even in the dark. Your skin wasn’t pale per se but there was a wan quality to it that some may mistake as sickly, but there was nothing weak about your grasp on him. And then Geralt realize your heart wasn’t beating. He listened carefully, your body pressed close enough that he should have felt its rhythm, but there was nothing for 1… 2…. 3…. Thump. You relaxed your grip and stepped back.

“It’s left for now but we should probably get moving,” you said, moving to stir water into the campfire.

“You’re a witcher,” Geralt said, not a question but a confused revelation. You paused and sighed heavily.

“I’m not,” you said.

“Bullshit,” Geralt replied, “I don’t know how it took me this long but you are one, I know that much.”

“I’m not,” you insisted, turning to face him, “I’m… well I suppose at best I’m half.”

Geralt blinked a few times in confusion, trying to process what you’d said.

“No such thing,” he argued, “Witcher’s are sterile and cannot procreate. And those who fail the trial of grasses die.”

“Yes,” you agreed, “They do. But not all stay dead.”

Geralt didn’t have a response for that, just a relentless stare that you met head on. You knew this was a battle of wills that you would try to win but you also knew there was no walking this back, you may as well tell him.

“Girl witchers are rare,” you said, continuing to round up items around the campfire and keeping your voice low, “But not unheard of. I was taken in much as I’m sure you were, offered up by family shortly after birth or maybe being found, I’ve heard different things from different people. I trained and I was submitted to the trial of the grasses but something went wrong. There was an attack that was unanticipated and I was left for dead. Until a mage found me, compelled by something, they say destiny and who am I to disagree with them though I feel it does a disservice to their work. They say there was just enough life left in me to bring back and so here I am. Not a witcher, but not a human either. Something different. Something that doesn’t quite belong anywhere. So yes, Geralt of Rivia, I know monsters. I am a new breed of one. But I dare to think that like that dragon, I deserve to live. Not all would agree. Not all of your own order would agree. But there it is.”

By the time you were done talking you had packed everything up and even saddled Roach while Geralt watched in stunned silence, listening but hardly believing what you told him. He could tell you were being honest, though.

“That’s why I’ve felt so….” He began and then stopped himself. You turned swiftly and looked at him.

“That’s why you’ve felt what?” you asked.

“I’ve felt a sort of… connection with you,” he said, “I thought maybe I was just… but this is why. You’re… well, you’re almost…”

“I know,” you said with a rueful smile, “What to call me? You understand why I don’t really lead with it.”

“But surely somebody knows,” he argued, moving closer and taking the reins from your hands, “Someone in the council knows. Vesemir at the very least must.”

“Don’t,” you said suddenly, face tense and terrified, “You cannot tell anyone. You’re right, some know of me, and none want me around. At best I’m a curiosity to be investigated and dissected. At worst I’m collateral damage and an unnatural thing to be taken back out of the world. If you tell anyone, you write my death sentence.”

“I am a witcher first and foremost,” Geralt said, “I know my people. I would not put your life at risk-”

“The only way you keep me safe is to stay silent,” you protested, “If you cannot, then at least let me get a head start. I’ll stay out of your life, hell I’ll find a mage to try and clear your memory for you if I have to, but know that you tell someone, I am dead.”

Geralt considered your words. He felt certain that he could, and absolutely should, tell his old mentor that you existed, perhaps even have you join them since you clearly possessed some of their abilities. But your words also rang true and the idea of putting you at risk felt as possible as rending his own limbs off. You stared at him in breathless anticipation of what he would say and when he finally looked up at you, you knew he had his answer.

“Go.”

You ran into the night, not looking back or giving him half a chance to think twice about his decision. Geralt watched you go as a deep sense of grief washed over him. If destiny had spared your life it felt that destiny must had brought your lives together for some reason. Though his heart ached as he climbed atop Roach’s back and stared at the spot you’d long since disappeared from view in, he felt a strange sense of certainty as well.

He would see you again and next time, whatever the cost, even if he had to eliminate every threat with his bare hands, he would ensure your safety and if he was lucky he may even get to keep you close.

[nightwhip]

she tried to resist him. she really did.

light. it has called upon her again. touched down on her shoulders, curled its fingers into her flesh, tugged at her to turn and embrace it again. but she has already turned her back on the darkness and ran toward the shining light ; all she got in return was pain. the deaths of her parents, even nearly a year later, feels as fresh as it had when just days had passed. does she want to try and be good again only to end up burned? will it be worth it? what she calls her logic, her reasonable thinking, tells her not to bother. ignore the pull you feel and stay right where you are. hope, though... hope is powerful. it can persuade and sway and coerce. part of her thinks it has a tendency of being more tempting than the dark side. her will to remain where she is had already weakened ; when the one from the galaxy's passed somehow made a reappearance, she knew she couldn't stay.

he didn't like that very much.

all within his reach needed to be under his control. power, unending and infinite power, something he craves even after death. supreme leader snoke and his greed had been one thing --- sidious is something unimaginable. disobeying snoke lead to punishment, death if he so desired it, and she thinks that would be better than what she experiences now. at least that's what she would think, if she was still the one in charge of herself.

she tried to resist him. she really did. no one she's met before has ever been as powerful as him. succumbing to sidious isn't quite what happened ; no part of her wanted to give in. he infiltrated her mind, and he did so with ease. nothing she could do, nothing she is capable of could have helped her. and so he made it inside, projected visions and made her believe them to be true. flicking his fingers and waving his hands and cackling madly, toying with the inner workings of her very being, he turned her into something more vile and monstrous than ever. nothing more than a weapon of his.

memories flicker before her at a speed that almost makes her head hurt. trying to watch them all, her eyes jerk and she follows the false history being planted into her brain. body still, head craning upward as she hovers just above the ground ( not of her own will ; sidious keeps her suspended in the air ), everything that isn't the chaos ensuing between her ears dulls and fades away. she is completely at his will.

all at once the memories stop and she is back in the present, awakening with a start and falling to the ground. at first she is disoriented, climbs to her feet with caution. she studies her surroundings and tries to make sense of where she is. sidious is there, as is another. kylo ren. before today she would look at him and recognize him as her master, someone she cares for. in this moment, that is all gone. still at work, still sporting a hideous smile on his face, sidious urges her forward. she speaks not from her own heart, but from his.

"who do you see before you?"

"kylo ren."

"yes, kylo ren. an enemy. a danger and a threat to all you hold dear."

nova's lip curls upward into a snarl, and she steadies a glare at kylo's face. hatred courses through her veins ; he is the reason for all the pain in her life. if not for him, she would have never become a killer. she would have never been forced to take the life of a poor, small child. she would have never lost her parents. he can't be allowed to destroy any more lives. threats are to be neutralized, and kylo ren is the greatest threat of all.

"he is my enemy," she repeats, opening her palm and willing her saber into her hand. fire burns within her eyes as they remain fixated on him. "a danger and a threat to all i hold dear."

"your anger and hate makes you stronger. use it. strike him down - kill him."

activating the weapon and welcoming the threatening buzz of energy, her free palm closes over the hilt. red illuminates her face and her legs, the double blades casting a menacing a light over everything in her vision. gripping the hilt, tighter and tighter, her fingers turn white and she can feel her nails digging into her own skin. she is falling into a battle stance, ready to lunge and attack.

"my anger and hate makes me stronger. i'm going to use it." angling her wrists and arms so that one end of the saber points at him - from this distance it causes no harm, but she is aiming the tip at his heart. she nearly growls the thoughts being fed to her.

"and i'm going to kill you."