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from-the-clouds · 2 years ago

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texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. ix

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chapter summary: “When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.” - Richard Kadrey, Aloha from Hell. But maybe it's about to be. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 5.0k chapter warnings: HEAVY ANGST. Panic attacks. Referenced death of a parent. References to abusive/neglectful parents. Complicated sibling/familial relationships. Alcohol consumption, smoking. As always please dm if you have questions. a/n: I know it's annoying, but the thing about me is that I’m never able to write compelling things if I don’t include complex family/sibling relationships. Like I’m so obsessed with putting them in everything, even my stupid little love stories. But it does serve a purpose, I promise. There is an important character in this chapter….just saying.

**ALSO! I got rid of my taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

-September 15, 2003-

Joel can sense that something is off with you the minute you get home from work.

For starters, your voice sounds a bit too syrupy-sweet when you come through your garage door, and chirp out ‘Hey!’ when you spot him sitting on the couch in your front room, your cat curled up on his lap.

Just ten minutes earlier, he’d let himself in, using the spare key you’d given him and Sarah. Your house felt vacant, dark, and shockingly quiet without you there, and so he’d turned on the lights, put on a record, and washed the plate, two mugs, and a bowl that were sitting in your sink.

Joel stirs, and Martini immediately jumps off his lap as though he’d personally offended him in some way. “Hey, darlin,” he stands, accepting your affectionate kiss on the cheek. “How was your day?”

When you pretend you don’t hear him, that’s the second thing that tips him off. You turn to hang your messenger bag over the hook in your front closet. And then you flex your fingers like you’re trying to stretch them out, cracking your knuckles one at a time with your thumbs, and rolling your shoulders back before heading into the kitchen and gesturing for him to follow.

“Do you…uh….do you want something?” you turn your head slightly, but not enough to meet his eyes. “Let me get you something.”

He follows after you tentatively, remaining silent until he figures out what's going on. Martini, who was walking underfoot, scatters out of the way as your heels click over the tile and retreats to a safe distance alongside Joel, who pauses to lean against the threshold.

Even despite the clear tension in the room, he can’t help but check you out. Before, Joel wouldn’t say that he necessarily had a type, it still is a little shocking that he ended up with someone like you.

Before you speak again, you retrieve two lowball glasses out of your cabinet along with a bottle of his favorite whiskey, and pour two drinks, turning to offer him one. He accepts it cautiously, and you nod at him before taking a long pull of your drink.

“So uh,” you say. “There’s something I kind of need to talk to you about.”

You take another sip and then unbutton your blazer, shimmying out of it and tossing it over a barstool. Pushing the sleeves of your blouse up to your wrists, you cross your arms and chew on your bottom lip, like you are trying to decide how to break some sort of horrible news to him. Joel prepares for the worst. He racks his brain for anything he could’ve done or said recently that might have upset you, maybe even scared you off. But he’s coming up with nothing. What could he have done?

At this point, his parents even know about you, even if he hasn’t had the chance to introduce you. His mother tries, in her I’m-not-prying-but-I’m-definitely-prying type of way, to get more information out of him. She asks him questions like ‘Do you think she’s the one?’ and he doesn’t answer directly but it does make him think. He already knows you’re his one. He just wonders if he is yours.

It’s consistently been his fatal flaw. Joel falls hard, even when it’s not right. It’s how he has always been, and that’s how he ended up alone with Sarah in the first place. The very thought of you ending things makes him feel sick. He knows he’s in love with you, that he doesn’t want to look elsewhere. It’s becoming harder and harder to hold back. You’ve filled up all this space in his life that he didn’t even know existed. What is he going to do with it once you leave?

“What’s going on?” Joel asks, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as pinched as his throat feels.

“I should’ve told you this earlier,” you begin. “But….my dad has been sick the past few months.”

“Oh,” Joel says, but relaxes just a little, which feels a little selfish because it’s still unfortunate news. “I’m sorry to hear that. What’s going on?”

“It’s fine. I’m not really sure. Just…my brother called me today and apparently he’s taken a turn for the worse. The doctors…they think he doesn’t have that much time left. I…I need to go see him, I think. Before…” you don’t finish your sentence, you just shrug and look down.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah no, it’s fine, I’m fine,” you say dismissively. “I actually booked a redeye that leaves tomorrow night. I wanted to make sure I could still take Sarah to the office with me for her career day and everything, so you don’t have to worry about that. So yeah.”

“Do you need to leave earlier?” He asks. “She can always come to work with me.”

“No, no…” you give a soft smile. “I made a commitment, and….I want her to see how boring my job really is.”

Joel wants to smile back at you, but he doesn’t. Because despite the jokes, when you meet his eyes for a second, they look so dull and desolate it feels like it’d be inappropriate.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Joel sets his glass down just as you pick up yours for another hearty gulp before continuing. “I got my company to approve me working remotely for two weeks. I don’t think it will be that long, but…I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Joel reaches out and rests a hand on your own. “You should go be with your family. Sarah and I will be fine.”

“I know that. I just…I don’t really want to go,” you say. “But I’ll feel bad for the rest of my life if I don’t…and at the very least, I need to be there for my brother. He’s closer with my dad than I am.”

Bringing the glass back to your mouth, you take another sip – at this point, the drink is nearly gone. Joel steps behind you, because he can’t really hug you the way you are now, facing forward and bracing yourself on the countertop. “Come ‘ere,” he murmurs softly, pulling you back against his chest. For a second, you tense. It’s like you’re surprised, still, that all he wants to do is be gentle with you. Once you remember, he feels your body relax, and your head falls back to tuck under his chin, one of your hands clutches his arm that wraps across your collarbone. “I wish you could come with me,” you say.

“Me too,” Joel says against the top of your head. He knows he can’t. Not with Sarah, and not with work being the way it has been. Unfortunately, the excuse probably wouldn’t go over well with the guys there. Not that he cares that much what they think, but he can’t jump ship right now. “But I’d have to find someone to look after Sarah….maybe I could ask my parents.”

“No,” you shake your head. “No, no. I don’t want to put anyone out.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine,” you insist. “Everything will be fine.”

“Well at the very least, do you need me to take you to the airport?”

“You’d endure rush hour traffic for me?” you tilt your head back to look up at him.

Joel laughs softly, leans down for a kiss. “That and more.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-September 17th, 2003-

The room you’re in is dark, but the lack of awareness of your surroundings seems to be the only thing keeping you from suffocating. You’re standing in your childhood bedroom, which doesn’t look much like it used to. It's a guest room now, but it never really felt like yours all the way, did it? You clutch at your stomach – you’ve been nauseous ever since your plane touched down at JFK – and reach towards your old dresser to steady yourself.

The vanity that had once been scattered with trinkets and trophies and photos of childhood memories was now vacant – pristine and polished. You wondered if the items had been thrown out, or dumped in a box somewhere in your old closet. It almost doesn’t matter – you aren’t interested in digging up any more memories. The feeling of your fathers hand clasped around your own had done enough.

You inhale deeply, bracing yourself against the glass top as you try not to throw up or pass out. For some reason, you had underestimated what you were walking into, and hadn’t expected your body to react so….viscerally. On the other side of the closed door, you hear your name, muffled from down the hall.

It’s hard to make out who it is, perhaps your stepmother, Meredith, or some other distant relative you hadn’t seen in years who had crawled out of the woodwork and now lingered in the apartment, hoping to get their piece. But you’ve locked yourself away. That’s what you had gotten so good at whilst living here. Hiding.

Until the door opens, and you squint against the light that floods the room to find the only person who has always known where to find you. Your brother.

“Hey. Ethan and Elizabeth are on their way up,” he says, then pauses. “Why are you standing in the dark?”

The lightswitch clicks, and the harsh ceiling lamp illuminates, starting the fan up with it and causing you to shiver. Vincent is frowning, standing halfway into the doorframe, his brows pinched.

You widen your eyes at him. Come on, don’t give me away yet. “Will you please turn that off?”

Vincent rolls his eyes, but obeys, switches on your desk lamp instead and closes the door behind him. “Are you okay?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know that you aren’t.

“It was a lot…being in there with him,” you look at the floor.

“Well, at least you know he still likes you. He’s not going to take you out of the will.”

It feels like a smack across the face, and your jaw drops. How could he be so oblivious to your pain, when he’s the only person in this house, in the world, maybe, who understands exactly how you are feeling right now. “Is that all you think I care about?”

“No, I-”

“I’m here because of you,” you say. “You wanted me here. So I came, and I shouldn’t have.”

“Oh come on,” he says. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“I wish I wasn’t here,” you continue on, despite his wishes. “I wish I didn’t have to wait my entire life to hear him say those things.”

Vincent’s expression shifts. He had been in the room. He had heard it. Your dad had been so….sweet. Gentle. Whispering praises even though his eyes were closed. You had expected, had wanted cruelty. This was somehow worse. Maybe he had known what you wanted all along, held it over your head, and waited only until the end of his life to give it to you. Even his admission of love was somehow malicious. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop you from regretting everything you’d done to get away from him.

Just outside the door is the flight of stairs that leads to your father’s room. And suddenly you aren’t an adult. You feel as helpless and as scared as you did when you were just a little girl – looking up at him, the view of his figure obscured by your brother’s shoulder.

“God, it’s so fucked up.” you choke out.

Vincent steps forward wordlessly, pulls you into a hug, and it’s only after you hear a quiet sob leave him that you let your own tears fall. There’s nothing either of you can say to fix the damage that has been done, so all you can do is cling to each other and cry.

“I know it’s fucked up,” he says. “I know. Maybe I should’ve….I could’ve done more.”

You pull back, relieved to see your tears didn’t ruin his cashmere sweater. “What could you have done?” you ask, dejectedly. “We were kids.”

Vincent doesn’t know how to answer that, but he wipes his nose with the back of his hand, and looks at the ground a moment before lifting his head. “We’ve got each other.”

But that’s hardly true anymore, and he knows it. You’ll always resent each other for different reasons – he had adapted to the circumstances, and you had left them. Neither strategy did anything to fix the damage.

You’re still weeping, but softer now, face wet with tears that fall everytime you blink. Swiping under your eyes, you sigh and attempt to compose yourself.

“Come on,” Vincent says. “Say hi to Ethan and Elizabeth. Dad is stable for the time being. We can take a walk or something. Get some fresh air.”

“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll be out in a second. I have to get my shit together.”

After he leaves, you check your makeup in the vanity, wiping away some smudged mascara before following him out. When you enter the front room, still sniffling, you pray that you don’t have a run-in with any other family members. But the only person you see besides Vincent is your sister-in-law coming through the door.

Elizabeth’s face is pinched in concentration as she tries to wrangle your nephew out of his coat. “What up, champ?” Vincent holds a hand out for a high five, just in time for her to free Ethan’s arms so he can reach towards his father, who stoops to accept his hug.

“Hi, Daddy.”

Elizabeth steps back and makes eye contact with you as you approach. In the past, you pitied her for the decision to marry into your family and then go on to have children with your brother. She was a little too good for him. But now, you feel like that was kind of a callous way of looking at things. You wonder if your brother would feel the same way about Joel for getting mixed up with you. Fortunately, Joel is still a well-kept secret.

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” Elizabeth says. “I’m so sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

“It’s alright,” you accept her hug and return her kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to see you, too.”

She looks down at her son. “Honey, do you remember your aunt?”

“Hey, Ethan,” you crouch alongside your brother, and he nods, but still side-steps closer to his dad and smiles over at you bashfully. “How are you doing?”

“Good.”

“Don’t be shy,” Vincent encourages, but your nephew doesn’t seem interested in your attempt at an embrace, so you let them drop by your side.

“It’s okay,” you stand up, feeling a fresh batch of tears threatening their way to your waterline. Ethan’s treating you like a stranger because you basically are one.

“You’ve met a lot of new people the last few days, haven't you?” Elizabeth asks, then looks over at you. “He might be a little overwhelmed. He’ll warm up.”

Vincent stands at the sight of you starting to cry. “I am going to take her to get some air,” your brother puts a hand on your shoulder, speaking about you as if you are not in the room with them. You feel so useless, you might as well not be.

“That sounds good,” Elizabeth says. “We can catch up later. I ought to say hello to Meredith.”

You both nod, stepping into the hallway.

The fresh air helps, even if you can’t go far from the apartment. You walk around the block in silence, which gives you a chance to compose yourself. It’s a surprisingly warm day, although it’s much colder in New York than it is in Austin this time of year. In early fall, the leaves have only just begun turning.

You’re about to turn the corner to the stretch of sidewalk that leads back home, when Vincent plops himself down on a bench without warning. He fishes through the front pocket of his jacket and retrieves a flask.

“Jesus, Vincent,” you mutter under your breath. “Right now?”

“Uhm, yeah,” he answers. When you scoff, he continues, rolling his eyes. “Oh, get off your high horse. It’s just a little.”

“Aren’t you sad?”

“Of course I’m fucking sad,” he defends. “But I go to therapy now, so….I’m better at processing.”

“Yeah?” you gesture towards the flask. “Is that what this is called?”

“No. But it is the only way I can deal with Meredith.”

“You’re insane,” you say, but can already feel your exasperation fading. In your absence, he’s been dealing with all this alone. “Give me that.” Reaching forward towards the flask, he jerks his hand away just before you make contact.

“I’m not sharing.”

You pout at him. Come on. He rolls his eyes and passes it over. “Fine.”

While you take a sip, he produces a pack of cigarettes and plucks one out of the carton. “You don’t smoke these anymore, do you?”

“Not really. But I still have not managed to kick the weed habit.”

“Well I’m jealous,” he says, lighting it. “Now that Elizabeth and Ethan live with me again, I really have had to get my shit together.”

I’m sure you’ll fuck it up soon enough, you’re primed to say, but even as a joke, you feel like it’s a little too mean. It’s okay to let this be a nice moment.

“You know, if you wanted,” he says. “You could stay here for a couple months. I can get you set up with a place in the city. It might be good to be home…after…” You do your best to ignore his reference to the inevitable storm that hangs over your heads.

Any other time, and the offer might tempt you. This is your home, always would be, and you will always feel called to it. If you came back, all your family and childhood friends would be here. And without your father, things may be different. But now you have other priorities. “I can’t do that,” you shake your head.

“Why not?” He asks. You sit down on the bench, swipe the pack of cigarettes from where they sit between you, and take one for yourself. “Didn’t you say you were approved to work remotely?”

“No, it’s not that,” you light the cigarette and take a pull, coughing when you inhale too deeply. It’s not a joint. “I actually….met someone.”

Vincent frowns like he doesn’t believe you. “Really?”

“Yeah….he’s actually my next door neighbor.”

“Oh, you managed to wrangle a fucking cowboy-”

“How many times have I told you? I don’t live on a farm. You know what? Nevermind,” you roll your eyes, shake your head. “Forget I mentioned it..”

“Relax, I’m joking. Always so emotional-”

“Emotional? Emotional?” you ask. “Remind me which one of us was the one who had to be sent to a-”

Vincent’s eyes roll back, and his head tilts with them. “Oh, here we go.”

“It’s not a joke to me,” you say, desperate to end the argument, and it actually works.

“So is this….serious?”

You shake your head. “I mean, I…I think I’m in love.” It’s not as insane to say out loud as you had expected.

“I didn’t think you cared about that sort of thing.”

“I didn’t either. But…I don’t know. It just sort of happened.”

“What’s his name?”

“Joel,” you say. “He’s got a daughter, Sarah…she’s sweet. So is he…hardworking, thoughtful, kind….” you trail off, and veer away from becoming too sincere. “In other words, he’d fucking hate you.”

“Yeah, you know I repel the honest type.”

“No,” you correct him. “I actually think you’d get along. And you’d like Sarah. She’s funny.”

“I’m sure you’re a great influence on her,” he quips, sarcastically.

“I’m good with kids. I’ve always been a good aunt to Ethan?” you insist. “....when he knows who I am, at least.”

Vincent chuckles. “He knows who you are, he’s just in a shy phase. That or I’ve already fucked him up.”

You’ve heard some variation of the same from Joel while talking about Sarah, and it makes you smile, just a little, and wonder how terrifying it must be to have a child of your own.

“You couldn’t,” you tease. “Elizabeth wouldn’t allow it.”

He nods as if you’ve made a good point. “So that’s it? You’re really never coming home?”

“I mean, never say never,” you say. “At the very least, I should probably visit more often. I could bring them sometime to meet everyone. We could try to be a normal family.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Only your brother could find a way to make you laugh even under such dire circumstances. For a while, you’re quiet, and then you speak up again. “Being in love….it’s fucking scary.”

“That’s part of it,” he says. You sigh, shake your head, and put out your cigarette. “I’m happy for you,” he says, after a while.

“Thanks,” you smile. “I’m happy for you, too.”

Despite the fact that your stomach still hurts, you’re sleep deprived from the flight, and your father is standing at death’s door, you are thankful for what feels like a huge step forward.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-September 19, 2003-

Joel’s hand stretches out to stop whatever thing is ringing in his ear at such an ungodly hour. His phone. He doesn’t even think, just answers it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers it might be important.

“Hello?” he grumbles.

“Hey,” He can tell instantly that something is wrong. “I’m sorry, did I wake you? I didn’t check the time.”

Joel looks at the clock. It’s six in the morning for you, and he’s never known you to be an early riser. He already knows what you’re going to tell him, but he asks anyway. “Yes but it’s alright. Are you okay?”

“My dad is gone.”

“Oh, baby,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shockingly stoic. “It will be okay. I just, I wanted you to know I’ll be staying longer than I thought. I’ve got to help my-” you clear your throat. “I’ve got to help Vincent with the arrangements and then my dad wanted his ashes scattered somewhere in Colorado. It’s where he grew up, so I’ll probably go there before I fly back, and-” You keep rambling, and Joel cuts you off.

“Hey that’s fine, that’s okay. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna miss your birthday,” you say. “I had this whole thing planned where I was gonna take you and Sarah out to dinner, and it was gonna be really nice and-”

“We can celebrate another time,” Joel insists. “It’s okay. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, so quick it sounds like a reflex. “I knew it was going to happen, so...”

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t want to push you, but it’s very clear you’re holding something back.

“Yeah, I…” you trail off. “I don’t know.”

Joel doesn’t answer right away, just gives you a little space to process. The silence is excruciating, and lasts so long that he wonders if you’ve hung up. But eventually, you speak again.

“I don’t….I don’t feel anything,” your voice breaks, all strained and choked and horrible. “I feel like I should.” You’re hundreds of miles away, and Joel has never felt so helpless. “Something….something is really wrong with me. I can’t-”

“Babygirl,” he hears himself say, doing everything he can to calm you down. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He hears you take in a sharp, staggered inhale on the other line, struggling to catch your breath. “I wish you were here with me.”

Me too, I wish I was too. He wants to say, but all he feels is panic, tight around his throat. He feels like if he can’t get to you, something horrible will happen. What had he been thinking, letting you walk into this alone? Things must have been worse than you had let on. “Maybe I can try to figure something out.”

But almost as quickly as you lose control of yourself, he hears you clear your throat, a hard swallow. “It’s….it’s…it will all be fine. I will be okay, sorry, I just…” Joel can’t tell if you’re answering him, or if you’re talking to yourself.

Joel knows the routine pretty well at this point, each time you show any sort of vulnerability, you immediately pull back – like there’s some invisible boundary you’ve crossed that snaps you back into place if you test it. He’d be able to actually help you if he was there. In some ways, you being so open with him, but only over the phone….makes sense. It’s just another way to avoid him. He won’t resent you for it, but it doesn’t make him hurt any less.

“What can I do?” Joel asks. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine, Joel. I promise,” you sniffle, clearing your throat, pulling yourself together. “I’ll be home soon and everything can just…go back to normal.”

“Yes, it will,” he says. “You’ll get through this. And you’ll come home to Sarah and I. I’ll have a martini and a back rub waiting for you the second you walk in the door.

“God,” you say. “You’re so hot.”

Joel chuckles, relieved to hear your smile.

“You know,” your breathing steadies. “I would like you and Sarah to come out here. Not now. But another time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I was thinking about it. My brother has plenty of room. We could crash here, and you could meet everyone. I mean, Vincent comes across as like….such an fucking asshole, really, truly…but I don’t know. I think ultimately you’ll get along.”

“I’m sure we will,” Joel breathes softly.

“You just have to promise you won’t leave me if you don’t.”

“That wouldn’t make me leave you.” It’s you I love. He’s not going to tell you that over the phone. So he settles. “You are what I care about.”

“I feel the same,” you say softly.

You’re silent for a spell.

“I probably should go and eat something. I’ve felt awful for like three days straight and I finally have an appetite. And there’s really no problem that can’t be solved by a bodega sandwich.”

Joel chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll feel better if you eat something.”

“I will call you later, okay?” you say. “Thank you, Joel. I miss you, and I’ll see you soon.”

“I miss you too,” he murmurs. “I’ll see you soon.”

See you soon. For the next few days, everytime you call each other, every conversation ends with the same promise. Neither of you are aware it’s one you can’t keep.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-September 26th, 2003-

Joel sits in the front seat of Tommy’s car, and tries to hide the fact that his hands are shaking. There’s blood spattered on the front of his shirt, blood that didn’t belong to him. He’s done a lot of things to protect Sarah. To protect his family. He’d used that turn of phrase, that he’d kill for them, in passing, but never actually thought he’d have to do it. He did. He did. And he’s suddenly scared of what else he might be capable of.

He does not want this burden, to be a protector, but he has no choice. It has been his entire life. First an older brother. Then, a father. It’s worth more than his own peace, than his own life. He would sacrifice that every time if it kept his family safe.

And you, too.

He’s only just now looking down at his phone, trying to block out the noise of the voices on the radio that cut in and out of static. And it’s not because it’s broken. The world he knows is crumbling, he’s freefalling towards the earth, and he’s gotta grab the only things that matter or they will perish upon impact.

Sarah says your name from behind him. “Do you think she’s okay?”

It’s the first minute he’s had to think since he arrived at the prison to bail out Tommy. He has several missed calls from you and one voicemail. He doesn’t even think to listen, just immediately tries to call you back.

“I don’t know, babygirl.” The phone doesn’t even ring. Sarah’s hand falls to his shoulder and he squeezes it tightly, hoping she can’t feel that it’s still trembling. Joel has no cell service, and none of the calls are going through even after trying several times over.

Joel looks down at his watch to see what time it is. It’s working now, thanks to Sarah, who had told him that she’d got it fixed at a place you had recommended before you left. It’s delusional, but he hopes maybe this isn’t happening in Colorado. You’d called him this morning to wish him a happy birthday, things had been fine then. How could it all fall apart so quickly?

He accepts that he can’t reach you, and listens to the voicemail you’ve left.

“Hey Joel, I….something is going on here. I don’t know if it’s happening everywhere. People are sick. It’s….it’s…If I don’t see you again I hope I- I want you to know that I love you. Okay? You and Sarah. Thank you, Joel. Please…please stay safe.”

I love you, too. Why didn’t he just say it when he had the opportunity to? What had he been thinking?

Joel tells himself that this is not the end. Things will settle, even if it takes time, and you will keep yourself safe. You won’t get sick. All the promises you made to each other will be kept. Even as he tells himself this, he knows it’s probably a lie.

Still, he indulges. Things will go back to normal. As long as he keeps himself safe, he’ll find his way back to you again. It’s just a matter of time.

But his hope for the future, for anything else, dies an hour later.

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trickstarbrave · 1 year ago

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hi im on my bullshit making up random aus again

this is steren! not his main story either. i might write up his main story in bits and pieces at some point. but this is an au bc i wanna see him happy with his parents.

so he's getting dropped in @mulberrycafe's vivi's world. sorry kid, azura will grant your wish but not how you're thinking

obligatory picture of steren and some background info from this post. and bonus baby picture.

this is just part 1. part 2 will be the gang dealing with an unconscious dunmer who fsr has a moon and star ring of his own and nerevar's sword. which will be uh. concerning.

(also i didnt proofread this :'D)

Falling to his knees, Steren coughed up a bit of blood, willing the last of his magicka into a healing spell to keep his organs stable.

It hadn’t been an easy battle, both physically or emotionally.

Dagoth Ur, after all, had at one point been his father.

Fate was cruel like that. His first lifetime he spent his whole, although very short, life chasing after his father and his legacy. He felt alienated in House Indoril, and when rumors stirred he might be of an unsavory bloodline no one dared name, things became more complicated for him. When he was a young adult--when he should be just spreading his wings and leaving to the world--he had found documents that were to be burned from the sinful Sixth House.

Documents that clearly defined that he was born from Voryn Dagoth. Born from a supposed fling he refused to name and died shortly after childbirth that the Lord of House Dagoth refused to let rot and instead welcomed as a legitimate son with open arms. It seemed to go along with his memories too--hazy, faint things from when he was such a young child. Memories of a golden skinned mer with long black hair that would hold him close, laughing with mirth and pride, calling him ‘little star’.

Steren then went to Vivec for answers. They were all on the first council when the war broke out. It was impossible the living god didn’t know his father was Voryn Dagoth. He demanded answers--why was his father killed? Who was his mother? Was she really dead? Did she miss him? Did he have any other relatives--aunts and uncles in other houses who knew who he was? Why had his whole house been destroyed and they shoved him into Indoril in secret?

But Vivec had refused to answer.

When Steren was young, the warrior-poet was oddly close to him. He still lived in Mournhold, having not yet built his temple in the Ascadian Isles, and welcomed Steren almost like a mentor. Encouraged his magic and swordsmanship, and assured him there was a place for him in the world. But when Steren knew the truth, the god’s eyes had gotten cold and hard.

“What good would come if I told you everything?” Was Vivec’s answer. “House Dagoth fell because they were traitors. Voryn Dagoth had betrayed our people and fought against us in the war that destroyed parts of Vvardenfell. Even Red Mountain spewed fire in anger.” His words only fanned the flames of resentment more and more for the young dunmer in front of him. “If there were relatives who could take you, I would have gladly let them. And no matter how much I tell you of your birth, of that accursed house, it will not undo that tragedy. It will not bring your parents back.”

It was the truth, in a way. A painful truth Steren had refused to accept. He grew up isolated and lonely, wanting nothing more than to belong. Wanting nothing more than to know his history. Something to call his own. A relic from his parents. A memory to cling to. Proof that, at some point, in some way, he was loved like he always craved.

And Steren chased answers until he died tragically, killed in a landslide as he tried and failed to get into an old House Dagoth outpost to look for hints of the stronghold’s location. He had barely gotten married and had a son himself, who no doubt had to grow up without him.

And in Steren’s second life that tragedy never really ended.

He was orphaned in Cyrodiil, not even knowing who his parents were, kicked out once he was the age of majority for a mer. And with little life skills, he had resorted to taking whatever work he could. He hadn’t intended to get mixed up in anything illegal--that would be stupid. But the imperial guards didn’t much care about his ignorance when they rounded up everyone involved in the smuggling operation. Steren pled his innocence: he thought it was just unloading cargo off a ship. How was he supposed to know it was smuggled goods? But the law didn’t care much about it at the time. He was to serve his sentence of five years since he had no money to pay a fine.

Only to, after one year, be shipped off to Morrowind, unknowing what events would unfold.

Another cough, and a bit more blood spilled onto the volcanic rock. He felt so warm here. The lava below was making him sweat like when he had corpus fever, but he didn’t have the strength to stand up and leave.

“Steren,” Nerevar’s voice spoke to him, kneeling beside him and trying in vain to wipe his brow. It wasn’t entirely unappreciated; while Nerevar couldn’t really touch him, the spectral presence gave a faint, cool sensation on his sweaty skin. “It’ll be alright--” Nerevar was always quick to reassure and help him. “Do you have a potion or two?”

At the very least, in this lifetime he found the answers he sought--his other parent had been none other that Nerevar. Steren had been born of a fling--a quiet, drunken affair neither of the two had expected anything else from. Nerevar had told him as such, but that they both loved Steren very dearly regardless. That Nerevar had loved Voryn, even if he couldn’t say so openly. The hortator had run off after discovering the pregnancy, ignorant to what the dwemer were getting up to, to have Steren in secret under the excuse of going on a pilgrimage to Azura, and handed Steren off to Voryn to raise.

And after his death Nerevar couldn’t bear leaving his child alone. Reincarnation and prophecy be damned; his son was alone in the world. Nerevar had wanted Voryn to raise him so he was always looked after and loved by at least one of his fathers, and now with Voryn dead Nerevar would take up that role. Yet, he was powerless to speak to Steren--to answer his questions and protect him like he always wanted. And with that regret he continued to watch over Steren’s child. Then Steren’s child’s child. All the way until Steren was reborn to a dying mother fleeing persecution in the Illiac Bay.

Steren had a feeling his dad was going to have to see him die all over again, once again helpless to stop it. The Moon-and-Star ring let him speak with and see Nerevar, but there was only so much a ghost could do.

“I used the last of them…” Steren admitted. He had just enough to barely survive the fight, gulping them down while he dodged attack after attack.

“Recall amulet?” Nerevar replied, and Steren tried to get the energy to dig through his pack. If he could pull out an amulet or scroll he could use that to get into town--limp his way to a healer or general goods seller for a few potions to stabilize himself.

But then there was a spectral blue light that didn’t match the golden glow of Nerevar, and a woman’s voice spoke to him.

“Well done.” She was smiling affectionately, but Steren kind of wanted to curse her out. “With this, Morrowind has been saved. And Nerevar’s soul might rest.”

“Azura--” Nerevar scowled in response.

“It has been over three millennia, hortator.” Azura’s smooth reply came. “Are you not tired of this tragedy?”

“My son still needs me--”

“Your power wanes even now, and you know this.” Azura’s reply came. “A soul should not be as active as yours is, haunting the living. You do not rest in the home of your ancestors. You do not rest even in Moonshadow.” Steren’s eyes widened. “Through force of will you have continued on, but I know internally you weep for the sharmat’s death.” Nerevar looked away now, still scowling. “Your soul cannot survive much longer without a rest. You will cease to be.”

Steren didn’t want to say goodbye either. Tears were running down his face at the news, but he nodded his head.

“Go.” Steren forced a smile.

“Steren--”

“I don’t want to be responsible for the death of both of my fathers.” He had admitted. “If you leave now, it won’t be goodbye forever, right?”

The look Nerevar gave him was indescribably painful.

“I’ll see you again one day, right?” Nerevar wrapped his arms around him, trying in vain to hold him tight. “And I’ll give you a real hug then, Dad.” He wanted to hold Nerevar back in return, but he had long since learned he couldn’t. Only in his dreams could he. But the cool embrace was oddly soothing.

“Of course.” Nerevar shook with sobs himself. “I’ll be waiting for you, little star. With open arms.”

With that, the golden light faded, as Nerevar pressed his hand to his cheek, smiling at him the best he could through his own ghostly tears.

And then it was just Steren and Azura in the chamber now.

“You have done well, righting the wrongs of the past.” Azura smiled again. “You are truly a precious child to undertake this monumental task. And to you I am eternally grateful.” She should be, honestly. Nerevar couldn’t be reborn to do it, so here he was answering for the sins of his fathers, correcting their wrongs and setting everything back on course. He got the divine disease, went through hell and back, and had to kill one of his fathers with his own hands and blasphemous tools.

“I can grant you whatever wish you desire.” Azura’s presence was even warmer as she came close, though given the heat of the heart chamber he wished it wasn’t; he missed the cool, spectral touch of his father already. Yet, despite the pain clouding his senses, he tried to think. A daedric prince offering a favor was a big deal. Many would wish for pleasures beyond their wildest dreams, or fame and future. His whole family line had been cursed with rotten luck, and he could finally make something of himself…

Yet, none of that had any appeal. To be honest, before being shipped off to Morrowind he had no idea what to do with his life. Given he hadn’t even reached his 100th year and was still barely an adult by dunmer standards, he thought he would have some time to figure it out. And now that he saw his past life and finally learned all he wanted to and more…

Well. He didn’t know what he wanted from life. How was he supposed to go on alone, even with wealth and fame? All he would be thinking about is, in the afterlife his fathers might be waiting for him.

“...I just want my parents back.” Steren admitted after a few moments of silence.

“You know I cannot bring back the dead.” Azura frowned.

“I know.” Steren replied. “Instead I’d rather… Just be with them.” It was unspoken what he was asking for, but he thought he implied it well enough:

He was asking for Azura to finally let him rest too. To put him out of his misery. He had done his part, and the kindest thing she could do for him is to finally let him rest peacefully in the presence of his parents. He already made peace with his death on the long trek up Red Mountain, though he never told Nerevar that fact.

After a moment of silence, Azura closed her eyes. “I see.” She approached even closer. “I can reunite you with them then, if that is what you wish.”

“It is.” Steren was certain. Even if she didn’t take his life here, he didn’t expect to live much longer with the injuries he sustained anyways.

“Are you truly prepared to leave this all behind?” She asked again. “There will be no going back.”

“Positive…” Nerevar would lecture him, cursing him to the deadlands and back, but Steren was so very, very tired. He would take the lecture, comfortably in his father’s arms once again, before finally having a nice, long rest.

“Then that shall be my gift to you.”

White was the next thing he could see. All encompassing, painful white, as he quickly went from feeling far too hot to feeling frigid.

And then he was falling. And falling fast. Seren scrambled, activating his slowfall ring, his heart accelerating and lungs still burning. Still, the enchantment could only cushion his fall and try as he might to flail around in the air, to get to dry land he could see, he ended up falling into the water.

“Fuck!” Steren swore. The cold felt like knives digging into his skin, and before he knew it he felt like he was gasping for air, suffocating despite his head being above water, as he continued to flail towards the beach. He climbed himself out of the frigid waves eventually, shivering, now soaking wet.

Azura had promised him he’d get to see his parents, but he never expected Moonshadow or the ancestral realm to be… Cold and snowy. There wasn’t a whole lot of snow in Mournhold after all. Yet here he was, now soaking wet and freezing, snow on the hills he could see.

If he was dead, did it matter if he was cold? That was a question he had. It sure felt like a pressing issue though, so he continued to swear and curse, trying to think. How should he keep warm? He wasn’t used to the cold growing up somewhere subtropical and then being shipped to Vvardenfell where the volcano kept the climate oddly warm compared to the neighboring country of Skyrim.

So he pressed on. Maybe Nerevar wanted to retreat to a colder area of Moonshadow. All Steren needed to do was find a place to warm up and find him.

That was easier said than done though.

He had underestimated the problems with wet clothing. His robe froze, forcing him to discard it, along with a chunk of his armor still stuck to it. He pulled out a cloak, trying to keep warm, but the wind seemed to seep through the fabric to the wet silk under it and still left him shivering. He wandered and wandered, his hands going numb and his head aching like he had a terrible migraine.

And then he started feeling oddly feverish, like he did back in the heart chamber. His clothes felt like they were wet from sweat, trapping the heat against him until it was burning. He would have stripped down more, except he was afraid if he did he would stop moving. He had to keep moving forward. One step after the other. His dad was here, and he didn’t want to stop.

Faintly, he heard people talking. His ears perked up as he blinked. His vision seemed blurry and blown out, stinging from the harsh glare of sunlight on pure white. Yet, over a small hill, he could make out two familiar faces:

A golden skinned chimer in House Indoril armor, white hair, and blue eyes. A dunmer with long, black hair and red eyes, a third eye on his forehead. He knew their voices too--he couldn’t possibly be mistaken. There were other people there but Steren didn’t pay them much mind; his fathers being here, together, was much more important.

“Dad!” Steren called out, his voice hoarse, before coughing again. Sucking in the air to yell felt like needles were pricking his already injured lungs inside and out, but he was so close--! Just a bit further. He willed his numb legs to push him forward through the heavy snow.

Nerevar gave him a confused look, before Steren wrapped his arms around him.

“Woah--” Nerevar stumbled slightly as Steren threw all of his weight onto Nerevar. “Oh gods, he’s freezing!”

“His hair is frozen--” Voryn said, confused and equally concerned for the strange dunmer who seemed delirious from the cold. Yet, Steren could barely even understand the words coming out of their mouths. All he could do was cling to Nerevar, relishing in the fact his dad felt solid and warm under his touch rather than ephemeral and cold.

“Here,” Nerevar unclasped his cloak, wrapping it around his shoulders. “C’mere, let’s get you someplace to warm up, alright?”

#steren #nerevarine #nerevoryn #nerevar #voryn dagoth #my writing #yknow how it is #can you use ephemeral like that. idk

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