weiry-ihu

[weiry-ihu]

Windsong

By Michaelu

(Morrowind and Elder Scrolls Fanfiction)

The cantons of the holy city of Vivec each looked like rising turtle shells breaking the surface of the placid Tamrielic sea. The Dark Elves or Dunmer had wrought marvels other races could only dream of. Inash walked the streets of the Foreign Quarter canton, his stomach growling like a ravenous guar, a reptilian beast of burden native to the province of Morrowind.

The Dunmer male took in a deep breath and brought his hand up to smooth out his striking red hair. The skin on his arms, cold and clammy in the morning air, glistened blueish gray.

“I want... sleep.” He almost fell, but caught himself by a railing that overlooked the sea.

“Who are you then, outlander?” An ordinator walked up to Inash. The guard of the holy city donned his ceremonial gold armor with its striking faux red mohawk: armor made to honor the ancient Dunmeri hero Nerevar Moon and Star.

“I’m no outlander. I. Am. Dunmer. I am of the Ash.” His voice strained as he said the words but there was an electricity to it, a power, an assuredness that almost calmed the unnatural rhythm of his heart. “My mother was of House Hlaalu, you know them, right? They bring in imperial gold to fund the nice kit you parade around in.” Inash would have said more if his legs didn’t fall out from under him. He could not control it, try as he might.

The ordinator chuckled. “If I take the words of a drunk for more than their worth then I can agree your mother was one of us, but you are not. You wield the accent of Heartland Cyrodil too well... No, you are an outlander.”

On a normal day Inash would have taken the ordinator’s words to heart, but on this dawn the young Mer just wanted to focus on staying upright. The unwell Dunmer tried to stand and only barely was able to rise. A growing sense of nausea had been creeping from the top of his head down to his eyes.

“Begone with you, then. No loitering.” The ordinator began to turn, uncaring of the young mer. “Almsivi watch over you,” replied the guard, the mouth on his golden mask unmoving. The words of Vivic’s protector promised warmth but all Inash could feel was an icy chill that stung the mer’s skin.

“The good it will do.” Inash said, more to himself. He made the long trek back to his apartment. His room rested near what passerbys would call the bottom of the canton. He opened the door and his mind went to images of his home.

The Dark Elf was ten again wandering the snowy hills of Bruma, the northernmost keep of Heartland Cyrodil. His house rested beside the local smith’s dwelling where a familiar voice hummed an upbeat and somewhat morbid Nord tune:

“ ...And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more. When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!”

“Erik!” Inash shouted as the northern wind bit at his skin.

“HA! Inash, little Dunmeri warchief! How’s your mother?” Erik peered down at the boy with eyes the blazing blue of the frozen north. The Nord was a true son of Skyrim. Besides some leather pants and boots, he wore little else, the cold having no effect on him. Over his chest and face resided striking turquoise tattoos: enigmatic swirls whose meaning only the Nords knew.

Besides looking every bit a warrior out of the sagas, Erik actually had quite the collection of books and tomes he kept inside. Inash had seen them when he and his mother had been invited for mutton. “I do love history,” the Nord had told him once when Inash’d come to visit. “If I had it my way I’d be studying at the Arcane University in the Imperial city. Alas, my father wanted a warrior, and so that is who I shall always be.” The Nord had frowned then, the tattooed swirl on his cheek twisting with him.

Inash looked up at Erik, feeling more sadness than fear. “Mother’s good...”

“What devilry draws your mouth southwards, warchief?”

“It’s... We’re leaving in two days.”

“Leaving...” Erik stopped hammering and put down his smithing tools. For a moment the little Mer thought he saw the beginning of a tear. “Gentle windsong, that is good! You’re going home.”

Inash didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that he was leaving or that Erik seemed glad. “But, this is my home!”

Erik laughed and his voice joined the wind, a pitch that could shake icicles from neighbors’ roofs. “This is Bruma, boy! The frigid doorstep of proud Skyrim. She whose wind is painful to you. You are of the Ash; in your home mighty Nerevar and his tribunal fought against the bygone Dwemmer and delivered all from fire and death.”

“I’ve heard the stories, Erik... It’s just. All my friends are here. You’re here.” Little Inash fought to keep his red eyes from tearing up.

“Do not fight so hard, little warchief.” The big man took a knee and yet he towered over the boy still like a tower onto a hovel. “When I left home a little older than you are now, my oldest sister gave me some words to take with me.” Erik let out a long breath and the air clouded around him. “For us Nords, especially those born in the homeland, Skyrim is more than just a place. She told me, ‘A Nord’s last thoughts... Should be of home.’ Our spirits belong to her, you see. That is how Morrowind should be for you. Sure, you may not have grown there, but in the end it is where your history is from. And... It is where your spirit will wander back to... Hopefully on a strong wind.”

Inash didn’t understand but he couldn’t control himself. The boy wrapped his arms around Erik as best he could. “My chest is going to ache awful, Erik. I’ll miss you.”

“Aye, child. A pain shared, indeed.” Inash couldn’t see the Nord’s face but he heard the strain in his voice more clearly now than ever before.

Something giggled farther away. A voice that made Inash shiver. “What a pleasant memory. Who knew these Human dogs were capable of such emotion.”

Inash screamed. Pain had returned. He looked behind himself and there in the snow, in the memory, resided a tall-lanky stranger bereft of clothing save a red loincloth. Another Dunmer. Over the stranger’s face resided a golden mask with what looked like three horns and three eyes.

“Aghh, you...” All the stories his mother told him, the nightmares, came back like a punch to the stomach. In front of him stood the great enemy of his people. A fallen hero. A god. “You! Deceiver! Evil One!” Inash began to cry, the pain too great. Get out of my head. Let me sleep...”

“I cannot let you sleep when your dreams are this horrendous, child. You make peace with the mongrel dogs of the empire and expect me to sit and watch?” the stranger waved a hand and the buildings vanished. Only the snow remained. “You have been tainted by these foreigners. You must welcome the TRUE embrace of your people. Join the Sixth House and the Tribe Unmourned. Say my name child, and begin your path to enlightenment.”

“Dagoth...” Inash began, choking back bile. He was an adult again, yet still kneeling in the frigid Bruma snow. Dagoth’s three eyes lit with flame and the Evil One’s clawed hand came up to Inash’s face. “Finish, boy.”

Inash’s mind fled from the evil one’s touch. It ran past the memories of his dying mother on the beige streets of the city of Balmora, an assassin’s blade in her back. His mind fled further still, through the swampy outskirts of the city of Seyda Neen when he had been on the run by said assassins. Houseless. Abandoned. He had been running since he’d left Cyrodil. So much running.

The arch enemy of the Tribunal temple edged his golden mask closer. Once this Evil had been the advisor of Nerevar himself. Now he was corrupted. “Finish.”

“... Dagoth Ur, the Dreamer. Lord Dagoth...”

“Yes! Accept me! Join me, boy. Join my legion of Dreamers.”

“Lord Dagoth...”

“YES!”

Inash opened his mouth and felt a pain akin to fire leave his throat. “I denounce you. I reject you. I am the windsong to a friend of the North. I am the little warchief... Of smoky taverns and stone chapels.” Tears fell at last from the dying Dunmer’s red eyes. “I am of the Ash as my kin told me. I am home.”

“So be it.”

A roar was the last thing Inash heard. His mind, tortured by trauma and narcotics, collapsed in upon itself. A long breath fled from Inash’s lips as his cheek fell to the floor of his apartment. The door, slightly ajar, let in a calm but sure wind.

END

[weiry-ihu]

SINNERS 2025, dir. Ryan Coogler

[weiry-ihu]

with a face like that and a body like this

[weiry-ihu]

It's an old tale from way back when/ And we're gonna sing it again and again...

[weiry-ihu]

🌿 Galahad Lavellan

He finds out Solas drew a mural of him and, for but a split second, the beef he has with him disappears.

[weiry-ihu]

The funniest part of Sinners was when the Native Americans just said “yeahhh good luck with that”

[weiry-ihu]

do you know where "no beta we die like x" comes from and how it is used?

The term "beta" in this context is short for "beta reader" - a person who reads a fic while it's still in the editing stage and helps the writer get it ready to post. Some betas check grammar. Some check canon compliance. Some are sensitivity readers. There are lots of things that betas can do.

So functionally, saying "no beta" means that the writer didn't get this checked by a second person before they posted it. It's a warning that there might be errors or typos etc. It's mostly used when an author has written something quickly and is posting without doing a lot of (or any) edits first.

As for where it comes from? It all started with a bumper sticker.

This image was an internet meme at one point, and it got meme'd on in the form of "no ___ we ___ like men"

Here on tumblr, one of the versions that got really popular was from now-deleted user @grec1a who created this version:

From there, it migrated to AO3 as the "no beta we die like men" tag, and very often the word men is replaced by the name of a character who dies in canon.

[weiry-ihu]

lmao i straight up shanked this bitch and the gang’s like yep good murder

[weiry-ihu]

I have written you down (now you will live forever)

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Briala! Illustration I did for Ukrainian Dragon Age zine :)

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Mom!vellan doodles bc we love milfs here

[weiry-ihu]

i am a young adult. it is time to read my favourite work of fiction. a noun of nouns and nouns

[weiry-ihu]

she’s so beautiful

[weiry-ihu]

The Lovers

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idle days

— (hawke)

.

some more baby hawke in lothering, waiting for da to come home

[weiry-ihu]

April Fools Solas :)

[weiry-ihu]

Have you heard of the tragedy of the Champion of Kirkwall?

+ Bonus

The og post that made me go insane