#theives guild

[dimity-lawn]

Happy Hogswatch from the Thieves’ Guild, who most kindly wish to remind the public that the first 32 premiums arranged on Hogswatch Eve may be had with a Hogswatch Discount.

[elderscrollsconceptart]

Delvin Mallory Browser History

> Do workplace sexual harassment laws apply to illegal organizations

[skyrim-forever]

What your fav Skyrim Faction says about you!

(This is just for fun!!! It's a joke <3 and this is based off of all joinable factions as listed on the ES wiki)

Thieves Guild: Be gay do crime? No, be bisexual do crime

College of Winterhold: FUCKIN NERD

Bard's College: This is your fav as a meme

Imperial Legion: While you're bringing back the glory of Rome you should also take out that stack of dirty dishes by your computer.

Stormcloaks: You're either the worst type of person or the best

Dark Brotherhood: You use dark humour to cover up the fact you deeply crave connection

The Companions: Team Jacob

Dawnguard: You have a holier than thou attitude

Volkihar Clan: Don't cut yourself on all that edge 😛

Blades: This is no one's favourite

Greybeards: You read once about the existence of professional hermits in the 19th Century and have longed for that life ever since

Coven of Namira: Enjoyers of Cannibal by Ke$ha

Nightingales: You probably think Nocturnal is hot and the armour is sick. You are not wrong

House Telvanni: You are one of the cool nerds 😎

Tribal Orcs: The chillest people you'll ever meet

[moodiestmags]

~ Lady Luck ~

[changelingsandothernonsense]

First personal art of 2023, took a few months to finish in between work and health stuff, but I finally finished something XD.

[yeehawbvby]

Go, Lass (Brynjolf x F!Reader)

Rating: Teen+ (explicit language, canon-typical violence)

Summary: The guards of Markarth have you cornered in the Silver-Blood Inn, eager to steal you away to Cidhna Mine. Luckily, you’re gifted a bittersweet goodbye with your favorite guildmate before you’re imprisoned for only the gods know how long.

Author’s Note: This was a fun little idea I had based off my current Skyrim run! It takes place after The Forsworn Conspiracy/before No One Escapes Cidhna Mine, and before you meet with Endon for Silver Lining. The reader-insert doesn’t have to be the Dragonborn, and your race isn’t specified either.

Sorry for any errors, I didn’t proofread before posting. Hope y’all enjoy! x

Check it out on ao3!

___

“C-come on, I didn’t really kill all those people! Surely you’re overlooking some details—“

“Oh no, we’ve all heard stories of your honeyed words. You’re not getting out of this one that easy.”

Shit, shit, shit, you thought to yourself.

Looking back and forth between Brynjolf and the Markarth guards, you panicked. Your heart raced as your shoulders slumped and your chest visibly began to heave.

You’d never been arrested for stealing, in all those years of doing it to survive, followed by making it into a profession with the Thieves Guild; but due to a failed attempt to help a determined Breton rid Markarth of the Forsworn, you’d really fucked up. 

Lots of weird politics. Far more killing than you were used to. So many ways to be framed in so little time. In the end, your comrade didn’t even make it — the guards made sure of his demise as soon as they’d been tipped off. All poor Eltrys wanted was a safe future for his wife and child, but that was supposedly too much to ask for in such a corrupt city.

The reason Bryn tagged along on your trip back to Markarth for this job was to bring you comfort and backup. You were two peas in a pod (albeit, Brynjolf seemed to see you as a sister whilst you hid your romantic feelings in plain sight), and you knew he’d help you if you truly needed it, no questions asked. 

You’d kept your fingers crossed, upon the law’s arrival, that the tall Nord’s presence would intimidate the guards into brushing it all off. Unfortunately, your downfall seemed certain. 

In that moment, the guards, citizens and denizens onlooking all wanted you imprisoned for life. And your favorite partner in crime was there to witness it all, barely even knowing what had gotten you into such a mess. His face looked neutral as ever, but his body language said otherwise. You knew Bryn well enough to be able to tell how tense he was.

You had three options. Option number one: run. Never come back. Screw this silversmith job that the Guild desperately needs, someone else can take care of it!

…Although, whoever is sent in your lieu might just muck it up. 

Option two: Fight. Main issue there is that it would be subjecting yourself and Brynjolf both to a death sentence.  

Option three: Turn yourself in. The prospect was terrifying, but you’d gotten yourself out of countless sticky situations. Perhaps you could figure out the details of an escape plan later. Maybe you could even organize a full-fledged jailbreak.

Everyone surrounding you knew what choices you had, merely not realizing the extra details that went into your third prospect. The inn was quieter than a crypt as they waited with baited breath to see what you’d do. 

“I…” You looked over your shoulder at Bryn, a deep exhale shaking your form as his beautiful emerald eyes met your own gaze. “I submit.” His eyes widened. The guards made a move to capture you, but you halted them, your face whipping their way.“Wait.”  

“What in the Gods’ names makes you think we—“

“I’m a cold-blooded killer, aren’t I?” You lilted, eyes stabbing into the man who’d been doing the talking for all of his crew. “If you don’t allow me to bid my friend farewell before I spend the rest of my fucking life in the mines, I could take out everyone in this room. Starting with them.”  

You tilted your head towards the small family that hid behind the counter. The parents gasped, and their son whimpered in fear, hugging himself closer to his mother. Playing into the façade, you drew a smirk across your features. 

“…Very well. You have one minute.” The guard added, glaring at Brynjolf, “No funny business or you’ll both perish.”

“Yes sir,” you lazily saluted. 

You turned around to face Brynjolf, who looked pale with discomfort. 

“Look, I don’t know what you’ve done, but—“

Before Bryn could get another word in, you tip-toed to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tender hug. 

As he returned the gesture, you turned your face until your lips brushed his ear, and ever so softly whispered, “I will get out of there.” Bryn shifted a little, and you continued, “I don’t know when, or how, and maybe I won’t even survive; but trust me when I say that I’ll see you again soon, one way or another. I’ll make damn sure of it.” 

Your partner in crime wanted to laugh. He knew you. He knew what you were capable of. No matter how foolish you were to already be conspiring an escape, he believed you could do it. But he didn’t wish to draw suspicion from the guards, so he simply nodded, an amused exhale that could’ve been mistaken for despair shaking his armored chest as he tightened his grip around your form. 

You pulled away, but before you could make your way towards your captors, you felt a tug on your arm. Turning to the source, Brynjolf pulled you close, replacing his grip on your bicep with a tender caress to your cheek from both hands.

Before you could process what was happening, he tilted your gaze upward and dipped down to your height, sealing the goodbye with a kiss. You melted into his touch, your palms finding refuge against his broad shoulders. 

As Bryn’s auburn beard tickled your chin, you smiled, basking in the taste and feel of his mouth. The warmth of his breath. The calluses of his large hands barely scratching your cheeks. After a few short seconds that you wished could be hours, he separated.

A crooked grin graced Brynjolf’s lips as he whispered to you his parting words:

“Go, Lass. Make their ancestors weep.”

[nicstylus]

Ik I already posted part of this, but here is the full character sheet all together :]

[smorgasbort]

[naoa-ao3]

A Night in New Orleans

Years before Jean-Luc adopts Remy, he watches him from the balconies and galleries of the French Quarter and wonders if he's doing the right thing. While he wonders, others have plots of their own and Remy, oblivious to it all heads to bed.

The boy was growing and as he did, Jean-Luc LeBeau found himself worrying for him.

He had already removed the child from the Antiquiary but he couldn't remove the boy's eyes from his head nor the whispers and rumors that circulated about him through the air and through the guilds.

He watched the child from a gallery one night as the boy picked pockets along Rue St. Anne.

The boy wore dark shades to hide his eyes now, big, plastic lenses obscuring his face. He didn't know he was being watched but Jean-Luc knew and he knew he wasn't the only one watching that night.

Above the crowed of tourists and drunks, locals out for fun and a million sweating bodies he saw familiar faces on galleries around him. Dark faces hidden in shadow and he knew there was a plot.

People were scared of the boy. His own people. People who should have heeded his words and didn't. He'd said the boy wasn't to be touched and yet here he was, watching them, watching the boy, watching them watch the boy and down below the child had no idea.

His life consisted of reporting his ill gains to Fagin and avoiding a swat to the back of the head. The child didn't know the war fought over him and Jean-Luc wanted to keep it that way. It was better while the boy was still young.

Even this kind of childhood was better than none.

Even so his eyes followed the man across the street. Bourbon was loud tonight and people spilled out of doorways, sweating and wilting in the evening humidity. Even as a native he thought it was hot out that night and his eyes followed the boy who had stopped to watch a Dixie Land Band lead a wedding procession out of the St. Louis Cathedral.

The boy leaned against the fence around Jackson Square and watched them, eyes following the party behind his glasses. Jean-Luc wondered if he had ever been to a wedding. Most probably not, or at least not any he was supposed to have been at.

No one notices the child alone and yet his eyes follow him as the child unwraps his arms from around the fence and saunters off. He dips his little hand into a purse as he does and scoops out a wallet.

Jean-Luc feels a measure of pride for this child he's never spoken too. He's got a son of his own, Henri is a little older and everything he could have ever hoped for but he's always felt a kind of connection with this child, since the night he'd stolen him from the hospital.

There's music pouring into the street and below Remy walks on, not knowing he's being watched, not knowing he's got a destiny. He doesn't have any idea that there's expectations waiting for him.

Jean-Luc wishes he could protect the boy from them but he can't. He's the leader of the Thieves Guild and one boy can't be put above the Guild. Not even his own son Henri could take priority. There's older and more powerful things at play.

Jean-Luc watches the men across the street. Their eyes are fixed on the boy and he doubts they have any good plans for him.

He closes his hand around the railing and frowns hard, the French Quarter below him, spilling the masses onto her streets, hiding a little boy with demonic eyes.

Across town, his own son is asleep in his bed in their garden district manor. He's surrounded by iron fences the old south there, heavy curtains on the windows and antiques. Henri sleeps well and he feels a kind of guilt as he watches Remy in his dirty jeans and old t-shirt. This boy doesn't know anything about that world.

He watches them and then they move, following the boy. He follows them, silent and hidden, they haven't seen him yet but he isn't the leader for nothing.

They move in, hovering from galleries like carrion birds over the boy who walks on oblivious.

Jean-Luc catches up to them when the boy cuts away from Bourbon Street and begins to wander out of the French Quarter, away from the noise and crowed streets.

He knows a few of the places the boy goes to sleep in. He's already staking himself away from Fagin, already too smart for the man. Soon he'll have to take the kid away from Fagin or else risk wasting him. The kid is good but tonight he's just a kid.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asks as he catches up to the other thief. He knew it was Marcus Delacroix from afar. Now that he see's him up close he can see the look on the mans face and knows Marcus didn't know he was watching.

He savors the element of surprise and asks again. "What are you doing?" He asks. "I told you eight years ago that the boy was off limits. I'll handle him."

Marcus hangs for a second before righting his posture. "I remember but you can't trust him, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc isn't about to hear this. He knows the superstitions, he's kept then in mind just in case. He knows. "We're not assassins, Marcus." He says. "We're you really planning to harm the boy?"

They're standing on a roof top now, watching the boy as he picks his way along the less crowded streets outside the French Quarter.

"Not harm." Marcus whispers, looking down at the child.

"Then what?"

"Was gonna take him to the Bayou."

Jean-Luc scowls, not pleased and not surprised. "And do what with him?" He asks, knowing probably what. "Hope the gators take care of him for you? Dat boy wouldn't be done that easy, even you should know that."

Marcus winces. "He's dangerous, Jean-Luc. Everyone can see it."

He can see their superstitions. He's heard it all before. "They're just rumors." He says. "And he's just a little boy."

"You know that ain't no boy." Marcus scoffs, voice a little hurt.

Jean-Luc shrugs. "You t'ink so? I wish I could t'ink that way." He looks down at the boy, farther away, disappearing into shadows and the summer heat. What fucking life is he giving this child?

Marcus shakes his head. "Don't know what power he has over you." He says. "De boy will bring us ruin, Jean-Luc. Everyone knows it."

"Everyone knows what they've been told and it's men like you doing the telling, Marcus."

Marcus gives him a grieving look this time, mind unforgiving, unable and unwilling to understand.

The boy is gone.

"He'll doom the Guild."

"Or save it."

Marcus nods, quarry lost, plans aborted. Remy gone. "Maybe." He whispers.

Jean-Luc understands and wishes he still had eyes on the boy. It's when he feels the least guilty.

Remy however is gone into the night and of course knows how and where to hide from the world.

Jean-Luc goes home and watches Henri sleep, wondering if his own son understands how much he loves him. Wondering if he'll forgive him when he gets old enough to know him.

He wonders where Remy is sleeping, knows he's not in a bed like Henri. Know's he's not safe and loved like Henri and he feels like he's letting two children down.

Out there among the street lamps and stars, the one way streets and cemeteries the shot gun houses and superstitions, Remy has a little place to rest and for the night he sleeps unaware

But destiny is coming for him and it'll come in the shapes of Guilds and marauders, X-Men and lovers. Mistakes and trusts and while Jean-Luc knows the boy has a fate he has not a clue of these things.

When he closes the door to his son's room he only knows that Remy is out there asleep and he feels guilt he can't explain. Guilt unfitting of a Guild leader. Guilt of a father and in just a few years time that's what he'll be to the boy. He'll have two sons then and he won't feel he's doing any better.

[dimity-lawn]

Words In The Heart Cannot Be Taken.

[0mornings-dawn0]

The Newest Recruit

[quackquack-20]

ma'am, this is a Brynjolf appreciation zone

(i did not draw nor do i own any of these images)

[luciferissatan]

oh to be a dad to a 5 year old sentient magic mask while running a den of thieves

[sluttyquarantinetheory]

I just failed the Goldenglow job in Skyrim because a fucking dragon swooped from the sky and burned the rest of the fucking hives.

[mat-neptune]

[chartreusemaiden-blog]

Just a nightgale doodle. Pretty much  how I see the dynamic trio. Brynjolf doesn’t have time for this.