#you are the sun; and i am just a planet | muirin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gwimulchorom · 1 year

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“你的盼望, 是我握在手中小小的太阳”

Your hopes on me is the little sun I cup in my hands.

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They snuggled together in bed, a gesture they seemed to reflect even after years apart. A moment passed before Muirin poised to get up first and Myron reached over, possessively grabbing her sister in a tangle of limbs to ensure she couldn’t escape her deathgrip.

“I have work--” Muirin pushed Myron’s face from her, reaching for a pillow to smack her with, “I can just teleport away, and you know that.” Even then, Myron scoffed, feeling Muirin relax against her despite her protests.

“I’ll counter it if you try. Cheap spell of the 2nd circle that it is,” Myron grumbled, reeling Muirin back in, “The Twins can wait a moment before opening. We both have Simulacrums going - and a lot of time. Let’s sleep in for a bit more, and then get ourselves a sprawling breakfast.”

Muirin peeked up at Myron, before sliding out from under her. “Are you making it?” she teased, sitting up and reaching over to push Myron back up to a seated position, “Seems like the Roaringhorn’s been doing you some good. Your meals are starting to improve too. Did cooking for 50 people force you to get better ingredients and actually bother to take care of yourself?”

Myron flopped to a seat, ruffling her fluffy head of hair before squinting into space. “Brother very much does the opposite. In fact he tries to cook for me as much as possible...but yes, I’ve been taking better care of myself these days. Can’t fall apart if I’m in charge of so many children now, right? Don’t want them to worry about me as much as possible.”

“If he was abusing your goodwill you know I’d flay him. I’ve always wanted to see what’s inside a celestial being,” Muirin shook her head, fluffing her pillows and neatly setting them aside, “In the end, all it took was letting you adopt a gaggle of kids to have you sort yourself out. You felt so guilty taking favors from me all the time. Why? Making a small personal army in Waterdeep’s name?”

“They can decide what they want to do with their lives. You know better considering we were taken and trained, no say in that matter,” Myron rubbed her eyes before reaching blindly for her seal plushie behind her, slipping the toy inside one of her pouches, “They can be my personal army for all I care, but I doubt the Witch of the North really needs more rumors about her.”

“I like that. Has a mysterious type of zing to it,” Muirin wiggled her fingers, striding over to pull her twin to her feet, “Do they even put two and two together? Those people don’t even know who they’re talking to half the time.”

“No, and I’d like it to be kept that way,” Myron stumbled against her sister’s weight, allowing Muirin to guide her, “Where else am I going to get speculative portraits of myself as a sinister old crone punishing the corrupt and ruining cults? I need to get my entertainment somewhere.”

“Could offer you some jobs,” Muirin let herself bear Myron’s weight as they walked to the kitchen together, “Want to help me kill vampires at Greenest? Thay killed that piece-of-shit tree that was giving us so much trouble, but you know how they’re like about ensuring we’re both out of that picture. If not, I’m sure there’s some logistical paperwork for Greenest and Waterdeep I’ve been putting off. And also building more items for The Twins...”

“Already working on things for sale. Don’t have to tell me twice,” Myron rested her legs on the table, leaning backwards with acrobatic balance, “I don’t mind going to punt some undead. Need to put my arcane armor to the test anyway. I wonder how well the barding sigils would stretch on a dragon’s body...”

“Don’t,” Muirin gave Myron a warning glare, making a gesture to allow coffee to fill both their mugs on its own, “For someone so determined to keep all her identities separate, you keep trying to fly in as a dragon like you aren’t scaring the townsfolk less than two years after a major dragon attack.”

“I’m a nice dragon!” Myron protested as she accepted the coffee, pouting dramatically, “Maybe they need to read up more on the Draconomicon about topaz dragons instead of scattering in fright. I’m cute and lovely.”

“Getting people to read and improve on themselves? Tall order,” Muirin sighed as she evaluated the items in her stash, “What are you feeling this morning?”

Myron jumped to her feet, already limping over to toss around some ingredients Muirin had set out. “Bugs? We could call back to our roots and eat bugs. Personally I’m feeling toast and eggs,” she rambled, already setting aside her ingredients of choice, “How about some sausages? We hardly get sausages coming in these days. I’m so hungry. Maybe I should get Brother to request for more prime cuts from the surrounding regions.”

“We can discuss business later,” Muirin set out the plates, settling in with mug in hand as she leafed through her copy of the Waterdhavian Times, “If you’re hungry, how do you think I feel?”

“Boo. You wouldn’t even help me cut the crust off the toast and butter it,” Myron protested, already skilfully making scrambled eggs on the makeshift grill - a spark of green flame was all it needed to sputter to life, “Is the papers really that much more important than spending time with your beloved sister?”

Muirin sighed, gesturing to the loaf in front of her to start slicing itself. “You pull that all the time. We lived together for months after I found you again, I think I’ve had quite my fill of you,” she muttered, pulling the papers closer to her face.

“Blasphemy. Nobody gets tired of me,” Myron teased, mixing the butter into the eggs with a satisfying sizzle. “I want my toast triangular.”

#you are the sun; and i am just a planet | muirin #who lives; who dies; who tells your story | myron #my work #since apparently Muirin isn't being used she's my OC now

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gwimulchorom · 2 years

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Myron stays in bed the day after the siege, more in quiet trepidation than the shame her bunkmate felt for losing.

The last thing she remembers is falling to her knees and then to her side when the adrenaline had finally faded from her, replaced with a now deeply familiar pain and lack of coordination for a body that she could no longer rely on. Whoever had moved her would’ve noticed how light she was- as if she was going to be snapped in a slight breeze. In truth, it would be a reprieve if it happened, really.

The rest had already gone off for breakfast, and she could hear Haruuc’s voice echoing down the corridor, loudly searching for Milo. Near her, a quiet sigh exited the half-dwarf as he eventually got up too- just as she feels a sharp pain in her ear, a familiar berate and is on her feet, managing a resigned smile in Milo’s direction as it sinks in to him that he was very much seeing double.

A whirlwind of events followed: Myron being introduced to Muirin’s girlfriend (a high elf named Elia, one she couldn’t quite get a read on but remained politely curious towards) and drinking apricot wine while they both fussed over her about putting on some weight and actually taking better care of herself. In truth, she had forgotten how to properly care for herself, what with her workload between the school and the Wyrmworks keeping her busy enough that she wasn’t particularly inclined to bother.

What she’d taken away was that a body was a means to an end. She didn’t think of it more as a vessel to hold her soul in, to maneuver and produce mechanical marvels, than anything else. Of course, this was deeply dysphoric behavior, something Myron was gravely aware of but had no means of fixing- after all, her original body had been destroyed, vaporised through a fault in the Mythal, and this was but the “second-best” solution to ensure the Red Wizard could function and be intact.

It was cruelly funny to her how everything seemed to line up one after another. There was a difference between fighting Muirin in public and simply going along with matters, and the latter seemed so much easier when managing her own form seemed a feat in and by itself. She finishes a lavish breakfast and drinks with the duo (who both said they couldn’t be seen here, something Myron chuckled and took in stride), and when she prepares herself to head out, she finds a warhorse in red and brown drapings, undoubtedly for her.

Oh, where do we begin; The rubble or our sins?

She returns for Muirin to take the three dragon eggs from her, but not before Haruuc nearly ruins matters attempting to keep an egg that would simply never hatch into “a good dragon” that he seemed to be looking for. Even then, her mind remained distant, watching Muirin grow into herself with a quiet pride of someone who had enough time apart to finally overcome her own inferiority and jealousy about matters.

They had different niches, and it seemed inevitable that everyone just vastly preferred Muirin over her, anyway. Abjuration was just a school that seemed universally acceptable across Faerun, whereas Illusion came as redirection and deception, a hollow lack of reality.

Even Tate’s age-old question bounces off her when it would’ve bothered her 20yo self, when they used to be claws that seem to dig into a complex nurtured from tutors and fellow mages comparing them both constantly as they grew.

“Why is your sister so good and you’re like this now?”

She examines her own hands- calloused from hard work drawing diagrams on dragon hide, examining various dragon parts for their viability and cutting them into salvageable components, constantly shattered and mended enchanting with high-levelled magic far beyond the reach for the layman.

Nobody needed to know her baggage, drowning in grief and despair about Silverymoon and everything she’d lost.

Not that Muirin didn’t, or the fact that she’d volunteered this to Milo because she very clearly knew she would never speak it on her own terms. They’d taken turns to scry on each other over the years, after all.

It felt like acid melting in her throat, a cantrip she seemed naturally inclined to, when she wanted to retort that she didn’t ask to die, to be in chronic pain so much she wanted to just give up all the time, and she hadn’t asked to have all the spells she very much knew all locked away through sheer pain of her bones splitting open every time she made a familiar motion for something that she couldn’t attain with her current recovery process.

She asks herself: what was the point taking out her frustrations on someone who didn’t know better and would never? It wasn’t something that she wished on anyone else, after all. Maybe being a professor did do her some good after all in learning some patience around people.

“We took very different paths,” her truth slips out, one that remained reservedly resigned as she manages a quiet smile like she had so many secrets within her she had no reason to share, “That’s all there is to it.”

Myron allows the silence to settle between her and her teammates, victoriously satisfied. She’s comfortable letting it stretch on bringing the stacks of books to Muirin via a Floating Disk (what, they weren’t physically strong, it seemed to make the most sense) and retiring to work on her fang, her first major project since the accident when she’d found it mostly intact and partially embedded in her chest.

Eventually, Alasker’s Tooth would return to its glory of warding her from the wiles of dragons and allow her to sprout wings, letting her take off in majesty. It could even surpass itself and grant her more, an old friend and foe that seemed to always be with her as if she had just been gifted it.

For now, it was as broken as she was, and she needed to be patient with it, in a manner she couldn’t seem to apply to herself. She feels the fang writhe in her hand as if alive, sparks flying off its tip when it reacts to familiar magic while she works in one of the studies in Muirin’s house, stirring like a newborn dragon moving around restlessly in its shell.

Life endured, loathe as she struggled to deny its relentless advance.

She puts on her binocular spectacles and gets to work in silence, patiently stitching the restored fang together.

#who lives; who dies; who tells your story | myron #you are the sun; and i am just a planet | muirin #my work

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