#nightingale x brynjolf

[strugglingwriterwattpad]

a new face in riften set brynjolf on a path of more than just coin. a path of truth betrayal and love? but was he willing to try with the new lass in town?

#skyrim #the skeleton key #brynjolf x reader #brynjolf #the thieves guild #the nightingales #nocturnal #the eyes of the falmer #tamriel #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls five

[argisthebulwark]

So.. im drunk rn so sorry if this deosnt make sense, but youre always on about mask kinks/the knight helmet post yeah? So i suppose what im saying is... bryn in nightingale armour when? 👀

yeah unfortunately for u all i will never shut up about how hot masks are. there's something so sexy about a man having his face completely covered ESPECIALLY if there's scars under there. handsome jack, simon riley, miraak, etc. i am unwell.

bryn in the nightingale armor x f!reader ("lass") under the cut. it's not explicit but damn it's suggestive so minor's don't read or interact. yeah i know the actual mask is probably sturdy but for my purposes i'm just pretending it's cloth.

"My eyes are up here, lass." His voice is muffled by the mask but shocks you all the same. You know you're caught staring but can't be bothered to feel ashamed. Standing in the only remaining sliver of daylight Brynjolf's green eyes practically glitter from under that blasted cowl. You know it's him under there - his teasing voice is reassuring, but your attraction to him hit a new level when he put on the armor.

"See something you like?" Each word is silky smooth when he stalks closer to you, every footfall silent. You can't put your finger on what's changed - you've seen him in the Guild armor for months and despite finding him attractive you'd never been downright tongue tied by him. It's only when gloved hands land beside your head, chilly armor pressing into your chest and only his eyes visible that it hits you.

Brynjolf looks deadly.

"No." You breathe, grateful that your own mask hides the raging blush in your face. Fiercely aware of every inch of his body touching yours you lavish in his undivided attention. You can only guess what his expression is when one finger hooks the hem of your mask and easily tugs it away from your face. Sharp eyes never waver from yours when his body crowds yours into the cold stone wall, every tiny gasp echoing around the cave.

"For a thief you're a terrible liar." He murmurs, that damned smirk written in every word. It's somehow more tantalizing that you can't see it; you know it's there but Brynjolf's true expression is a mystery. That dark mask hides everything but the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Do you prefer when I lie?" You counter, desperate to even the scales of your interaction. Brynjolf's armored hips press ever so slightly into yours and your mind's flooded with every indecent thought of him that's kept you awake for nights on end.

His hand releases your face, leaving the mask gathered around your neck. Your stomach flips when his thumb lifts the bottom of his mask and reveals his stubbled jaw and that damned mouth.

"Stop." You blurt, too lost in the haze of lust only worsened by the sight of his lopsided smirk.

"Ah, is that it?" Every movement is painfully slow when he rests the mask on the bridge of his nose, leaving his mouth visible. "This is what finally got you to crack?"

You can't summon a witty retort. Throwing your arms around his shoulders you drag Brynjolf's body against yours, heart hammering in your chest when your lips meet. His amused chuckle sends shivers down your spine but there's no use denying how badly you want him. Seeing him in that armor, that mask had done something unholy to your self control and he knew it.

#asks #anon #writing #brynjolf #skyrim #mdni

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 5: X+ 1 ~ Brynjolf/F!Dragonborn [6,164 words]

Three times Brynjolf wondered just who Kirsi was, and one time he found out.

It's 2023 and I'm writing all these words about Brynjolf from Skyrim. Unreal. I can't even explain the word count. It started as a quick flufftober fill and spiralled into this monster. Filled with a hefty dose of humour at how absurd the Dragonborn's travelling companions must find it when they have fifty thousand different careers and excel at them all.

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

It was Brynjolf’s business to be able to take the measure of someone – quickly. It was no good risking being caught with his hand in some poor bugger’s pocket if that bugger was, well, poor. Not that he was ever caught, not since he was a lad, but it was the principle of the thing. The potential risk had to be outweighed by the potential reward, that was just good business, and he was a good businessman.

But Kirsi? It was a funny thing that the more he saw of her, the less it seemed he knew. She’d strolled into Riften with a bow and blade both far finer than the worn fur armour she sported, which could have meant two things. Either she could afford to heed her armour less because by the time the enemy saw her, it was too late – or the bow and blade were stolen, and the armour reflected the truth of her finances. The truth turned out to be both. Which, as far as recruitment was concerned, was perfect. Maybe the signs had been there since day one that she’d end up running their little outfit.

Unfortunately – infuriatingly – that was the last time Brynjolf had managed to successfully gauge much of anything about the Nord lass who infiltrated his thoughts more and more with each passing month. From then on, the only sure thing about her was that she could, and would, produce results. Flitting in and out of the Ragged Flagon with ill-gotten goods in her hands, a smile on her face, and…blood in her hair. Usually.

The first time, Brynjolf commented upon it, asking vaguely if she recalled their rule regarding bloodshed. She’d blinked at him, followed his gaze, and responded with an ‘oh – no, that’s unrelated, don’t worry’ before making a joke about how it blended in with the colour very nicely anyway. And that had been that. Skyrim was a demanding place in which to live, and those who’d never had blood in their hair seldom lasted long, so it wasn’t a major cause for concern.

No, Brynjolf’s cause for concern came months later – long after Kirsi had been made master of the guild, no less. They saw less of her for a while, but that was her way. That was the way with plenty here, even. Folk always turned up eventually, with a story to tell and something to sell to Tonilia, more often than not. This absence stretched on a little longer, yes, but it hadn’t even occurred to Brynjolf to really worry until she did turn up again. And she seemed in no mood for storytelling.

The Ragged Flagon went gradually silent as she walked in. Brynjolf, his usually keen senses off-duty, noticed the silence before he noticed her, turning to see what everybody else was staring at and then stilling. Kirsi strode in, steadfastly avoiding the eyes of any who looked in her direction. She wore her Nightingale armour, but it was not so form-fitting as it once had been, bunching and baggy here and there suggesting a sudden and unhealthy amount of thinning that a jagged sharpness at her jaw and cheekbones confirmed. Her auburn hair had once been bound back into a complicated series of braids, but it had long since rebelled against it, most of it curling in whisps around her face, and she was sporting a new and very angry looking scar on said face.

It ran from her right temple all the way down to her chin, framing the side of her features in a sort of jagged crescent moon.

“Kirsi…” Brynjolf said, stunned.

“I can’t discuss business right now,” she said flatly, her voice hoarse.

He hadn’t intended to discuss business…but he supposed he deserved it. He’d been avoiding her before she left, and it seemed she’d noticed. Unsurprisingly. Brynjolf fell silent, watching as she turned her head in the direction of Galathil who sad in her usual place, lifting a hand absentmindedly to the scar that they all stared at. Ultimately, she appeared to think better of it. Instead, she dropped a weighty bag of gold down onto the bar, loaded her arms up with bottles of mead, and headed for the cistern without another word.

“What was that?” Vex was the one to break the silence.

“I dunno,” Delvin responded grimly. “But she didn’t even look like that when Mercer…”

There was little need for him to elaborate on that. Brynjolf’s lips set into a thin line, then he counted to twenty, and finally he followed.

Kirsi was at her bed when he entered the cistern, not bothering to hunker behind the screen as she changed – not unusual, few of them here bothered with modesty. And the looks she was drawing were more to do with shock and dismay than anything that might be considered leering. Already she was halfway out of her Nightingale armour, and Brynjolf could see that there was little of her from the neck down that was not badly, badly bruised. Or burned. Or littered with gashes that looked one wrong twist away from reopening.

Whatever healing she’d undergone, be it from potions of magic, it appeared she’d prioritised them to heal her face. That, or they’d all been much worse beforehand. It was hard to gauge the state of her armour thanks to the colour, but he suspected if he took a real look, he’d find it stained badly with blood.

"Wouldn’t you be more comfortable at Honeyside?” he asked – if only to stop himself standing and staring like a fool any longer.

“Am I not welcome here?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, lass.”

At her home in the city – which she would’ve had to bypass to get here, no less – her bed was bigger, and she had a housecarl who could help her. Not that those here wouldn’t, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood for their company. It would be less stifling for her, he suspected, accepting help from one whose sworn duty was to offer it.

“Nobody can find me here,” she said finally.

After several deep breaths. Brynjolf couldn’t quite figure whether they were against whatever pain she was feeling, or just an attempt to find the patience for a conversation. She was wound tight, it was plain as day as she kicked her armour under the bed now that she was stripped down to her smalls, before she pulled a shirt over her head. There seemed to be little intention of finding breeches to go with it.

“…Are people looking for you, lass?”

People who had done this? There was a dangerous, angry streak in Brynjolf that hoped they’d come here looking. They’d regret it sorely.

“No,” she shook her head. “Just don’t want to be found.”

She paused, then, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing. “There’s just…there’s always something else. Can’t be dealing with it now.”

Brynjolf stilled, lost for words. Then he asked quietly.

“Do you need anything, lass?”

“Just sleep,” she said quietly.

What in the name of Talos had she gotten into? Where was it that she disappeared to so frequently? Who was she?

Kirsi slept for three days – stirring here and there to sit up and down a bottle of mead, or to turn over in a slow and beleaguered fashion that left nobody in any doubt as to how sorely she felt her injuries – but otherwise, she was out cold. The same conversation was had over and over in that time.

She needs a healer.

She is a healer.

I don’t think she has the strength to heal herself more.

Could someone carry her up above to get her help?

I don’t think she’d allow it.

Could we bring someone down here to look her over? Someone that won’t blab?

I don’t think she’d allow that, either.

Ultimately, Thrynn looked her over…with all of his limited healing knowledge, gleaned here and there from his days of patching himself up amidst bouts of banditry. Kirsi didn’t seem to notice it much. The unease in Brynjolf’s stomach gnawed deeper.

She’s more exhausted than injured, he ultimately concluded.

It didn’t cheer them much. Then, on the fifth day, she rose. The signal was given by Vipir, who strolled through the Flagon whistling a jaunty little tune, and Brynjolf was moving swiftly thereafter. Ignoring the looks that followed him. He entered the cistern expecting to find her sitting up, or maybe at the little cavern that they designated as a kitchen. Instead she was up, she was dressed, and the contents of her pack were strewn across her bed as she methodically took inventory for the trip ahead. Wherever that would be.

Brynjolf felt alarm streak through him – very much not liking the prospect of her barrelling off into the unknown after worrying them all sick for the better part of a week.

“What happened to your dagger, lass?” he asked rather than voicing any of that.

Ever since she’d commissioned it from Balimund, he’d never seen her parted from it.

“Lost it,” she muttered sourly.

“Where?”

She could have that thing wrenched out of her hand and flung into the Sea of Ghosts and she’d go diving in after it.

“Sovngarde,” she grunted.

Not in the mood for serious conversation, then.

“When are you heading out?”

“Why? Are you coming with me?”

Brynjolf made a very quick, very impulsive decision then.

“If I’m invited.”

Stilling, she turned her head and stared at him for a few long moments.

“You’re being serious?” she asked, tone unreadable.

“Things here can keep for a while,” he shrugged. “I trust the others to stop the place from burning down in my absence.”

And it was far, far better than torturing himself wondering what she was up to and how she was doing, should she leave alone.

“And you wouldn’t just rather speak another time?”

Brynjolf forced a strained laugh. “I deserve that.”

Kirsi tilted her head as if in agreement. Then, finally, she sighed.

“Don’t wear your Guild armour. Don’t pack light, either. I don’t know how long I’ll be this time,” she said, watching as he nodded along. “And Brynjolf? You have to listen to me while we’re out there. If I say no…extra-curricular activities in a certain hold, I mean it.”

“We did well enough together at Irkngthand, didn’t we?”

She considered his words for a long moment, with eyes that he knew had sussed out many a foe, and then finally she nodded.

“Fine. We leave after midday.”

“We leave,” he countered, “once you’ve eaten something.”

That earned another sigh, but it was followed by another nod, and Brynjolf took it as a good sign that she listened to him.

Stepping out into the world again felt like a gradual lightening for Kirsi. Even with the worried looks Brynjolf kept pretending he very much was not sending in her direction. They stopped at Honeyside just long enough for her to switch out weapons, stock up on potions, and for Iona to fix her new travelling companion with a withering glare, and then they were out of Riften.

She didn’t know why she’d agreed to let him come along. Well, she did know, she just wasn’t a massive fan of said reasoning. This was the first time he hadn’t given her the brush-off in months, and even in her exhaustion and the numbness that had overtaken her since defeating Alduin, she didn’t want to squander whatever chance there might’ve been for things to go back to normal between them.

…and she was at least present enough to know that weeks spend wandering and camping on her own would do little to help her mental state, at present. Maybe she could’ve hired someone to watch her back and provide civil conversation, but she also didn’t want to shoulder the responsibility of that. Brynjolf had asked to come along, and so his hide was therefore his own concern.

Being out and moving felt good, though, and with every stray breeze that caught her hair and every birdsong that met her ears, she felt more like her old self. Maybe she just needed to be reminded that it was all still here. When they set up camp for the night, she was even laughing when Bryn went out of his way to try and make her do so…although she knew just how dour she must’ve been since her return when she saw how surprised he was to get any sort of response at all.

“I’m not asking that you tell me now, lass,” he hedged when dinner was eaten and there was little to do but doze by the fire ‘til morning came. “But I have to know…are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Probably not,” she admitted quietly.

And he accepted it readily enough. Or hid well, if he did not. Well, save for one comment, spoken incredibly lightly.

“I dread to think what’s so salacious and sinister that even I can’t be told about it.”

She snorted quietly, staring at the stars above. “It’s not salacious. Nor sinister. It’s just…a lot.”

Keeping her countless lives separate was something she always endeavoured to do, all while being painfully aware that bits and pieces were bound to crash in on one another at some point. This wasn’t like keeping a spouse and a lover secret from one another, it was bigger and more all-encompassing than that. She toed the line between doing what she could to keep those boundaries in place, while staying detached enough that she wouldn’t fall to pieces should the lines in the sand be erased by a crashing wave.

It was just…neater. The guild had to stay secret for obvious reasons – she could only imagine what Vilkas or Ulfric would think if they saw her slipping into the Ragged Flagon and making all sorts of underhanded deals with her friends down there. She could even kid herself that it was easier for the guild if they didn’t know about any of the rest of it. That maybe they’d balk if they realised their Guild Master was the Dragonborn, or Ulfric’s best soldier, Thane of too many holds to count, or even Archmage of Winterhold’s college. All those titles didn’t particularly lend themselves to secrecy.

But that wasn’t why she kept it from Brynjolf. She didn’t want to be the Dragonborn, nor Stormblade, nor the Harbinger, or whatever else she was known as across this land, when Brynjolf spoke to her. When he deigned to speak to her, these days.

Which was why it was a risk bringing him with her.

But she was a thief, was she not? She was good at sneaking.

It took the better part of three weeks for them to get to Whiterun – with Kirsi gradually healing herself with magic and potions both as they travelled. By the end of the first week she was smiling freely again, and by the end of the second she was cracking her own jokes to go along with his. Brynjolf didn’t press the matter of what had gotten her into such a state, and she didn’t make any more allusions to his steadfast avoidance of her prior to it, so he did what he could to avoid looking that gift-horse in the mouth.

When Whiterun loomed before them, jutting up above the rest of the landscape, she issued those aforementioned orders that he’d promised to follow back in Riften. No stealing, no conning, no shenanigans. If I have to start bullshitting, go along with it. He’d shrugged and agreed, too pleased at her swift change in spirits to start arguments now.

And the time for that bullshitting came alarmingly quickly, for they hadn’t yet yet cleared the Honningbrew Meadery when a group of warriors came walking from the other direction, spotted her, and immediately approached.

“Shit,” she breathed.

Brynjolf’s hand had been straying towards his sword when one called out.

“Kirsi! You’re back!”

They were two men and a woman, the first to greet her being the bigger of the two men. Twins, Brynjolf quickly realised, despite their difference in stature – both sporting long dark hair, and dark war paint around their eyes. The woman, another redhead, watched he and Kirsi curiously as the men stepped forth to shake her hand and then pull her into a one armed hug that mostly consisted of a thump on the back.

“Farkas,” she greeted with a tired smile, then repeating the gesture with the other two. “Vilkas. Aela.”

“We didn’t know when you were coming back. After that business with the dragon at Dragonsreach…” Aela greeted.

“Well, I’m back now,” she interrupted quickly.

“With a sellsword, too. Can’t fight your own battles these days?” Vilkas asked, his eyes lingering on Brynjolf.

Brynjolf returned the scrutiny with a lazy smile. It didn’t endear him to the man…but he hadn’t particularly intended it to.

“Not a sellsword – a friend,” she said. “This is Brynjolf. Brynjolf, these are the Companions.”

“Companions to who?” Brynjolf greeted wryly.

“Ysgramor,” Vilkas sneered.

“Oh. You must be older than you look, then.”

“We’re only here for the night. For a comfortable place to sleep and a good meal,” Kirsi interrupted – shooting a look in his direction that was too amused to hold any real bite to it.

“You’ll find both in Jorrvaskr,” Farkas said. “You and your friend. Come. It’s been too long.”

If any other than Brynjolf noted her reluctance, they did not show it.

They arrived to the Companions’ long-hall just in time for dinner – which was swiftly followed by drinking and merry-making thereafter. Brynjolf was accustomed to fudging the details as far as his identity was concerned; not often introducing himself with ‘good morning, I’m a high-ranking member of Skyrim’s biggest criminal enterprise, Dark Brotherhood notwithstanding’, and so he was able to do so here without blinking.

Well, there was one moment that gave him cause to blink. Harbinger. He had heard of the Companions, of course, he wasn’t a fool. His question by the gates had mainly been to rankle the dark-haired man who clearly loathed his presence and whatever his association might’ve been with  Kirsi. Any doubt Brynjolf had as to that loathing was gone when he saw how the man’s eyes followed her about the hall throughout the night. And more-so when Brynjolf dragged her up for a dance, bringing yet another smile to her face…and a matching one to his own.

The glare gained yet more frost to it when Ria asked Kirsi about her new scar, and she lifted a hand self-consciously to it, muttering something about a dragon. Brynjolf took it to be a joke – it was what people used as an explanation for every minor cut and scrape since the beasts returned to Skyrim, but the Companions murmured appreciatively.

“I’m sure it’ll fade, with time,” the Imperial offered reassuringly.

“It suits you,” Brynjolf said simply, returning Kirsi’s gaze boldly when she eyed him in surprise – as if trying to figure out whether he was teasing or not.

When the hour grew so late that it was technically early, Kirsi finally drummed her hands against the long table at which they’d feasted, announcing loudly.

“It’s time we headed to Breezehome – I’ll come by in the morning before I leave.”

“Why not stay here? Tilma readied your quarters while we’ve all been up here. Your friend can bed down with the whelps,” Vilkas commented.

Njada made a noise of displeasure somewhere down the table. The suggestion put her in an uncomfortable position - Brynjolf could see that easily enough. Refuse, and it would be a rejection of the people whom her role here was to offer guidance. Accept, and a lesser man might be insulted in Brynjolf’s shoes. But Kirsi considered it, sighed, and then spoke.

“The Harbinger’s quarters are big enough to share, Bryn. Come on – Tilma will have a bath waiting, too.”

Brynjolf grinned as he watched Vilkas’ regret at saying a word wash over his face.

The rooms below Jorrvaskr were cooler than the hall above, not so warmed by bodies and smoke and revelry, but a bath did indeed wait there for them in the bedchamber next door to the sitting room, steam rising steadily from it.

“Ladies first,” Brynjolf shrugged.

Weeks on the road together had shed them of whatever modesty might have remained, and Kirsi shrugged and began to strip off.

“Multiple rooms, eh lass?” he commented, taking stock of the fineness of the room.

“They’ll always feel like Kodlak’s rooms to me,” she commented quietly. “My predecessor.”

“Even so, it’s funny to think what bed you chose to fall into when you needed that rest when this waited for you here.”

“Don’t act like you don’t remember what I said at the time.”

“Mm. Still, there’s a lad up there that would’ve waited on you hand and foot while you recovered.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” he snorted, but then a furious motion caught his eye even as he studiously trained his gaze straight ahead.

Kirsi was in the bath, the water steadily turning murky after weeks of travel – which made it a little easier for him to keep his eyes stuck on her face, despite the flush that crept up from his neck towards his cheeks. She motioned once across her neck as if to say ‘stop’, and then pointed to her ear, and then the door.

Brynjolf almost laughed. In what world would they be overheard all the way down here? But there was no room for argument in her gaze and he slumped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, one question on his mind.

Who are you, Kirsi?

Despite Kirsi’s fears, Brynjolf finding out about her identity – one of them, at least – did not instate the sort of distance she’d feared it might. Oh, a fair amount of good natured ribbing came her way, but with Brynjolf that was always a decidedly good thing, and so she left Whiterun in a better mood than she’d arrived…and in a mood that was unrecognisable to the one she’d departed Riften in.

Rescuing townsfolk from bandits holding them hostage? You’re joking. What are the guards doing? Resting?

You make saving lives sound like a bad thing.

It might be, depending on what it pays. How much?

What?

How much each time? What’s the going rate for a saved life?

…It doesn’t matter. It pays in more than gold. Goodwill. Contacts. Reputation.

By the Nine, it’s a pittance, isn’t it? How much Kirsi? I’ll just keep irritating you until you tell me.

…A hundred gold each time.

When he stopped laughing – which felt like hours later – he pointed out he could make ten times that depending on the job he took. Her pointing out that she could also raid whatever lairs the jobs sent her into did little to help.

Don’t tell me half the goods you fence to Tonilia are gotten honestly, lass. It’ll break my heart.

And it was too difficult to act annoyed by him when she was laughing along.

From Whiterun they turned north to Windhelm. Kirsi withdrew her rule against larceny for all of an hour so that Brynjolf could liberate a farmhouse of a couple of bottles of wine – more for the thrill than anything else, and because free wine tasted better. That night when they made camp, they mulled it over a fire and huddled together far more closely than the barely-encroaching chill necessitated. By the time they were a few tankards deep, she felt giddy and foggy and overall like herself again, matters of fate and destiny and death and Sovngarde, and what a Dragonborn was worth once they’d achieved their purpose, fading behind Brynjolf’s jokes and the way he kept smiling at her and looking at her.

The night was pressing on when she found herself pressed against him beneath a blanket, their backs against a tree, her head on his shoulder as she was pulled further and further towards sleep.

“Lass?” he murmured lowly. “Kirsi?”

She didn’t respond – the original intention being to not respond right away, needing to blink herself into wakefulness before she could wrap her lips around syllables, much less words. But after a moment of silence, he relaxed and pulled her closer.

“I won’t give you the brush off again,” he murmured.

They were words that should have been basic decency, but they had the sound of a vow. As well as that not intended for conscious ears. So she pretended to be asleep, and soon she was no longer pretending.

It took another two weeks for them to reach Windhelm, not helped by their unhurried pace that defied the cold snapping at their heels. Kirsi, aptly named after the frost, seemed to enjoy it if anything. And Brynjolf? Brynjolf…endured it. With a smile. Primarily because he was happy. Happier than he’d been in a while…and more content than he’d admit in this strange and unexpected little routine they’d slipped into together by now.

He was happy as they slipped into Windhelm in the early hours of the morning, when he watched Kirsi pay a little brown-haired lass a hundred times what the entire stock of flowers she peddled were worth, when he found out that had been Kirsi’s main reason for wanting to come here in the first place (for it had been a while since she’d last given the wee girl a stupid amount of gold, and she was worried the last lost may have run out by now), and he was happy when they slipped into Hjerim – her stupidly big Windhelm home – and began to cobble together a hot meal.

Most of all, he was wrapped up in the atmosphere that had fast begun to overtake them. The one that had him enforcing that distance all that time ago, that stupid distance, convincing himself that his own worries were valid concerns about business and the running of the guild and not just cowardice over not wanting to face how he’d feel if it went tits up. That worry was still there, and it would gnaw at his insides like a pack of skeevers if he let it, but it was overpowered by how much he could get used to this. The little smiles. The looks. The complete lack of personal space between them as they went about their little routines.

That happiness was put on pause when a knock interrupted their dinner preparations.

Cursing beneath her breath, much as she had when they’d been spotted by the Companions, she cleaned her hands free of flour from the bread she’d been making and strode for the door. Brynjolf followed, a dagger in hand behind his back, a force of habit.

“Jorleif,” she greeted tiredly. “What is it?”

“Still not one for pleasantries, I see,” Jorleif replied. “High King Ulfric invites you to sup with him tonight – he was pleased to hear you were back in Windhelm.”

“I brought a guest with me.”

“Bring the guest, please!” Jorleif responded happily enough. “Galmar will be there, too. A real reunion, through and through.”

“When?”

“As soon as you can get to the Palace of the Kings, I expect.”

“…Wait here.”

Turning away from the door, she almost walked straight into Brynjolf – and then breathed a soft laugh at the weapon in his hand. Taking up the bread dough in its bowl from the kitchen table, she strode back to Jorleif and thrust the bowl into his hands.

“Here. Have the cooks bake this, I don’t want it going to waste. Move quickly, or else the cold will ruin it."

Whether it was a ploy to be rid of the messenger quickly, a way to amuse herself, or she was truly very excited about that particular loaf of bread, it had the intended effect – the man was quickly gone, and she turned a look filled with trepidation in Brynjolf’s direction.

“How would you like to have supper with the High King of Skyrim?”

Had he not overheard the exchange, he’d never have believed her.

Rather than rush to her wardrobe to change into finery, she settled for brushing the flour from her armour (and her hair) and then leading the way out of the door. It was a short walk to the palace – and Brynjolf’s disbelief did surface when he saw how Ulfric Stormcloak greeted Kirsi. With a warm greeting, and a hug.

“When did you arrive, Stormblade?” he asked, paying Brynjolf all the attention High Kings likely usually paid people who didn’t immediately interest them.

“This morning, my King,” she bowed at the neck and was forcibly straightened, Ulfric having none of it.

“This morning? I should set the guards on you for being here so long without coming here. And who’s this?”

He had not yet looked at Brynjolf, but it was plain he had not escaped his notice.

“Brynjolf. A friend – and a travelling companion. Bryn, this is Ulfric Stormcloak, and his housecarl Galmar Stone-fist.”

This is Ulfric. Like he was a friend from the tavern and little more. Was he supposed to bow? Brynjolf did not bow – not to anybody. He didn’t much want to start here. So instead, he cleared his throat and looked between the two of them.

“I wasn’t aware you rubbed shoulders with royalty, Kirsi. I imagine how you met must be quite the tale.”

Galmar breathed a harsh laugh. “She’s not told you? By Talos, if I’d survived Helgen all within a hundred leagues of me would know the tale at all times.”

Helgen? Brynjolf stared in disbelief. The look remained on his face throughout dinner, and he was in less of a mood for teasing than he had been in Whiterun.

Do you remember Korvanjud, girl? When you snuck up onto the walkway and rained fire down on those Imperial bastards from above?

Ulfric had cut in there. I remember it. I still owe you that drink, don’t I?

You fought in the war? Brynjolf had asked, unable to help himself.

She’s not told you that either, lad? By Talos, I don’t know how Ulfric would’ve won the damn thing as swiftly as he did without the Dr-

Galmar. Kirsi had cut in, fixing the man with a hard stare.

…Without the driving force that Stormblade here proved to be. Ulfric had covered for his housecarl – and Brynjolf didn’t buy it for a second.

They returned to Hjerim that night in silence.

“Brynjolf, sooner or later you’ll have to say something to me.”

After dinner, they’d retired back to her home wordlessly, and Kirsi didn’t try to break the silence until they were out of the city gates early the next morning. Brynjolf suspected she was worried that High King of hers would issue an invitation for breakfast, too, if they didn’t make themselves scarce.

“The Companions were one thing. Harbinger, do-gooder, whatever. I figured you need easy money to supplement your finances, a cover for all of the ill-gotten gold you make with us. Whatever. Soldiering? Not my business either – the civil war never interested me, and maybe it’s a good thing that your mighty High King’s victory stopped Maven from being directly in charge of the Rift. It’s even a relief to know your not being scared of her has reasonable roots that go beyond plain old foolishness. Maybe even who you are – whoever that is – provides you with useful contacts, I don’t know. But that’s the point. I don’t know. And the more I see, the less I know.”

“Bryn…”

“Are you a highborn lass, then? Is that it? Because you’ve done too much for us for me to call that a conflict of interest, you know?”

“Not at all. I’m as common as the muck beneath our boots.”

“Most peasants don’t sup with High Kings.”

“A twist of fate, little more.”

“One you don’t trust me enough to explain.”

“It’s not like that.”

“What is it like?”

Sighing, she shook her head and looked out across the snow landscape, visibly searching for the words.

“Most folk like me in the context they know me in. You insist Vilkas is in love with me, and maybe he is, but only in the context he knows me in. He could barely square himself with my throwing a fireball at a draugr – some nonsense about it not being an honourable way or fight, I don’t know what the- anyway, if he does love me, he loves Kirsi, the Harbinger of the Companions and Thane of Whiterun. The one who disappears and returns having cleared out a cave of bandits, or rescued a citizen, or beat the shit out of someone who threatened a villager. That’s not me. You know that better than anybody. If he saw the rest of it? He’d go from being attracted to me, to wanting to take up arms against me very damn quickly. I can’t even resent him for it, either. He believes what I’ve led him to believe.”

It was clear she wasn’t done when she paused, and so Brynjolf waited in silence for her to continue.

“Ulfric…he’s less rigid, perhaps. Not that he’s in love with me. If he was ever going to pursue anything like that, it would be because of what I am and not who I am.

“I’m sure he has enough soldiers to take his pick from, lass.”

“It’s not that I was referring to,” she muttered sourly. “So long as I’m subtle about whatever else I get up to, I’m sure he doesn’t care. But is that better or worse than Vilkas’ outlook? I don’t…I can’t have that happen again. Not with you.”

“You think I’d go running because you give gold to orphans and run an outfit of block-headed warriors?”

“I don’t run then. And they’re not block-headed,” she said softly. “And it’s more than that.”

“How much more, Kirsi?”

“Much more. An entire world-load of complications. And you’ve shut me out before for less.”

Brynjolf faltered. “Kirsi…lass…”

They were interrupted by the screech of a dragon, and then a blast of fire.

The battle was a hard-won one. She’d fought worse dragons, after all – the worst dragon – but she was certain the ones that were left were growing fiercer, as if in some desperate bid to cling onto the foothold they’d previously dug out for themselves in this land.

They hadn’t been far from Kynesgrove, and so they’d been joined by miners and guards as they battled the beast, but that threatened to be more of a help than a hindrance – making sure none were in the line of fire as she shot spells and bellowed Shouts at the dragon until finally she could make the killing blow, driving her blade through its eye.

She turned to Brynjolf then, looking at him almost mournfully as she fought to regain her breath, well-accustomed by now to the feeling of the dragon’s soul whipping about her body and finally sinking in. It felt like she was being held before a bonfire, the heat just shy of actually burning. Brynjolf stared, his face splattered with dragon blood, his eyes wide.

“I’m the Dragonborn,” Kirsi breathed.

Like the skeever wasn’t already out of the bag. How long had she refused to use Shouts around him? Even in their pursuit of Mercer through Falmer-infested caves. All for nothing. Brynjolf continued to stare – a time during which she did her best to predict what he would do. Mostly, her money was on an awkwardly mumbled “I’m heading back to Riften, I’ll see you next time you complete a job”.

Instead, though, he threw down his blade and strode towards her, few paying them much mind at all as they trailed back towards whatever they’d been doing when the dragon descended. Now it was Kirsi’s turn to stare…right up until he was within arm’s length of her, when he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her towards him, pulling her into a kiss that filled her with fire more than the souls of a hundred dragons ever could.

When he pulled back, he stayed close, one rough fingertip trailing across the scar at the side of her face. Kirsi was fast deciding she wasn’t going to have the face sculptor get rid of it, after all.

“No more secrets, lass?”

“No more secrets,” she confirmed softly, eyes flickering down to his lips and then up to his eyes again. “Although…”

Her hands had come to rest at his chest and she felt him stiffen, dreading what she was going to say next.

“I’m also the Archmage at the College of Winterhold,” she said. “I thought we might go there next.”

Brynjolf breathed a laugh, his forehead pressing against hers. “I can live with that.”

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

#esta's flufftober '23 fills #flufftober 2023 #flufftober2023 #brynjolf/f!dragonborn #brynjolf x f!dragonborn #skyrim fic #skyrim fanfic #skyrim fanfiction #brynjolf fanfic #brynjolf fanfiction

[nocturnalswarehouse]

Chapter 27 - Twilight Sepulcher

Fic Series: At Long Last

Pairing: Brynjolf x Female Dovahkiin|Dragonborn (Adranelle Rolaine)

Premise: Eight years after being declared the Dragonborn, and three years after Alduin is defeated, Adranelle (Adi) Rolaine finds herself back in Riften to help Brynjolf with the Thieves Guild’s reputation.

Masterlist

Taglist: @thequeenofthewinter, @oblivions-dawn

Word count: 1, 196

A/N: Happy first night of Hanukkah if anyone else celebrates it :) I wanted to get through the Twilight Sepulcher in one chapter, but it ended up being a "two-part" so we'll see the return of the key next chapter. Hope you enjoy this one!

The weight of the key grew with each step in their journey to the Twilight Sepulcher. Brynjolf had offered to carry it for Adi, but the Dragonborn refused. She had it in her head that if anyone else were to take hold of the artifact, it wouldn’t get back to Nocturnal. She didn’t expect how much of a burden it would be. 

Day and night, it would whisper to her, entice her into using it. The key’s magic would invade her dreams, giving her images of the ideal life. All the riches she could ever imagine, all the power, and the ability to expose Maven Black-Briar without even trying.

It would be wrong to assume she wasn’t tempted. It knew how to find her deepest desire and show how it could make it happen. All the power she could have… she could be more powerful than- 

“Lass, we’re here,” Brynjolf halted Shadowmere. 

“Hm?” Adi snapped out of her thoughts, looking at her surroundings. Brynjolf had taken the reins more than halfway through their journey after noticing Adi’s lack of focus. The key was messing with her mind, and he wanted her to be as safe as possible as they travelled to the Sepulcher. 

Now that they were there, Brynjolf took the key from Adi’s possession and let her dismiss Shadowmere with the weight off her shoulders. “I’ll keep it with me for the rest of the journey, lass. We need you to have a clear mind.” 

Adi nodded and faced Karliah, who had tailed them. “I don't understand why you won't come with us.” 

“I've been a Nightingale for a very long time.” She said. “I sold my allegiance to Nocturnal in exchange for many profitable years of thieving. Falling in love with Gallus was wrong. It was a distraction that allowed the Sepulcher to be desecrated, and it likely cost him his life. Until the Key is returned, I will never set foot inside that place again.”

“Tell us about the conduit inside the Sepulcher.” Brynjolf requested. 

“The conduit to Nocturnal's realm, the realm of Evergloam, has been in Skyrim... well, longer than recorded history,” Karliah explained. “The Twilight Sepulcher was constructed around it by man and mer in order to shield it from those who would exploit its power. Through this conduit, we're given Nocturnal's greatest gift, our luck. What she gains in return is a complete mystery.”

Karliah bid them good luck, and the two Nightingales headed inside. They walked into a large room, where a part of pillars led to a glowing figure - one of the sentinels - and a staircase behind him. On the upper level were higher stone pillars that formed into arches. 

“I don't recognize you, but I sense that you're one of us. Who are you?” the figure turned to them, stopping Adi and Bryn in their tracks. 

“I'd ask the same question of you,” Adi spoke calmly. Brynjolf was almost too shocked to speak. 

“The last of the Nightingale Sentinels, I'm afraid.” He sighed. The sentinel sounded sad, defeated. Almost as if he had lost something when he was living. “I've defended the Sepulcher alone for what seems like an eternity.” 

“The last? What happened to the rest?” Adi asked, taking a cautious step forward. 

“We were betrayed by one of our own kind. In fact, I'm to blame for what's happened here.”

“How are you to blame?”

“I was blinded. Blinded by dark treachery masquerading as friendship.” What was he…? “Perhaps if I had been more vigilant, then Mercer Frey wouldn't have lured me to my fate and stolen the Skeleton Key.” 

“Wait a moment... You're Gallus!” Adi and Bryn chorused together, looking at each other with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

“I haven't heard that name in a long time. How do you know of me?” He brought the attention of the partners back to him.. 

“I have the Key,” Brynjolf said, showing Gallus the Skeleton Key. It felt heavy in his hand. 

“The Key! You have the Skeleton Key!” Gallus’ demeanour changed with excitement and relief in his voice. “I never thought I'd see it again. And Mercer Frey?”

“Dead,” Adi spoke with venom, eyes darkening. 

“Then... it's over, and my death wasn't in vain. I owe you both a great deal.”

“We did this to honour the Guild,” Brynjolf said truthfully.

“You've done the Guild a great deed.” Gallus gave a nod of acknowledgement, smiling under the mask. “ And although they may not show it, I'm certain they appreciate your sacrifices. My only regret is that you had to undertake this task alone.”

“Karliah helped us.” 

“Karliah... she's still alive?” It was clear he still loved her, and it made Adi smile. “I feared she'd befallen the same fate, ending up a victim of Mercer's betrayal.”

“Take the Key and right all the wrongs.” 

"Nothing would bring me more pride than to return the Key, but I'm afraid it's impossible. From the moment I arrived here, I've felt myself... well... dying."

“Then we’ll have to proceed alone.” Adi took Bryn’s hand, interlocking their fingers. 

“I'm afraid so.” Gallus nodded. “I'm weakening, and I can feel myself slipping away. The years without restoration of my power have taken their toll. Whatever damage has been caused can only be corrected by following the Pilgrim's Path to the Ebonmere and replacing the Key.”

“What will we face in the Pilgrim's Path?” Brynjolf inquired. 

“I wish I could help you, but I've been a prisoner in this very chamber for the last quarter century. The only possible help I've come across are the remains of some poor fellow who was trying to follow in your footsteps. Perhaps his journal can help?”

Gallus gestured to a skeleton East of him, and Adi and Bryn thanked him before moving to it. Adi picked up the journal and read it. 

“Shadows of their former selves, sentinels of the dark. They wander ever more and deal swift death to defilers. 

Above all, they stand, vigilance everlasting. 

Beholden the murk yet contentious of the glow. Offer what She desires most, but reject the material. For her greatest want is that which cannot be seen, felt or carried.

 Direct and yet indirect. The path to salvation a route of cunning with fortune betraying the foolish. 

The journey is complete. The Empress's embrace awaits the fallen. Hesitate not if you wish to gift her your eternal devotion.”

“What do you think it means?” Brynjolf asked Adi as they read the words three times over. 

“I think the first one will have us fighting Sentinels,” Adi explained. “The second one has something to do with Nocturnal, and I believe darkness? I’m not sure what the third clue is. Those seem to be the most important.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Brynjolf shrugged. “Ready to begin, lass? I’d rather get this key returned sooner than later.”

“Let’s go, then,” Adi nodded. They returned to Gallus, journal in hand, and he greeted them. 

“I see you’re ready.”

“As ready as we can be.” Adi had a good feeling about it. It seemed like this would be the easiest part of their journey. One that was almost over. 

“Good luck, Nightingale.”

#tes: skyrim #skyrim #brynjolf #brynjolf x oc #the thieves guild #brynjolf fanfiction #fanfiction #riften #the thieves guild main quest #the dark brotherhood #twilight sepulcher #karliah #gallus #mercer frey

[actuallykiwi]

Once a Thief... Chapter 19: Always a Thief. {END}

Although Riften looked the same as it always had, something in the air was different. It felt almost... lighter, though the sun was dipping beyond the lake. The streets were beginning to empty from last-minute errands and street-wanderers. Merchants made their last few sales and stowed away their treasures for the night. Guards patrolled vigilantly, but most just seemed careless as they leaned on their posts by the city walls. The people of Riften hadn’t changed. 

But little did they know, their pockets were all about to become much lighter.

If she didn’t have to rely on Karliah so much to keep her steady on her feet from pain and exhaustion, Cimber would be practically skipping as they walked along the back alleys of the city. Nevertheless, she couldn’t wipe her triumphant grin. Well, part triumph, mostly relief. She gave Karliah’s shoulder a squeeze as they approached the tomb entrance and she let her open it. Karliah climbed down first and turned to help Cimber. She was slightly confused when she heard a bit of shouting, but when she carefully stepped onto the Cistern floor, it made more sense. 

Cimber jumped in surprise as cheers and applause echoed across the room. The guild was in a semi-circle around the entrance, everyone from the Flagon and even a few new members. She laughed, embarrassed, but smiled proudly when she saw Brynjolf standing at the front, clapping and wearing his trademark grin. 

“Congratulations, you lil’ devil. You done broke the curse!” Delvin laughed and draped his arm around her shoulders. “I didn’t want to say he’s right, but whatever you did, it certainly seems to have affected the guild. Our luck just suddenly flipped.” Vex flashed the ghost of a smile at her. “And it’s all thanks to you, lass.” Brynjolf smiled and crossed his arms proudly. It took everything in Cimber not to jump into his arms right then, but she’d celebrate with him later. “Ah, no, Karliah was a huge help, too-” 

“No, Cimber. I may have helped you in the end, but if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here, and the guild wouldn’t either.” Karliah removed her hood and smiled brightly. “You’re truly a hero to us.” This brought on another round of applause. Cimber laughed again and furiously wiped her eye to hide her tears. 

“Now don’t go ruining your other eye now.” Tonilia stepped towards her. “Brynjolf told us about what you’d... lost. So for your sacrifice, I made you this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a brown leather eyepatch. “Look on the inside.” Cimber took it and flipped it around: the inside was a soft black velvet material, and engraved on it was a familiar diamond shape with a circle inside. “The Guild insignia... Tonilia, I-” 

“Wait, there’s more.” She stepped back, and Brynjolf, Vex, Delvin and Karliah replaced her. “In honor of your efforts in the few short months you’ve been with us, your incredible talent for larceny, and your cunning and wit against all odds...” Brynjolf started. 

“We want to make you a part of the leadership of the Guild.” Vex finished. 

“After all the shit Mercer drug us through, we decided it ain’t fair or safe for just one person to lead us.” Delvin explained. 

“So we agreed to start something like a council for the guild; five Guildmasters, leading us to unimaginable fortune. And Cimber,” Karliah took something from Tonilia and handed it to her, “we’d be honored if you’d be the Fifth.” 

Cimber was speechless as she held the black leather armor in her hands. She looked around at all her fellow guildmates; Niruin, Sapphire, Vipir, Rune, the new Guildmasters, and finally her gaze rested on Brynjolf, ever-watching her with hopeful eyes. She smiled. “Yes.” 

One last round of applause rang out for a few moments, then the guild finally dispersed. Karliah embraced her, the Guildmasters and several others gave her their congratulations, and Brynjolf approached her last once everyone else had gone. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint, lass. Knew that from the beginning.” She grinned up at him. “What was it you said when we first met? ‘This is where you impress me, right?’” He laughed. “Aye, I can’t believe you still remember that. Seems like such a long time ago.” 

“A few months goes by fast when you’re saving a guild.” She chuckled. “I’m sure it does. And you’re a Guildmaster now, so go look like one.” He playfully pushed her to go change. “Anxious to get me undressed already? I’m wounded and tired, don’t take advantage of me!” She teased. He grinned and leaned towards her ear. “I’ll take whatever I want from you.” 

A chill went down her spine and she flushed. Brynjolf laughed and pushed her again. “Go get changed, lass. We’ve got celebrating to do!” She smiled back at him as she walked to one of the private rooms. 

A few weeks had passed, and indeed the guild had gained much wealth. New Guild Fences were popping up all over Skyrim, attracting new members to join as well. Cimber slept for two days straight to recover before the real work began, but it all ended up being worth it. She even found a new favorite spot in the city: the roof of Riftweald Manor overlooked most of the town, and had a great view of both the lake and Mistveil Keep. She dangled her legs over the edge, right above where she and Brynjolf first met. Although random, she thought back to what she was wearing that day: that tattered belted tunic, the skirt of it tied around her waist in a sort of belt. Then she compared it to what she was wearing now: the black Guildmaster’s armor, and of course, the eyepatch. She had finally gotten used to her new line of sight. She sighed and chuckled. Look how far we’ve come. 

The creak of the roof caused her to turn and meet the eyes of Brynjolf, who was walking towards her. “Mind if I join you?” “Hmm.. It’s usually invitation only, but I’ll make an exception this once.” She teased. “Well I’m deeply honored.” They both laughed as he sat down next to her. She sighed as they watched the sunset over the lake. Brynjolf watched her. “You alright?” 

She was quiet for a moment. “I’ve been thinking... I think I’m gonna do it.” He brushed a strand of hair off of her face. “Are you sure? That’s a long journey, lass.” She nodded. “I know. But it’s the only way I’m going to get some answers. She’s not coming here anytime soon.” Brynjolf thought for a second. “Then I’m coming with you. And I’m not taking no for an answer.” She sighed, and after a second, she grinned. “Fine. On one condition.” “And what’s that?” 

“Say it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Say what?” She raised an eyebrow back at him, still grinning. He chuckled, flushing slightly. “You’re impossible, you know that?” He gently grabbed her chin and tilted it up towards him. She couldn’t hide her triumphant smirk and he sighed, amused. His eyes found hers and locked there. “I love you, Cimber.” He breathed, then gently met his lips with hers. She melted into him, her breathlessness her response. 

After a few moments, they released to take a breath and laughed softly. “I love you, too, Brynjolf.” He grinned and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I know.” She rolled her eye and laid her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. We’ll stay here a while longer so I can see what I can find in Skyrim. Until then, let’s just enjoy this, she thought.

So the two Guildmasters watched the last drop of sunlight dip below the horizon, and the ribbons of aurora grace the new night sky. Then, with a grin and a nod, they dropped down to the streets below, like owls on their nightly hunt for prey, to lighten the pockets of the rich and unexpecting. After all, “Once a Thief...

Always a Thief.” 

The End

Previous

#skyrim #thieves guild #Once a Thief #fanfiction #writing #love story #Nightingales #brynjolf #nightingale x brynjolf

[the-real-nerevar]

Thieves guild headcanons :D

• Karliah and Gallus weren’t lovers, although everyone assumes they were, Gallus saw her as a close friend rather than a lover

• Gallus and Mercer had a bit of a thing for each other before Gallus’s death

• Once Brynjolf was so annoyed with Haelga (before Gallus’s death) that he slept with 5 of the guild members in 2 weeks. The members were Delvin, Karliah, Dirge, Gallus, and Mercer.

• Karliah was disappointed after she died in battle, but was with Brynjolf. Brynjolf was sad at first but then was like “ wait I’m with Karliah for the rest of eternity that’s not so bad “

• Dirge has a soft spot for Delvin. He’s nicer to Delvin than others but no one really notices.

• Brynjolf and Karliah have feelings for each other but it took them a while to get together because of the tension between the 2 after she was gone for so long

#karliah #Brynjolf #delvin #Mercer #Gallus #vex #nightingales #theives guild #Brynjolf x karliah #karliah x Brynjolf #dirge x delvin? #i’m too lazy #help #idk anymore

[songbird-wings]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Skyrim Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Brynjolf/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn Characters: Brynjolf (Elder Scrolls), Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Lirrah - Skyrim OC Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, feeling confessions, fluff near the end Summary:

Lirrah, the newly appointed Thieves Guild Master, is struggling with her past events. Brynjolf, her second in command, is struggling with his feelings for Lirrah.

- So I know most of my mutuals and followers don’t follow me for Skyrim content, but I’ve really wanted to write about this game for a while now! So if you're interested check this fic out! Thank guys! 

#skyrim #elder scrolls v #brynjolf skyrim #Brynjolf #theives guild #skyrim fic #brynjolf x dragonborn #brynjolfxfemaledragonborn #Lirrah - skyrim OC #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #fanfic #ao3 #the elder scrolls v: skyrim #my writing #nightingales

[missternarrator]

Entwined Paths

Fem!Reader!Dragonborn x Brynjolf (can be found on Wattpad “Entwined Paths” by my account Mrs. Narrator. LMK if you guys want to read more!)

My throat felt like sandpaper, as I broke through the barrier. I gasped for air and frantically clawed at the rock walls, "Gah!" I choked out some water, its almost as if my Armour was trying to drag me back down. "(Y/n)!" Karliah's voice bounced off the small entrances walls, she knelt down and reached for me. I pulled myself along the side and grabbed her hand, "By the eight- I didn't think I would make it." Water rose fast during our fight with Mercer Frey, hell our victory was short lived as the water began to rise above our knees. There was no way out down there and at that point we all had to escape through the roof entrance...

we...

"Brynjolf?!" I drug myself onto the mud, turning on my back and looking to the water filled hole. Water began to splash onto my boots as it continued to rise. Karliah's hand fell atop my shoulder, "We should go-" "-No," I took off my hood and mask, letting it hang lazily to the side of my face, "BRYNJOLF!" Almost in response to my calls, his face came up and we could hear him gasp for air, only choking as water filled his mask. I reached in and grabbed the shoulder of his Nightingale Armour,  pulling hard in order to bring him to shore. He was so heavy, I assumed it was from all the water. Karliah dropped down and tried taking off his mask but stopped, "Did you-?!"  That's when I looked to his side and noticed he was holding onto something, SOMEONE. I let go of him as he dug his hand into the soil, "Trying to kill yourself?!" Brynjolf threw Mercers lifeless corpse onto the ground next to me, pushing his mask out of the way, "I couldn't just..." he caught his breath, "just... leave him there..." My heart pounded as I got to my feet, taking another look at Mercer, his eyes laid peacefully closed and part of me forgot the evil that once stared at me.

"He deserved death but not a watery grave," he looked up at us, eyes squinting from the dim light, "Mercer was a brother once, and I'll be damned if I let a dwarven ruin hold him." My eyes softened as I looked to Brynjolf, he was right. While yes the man tried to kill me and the others, he wasn't always this way. Maybe this was his way of coping, Mercer was his best friend and guild master before all of this. I sighed and held out my hand, he took it and stood up, eyes not leaving mine, "Lass.. I am sorry if you don't understand but-"

"-I request we give him to Nocturnal."

Karliahs voice interrupted him and we both looked to her, she crossed her arms, "I hate you brought him back up, we should've left his soul to drown for eternity." He did kill Gallus, her lover, after all. I found myself feeling conflicted, there was nothing more in me that wanted to kick him back into the ruins he wished to leave us in, but he also had a point. Yet there is no use burring someone in the name of their former self, "May not be a watery grave but I feel Nocturnal would give enough punishment to his body as she already has on his soul." His hand dropped from mine as I continued, "It's the least we could do Brynjolf, seeing as how you already brought him up." His bright green eyes dropped to the corpse that laid between us, water now played with his hair, "Fine." "Well," I pursed my lips, "on a brighter note..." They watched with brows raised as I dug into the large pouch on my side, "At least we got something to bring back to the guild if not Mercer~" Two large opal-like jewels laid in my hand as I took them out, "You didn't," Karliah covered her mouth almost to hold back a laugh, "oh god-" I chuckled and held both of them out, "Don't be shy now, Gallus would've wanted us to at least gawk before handing them over to Delvin." Brynjolf smiled softly and took one of them in his hands, "Eye of the Falmer..." _________________________________ "It's quite an interesting tale... really," I folded my arms as a dark elf walked next to me, "but maybe not one for right now." He nodded, "I should've known this is where the Dragonborn was holed up." I looked away from the shelves behind my desk, "Hm?" "I mean-" Elwin nervously smiled, "-people have been asking. Riverwood Trader gained business because people heard you stopped by but suddenly you vanished."

Damn... it didn't feel like long but it's actually been months since Mercers death. All this time I have been stuck in the Cairn trying to handle guild business and cleaning up his mess. It's taken my time from adventuring and the sun.

Part of me felt like the sudden realization was his fault. I kind of regretted taking over Runes training but I wanted to be hands on with the Guild. The new recruits needed to see their Guildmaster at work and know that I was involved. Mercer was distant so not only was he stealing from the vault but any new recruit they brought in with him weren't too honest with their findings. Nothing was going to pass me. My stomach felt sick, it really has been months since I have been up top hasn't it?

"Rune- ah," I rubbed the back of my neck, "Show him to his bed and chest." The man nodded from his seat and ran over, long brown hair swaying over his shoulders, "Of course m'lady." "So formal," I pat his arm and smiled. Rune smiled, "I only learned from the best." I felt redness crawl over my face as he reminded me, back when I first joined I got so nervous speaking to Mercer I accidentally called him 'sir'. It wouldn't have been so embarrassing if it wasn't in front of the entire guild, and I audibly made a squeak. Yea... my early Dragonborn days weren't so intimidating. Am I intimidating? ____ I stepped into Whiteruns tavern, The Bannered Mare, and stepped up to the bar. "What have you got for sale?" "Food for the hungry," she looked up at me from the mug, "drink for the-" her eyes widened, "(L/n)..." I raised a brow but was suddenly deafened by silence, the bards music coming to a hault and the chatter dropping. Looking to my left, I noticed Lydia... my housecarl. "My lady," she looked over to the people and back to me, "everybody has been eager of your return from the Grey Beards." ____

I actually hoped that maybe people weren't so intimidated anymore. Then maybe my visits in town would be a bit quieter. I found nothing wrong with questions but causing a scene every time? Not a fan... One thing I did miss was the adventure. Maybe I could do a job... I should speak to Delvin. "Lass," my attention was brought up from my thoughts, "looks like you could use a drink." I smiled at the green eyes that peered at me, "Brynjolf~" Red peppered his cheeks, "you already look like you've indulged." He shook his head, "It feels like a celebration is in order. The Thieves Guild is thriving and we have Nocturnal at our sides." I sat down on one of the beds and he took a spot next to me, "Celebration... Yes but maybe not in the Ragged Flagon." "Where?" he rubbed his face, it looked as if he has been 'celebrating' since early noon. I crossed my arms, "You are in no shape to go. Not today. Lets set out tomorrow morning for some celebration." "Ah, women... can't be satisfied with a simple bit of mead~" I rolled my eyes knowing he was only joking, "Off to bed with you. Or I'll make sure to share that comment with Vex." Brynjolfs eyes slightly widened, "Ah.. yes we wouldn't want that." Vex has grown quite haughty towards Delvin so both of us knew she wouldn't hesitate to take Bryns joke seriously. The womans a little uptight but she is a great theif. I got up and began to step away, "Lass?" "Yes?" turning back I noticed he has begun to follow me, "You alright?" "Of course," I continued to pass our statue to Nocturnal and went to one of the free beds. A few of the members wished me goodnight as we all began to turn in. I guess at this point, me not seeing the daylight was my fault. Since I have became Guildmaster, Maven Black-Briar has given me ownership of Mercers home. I have yet to make it mine or even really take a good look at it since I broke in last time. Months stuck in constant work but it felt like some sort of stability, I loved it at first but now that I was taking a moment to really think about it...

Laying down, I looked and noticed that my dominant hands fingers were stained in ink, this was a new low for me.  It was something Niruin said to me a month ago, "Might as well attach a bucket to your desk." Since then I have found myself being self conscious on how long I stay behind and work on damaged business ledgers, instead I will go for a walk and help others in our training room. Last thing I wanted was for the guild to think of me as a desk warmer, I wanted to be involved. I'll have to start participating in actual jobs, show these new comers who is boss. Maybe stability was the opposite of what I wanted. Turning to my side, I could see others asleep... Brynjolf was a few beds away. Nothing was predictable with that man, last thing I thought he would do was bring up Mercers corpse with us. Something in me loved that about him. Loved? I chuckled to myself, yes loved. He was my best friend in this place and was the only one who REALLY took the time to know me. Especially when he hand picked me out of the many in town square. I only had a few friends in Skyrim, they seemed to be the only ones that didn't mention my Dragonborn status any given opportunity.

My heart raced just thinking about my loved ones, none biological but all family. How was I supposed to go to sleep thinking about them? I turned to my other side, Ralof, Lydia, Madesi, Arneir, even Paarthernax. God, the old dragon that was lonely and wouldn't want to do anything but talk all day. I wasn't complaining, before the Thieves Guild took up my time, I would take the 7,000+ steps to meditate on words with him. _______________ "Dovahkiin," his hot breath, smelt like old stockings might I add, fanned over my cold face as the wind whipped around us, "which word would you like to meditate on today?" I rolled my eyes and reached up, my hand stroking alongside of his large scales. Some were chipped and cracked, cold from the climate up here... I felt bad that he wasn't comfortable leaving the mountain. "No meditating today~" he puffed out as I continued to pet the side of his face, "Just wanted to visit." ________________

I would have loved to take Paarthurnax to the small mountains outside Solitude and Markarth... My eyes drifted shut at the thought of my old friend. Maybe that would be my "adventure" tomorrow... It would be a little hard of a trip on Brynjolf though. There were plenty of potion ingredients in the Cairn, maybe I could brew some stamina potions for him. With that, even my eternal voice died out as sleep overtook me.

#skyrim #brynjolf #elder scrolls #skyrim elder scrolls #fanfiction #videogames #fanfic #creativewriting #xreader #brynjolfxreader #fem!reader #romance

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Fallout x Skyrim Crossover Ideas

(I’ve already done a post about medieval fallout but..let’s get more specific? Idk, this is self indulging trash that I’m writing to help procrastinate while I work on other reacts/scenarios. If anyone has any ideas regarding this, feel free to comment! )

Macready would still be a freelancing mercenary, likely to be found somewhere shady as hell like the Bee and Barb in Riften. His archery skills shame Aela the Huntress.

Cait would be found in some crazy bandit fortress, forced to fight while loaded up on moon sugar constantly. Whenever she is “rescued” from her lovely bandit audience, she opts for returning to Riften. (Totally kidding..or maybe not.) To reunite with her distant relative, Brynjolf himself.

I could see hancock taking the place/similar to Madanoch, where Markarth is somewhat like Diamond City (although I would also say Whiterun too?) but with the corruption and everything..you know. Anyway, he’d basically be like a jarl in his own right, a jarl known for his eccentric liking towards skooma and ethnic diversity.

Arthur Maxson is young and powerful jarl, closely backing Jarl Stormcloak in the rebellion- as a matter of fact he strangely enough is an extremely high ranking officer in the stormcloak army as well, using his impressive military to aid whenever necessary.

Piper would be good friends with viola of windhelm okay? She’d also move from hold to hold, getting the latest scoop and even starting somewhat of a Skyrim-esque news type of thing. The thalmor have a hefty bounty on her though, thanks to all of her exposés of them.

Curie is an alchemist with her own shop and creepy sleever pets..don’t let them bite you though, she hasn’t yet perfected the elixir to cure the disease they can give.

Old Longfellow gets his money from trading with the skaal and taking “mainlanders” safely to the northern side of solstheim.

Nick works as somewhat of a mercenary, however he specifically works to help the locals find missing loved ones and things related to that line of work. He also is a particularly gifted illusion mage, frequently using the “clairvoyance” spell.

Gage is the right hand man to a ginormous, terrifying bandit clan’s chief. He..um..also is a bit of a pyromaniac, using fire spells left and right..but that about where the extent of his magic capabilities end. Used to run with the dark brotherhood though.

Deacon is a champion of nocturnal, a nightingale. He is also an outstanding illusion and alteration mage, having allegedly been a star student at the college of winter hold before mysteriously disappearing.

Paladin Danse is the old forgotten champion of Hermaeus Mora, you know, the dragonborn dude..just kidding, he’s actually the unfortunate child of a couple of Hircine worshipers that didn’t learn about his moon born abilities until it was far too late..being kicked out of Maxson’s army because of it. However he later found a home with the companions of jorvasskr, where he met Preston Garvey. Who knows though...maybe under all of that steel heavy armor really does lay the soul of a dovahkiin.

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 companions #fallout companions #paladin danse #danse #elder maxson #curie #porter gage #fallout skyrim crossover #fallout au #cait #deacon #hancock #macready #brotherhood of steel #nick valentine #piper wright #preston garvey #x6 88

[koeiasequoia]

Luka Skyrim Lore stuff

Ok so, preface, there's actually *two* versions of Luka in skyrim, there's just no functional difference between them, like, nothin changes just the race lol. One's just the "my fursona in [X] game" thing, and the other he's half Imperial, half Elf(wood elf specifically I think)[also while Luka Luka is more my age(24) Skyrim Luka is more like, late 20s/early to mid 30s) anyways onto the lore!

So to start, Luka dont actually remember like, anything, about his past, like at all. He got found washed up, half dead, and missing his left eye(he got caught up by a bunch of, overzealous, stormcloaks who thought he was a bandit, or maybe they were just bein assholes, basically they kicked his ass and dumped him), right outside Riften by Talen-Jei who took him in and gave him a job, which, he was pretty good at, a place to live and more or less a family. After a few years workin tho, he really noticed how unhappy the whole "Thieves Guild payment" thing made everyone, but he knew he couldnt really do anything about it as things were now. So in a "no thoughts, head empty" moment one night, he decided to join the Thieves Guild to try and, at the very least, get them off Keerava and Talen-Jei's backs. So the next morning he approaches Brynjolf about joining, the whole quest thing he has plays out as normal; steal a ring(he had a close call with a guard walking by right after he nabbed it), plant it on Brand-Shei, impress Bryn. Done and done and the whole, ratway thing goes normal too. Bryn doin his whole bragging and tellin ya to shake people down for money. So Luka smashes Bersi's urn, beats the shit outa Haelga(hate that woman) before stealing her statue(Svana saw him but is TOTALLY cool with it). But when he got to The Bee and Barb(he saved it for last cuz of anxiety), obviously Kee and Talen were upset, more disappointed than anything, so he quickly explained what his plan was, work his way up and hopefully get the guild off their backs, and tellin em that he was gonna give money he'd saved up as their payment, he did also implore em not to let it happen again until he could get everything fixed for em. They think he's bein stupid but he wants to give it a try. [Theres a whole lotta middle here that I ain't quite hashed out, cuz I would like to get at least a tad bit more in depth with the thieves guild main quests, but God this has taken so long already sibwoxvrjw so we'll skip to like, basically the end, but do know he does the four holds quests before endgame]. Makes a bet with Nocturnal(do mission in [x] time for more power, fail and lose all power but she still gets his soul[probably, might change that]) when Karliah brings him n Bryn there(she's silently pleading for him to shut up). Nocturnal amusedly agrees, the new Nightingales go and kick Mercer's ass get all the loot and hightail it out, Bryn heads back to get thieves guild stuff in order, Karliah goes with you to the Sepulcher but not in, that whole thing, and Luka returns the key with like a small amount of time to spare, Nocturnal's impressed and gives him a fancy new left eye that can see valuables, even through walls/containers/etc(each type is a different color. Like, jewelry is one, gemstones another, enchanted weapons another, so on and so forth) that he keeps under an eye patch, partially because it looks weird to other people(its an orange/gold eye with black sclera of course its weird) but also he just likes how the eyepatch makes him look lmao. And his first night as guild master he scratches out the Bee and Barb's old shadowmark and carves the "protected" one instead, and makes it VERY clear that anyone who robs or tries to pull any shit with them is losing a hand *at best*

Also whoooops I lied theres technically four Lukas but the other two are bards and I have actually nothing except one single like, scene as an idea djdbdjdnsk

#nico's journal #oh god this is so long im so sorry #long post #nico talks about skyrim #sona: Luka #jace i am SO sorry this took ages lmao

[eeveevie]

call it what you want

And I know I make the same mistakes every time Bridges burn, I never learn, at least I did one thing right  I did one thing right [x] 

Fiona and Brynjolf engage in some early morning pillow-talk, unable to escape their love-nest. 

❤

Brynjolf x Fiona 

760 words | Ao3

Fiona couldn’t recall a time she had felt so peaceful or well rested as she slowly stirred from her slumber. She wasn’t sure what time it was, not that it mattered—with how warm and content she was, all wrapped up in the blankets and furs, Brynjolf’s body pressed up against her back, arm tucked tightly around her waist. A “love nest” was what he called it. Her—their—bed, the place where they had been making up for lost time, in more ways than one, since returning from Irkngthand.

Fiona was still counting her blessings with every morning that she awoke. She couldn’t believe how close her life was to disaster just weeks ago, how every safety net she had built around her since arriving in Riften was ripped out from right under her feet thanks to Mercer’s treachery. She had her own demons and lies that she ultimately faced, but to say her world had been shattered would be an understatement.

In the end, everything—the Guild, the Nightingales, her reputation—had come out clean. Mercer was dead, Karliah was vindicated, Gallus was at rest and Fiona herself was Guildmaster. As for her and Brynjolf, their relationship had flourished into something wonderful, the two committing to each other—no more ambiguity, no more dancing around an undefined line. In the days since, they had hardly left Honeyside, but Fiona was hardly complaining.

She smiled to herself as his breath fanned out across her neck, tickling against her skin in soft puffs. She settled against his broad chest, satisfied to continue resting, or perhaps fall back asleep when she heard the faintest sounds of snoring coming from his nose and mouth. Fiona snickered to herself, raising a hand to stifle her amusement, especially as his sounds increased, echoing against her ear.

Brynjolf mumbled, the snoring tapering off as his grip around her tightened momentarily, his chin moving to nuzzle against the curve of her shoulder. She let out a sharp yelp that dissolved into giggles at the feel of his stubbly beard, playfully squirming against him as he hooked his other arm around her torso and across her naked chest.

“What’re you laughing at?” he rasped, pressing his nose to her temple, resting his lips against her ear as he spoke. It sent a shiver along Fiona’s spine and sparked a desire deep within her gut.

“You.”

“Oh?” he softly laughed, and Fiona was sure her skin was covered head to toe in gooseflesh now, even under all the covers.

“You were snoring,” she commented with a grin.

“I’ve slept in your bed plenty of times before, lass. This the first time you’ve noticed?” he asked.

She shook her head, maneuvering her body so that she was now facing him, his arms quickly snaking around her waist to keep her close. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you snoring before, Bryn.”

“Hmm…” he sighed. “Perhaps I’ve never been as comfortable before, then?”

She smiled, raising one of her hands to frame the side of his face. “I like the sound of that.”

With the pad of her thumb she softly traced the scar along his cheek before shifting to caress the angle of his jaw and chin. All the while his hands roamed across the skin of her back, softly stroking down the length of her spine. Fiona felt tranquil, warm beneath his touch, just staring into his eyes. Like a field of flowers had just bloomed within her heart, or the gentle breeze of fresh morning air had floated in and captured her soul. She felt like sunlight—that even on the darkest of days, in her deepest moments of doubt, all he would need to do is look at her and she’d know it would be okay.

Who knew love could be that powerful?

“I love you,” she sighed, unable to stop herself—not that she wanted to, not anymore. She was not the same woman, not the same Fiona that ran to Riften seeking shelter from a destiny she couldn’t face all those months ago. No, she was a brand-new woman, so incredibly lucky to have someone who loved her for all her faults and flaws and imperfections.

Brynjolf’s hand brushed through her hair, fingers curling through blonde locks before tucking them back behind her ear, tracing down her neck and back up to gently angle her chin as he leaned forward to capture her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. “Aye lass,” he breathed, barely pulling away, brushing his nose against hers. “I love you.”

❤ 28/29 ❤

#elder scrolls: skyrim #brynjolf #brynjolf x f!dovahkiin #fiona bloom-holt #otp: I shall taunt you a second time #t-swift february fics #fanfic #hey look a january jones gif #there are some clever references in here if you've been following along to my song choices #also ONE MORE I AM DEAD

[yivohn]

STATS :  ship prompts / always accepting!

@nxthero sent a courier :       Val x Brynjolf 

It was late in Riften, the soft moonglow of Secunda and Masser washing over the golden city, painting it hues of dimly lit orange and purple. Its streets still populated with late night beggars and guardsmen, even darkly leathered thieves prowling in the shadows that were cast by rustic buildings of cobblestone. Patrons still filtered out from the Bee And Barb, ambling slowly back to their homes with cautious eyes on the look out for greedy, reaching, thieving fingers.

Beneath the earth too slumbered the City of Thieves, guildmates retiring for the night after downing their last bottle of mead. Stories were exchanged and games already played— now, it was time to rest, and gradually a peaceful silence came over the Cistern.

But as thieves began to settle for the night, the Guild’s Master was feeling restless. 

Brynjolf had only just pulled himself away from Mercer’s— no, from his desk, papers scattered every which way. Leadership of the guild was as complicated as he thought it would be with the influx of business and literal luck; there were a dozen different letters to sign off on for every hold, and it was up to him to make sure everything went off without a hitch. The responsibility had yet to grow on him, though he was becoming used to it.

What was hard to adjust to though was the notable absence at his side. He had Karliah, sure, but it wasn’t quite the same— not that he could seem to get that woman to leave the Nightingale Hall for any longer than an hour at a time. He understood, though; she preferred the peace and quiet that the Guild was no longer beginning to offer. Indeed, the Cistern and the Flagon only seemed busier by the day. But even so— the seat at the head of the table was oddly lonely. Especially without her.

Without Val. 

No matter how busy the Guild was nowadays, it seemed almost quiet without her. Delvin would agree with him, of that he was sure  —— Valvossa was, truly, one of a kind. Her skill was unmatched, her luck uncanny— and he'd never known such a disaster of a person in all his life. Keeping her in check had kept his hands full until the mantle of Guildmaster was passed onto him.

He wondered where she was now, and who was keeping her in check this time.

As he stepped through the halls leading to his room — it was a personal room, now; that also took some getting used to — his hands lifted, nimble fingers beginning to unbutton blackened leathers. Brynjolf's eyes were unfocused, mind elsewhere as he moved, so distracted he hardly noticed the figure that was already waiting for him, in a re-locked room, unassuming.

As he drew closer, though, the view sharpened, and he quickly realized he was laying eyes upon the very subject of his thoughts. Yes, oddly enough, it was her, standing there in his room. So odd was it that he hesitated, rubbing at the bridge of his nose before the hand dropped. 

It was her. Valvossa, the woman he had scarcely seen since she began her journey as the Dragonborn — something that in itself was a hard concept for him to grasp — and it had been weeks, months.. 

“ Val? ”  He spoke almost warily, as if sure he was speaking to a figment of his imagination rather than a real person.

But she was there. She stood not in the heavy armor that had become so typical of her, but rather in a simple leather and chitin outfit, the sort she normally donned before visiting Raven Rock. Brynjolf wondered if that was where she came from, but before he could ask, she spoke aloud;

“ Brynjolf… ”  Her voice had a distinct warble to it, the tone she normally took before she started to cry— something he wasn't unfamiliar to. Equally as familiar to him, Valvossa brought her hands up and wrung them in a nervous, upset gesture.   “ Brynjolf, I-- I'm sorry for not visiting, I just… ”

Brynjolf's hands dropped from his leathers, his jack half unbuttoned. He approached her, closer until they were but a few steps apart.

“ Slow down, lass. I understand, you know that. ...What's wrong? ”

Valvossa took a shallow inhale, and looked up at him through eyes that glimmered with tears. There was a pang in his chest, the same he always felt when he listened to her cry. But this had nothing to do with lycanthropy— he didn't know why, but he knew it. She took a slow, shuddering breath.

“ I-I released a monster.. from a stone in Raven Rock. And my father— he— ” Valvossa cut off, voice hitching as a hand fluttered to her mouth, shaking as she spoke, voice wavering, “ Brynjolf, he's dead. It's m-my fault. He's dead. ”

He never knew the man personally. But he knew enough about him through Val to hesitate in shock; there was perhaps nobody closer to her than her own father. The way she talked about that man sometimes made him almost envious that he had such a relationship with his own. Tervaryn Llervuin was Val’s rock in everything, and with him gone... Brynjolf could feel his expression slacken in shock, but his normally silver tongue dried in his mouth. What was there to say? Very little, but--

“Val... I’m so sorry.” He stepped closer to her, and extended his arms.

It was all the invitation she needed before throwing herself into them, wrapping her arms around his neck and clinging onto him with a hug so tight he couldn’t help but wheeze. It loosened gradually, though, and the dunmer buried her face against his chest — which was bare, he noticed with a pang of sheepishness. Whatever the case, she didn’t seem to care, content and burying herself within his hold, grasping onto him as if he were her lifeline. 

And for the moment, he might as well have been. For the time being, he was her light in the abyss. 

He wanted to tell her a dozen things, then. It’s not your fault. I know you try to save everybody. It’s just how you are. He wanted to speak, but it was all he could do but to hold her in silence as her shoulders began to shudder with shallow, quiet sobs.

They stood that way until she lapsed back into silence, and when she finally spoke again, her voice was still thick with emotion, but quiet and raspy;

“ Stay with me. ”

Brynjolf angled his head, and buried his nose into a tangled mane of brunette. 

“Always.”

#nxthero #COURIER. * 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚 𝘖𝘕𝘓𝘠. #DRABBLES. * 𝘔𝘌𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘐𝘌𝘚 𝘋𝘐𝘚𝘗𝘓𝘈𝘊𝘌𝘋 𝘐𝘕 𝘛𝘐𝘔𝘌. #R. * BRYNJOLF / VALVOSSA. * 𝘔𝘌𝘌𝘛 𝘔𝘌 𝘐𝘕 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘞𝘖𝘖𝘋𝘚 𝘛𝘖𝘕𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛. #honestly this barely even counts as shippy #but WHATEVERRRR

[archdovah]

Brynjolf x tld headcanons

(Will be used in my fanfic for Brynjolf x Mara, so this is also just kind of a list for me and I guess therefore also contains spoilers for them? Though it’s all canon-friendly so... not that many? )

 Brynjolf fidgets with small objects or flexes his fingers when he needs to sit still for too long or when he is somewhat nervous.

 The first thing he has stolen, he still has somewhere as some sort of badge of honour. It’s something small and silly but it is his now and reminds him of when he started out.

He figured out he had feelings for the last dragonborn when he received the news from Mercer that she had betrayed him and the Thieves Guild. Refused to believe it at first and pinned Mercer to a wall until Delvin and Vex pulled him off. Mercer ordered him to calm down and Mercer fleshed out his lie in the time he was told to calm down. Mercer had not expected such a strong response from Byrnjolf (so this wasn’t just a replacable girl to him, hm).

 Delvin, Vex, Sapphire and Vekel knew long before he did how he felt about her. He asked for her a little too frequently, lingered on her as she smiled a little too long, looked down at her lips a few times too often and protected her just a little too fiercely.

Brynjolf had gone back to where she ‘fell’ and couldn’t find a body. He did find blood though, and swore he’d find her. Dead or alive. Still with VERY mixed feelings.

 Some of the other members of the Thieves guild took pity on his disbelief and avoided speaking of TLD. When someone was about to bring ‘em up, Delvin shot them a warning glance and ordered Brynjolf another drink.

 He wanted to hiss 'this is for what you did to her' when he called Mercer. Was kind of disspointed he wasn't the one to land the final blow, cause gmi, it was personal.

 When they’re both Nightingales and she visits him in the sepulcher, he holds onto her and kisses her as if he hadn’t expected to ever see her again. Those are the moments Karliah just... goes to be somewhere else for a while.

 They try to one-up each other continuously to the extent it makes them reckless. That is in objects they steal but just as much in ‘who’s gonna give in first’ when flirting. Has made one of em end up in jail at least once, but the other broke em out.

 She’s in charge when they get down and dirty. And he always looks at her as if she is a legit goddess.

 They have definitely both chosen the ‘nightingale of shadows’ at the sepulcher at some point to have sex in the moonlight outside somewhere and so they could both turn invisible if they hear anyone or anything.

 Brynjolf and Mara have spoken of how they would HYPOTHETICALLY go about stealing the skeleton key, which Karliah overheard and shot them an angry glance for. She then offhandedly fixed their plan for them while carrying on with whatever she was doing.

#Brynjolf #Brynjolf x mara #brynjolf hcs #brynjolf headcanons #Brynjolf x tld #Brynjolf x f!dovakhiin #brynbryn #Thieves Guild #TES Thieves guild #TES V Skyrim #skyrim headcanons #skyrim

[nocturnalswarehouse]

Chapter 19 - Final Resting Place

Fic Series: At Long Last

Pairing: Brynjolf x Female Dovahkiin|Dragonborn (Adranelle Rolaine)

Premise: Eight years after being declared the Dragonborn, and three years after Alduin is defeated, Adranelle (Adi) Rolaine finds herself back in Riften to help Brynjolf with the Thieves Guild's reputation.

Masterlist

CONTENT WARNINGS: graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood

Taglist: @thequeenofthewinter, @oblivions-dawn

Word count: 1, 096

A/N: I'm both sorry and not sorry for this chapter. It's quite evil. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

“Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?”

Adi lay on the ground, paralyzed. The poison in Karliah’s arrow had worked quickly to stop the assassin from making a move but still kept her awake long enough to witness the action. She had enough energy to fight the poison, refusing to let herself blackout. She refused to go out like this. Death by paralysis was embarrassing, quite frankly. 

“Give me a reason to try.” Karliah scoffed, bow and arrow at the ready. 

“You're a clever girl, Karliah.” the thief admitted a tinge of irritation in his voice. “Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired.”

“‘To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies.’ It was the first lesson Gallus taught us.” If there wasn’t the distance between them, Adi could’ve sworn Karliah would’ve spat in his face. She withdrew her weapon and faced Mercer without threat. It was clear that there would be no fight as of yet. 

“You always were a quick study.”

"Not quick enough. Otherwise, Gallus and Bjord would still be alive."

“Gallus had the title, his wealth, and he had you.” Mercer emphasized ‘you’ as if it was the most significant aspect. If Adi wasn’t mistaken… he was once in love with the Dunmer. “If only you could see how powerful we could’ve been. Gallus was a weak link, and they brainwashed you. All he had to do was look the other way.”

“Did you forget your oath we took as Nightingales?” Karliah sounded almost… sad when she asked the question but had brushed over it as she continued. She was angry, and rightfully so. “Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods? And what about Bjord? He certainly didn’t deserve to die.” 

“Enough of all this mindless banter!” Mercer drew his weapons, ready to fight. “Come on, Karliah. It's time for you and Gallus to become reunited!”

“I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise the next time we meet, it will be your undoing.”

Karliah downed a potion and abruptly disappeared. Mercer turned to Adi as she snuck off and made his way towards her paralyzed body. “How interesting…” 

Mercer knelt down to her, his face too close to hers. He brushed some fallen strands of hair from her face and braced the tip of one sword against her stomach. “It appears Gallus’s history has repeated itself.” 

Mercer drove the sword into her gut slowly and relished in the slow death as blood began to coat the blade. Adi felt the pressure of the blade in her body without the pain, thanks to Karliah’s arrow. She wanted to scream and shout at Mercer, to fight back and prevent her death from happening. All she could do was watch the scene unfold and listen to Mercer as he whispered one final threat. 

“Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place. But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you. Farewell. I’ll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards… the two of you will be reunited soon enough.” 

At his final words, Mercer smirked as he saw Adi’s eyes widen in shock. He thrust the sword into her stomach and twisted the blade thrice before pulling it out of the wound. The last thing she felt was a release of pressure and the quick flow of blood spilling from the wound. As Adi’s eyes glassed over and the blood pooled around her body, Mercer relished in his victory for a moment before leaving. 

Killing her was far too easy. 

***

Brynjolf had expected the trip to be long, but he never expected Mercer to come back alone. As the Guild Master laid it on thick when he broke the news, the second-in-command got angrier by the second. Adi was practically invincible. How could a Dunmer - even one as dangerous as Karliah - kill the Dragonborn of all people? Something didn’t add up, but Brynjolf wasn’t sure what exactly. 

For months the Guild’s spirits were down. Brynjolf barely ate, wouldn’t leave the Cistern, and snapped at anyone and everyone that came near him. He was absolutely broken inside as if some part of him had died along with her. In the depression, he let his stubble grow into a beard and kept his hair unruly. At this point, he didn’t care about his appearance. All he wanted was Adi back. 

On the other hand, Mercer thrived in the days following his return. Mainly sticking to the office beneath Riftweald, he began to plot the project Gallus never had a chance to pursue. If he wanted to steal the Eyes of the Falmer before Karliah could get her hands on them, he had to act quickly. The problem? He wouldn’t be ready for a while longer. 

A special tool was needed to remove the eyes, but the blacksmith that crafted it was located in Solstheim. He had to travel all the way to the Island, trade the tool for an item of larger value, and pray to the Gods that it would work and this would be worth it. Mercer had to get his hands on what Gallus could not. He had to prove that he was the better thief. Maybe then Karliah would see his side and see that he was always the better of the two. 

He waited until the right moment to strike, not making a single move until the rumours of Karliah’s return began spreading through the Ratway. He hadn’t seen her, but he didn’t need to. It was all Mercer needed to make his way to the vault undetected. 

It was late into the night, most members asleep or in the Flagon on guard. They had chosen to have Mercenaries posted at the entrances and exits so Karliah couldn’t slip into the Guild. Mercer was careful to be quiet as he used the skeleton key to open the vault door. From there, he and his mercenaries began to work to empty the room and leave the barren chests wide open for the Guild members to find.

He found something of value for the blacksmith during the search, allowing the rest of the treasure to be stored in his own chest. After writing a letter to Maven and giving it to the courier visiting town, Mercer fled the city and began his trip to Solstheim without another glance.

#tes #skyrim #tes: skyrim #brynjolf x oc #brynjolf #fanfiction #the thieves guild #brynjolf fanfiction #riften #the thieves guild main quest #the dark brotherhood #karliah #mercer frey

[actuallykiwi]

I was tagged by the lovely @memepipboy to do this :)

Did not take 5 minutes LOL

**Okay, so according to the Internet, Brynjolf‘s age is a matter for debate. Most say he was there around the time Gallus was murdered, which was 25 years ago in-game, so they think he was a young adult then . That would make him anywhere from late 30s to his 50s. So in my theory, he’s early 40s. 40-25=15, and I’m guessing he joined at a little older age, so maybe 42-45. Thoughts?

I tag anyone that has a favorite ship and wants to do it ^^

#skyrim #love story #writing #ship #ship in 5 minutes #memepipboy #brynjolf #oc #nightingale x brynjolf

[nightingaletrash]

Valkari! :D

Thank you!!!!!

B A S I C S

full name: Valkari Dragonborn

gender: cisfemale

sexuality: asexual biromantic

pronouns: she/her

O T H E R S

family: Astra Stormheart (mother, deceased) Garosh gro-Matal (biological father) Soran Luscinia (adoptive father) Brynjolf (adoptive father) Teldryn Sero (husband) Runa Fair-Shield (adoptive daughter) Aventus Aretino (adoptive son) Sofie (adoptive daughter) Serana (daughter-in-law) Aerrun Radlyn/Sheogorath (ancestor) Lucien Lachance (ancestor, deceased) Aelia (ancestor, deceased) Cato (ancestral relative, deceased) Astrid (distant relative, deceased) Akula Radlyn (ancestor, deceased)Erhan Radlyn (ancestor, deceased)Maggie Tyrne (ancestor, deceased)Darien Gautier (ancestor, deceased) Desmond Gautier-Tyrne (ancestor, deceased)Ellie Tyrne (ancestral relative) Laura Tyrne (ancestor, deceased)Gerrard Tyrne (ancestor, deceased)

birthplace: the Rift

job: Thief, Nightingale of Nocturnal, Dragonborn

phobias: water

guilty pleasures: alcohol, Imperial chocolate, stealing

M O R A L S

morality alignment?: True Neutral

sins - lust/greed/gluttony/sloth/pride/envy/wrath

virtues - chastity/charity/diligence/humility/kindness/patience/justice

T H I S - O R - T H A T

introvert/extrovert: Introvert

organized/disorganized: Organised

close minded/open-minded: Close-minded

calm/anxious: Calm

disagreeable/agreeable: Disagreeable

cautious/reckless: Cautious

patient/impatient: Impatient

outspoken/reserved: Outspoken

leader/follower: Neither

empathetic/unemphatic: Empathetic

optimistic/pessimistic: Pessimistic

traditional/modern: Modern

hard-working/lazy: Hard-working

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

otp: Valkari x Teldryn

ot3: none

brotp: Valkari and Karliah/Lydia/Miraak

notp: none

#plutoie #skyrim #valkari #okay but she has so many known family members XD #honestly she's related to half the people in tamriel i swear #hell she's even got a daedric prince in there XD