#oc: emiel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

siilvan · 1 month

Text

Desideria – I

Previous | Next

Pairing: Yuri Volkov/Mylène "Petra" Scholten de Ridder

Summary: Second meetings and first chances.

Genre: General, light angst, light fluff, fem!oc

Warnings: Semi-proofread, cursing, references to canon-typical violence, not much going on this time tbh

Word Count: 3k

Note: I got halfway through the next chapter of Bloodsport and rewarded myself with more self indulgent oc stuff... Bit of a shorter chapter than I wanted, but oh well (●'◡'●)

As always, very special thanks to my beloveds @sofasoap, @nrdmssgs, and @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot for their endless encouragement and support <3

"Lively group we've got here." Mylène comments, her narrowed gaze slowly dragging over the other people in the room.

Gathered were the remnants of the one-four-one. All but the pair of bright-eyed, effervescent siblings currently lying in hospital beds. Everything feels darker, somehow, like the sun had been eclipsed at its peak. The thought weighs heavily on those who remain, the silence at first only being broken by the sounds of fabric shuffling as people shifted their weight and the occasional quiet grunt or cough.

"You're lookin' lively yourself, Lt." Kyle is the second one to speak up, his eyes meeting hers from his spot leaned against the wall.

The hospital was charitable enough – or, more likely, Laswell had pulled some strings to 'convince' the staff – to leave a private meeting room empty for the group to gather.

"Okay, we're not going to get anywhere if we don't address the elephant in the room." Laswell interrupts the awkward banter with a low exhale. She's stood at the front of the room with her arms crossed tight over her chest, the tension in her muscles readily apparent to the other woman. "We're not in a good position right now. We're two down, out of leads, and out of intel on Makarov's next moves."

"Very hopeful start, Laswell. You should try being a motivational speaker." Kyle snorts, silently surrendering when her hard stare directs itself at him.

"Kyle." Price's unimpressed and, frankly, exhausted voice lightly scolds the sergeant. Kyle was the most bubbly one in the room, especially given how his only competition was Laswell, Price, Simon, and Mylène – all of whom look to be on the verge of snapping for different, yet related, reasons.

"Do we have anything at all to work with, Kate?" The captain shifts his attention back to the liaison; one of their only allies at the moment.

She takes her time before answering. Her ocean blue eyes are trained on the large, wooden, oval-shaped table in the center of the space, still in pristine condition due to none of them even daring to touch it. "Minimal resources." She starts, pausing to wet her lips. "As you all know by now, we're splitting up to utilize what little we have."

"John, Kyle, you're linking up with Farah's forces to try and gain some intel from within Urzikstan's borders. Ghost, you and Riot are heading to Mexico to follow up on a lead from Colonel Vargas." Laswell continues, taking another pause to meet the remaining lieutenant's mismatched eyes. "You've got a special assignment, Petra."

"So I've heard." Mylène huffs, her tone dry as her arms lift to cross over her chest.

"One of the few leads we have at the moment is on a smuggler – chemical weapons." Laswell states.

"Connected to the agents Konni Group's been drooling over since General Barkov was taken care of?" Mylène's eyebrows knit together, trying to recall any names of known smugglers. A few come to mind, none of which were reliable or still functional, but she mentally files them away nonetheless.

"Exactly that." Laswell nods, sliding a flash drive across the table, right into the other woman's waiting hand. "We don't have a name, just locations of the trades we've been able to confirm. The contact I got this from has already agreed to help with every step of the investigation."

Mylène turns over the USB stick in her hand, eyeing it curiously. "The contact, is it Colonel Volkov again?" She asks, turning to Laswell once more as she safely tucks the flash drive away.

"How'd you guess?"

"Vrag moyego vraga - moi drug." She echoed his prior words, the ones he spoke to the two women back in Arklov Base. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

The older woman lets out something of a chuckle and cracks a smile for the first time since she arrived. "Nikolai agreed to provide transport, at least for linking you up with Yuri. He'll be picking you up in about three hours."

"Three hours— why do none of you give me more time to prepare?" Mylène shoots a pointed look towards Laswell and Simon specifically and turns to walk out, but stops dead in her tracks before she can even take a single step towards the door.

"Someone should be staying with Johnny and Freya. They're still targets, even here." She says, sending the group a wary glance.

Riot was hovering over the siblings' bedsides at the moment, hence why she was missing the meeting, but she'll be leaving with Simon before the end of the day. They'll be left alone. Someone needs to stay with the two, just in case.

"We've already got that covered."

Mylène quirks a brow at Laswell's assured statement, until she hears the door behind her open and close with a soft click.

A tall, broad figure is standing in front of it, dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a black hoodie with the hood lowered, showing off a head of messy dark brown curls. A set of forest green eyes stare back at her, the rich color standing out against the dark circles under his eyes and the long, jagged scar running down the left side of his face. It starts just above his eyebrow and disappears into the black surgical mask he's wearing, giving some air of mystery despite her knowing exactly what exists underneath.

Emiel Scholten de Ridder. Nightfall.

To others, he may be an imposing character, but to Mylène, he's just her little brother. Well, little in age.

"Finally staying in one place for more than a few days?" She draws him into a tight hug with a gleeful smile on her lips.

"Seems like it." He chuckles into her hair, returning the hug for a few seconds. "She decided to pull me off my last assignment and station me here to keep an eye on things."

"I wanted the best on the job." Laswell clarifies, earning a confident nod from the younger woman. "Nightfall will stay in the hospital as long as Soap and Mini are here. They'll be safe." She adds and meets Mylène's gaze once more.

"If there are no more questions, then I'll let you get prepared."

"None at all, Watcher."

⋆⋆⋆

The heavy blades of the helicopter are a welcomed sight, whipping up a light breeze that blows the loose strands of hair framing Petra's back as the vehicle descends.

She wastes no time in approaching it and sliding the side door back, stepping up into the cabin. The door shuts behind her with another heavy thud, leaving her standing in a UH-60 Black Hawk so familiar that she might as well call it her second home.

"Good to see you in one piece, Mila!" Nikolai calls out over his shoulder. Petra turns to flash him a smile, carefully setting her backpack against a wall before coming up to the cockpit.

"Thought Makarov took me out of commission, too?" She hums, calmly settling in the co-pilot's seat next to his.

"You? Of course not." He laughs, hearty and full of life. It was refreshing after spending so much time in the hospital. "I am just happy to see you doing well, my friend." He adds once the laughter dies down, the helicopter taking off just as quickly as it had landed.

Petra shifts in her seat in anticipation for the longer flight. "I'm assuming we're not meeting Colonel Volkov at Arklov Base again?" She asks with a soft laugh of her own.

"Unless you are willing to brave sarin gas, then, no." Nikolai comments. "He's in Zaporizhzhia."

"Zaporizhzhia?"

"Melitopol, to be exact." He clarifies, intentionally slowing his speech and harshly pronouncing each syllable with a cheeky grin.

"Fucks sake, I know what it is." She huffs, ignoring his amused snort as she shakes her head. "What's he doing in southern Ukraine?"

"Waiting for us, probably." He shrugs with the sarcastic response. "Did Laswell send you in with any information on this op?"

"Yeah, actually, thanks for the reminder." Petra jumps up from her seat and shuffles over to her bag, unzipping it and pulling a tablet out. She plops down in her seat again after a moment, scrolling through the pages of intel that she transferred from the flash drive that Laswell gave her before she left.

Like she said before, it was mostly locations of confirmed trades between the yet-unnamed smuggler and Konni Group. There was an attempt at pinpointing his home base, but the locations were too scattered all over the map to centralize them. Unsurprisingly, a decent amount of the trades happened in Eastern Europe – they already knew it was Konni Group's playground, though, so it gave her nothing about the smuggler himself.

"Maybe he knows something that we don't." Petra mumbles, half to herself and half to the pilot. "The next deal could be happening in Ukraine." She adds.

"Suppose we won't know until we talk with him." Nikolai comments, earning an affirmative hum from her. A second passes before he speaks again. "When was the last time you slept?"

She blinks, her gaze flitting up from the screen and landing on him. "What?"

"Sleep? The thing most people do at night?" He explains, completely ignoring the way she rolls her eyes as soon as he starts. "When you close your eyes and dream of handsome pilots who always come through to help you in your times of need?"

"Having romantic dreams about yourself again, Nik?" She quirks a brow at him. "And, I'm fine. I slept—"

She cuts herself off, her lashes fluttering as she blinks a few more times. Her eyes drop to the tablet sitting on her thighs, unfocused on the screen as it slowly darkens before shutting itself off.

"...Some time recently." She mutters after a few seconds.

"We'll be up here for a while, you will have plenty of time to agonize over those files after we land. Get some rest while you still can, Mila." His voice softens, the previous humor in it dissipating and making room for a genuine concern that she only heard in certain moments.

Still, she argues. There was just too much for her to do. "But, I—"

"My bird, my rules. Get some rest." Nikolai replies without missing a beat. He doesn't even look at her while giving the command, nonchalantly glancing over a few gauges and dials like it was natural for him. Well, it was probably as natural as breathing at this point.

With a sigh comparable to that of a child getting sent to bed, she concedes. "Fine, just wake me up before we land." Petra shifts and gets into a more comfortable position, the tablet forgotten on the panel as she semi-awkwardly curls up and eventually finds a way to drift off into a light sleep.

⋆⋆⋆

The telltale sound of the helicopter descending is what wakes her up, eventually. Petra rubs the sleep out of her eyes before it touches down and hurries to grab the tablet, maneuvering back to her backpack and shoving it inside.

"Melitopol, safe and sound." Nikolai announces, stepping out of the cockpit after shutting everything down.

"Didn't doubt you for even a second." She slips her backpack on with a slow exhale and follows the pilot out onto the tarmac.

The sun was starting to crest over the horizon, spilling a healthy balance of oranges, reds, yellows, and pink hues all over the sky above. The location they had landed at was some sort of base – not necessarily military, judging by the lack of a uniform… well, uniform, amongst the few people gracing the small airfield. Mercenaries, she assumes.

"So, where are we meeting him?" She asks, carefully examining her surroundings.

"Right here, if that works for you."

Petra turns when she hears the familiar voice, gravelly and rich, and sees the man himself approaching them.

"Colonel Volkov, always good to see a friendly face." She greets him, stepping forward to meet him and holding out her hand.

"Please, there is no need for formalities." He chuckles, shaking her hand far more gently than she was used to. "Just call me Yuri."

"Yuri. That works for me." A bright smile flashes across her face as his name leaves her lips.

It's right then and there that something in the back of the colonel's mind changes, begging him to only have his name spoken that way from now on. Spoken by her. He tries to ignore that feeling, especially as the other Russian in the group catches his attention.

"Yuri, my brother." Nikolai shares his own cheerful greeting with the man, one that’s eagerly reciprocated as the two hug briefly.

"It's been too long, my friend." Yuri comments, patting his shoulder one last time as the two part.

"You two have known each other for a long time?" Petra quirks a brow at the pair as Yuri starts to lead them to a car nearby. He fishes a set of keys out of his pocket – he’s in civvies, she realizes. Dark jeans and a navy blue windbreaker, with the collar of a simple black shirt peeking out from underneath – and tosses them to Nikolai.

"Something like that." Nikolai slides into the driver’s seat after catching the keys. The other two circle around to the passengers’ side, where Petra reaches out to open the door for herself. Yuri beats her to it, though, and he holds the door open while she slips into the backseat. He sits in the front, leaving her to lean forward and poke her head between the two men.

"So, where are we heading from here?" She chirps, realizing but refusing to admit just how much that short nap on the helicopter helped her. For the first time in weeks, she feels like she has some energy.

"South, past the border." Yuri replies, his low voice rumbling right next to her ear.

Wait, what? "The border? We're heading into Crimea?"

"I am assuming Laswell gave you the information I delivered to her." He continues, turning his head just enough to meet her confused gaze. "The smuggler working with Konni Group isn't the one we are going after, since he hardly shows his face for these trades, but the man who facilitates most of the deals should be here for an upcoming one."

She hums. "When is it?"

The car pulls onto a road after leaving the base, quiet and mostly vacant of any other vehicles as the light of the sun slowly begins to fade from the sky. Moving in the dark. It's smart. Petra had already sat back in her seat before reaching into her bag, lazily dropped next to her. She fishes her tablet out, deciding to give the information a thorough scan, unlike her cursory glance in the helicopter.

"Three days from now. Not sure what time." Yuri mutters. "I have my own contact coming into town tomorrow to assist. FSB."

"FSB? Are you sure they can be trusted with this?" She huffs, raising her brows again as she looks at the side of his face.

He makes a small sound, akin to a curt chuckle. "Trust me, he is reliable. He's bringing information on our broker and claims to hate him just as much as we do."

"Do we even have a name for our target? Laswell couldn't give me one." She blinks, wracking her brain again for any known smugglers.

He shrugs, the quiet rustling of fabric his only answer for a brief moment. "We will tomorrow."

Petra accepts his response with a nod and a muted sigh. The drive to the border would be at least another few hours, and she was sure that crossing it would end up being some elaborate scheme to avoid detection by the border patrol. In any case, she buries her nose in file after file while Nikolai chats the other Russian's ear off.

At one point during the drive, already over an hour in, the pilot was spinning some recent tale about his nebo that she halfway tunes in for. Her eyes flit up after he says something about her "kicking his ass" and, after a low snort that she denies when he points it out, her gaze drifts to the rear-view mirror. Curiosity, the instinct to check the road behind them without making a scene, some random desire to look at herself – she isn't sure what motivates her to do it, but when she meets a pair of steel blue irides in the reflection, she freezes.

Yuri, in his silence only broken by muttered "oh's," "ah's," and quiet hums whenever Nikolai badgered him enough for a response, was eyeing her in the mirror.

And, here she was, meeting his gaze and staring back just the same. They already had a moment like this once before: at Arklov Base, before the missiles hit and disrupted the meeting Laswell had stolen her away from her team for. There was some kind of energy, a spark, even, that seemed to keep drawing their attentions back to each other, even with a woman discussing a potential world war brewing or a man actively attempting to steal the show right next to them.

She would deny the faint shiver creeping down her spine, just as he would deny the subtle electricity beneath his skin forcing him to flex his hands. They break eye contact at the same time, with his moving to the road ahead as hers drops down to her screen once more.

There is one thing Petra can tell already, as she quietly raps her fingers against her thigh and attempts to distract her mind. This mission is going to be more trouble than it's worth.

Vrag moyego vraga - moi drug. (Враг моего врага - мой друг.) - The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Mila - Slavic diminutive of Mylène

Nebo (Небо) - Sky

23 notes · View notes

tigerlyla-of-metinna · 10 months

Text

Three Years. No other games/mediums/ books made me create so many than The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt, and specifically Emhyr and his Nilfgaardian Empire.

Eventually I will branch out and create portraits outside of Nilfgaard. But I will always return to the empire. It's what created this channel.

95 notes · View notes

paintbrushinacoffeecup · 5 months

Text

I build myself up

And fly around in circles

Waiting as my heart drops

And my back begins to tingle

Finally, could this be it, or?

#my art #my oc #artists on tumblr #digital art #the magnus archives #tma #tma oc #vast #implied eye #the vast #the eye #Emiel Wolke #Eryl Vates

18 notes · View notes

sinfulpetgirlrd · 7 months

Text

Fandom: The Witcher Rating: Explicit Chapter Warnings: Holy shit this is a tame chapter! Really only warnings are mental breakdown and blood drinking Chapters: 22/?

As Petal slowly emerged from her deep slumber, she was plagued by a throbbing headache that felt like a group of wild elephants stampeding in her skull. She licked her dry, cracked lips, trying to rid herself of the sour taste of old blood, but her tongue felt thick, making it difficult to swallow and breathe comfortably. In a bid to alleviate her frustration, she tried to rub her face, but her body was weighed down by a crippling exhaustion that made every movement feel like a herculean task. She might as well have just regenerated from a pile of ash, so profound was her fatigue.

Groaning softly, she just lay there for a few moments, enjoying the coolness of the sheets against her oddly warm skin. Keeping her eyes closed, she scented the room, taking deep breath after deep breath as she allowed her body the time it needed to fully wake up. As she breathed, her top lip pulled back to make drawing in the different scents easier. In doing so, she noticed that her teeth felt different, sharper, like there were more fangs than just two…but, chalking it up to the fact that she felt horrid overall, she brushed the sensation aside before picking through the fragrances in the air. The space around her smelled stale, musty even, like someone had left a window open for months on end, letting the rain and snow seep into the woodwork. It was off-putting, but under it, buried deep below the metallic stench that always clung to vampires, was a smell she couldn’t really put her finger on. Something that smelled vaguely like Geralt’s home.

Intrigued, Odessa slowly opened her eyes and squinted at the harsh light cast from the candelabra that hung above her.

~~~

Contuine reading on AO3

#the witcher #the witcher 3 #tw3 wild hunt #emiel regis #emiel regis rohellec terzieff godefroy #dettlaff van der eretein #dettlaff #geralt of rivia #geralt #fan art #read on ao3 #oc insert #ai audio #fanfiction #daz3d

22 notes · View notes

cupsoupenjoyer003 · 1 month

Text

[Some more Regis and Ogar 🤨]

#art #artists on tumblr #fyp #my art #digital art #fanart #oc x canon #witcher art #wiedźmin #the witcher #witcher oc #witcher 3 #emiel regis #higher vampire #werewolf #witcherari

16 notes · View notes

merlot-and-chardonnay · 3 months

Text

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons Bonus Chapter: the Lark's Broken Wings

Okay, so as I've said I would, we have a bonus chapter to focus on the Lady of Larks and her trauma. I'll admit I had to go to a pretty dark place to make this chapter a reality, it was not easy to write.

That being said, major content warning with mentions of PTSD and sexual assault and the trauma associated with that. If this makes you uncomfortable, hang in there, I have more chapters planned for the main story line (plus a couple more bonus chapters).

Also I as a writer recognize that r*pe related trauma is not a universal experience, and it affects people in different and varying ways. If you have been through a similar experience, know you are not alone.

The following story also takes place during the Baptism of Fire story line more or less.

"No...no...please...stop...."

Your pleas in your sleep along with your thrashing about in your sleep bag stirred some in the group who made camp for the night.

Among those was Geralt who was quick to get on his feet and approach you. The witcher was followed by Jaskier who took a few seconds more to realize what was happening.

Zoltan Chivay and Cahir were a little slower to wake, Zoltan rubbing his eyes, "what is going on now?" he asks, "are we under attack again?"

"No," was Milva's answer as she approached with concern, "it's happening again."

"Go away....get away..." you continue as your nightmares of the Rogue Prince continue to haunt you.

"(y/n)?" Geralt places a hand on your shoulder and tries to shake it in an attempt to wake you. "(y/n)! You're having a nightmare! Wake up! (y/n)!"

"GET AWAY!" you scream, eyes wide as you bolt up from where you laid. You broke out in cold sweat, panting hard like you had been running for your life. Considering what your nightmare consisted of, you might as well have.

"(y/n)-" Geralt tried to touch you again, but you slap his hand and back away from no one in particular, clearly still in panic mode and hyperventilating. "He's coming, he's coming for me. He's coming for me, he's coming for me..."

"(y/n), you were having a nightmare," Jaskier tries to reason but you didn't listen, only screaming and crying in response. "He's coming for me again."

Geralt and Jaskier only exchange concerned looks, completely at a loss of what to do. "What do we do?" Jaskier whispers to the witcher. "(y/n)," Geralt tries again in a soft voice, slowly approaching, staying at a certain distance to keep you from feeling like you were suffocating. "He's not coming for you again, (y/n)."

You feel your breath return to normal, looking around to see Geralt kneeling in front of you. To his left you see Jaskier and to the right you see Milva and Regis and the others in the group staring at you.

It was just a nightmare, you realize. You were not in King's Landing anymore. You were not being abused at the hands of Daemon Targaryen anymore...you didn't have Aemma in your arms anymore. You had escaped...but at the cost of losing your daughter in the process.

You felt the tears threaten to spill. You place your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from making any weeping sounds. "(y/n)," you hear Geralt say, empathy conveyed in his tone. You lean into Geralt, not caring about the scene you were probably causing before the company, "he took my daughter from me," you whisper as you sob incoherently into Geralt's shoulder, "My Aemma...my little girl." "I know...I know," Geralt rubs your back for comfort, sadness filling inside him for you, and the anger for the man who did this to you rising.

You stayed in Geralt's arms for a bit, willing to stay there all night, maybe forever. But then you saw the rest of the groups staring at you with looks of confusion and pity. You pull away. "What are you all looking at?" you ask, sniffling and wiping your eyes, "it was just a nightmare."

"It seemed more than that," Milva points out. "Well it was," you insist, "I'm fine, really." "Are you certain?" Cahir questions. "Yes, what does it matter to you? Why is he even still here?" you exasperate, "I thought we kicked him out. Aren't still mad at him because of Ciri?" "How about we don't change the subject?" Milva steps in. You lightly push her to the side, "I'm fine," you repeat, "I'm sorry I woke you all. I just want to go back to sleep."

You lay back on your sleep mat, turning around and curling your knees to your chest, trying to ignore the stares from everyone else in the camp. You were not a victim, you say to yourself- the things that happened to you in King's Landing at the hands of...that man did not change you or damage you in any way. All this, despite the fact this wasn't the first time those nightmares haunted your sleep, and it wasn't the first time said nightmares forced you to scream and wake up everyone around you.

After escaping the Lodge, you were reunited with Geralt and Jaskier, whom were just as relieved to see as the last time they saw you, you were at death's door and had disappeared seemingly in the middle of the night. You explained to them what had actually happened, that Yennefer took you to a secret place to save you with the help of her fellow sorceresses.

At first Geralt had been furious that Yennefer would put you in the position you were in, and not trusting him enough to tell him her plan, but he was glad she did what needed to be done to save your life. You had yet to disclose that the remedy that saved your life also came at the expense of your fertility.

After the reunion, you had been introduced to the others that were part of the company: the vampire Regis, a dwarf Zoltan, Cahir, and a dryad named Milva. All four of them were somewhat familiar with who you were as the Lady of Larks, but didn't know the extent of the events you had endured as of recent.

The company was heading South towards Nilfgaard with the hopes of rescuing Ciri from the hands of the Emperor. You wanted to go back to Westeros to rescue Aemma, but with no mage to open a portal back to that place, it would take an army to lay siege to King's Landing just to save your daughter. It was a long shot, but maybe if you found a way to appeal to the Emperor's more empathetic nature, he might be able to help with that. Again, you were not sure how that would work, but it was the only plan anyone had.

It was a long journey, and your bouts of panic attacks during the day, and the nightmares that followed weren't exactly helping the company, save for depriving them of a full night's sleep and slowing their trek when you needed to step away to calm yourself.

It was understandable they were all concerned, especially Geralt and Jaskier, but you still insisted you were alright, and this was temporary. It would all go away as soon as you got Aemma back, you convinced yourself to believe. Once she was back in your arms and away from her father, the nightmares would surely cease once and for all.

The following morning, the company departed at first light. You trailed behind for the majority of the trek, wanting to avoid eye contact with anyone in the group, and also with the hopes of avoiding answering any uncomfortable questions. Geralt was leading the group; today, it looked like he was able to cover more ground at a faster pace then he did yesterday. Since that day on Thanedd, when you were still in King's Landing, when that coup took place and Geralt suffered significant damage at the hands of the sorcerer Vilgefortz, the witcher has dealt with occasional bouts and flare ups that were associated with chronic pain. While he could put up with it most days, Geralt also had bad days. Even when Regis was kind enough to create a medicated balm to ease the pain, the witcher would still have days when the pain was too much, and he would either need to take it slow, or stop the trek altogether. You understood, and had no wish to push the man past what he was able to bare on those days. It was going to be a long journey anyway, what was a few extra days to stop and rest?

While you lagged behind, you found yourself lost in thought, thinking about your dream, specifically the part of the dream that wasn't a nightmare. When you heard Aemma crying in her room. You had walked in, seeing her in distress. You didn't know why, but you came to her side, picked her up in your arms, and sang her a soothing lullaby, which calmed her and had her falling asleep against your chest. You thought about how that dreamed reminded you of when you would do similar things with Aemma back in Dragonstone and King's Landing, when she was the one thing that kept you going during those dark times. She was what kept you fighting to survive so you and her could escape that terrible place. You escaped...and she was still behind.

You didn't want to think about how worried she was for you, not knowing where you were or if you were even coming back. Part of you had speculated the things her father was putting inside her head as of right now. What lies was Daemon concocting right now to fill inside your daughter's head. That you died? That you abandoned her? That someone came and took you from her?

What if it was too late by the time you went back with the proper reinforcements? What if your daughter was so convinced by Daemon's lies, she would end up hating you?

You felt the tears build up, but you don't bother to stop them from spilling as no one in the front would see you crying. Or so you were hoping.

Milva looked behind to see your silent tears. She lagged now to be by your side. "Are you thinking about last night?" the dryad inquires. You shake your head and wipe your tears. "I wasn't thinking about last night," you assure. "Bullshit," Milva scoffs. "I don't want to talk about it," you huff. "Suit yourself," Milva concedes. The two of you walk side by side in awkward silence for a few brief moments before she spoke again, a little more empathy in her voice this time around.

"I used to have nightmares too, you know." You say nothing, continuing to walk in silence. "Most of them were of my stepfather," the dryad continues, "The man he...well we didn't get along. Well I didn't get along with him, and he tried to get along with me a little too well. He would always unwanted advances towards me even though he was married to my mother. I was barely past adolescence around that time. Even after I stood up for myself and ran away after knocking him out with a rake, he still haunted me one way or another. I used to dream he was coming after me for revenge or something far worse." You turn your head to make eye contact with Milva.

You didn't know too much about her, save for what little she has disclosed to the company so far; before becoming part of the dryads of Brokelin Forest, Milva was part of a family of hunters in Upper Sodden. Her father taught her everything she knew about the trade, and it was something she maintained well, having made her first kill when she was only 11. You knew her mother had remarried after her father died, and she ran away soon after, but this was the first time you understood why. You didn't know how much Geralt had disclosed to the dryads when they first brought him to the forest to heal him with the waters of Brokelin Forest, but Milva remembered when Geralt insisted he needed to get to King's Landing to rescue from the family of dragon lords who ruled that place. She was under the impression they kept you in prison there. She was right, though it wasn't a prison like a dungeon. It was a gilded cage, one that seemed nice and luxurious on the outside, but on the inside it had turned into your personal hell.

"I'm sorry you went through that," you told her, meaning it, "but I fail to understand what this has to do with me." "I...I just thought it might help if you knew you are not alone in whatever it is you went through. Whoever it was that hurt you-" "Nobody hurt me!" you insist. Milva only gave a incredulous look in response, to which you took offense. "What you don't believe me?" "I'd have an easier time believing you if you weren't so defensive," Milva explains, "I used to get that way too. I tried to convince others around me, the other dryads, that my past didn't damage me. I would put up a front and act like I was not broken, not after I went through-" "I'm not you, Milva!" you interrupt her, the others up front pretend like they're not listening in.

"I'm sorry that you went through such horrible things, but that wasn't me. Yes, I was...in a less than ideal situation. I endured more shit in the last three years than I ever did in my whole life, I was...I was forced to do things I had no say in, sure that happened, and those things happen everyday. But I'm not damaged." "(y/n)-" "I'm not a victim, Milva," you insist, "I survived and I came out in one piece. Well, one piece was left behind, but I'm fine. I at least know my daughter is in a place where she can't be harmed for the time being. I'll be fine. I'll solider through till we get to Nilfgaard, rescue Ciri, and then rescue Aemma."

You stare daggers at the group, whom you knew were eavesdropping due to the fact they had slowed down, "and you all can stop pretending you were not listening in!" you shout. "(y/n), it was none of our intention to eavesdrop," Jaskier tries to intervene, running over to you, "we're just...you know, concerned."

"Why? Why all this concern?" you exasperate. "(y/n), you were held against your will on some foreign land with no allies or friends, except for your daughter. You were forbidden to leave and he-" You now stare daggers at your brother, almost daring him to finish his sentence, "he did what, Julian? HE did WHAT?"

At this point, the company all but stop moving. Jaskier could see in your eyes you were not going to acknowledge what happened to you anytime soon, and any further pushes would only lead to you clamping down on your unresolved trauma. You would only continue to keep it all in, even when it continue to bubble up to the surface, be it in the form of your nightmares or your daytime panic attacks. So your brother steps and concedes, "...nothing, little sister. Forgive me for doubting you being fine. I believe you."

You didn't believe him, but accepted his apology all the same.

The company continued their trek.

Jaskier walked up ahead to Geralt, "Geralt-" "I know," the witcher whispers to his friend. "She can't keep going like this," Jaskier insists, "if she doesn't let it out soon, it may end up destroying her before we even get to Nilfgaard." "She won't talk about it," Geralt points out. "She can't keep it in," Jaskier points back, "I know she keeps saying she's fine, but I know she's not. I saw that look in her eyes when I came for her in King's Landing. You saw that look too, Geralt, you know she was at the end of her limit."

Geralt had a sad look in his eye when he subtly turned to see you walking behind, putting on a brave face for anyone that would see you.

The witcher recalled how after the two of you reunited, you would sleep next to him at nights, albeit with some space in between. You often would turn from him, curling up with your knees to your chest, hugging yourself in your sleep as if you were trying to protect yourself from whatever perceived dangers may be coming your way. He thought about the times when you and him shared a kiss, how quick you were to pull away so abruptly; there was even one time when you were making out which ended in you slapping him in misdirected anger, only for you to look at him in shock when you realized what you've done. He would ask, but he never pressed when you simply answered it was nothing and you were fine. Not at all trying to repress your trauma.

Geralt could only speculate the things Daemon did to you. He already had some idea given the state you were in before the escape. It was telling in the way you flinched and backed off during any attempts you made to be intimate with him.

"Maybe there is a way she can process it...indirectly?" Geralt suggests for a solution?

Jaskier thinks on this, an idea dawning on him when he remembered a little activity you and him used to do years back before your time in Westeros.

--------later that evening-------------

"So...you want to collaborate on an epic?" you tilt your head a little in curiosity, yet feeling skeptical. "Yeah, why not?" Jaskier points out, "come on, little sister, we used to do this all the time, remember? We created some of our best ballads when we worked together, brother and sister, why try that to maybe create an epic this time?"

You were still hesitant, yet it did sound like a good idea. You and your brother had indeed done something like that many years back when the two of you were still socializing in the same circles, something you had been doing since before even meeting Geralt, when you and Jaskier would brainstorm together for coming up with new songs and ballads to perform in taverns and such.

It's been a while, but if it would help take your mind off certain things for just a little while then you were not complaining. "Okay," you nod, taking out a pen and paper, "we did compose some pretty amazing songs when we put our minds together. What do you think this epic should curtail?"

"Well," Jaskier begins the brainstorm, "I was maybe thinking of something along the lines of...a long journey, one filled with strife and struggle, one filled with pain, but it ends with something good, where the heroine in the story comes out of it on top." "Heroine?" you furrow your brows a bit, "interesting. Not many people think of women when they think epic of strife and struggle." "Well, maybe you could have an input on that," Jaskier suggests, "you are a woman after all." "Yeah...I am..." you say softly, taking some deep breaths as you put the pen to paper, trying to focus on some ideas.

It felt like forever as you struggle to come up with ideas. "Take your time, sis," Jaskier encourages, "there's no rush." "I know that," you say through gritted teeth, "I'm just...I can do this. I'm not sure how to feminize this epic." "I wasn't thinking of feminizing- well maybe a little. It's a heroine's struggle after all." "Heroine's struggle," you repeat absentmindedly, thinking of your own strife. The imprisonment, the abuse, the numerous assaults, the unwanted pregnancy that ended in a mutated miscarriage, the near death experience that followed, the physical cost that came to saving your life, the second imprisonment and the second escape that followed....

Everything else that happened in between. Having your daughter pried from your arms at the very last second just as you had tasted freedom once again. The idea that some time may very well pass before you ever see her again, the idea that you may lose seeing many major milestones in her life.

All this-and yet....you could not them into physical words. Why? Why was this not possible? You were able to channel your emotions and life experiences into your work before, why couldn't you do it now?

You feel your writing hand shake as your breaths became uneven- something that didn't go unnoticed by your brother.

"(y/n)? (y/n) are you alright? (y/n)?" Jaskier frantically questions, though you didn't hear him the first time around. "I...I can't do it," you say in a soft voice. "What?" "I can't do it," you say as your voice broke, a tear escaping your eye, wetting the paper. "You can't do what?" Jaskier asks. "I...I...I can't..." you shake your head and look up to see the concerned expression from your brother. "I'm sorry," you try to quickly assure, wiping your eyes, "I'm just exhausted. I should go to bed now." "(y/n), we only just begun, you can't just-" "I can and I will," you say rather snappy.

"(y/n), this is hardly like you to cut something like this so short," Jaskier brings up. "There's a first for everything," you say, trying to sound stoic, "I just need to sleep and it will come to me when I am ready."

"(y/n)-" "I'M FINE JASKIER!" you scream at the man, once again getting the attention of the company, "I know what you're trying to do, Julian, and it's not going to get me to admit anything." "What exactly would I even want you to admit," Jaskier exasperates, having reached his limits in patience, "(y/n), you can't keep this to yourself forever. You were imprisoned in King's Landing for three bloody years. You had your daughter ripped from your arms at the very last minutes, for gods SAKE (Y/N), the father of your child-" "Jaskier-" "He-" "don't. you. dare. finish that sentence-" "He's the reason you were in that situation in the first place, he assaulted you on more than one occasion, (y/n), and I know this, because I saw the effect it was having on you at the Red Keep even when you kept assuring everything was going to be alright in the end," Jaskier continues, "but it's not alright, is it, (y/n)? He hurt you in more ways than one and you can't admit the damaged he caused-"

"I AM NOT FUCKING DAMAGED!" you shrieked, "I'M NOT DAMAGED, JASKIER! I'M NOT A VICTIM! HE ALREADY TOOK SOMETHING FROM ME PHYSICALLY, I AM NOT ABOUT TO LET TAKE AWAY MY CREATIVITY!!"

"...what do you mean he took something physically from you...?" Jaskier asks, eyes slightly wide from that piece of information you unwittingly revealed.

Unable to hide anymore, the dam of tears broke, "I can't have anymore children, Julian," you finally confess, which got Geralt's attention right quick. "What do you mean?" "I...I...I was dying," you further confess in tears, "Yen- she- she took me to the Lodge of Sorceresses and- and they saved my life, but it came at the cost of my womb, the same womb that was already fucking damaged from that...mutation. He caused it. Dae...Aemma's father was the reason that even happened in the first place. He was hoping I would give him a son, and I would've. But now, I'll never have anymore children. Aemma is all I'll ever have, and she was ripped away from me. How much time must I lose before I see her again? What will I miss by the time I see her again? I'll never get to experience all those little milestones with anyone else, and now it seems I won't be able to experience those with her."

You look to see the pitiful looks once again, from Jaskier, from Geralt, and everyone else.

You couldn't stand it anymore.

Choking down more sob you turn and run, wanting for nothing more then solitude to process the grief you should have processed a long time ago.

More to be continued...

Bonus Masterlist

#hotd #the witcher #geralt of rivia #oc #ciri #jaskier #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #milva #zoltan #emiel regis #geralt x reader

10 notes · View notes

sofasoap · 5 months

Text

When you and your moot ( ahem @siilvan) started half joking half bouncing idea and half writing an AU fic for our OCs...

That ended up...

All within one afternoon.

Why can't we write so fast when we wanted to??

And why do we keep writing the OC story backwards??

#confused #But we love our OCs #Too much #Hello my Mini #And hello my son in law Emiel #Sofasoap rambles

6 notes · View notes

bananasofthorns · 4 months

Note

✨ and 🧠 for anyone?

I'll do this for Emiel, one of my dungeons dragons npcs!

✨ - How did you come up with the OC’s name?

I honestly don't remember 😭 it means "rival" so it's possible that came after I wrote part of his backstory (got werewolfed, ended up taking over the pack that the guy who turned him lead)? otherwise it might've just been vibes

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

I think his design is pretty cool! My favorite part of it is that he's a fairy and before the werewolf attack that turned him, he had wings, but because of the attack his wings and one of his arms and one of his legs (?? I think. I know for sure one of his legs) had to be amputated, and when he got prosthetics he designed them to aesthetically match what his wings had looked like

oc ask game

#banana made a post #banana answers things #banana oc: emiel #i THINK that's his tag?? idk lmao #anyway he is the most insane guy ever he has so much going on

2 notes · View notes

spinchboli · 2 years

Text

Autism posting

Back on my elder scrolls bullshit

Wanted to dump my Witcher and elder scrolls doodles here lol

Some of these are fucking old as shiy

#emiel regis #regis #the witcher #the witcher fanart #regis fanart #elder scrolls #elder scrolls art #skyrim #miraak art #miraak #herma mora #hermaeus mora #the last dragonborn #skyrim ldb #ldb oc #miraak x ldb #regis x geralt #gay gay homosexual gay #[spinch art]

29 notes · View notes

bhalspawn · 8 months

Text

pretty boy alert

#he's handsome and stupid about astarion ♥#oc: emiel #altho i may change his name to lorchan. hmm #bg3 posting

6 notes · View notes

meltymoth · 1 year

Text

sparkles and necromancy !

#emiel #oc #myart #espathra

209 notes · View notes

siilvan · 3 months

Text

OC File: Emiel "Nightfall" Scholten de Ridder

uh y'all want another oc bio? my boy? my son? petra's "little" brother? mini's husband in some universes?

as per petra's post... thank you to my mutuals with their wonderful ocs and everyone who gave support for petra, it's genuinely giving me the confidence that i've desperately lacked despite making ocs since i was 11 years old 😭

profile art to come soon, men are hard to draw 👻

very long post BTC (again)...

again, credit to cptnprice for the file!!

GENERAL

Name: Emiel "Nightfall" Scholten de Ridder II

Nicknames/Aliases: Nightfall, Night, "The Reaper", Stalker-5, STAR 1, Jonkie (by Mylène)

Rank: Sergeant

Gender: Male

Birth Date: September 17, 1993

Nationality: Dutch

Affiliations: Royal Netherlands Army, Korps Commandotroepen, Coalition (Warcom), Task Force 141, SpecGru

Birthplace: Rotterdam, Netherlands

Current Residence: The Hague, Netherlands

APPEARANCE

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Eye Color: Green

Height: 6'4" (1.93 m)

Weight: 220 lbs (100 kg)

Build: Athletic (Big. Slutty waist.)

Blood Type: O-

Marks: Arm tattoos (pictured below), scar across face (think smth similar to Adler's scar), scarring around left wrist, black prosthetic left hand

Faceclaim: Wouter Peelen

DETAILS

Sexuality: Bisexual (no preference king)

Languages: Dutch (native), English (C2), German (C1), Russian (B1), Arabic (B2)

Education: Intelligence Studies BA from the University of Amsterdam

Preferred Hairstyles: Keeps it decently short and manageable pre-MWII, lets it grow out to shoulder length after (it gets curly <3)

Preferred Mission Attire: Usually wears stylized combat fatigues (think Reaper Ghost or SC), also wears normal long-sleeved shirts, jeans, cargos, hoodies, or t-shirts depending on the weather. Wears black 99% of the time, occasionally blue or white. The most key part of his outfit: mask. Almost always is wearing at least a half mask, often wears a balaclava or full-face mask (think Io or Atom). Typically wears a hood if he's got a mask on, too. Winter Soldier-Stitch (Black Ops) vibes.

Preferred Civilian Attire: Like his sister, very casual. Jeans typically, with plain t-shirts, henleys, flannels. Wears hoodies, bomber jackets, leather jackets, anything to keep him cozy. Again, wears black 99% of the time. Occasionally brown, blue, green, or white. Likes layering, simultaneously looks put-together and disheveled.

Favorite Color: Black, Ultramarine (iykyk)

Favorite Flower: Marigold

PERSONALITY

Myers-Briggs Type: INFJ-T. Introverted, intuitive, feeling, judging, and turbulent. Night prefers to make a difference and seek fulfillment in quieter ways, like hobbies with no "goal" or work that can go uncredited. He strives to prove himself via helping others, often shouldering burdens that others shy away from for the sake of getting things done without forcing those around him to suffer discomfort. Insight, passion, altruism, and principled tendencies often conflict with defensiveness, stubbornness, perfectionism, and forgoing his beliefs and values for the sake of the "greater good."

FAMILY

Father: Colonel Hendrik "Chimera" Scholten de Ridder. Former KCT commander and military legend-turned terrorist. (deceased)

Mother: Johanna Scholten de Ridder (née van den Bos). Former MEDINT analyst for the BVD and MID. (deceased)

Sister: Lieutenant Mylène "Petra" Scholten de Ridder. KCT operative and one of the commanding officers of TF141; MEDINT and chemical warfare expert. The two keep in contact despite the covert nature of Night's assignments.

Uncle: Unnamed paternal uncle. Father's younger brother, civilian military engineer. Lost his life in a terrorist attack in the mid-1990s. (deceased)

Aunt: Special Agent Merel "Songbird" van den Bos. Mother's older sister, former agent for the BVD and MID. Specialist in foreign relations and espionage. May or may not be living in the USA and married to Frank Woods (spoiler: she is).

Grandfather: General Emiel Scholten de Ridder. Paternal grandfather, former commander of the Royal Netherlands Army. Yes, he's named after him. (deceased)

SKILLS

Fighting Style: Adaptable, but prefers to avoid direct fights. Studied kickboxing, Wing Chun, and Krav Maga in his youth – CQC is influenced by these.

Weapons: Can use whatever is available.

Preferred Weapons: MCPR-300 (22″ OMX-456 barrel, Corio Laz-44 V3 laser, Nilsound 90 muzzle, .300 Mag Explosive ammunition), X13 Auto, Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife, karambit, throwing knives

Special Skills: Specializes in sniper techniques, special reconnaissance, VIP protection, prime target elimination, demolitions, and sabotage. Has passed every marksman test with flying colors; never misses a shot, even in the worst conditions. Does his best work alone and in the dark. Swift and deadly.

Hobbies: Cooking, baking, reading, sports (baseball, climbing, kickboxing, swimming, soccer), music (guitar), photography, motorcycling

Former Hobbies: Did archery in his youth. Doesn't have time for it anymore, but it should be obvious why he's a sniper now.

TRIVIA

The name Emiel can mean "to strive, excel, rival, emulating", Scholten refers to a schout (government official that handled administration of justice), and de Ridder means "the knight".

His callsign Nightfall is in reference to his preference to work in the dark – both literally and figuratively. It's also a play on the phrase "lights out", since his work is best described as "putting people to sleep." (Because he's an assassin-type. Get it?)

Took interest in guitar shortly after he turned six, right before his mom died. He didn't play for years after her death, but decided to pick it up again as a young adult.

Greatly resembles his father and the other men on his paternal side. He's been described as having his mother's eyes and some of her "softer" features, though. Absolutely built like a brick wall.

Jokes about having a lot of experience, has slept with maybe 3 people in his entire life – and, none since his capture in 2017. He's willing to date, but is incredibly reserved after that incident. He desperately needs someone who can ground him.

Much like his sister, he skipped a year in primary school, which is why he graduated at 17 despite attending a VWO school.

His prosthetic hand is primarily made of titanium! It's also detachable so, yes, he will throw it at someone when they ask him to give them a hand with something.

Can and will sleep whenever and wherever is available. It's not uncommon to find him dozing off in a corner, on a couch, or even on top of a wall that he's scaled. He never sleeps hard, so it's easy to wake him up.

Is a very occasional smoker. Petra hounds him over it, so he only smokes when he's not at risk of getting caught by her. He's very health-conscious, otherwise!

TATTOOS

source 1 source 2

Tattoo One (Right Arm) A full sleeve blackwork tattoo with sun, celestial, and water themes. The sun is often seen as a symbol of life, light, warmth, power, positivity, and clarity. The celestials of the night sky can represent the unknown, mystery, the unconscious mind, and one's own deepest thoughts, desires, and fears. It can also be seen as an introspective and reflective symbol. Water, similarly to the sun, is seen as a universal representation of life, with other symbols including depth, ephemerality, sadness, purification, hope, and rejuvenation.

Tattoo Two (Left Shoulder) A compass, much like his sister! The symbolism is fairly obvious, no? Guidance, direction, the interconnected nature of every direction. The compass can serve as a reminder that one is free to choose the course of their life, or to help them find the path again after losing their way. It can also be seen as a symbol of awakening and self discovery for these very same reasons.

BACKGROUND

⋆ CW: themes of child abuse, torture, violence, and overall mary sue levels of tragedy

Born on September 17, 1993 in the city of Rotterdam, Netherlands, to Hendrik Scholten de Ridder and Johanna Scholten de Ridder, Emiel had a normal – if not privileged, thanks to his family's prominent histories – early childhood. From birth, he had a close relationship with his older sister, Mylène, who he quickly came to rely on for guidance and support.

In the late fall of 1999, when Emiel was only 6 years old, his mother was killed by enemies of his father originally seeking to hold her and the children hostage for ransom. This event, paired with the traumas he sustained over his years in the military, drove his father to "near insanity" as he became consumed with paranoia and grief. The rest of his and his sister's adolescence was defined by the trauma of his father's abuse; he subjected the siblings to rigorous physical and psychological training in order to mold them into "perfect soldiers" and prevent any further loss.

Despite this, his father was publicly viewed as a war hero. He would often leave the two alone when he was on deployment, forcing Mylène to care for herself and Emiel with nothing more than a roof over their heads and grocery money provided. The siblings developed an unbreakable bond during this time that would extend into their adulthoods, rendering them a synergic duo both at home and in the field, with Emiel promising to repay his sister for her efforts someday.

After finishing secondary school at 17, Emiel enlisted in the Royal Netherlands Army, serving in the Regiment Huzaren van Boreel in the 11 Air Assault Brigade. He also studied at the University of Amsterdam – taking online classes – and frequently visited his sister during her time in the 400 Medical Battalion, eventually graduating with a BA in Intelligence Studies. He spent 3 years participating in air assault and armored reconnaissance operations before passing selection for the Korps Commandotroepen in 2014, wherein he was quickly recognized for his natural skills in anything covert.

Specializing in sniper techniques, prime target elimination, VIP protection, demolitions, and sabotage, Emiel established himself as an elite operative who excels in hostile areas and hazardous environments. His exceptional accuracy and uncanny proficiency when operating in the shadows eventually earned him the nickname "Nightfall".

In early 2015, Nightfall joined his sister – now a KCT lieutenant nicknamed "Petra" – Captain Price of the British SAS, and Nikolai in an unsanctioned operation to kill or capture Chimera after the latter was discovered to be a traitor. The small team managed to track the Colonel and his supporters to a base deep in the Alps, where they successfully wiped out the entire group and killed Chimera. After the mission, much like his sister, Nightfall felt indebted to Price.

From then on, he continued to carry out covert and overt operations worldwide. Sometime in the next year, Nightfall managed to wipe out an entire base of Al-Qatala soldiers in one night without a single alarm being raised. The sole survivor referred to him as "The Reaper" when describing him, as he hunted every enemy whilst cloaked in darkness. Nightfall was later awarded the Military William Order, the Bronze Lion, and the Cross of Merit for both this operation and his following work within the KCT, establishing himself – or rather, his marksmanship – as a minor legend within the elite commando corps.

Another year later, around mid-2017, however, Nightfall was assigned to a unit led by Captain Price and Petra, tasked with infiltrating and securing an Al-Qatala base located in Kastovia. He served as the team’s scout sniper and overwatch during the mission, until he lost contact with the rest of the team. When the rest of the team finally reached his location to investigate, several IEDs planted in the area went off and forced the group to retreat. Despite his sister's attempts to rescue him, Nightfall was declared dead in absentia after demolition teams failed to locate his body the following day.

In reality, Nightfall was alive, being held as a prisoner of war by Al-Qatala’s commanders. The explosions caused him to lose one of his hands and left his face scarred. For the next two and a half years, Nightfall was interrogated, tortured, and subjected to inhumane conditions while imprisoned in Eastern Europe, though he still tried to support and protect the other POWs in the prison, regardless of which side they supported or whether they were civilian or military.

About a month after the formation of Task Force 141, CIA Station Chief Kate Laswell pinpointed the location of a prison in Georgia believed to be used by Al-Qatala to hold POWs. Reconnaissance of the prison confirmed this and the identity of several of the prisoners; Nightfall was identified as one of the POWs. His sister, leading an elite KCT unit, raided the location shortly thereafter, securing the captives, Nightfall, and intel about Al-Qatala's plans.

Following his rescue and intensive recovery in the hospital, Nightfall was deployed in Verdansk alongside other Coalition operatives under Armistice, where he relentlessly worked to prove himself once more.

As a valuable ally to the 141 and a near-fabled assassin with a long list of confirmed kills and countless unconfirmed, Nightfall has pledged his life and his very conscious to his work, his only saving grace being the characteristic pitch black masks obscuring his face every time he appears in the field – on the rare occasion he's visible, that is.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod mw3 #mw3 #cod original character #call of duty oc #cod oc #cod ocs #mw2 oc #mw3 oc #emiel “nightfall” scholten de ridder #sylph.writes

28 notes · View notes