Lol. “Tomorrow” as in...three months later I’ll be archiving this blog. Gwyneth will be rebooted at some point, maybe on a multi-muse with Lilith, we’ll see.
ta-ta, lovelies.
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

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@atomsandnothingnessarchived
Lol. “Tomorrow” as in...three months later I’ll be archiving this blog. Gwyneth will be rebooted at some point, maybe on a multi-muse with Lilith, we’ll see.
ta-ta, lovelies.
[[Hello.
Long time no see.
I’m going to be rebooting this, and several of my other blogs. More details when I’ve finished, but Gwyneth’s story is going to get an overhaul, and she’ll be a single-verse character from that point out.
Right now...it all looks like shit. Sorry. I’ll get it sorted tomorrow.
DM me to plot if you’re inclined <3 ]]
Nothing is worse than when someone who’s supposed to love you just leaves.
Ava Dellaira, Love Letters to the Dead (via wordsnquotes)
@eyexgotxxya
I cherish small intimacies. A head resting against a shoulder, lips brushing against a nose, a kiss on the neck, a hand reaching out for my own
I still get very high and very low in life. Daily. But I’ve finally accepted the fact that sensitive is just how I was made, that I don’t have to hide it and I don’t have to fix it. I’m not broken.
Glennon Doyle Melton (via wnq-anonymous)
Barry Moser
// d o m e s t i c //
Sweet Gwyneth, by the always amazing @kupieckorzenny. Will never NOT commission her for portraits of my characters! They’re always spot on! Thank you for another perfect piece of art!
gentle-historian:
Ah, Diamond City, the Green Jewel of the Commonwealth, or something to that effect. The radio didn’t come in well down in his bunker; the historian had yet to venture out and find the radio tower that would boost the signal.
Not that he had more pressing matters, though he would like to think he did, his constant wanderings for books are what he considered important, even if those books were to only ever end up in his bunker where no other eyes would see.
Adam’s soft blue eyes darted about the city, soaking up minor details as he walked. He wasn’t sure if he would call this place a jewel, but then again there was a good chance the people living here didn’t even know what a jewel was.
There was a quaint little open area, it looked to be used for public speaking, and there upon one of the benches, the historian spotted someone familiar. A grin played upon his lips, it would seem he would have the drop on her again. Truly, if they were to meet again after this he hoped this would not be the case, it was a terrible trend to have.
“And I see we meet again, with me coming up from behind and your nose is in a book. I do hope this one is in better condition.”
Before the peace of their small bubble was interrupted, the black hound’s yellow orbs had already fixed themselves on the man nearing the pair; he didn’t move, only watched suspiciously, as always, though he seemed to recognize the other as a non-threat--had he not, he would have long since been on his feet and ready to protect the woman he chose to follow everywhere (because one did not own a dog like Black Spot--he was a free agent).
Gwyneth, on the other hand, was absorbed by her text, occasionally taking a bite of her apple and chewing thoughtfully as she read. She was oblivious, it seemed, to her surroundings--to the restless brahmin nearby, the playing children that would occasionally run through the field, an occasional Brotherhood aircraft overhead...and Adam, behind her, until his voice startled her enough that what was left of her apple--nearly a core, now--fell from her hand and bounced off Black Spot at her feet, who met it with a low grumble.
Huffing softly, she looked over her shoulder at him, wide brown eyes focused under a brow tense with irritation. “And here I thought I could read in relative safety...but still I find myself being startled from behind,” her brow then lifts, and she sighs softly. “My own dog didn’t think to warn me you were coming, so I suppose if he didn’t find you enough to even grumble about, I shouldn’t either...But I would prefer if maybe in the future, should we meet again, you introduce yourself from the front.”
Closing the book she was reading, Gwyneth offers it up for inspection, a faint look of smug satisfaction with her find falling over her features. The book itself is in rather fine condition--the softbound cover shows some bending and the edges of the pages are yellowed with age, but the spine is sturdy. “To the Lighthouse...Virginia Woolf.” She smiles, obviously pleased with herself. “It’s very good. Not just because it’s in one piece. Maybe I’ll let you borrow it when I’ve finished, if you promise to return it.”
✥ Play fighting! (loooool)
“Stop. I’m working.”
“You bother me when I work all the time.”
The exchange of hushed tones could be heard between the stacks of books as Tristan ghosted behind her. Watching Gwyn struggle to put away books on shelves that were high enough to dwarf her and everyone that worked in this place.
She was almost done. Though dedicated to the bitter end. And he wasn’t sure if it was out of respect for her duties or just to be cheeky with him. Waiting had turned into quietly annoying her throughout the shop.
He smirked as he saw her disapproving look when he stole one and slide it into a random spot. Huffing that it didn’t work that way. To which he simply moved it to a spot too high for her to reach.
“For the low price of having dinner with me, I will gladly get it back down for you.”
“You work with corpses. Not books worth hundreds or thousands of dollars,” she hisses, trying to snatch the book back before it was moved into a spot she couldn’t reach. “Besides...it’s not as if I’m moving organs around when you’re trying to do an autopsy.” Sighing, Gwyn crosses her arms and looks up at him, giving up.
“You know I was going to have dinner with you anyway...Let me go put these in the back and get my coat...It better be somewhere nice.” She starts to disappear into her workroom in the back, then leans back out, an eyebrow quirked mischievously, “And you’re paying.”
8 ½ (dir. Federico Fellini, 1963)
I wish I knew what to do with my life, what to do with my heart…I do nothing all day, boredom settles in, I look at the sky so I get to feel even smaller than I already feel and my mind keeps poisoning itself uselessly.
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via wordsnquotes)
Muse resume
Name: (Sister) Gwyneth Meyers Age: Late 30s Species: Human Gender: Cisfemale Orientation: Bisexual Profession: Archivist/Heretic/Bookseller/Conservator (depending on verse...)
- Physical -
Body Type: Petite/Slim, underweight at times Eyes: Brown Skin: Olive Height: 5′1″ Weight: 95-100 lbs.
- Skills -
Strength:3/10 Speed: 8/10 Magic: 0/10
- Likes -
Colours: Grey, Ocean Blue, Green Smells: Soap, Paper, Ink Food: Soup Fruits: Dandy Boy Apples (Pears in Modern AU) Drinks: Tea Alcoholic Drinks: Vodka Favourites: Books, Dogs, Beaches/The Ocean, Seaglass, Curling up in too many pillows and blankets.
- Others -
Smoke: Occasionally. Drugs: Mentats, occasionally. Drivers License: In modern verse, yes, but she prefers to walk or take the subway.
Tagged By: @iinxsearchofxisolde Tagging: @gentle-historian @archerwhiterp @atomsgrandzealot @karmicagent @errorexecutingfile @beenpole @lyoniiisms
We never talked for very long at a time. It was simply the pleasure of discovering what we each felt.
Ernest Hemingway (via quotemadness)
💪: My Muse witnesses your Muse coming back from / working out in the gym
“I’ll just take Black Spot with me. What’s the worst he could do?”
Tristan didn’t know how much he’d regret those words until he found his morning jog transform into a full fledged pursuit of a dog that had no concern whatsoever for anything besides barking and darting to sniff every tree.
He must have circled the entire area three times in a sprint. Chasing what he was now doubtful of being just an ordinary Sheppard Gwyn had decided to bring into her home.
The troublemaker hadn’t slowed until Tristan finally stopped to catch his breath- and came trotting up to him with his tail wagging. “You little brat.”
Climbing the stairs back to her apartment felt stiffer than usual and he could feel the sweat clinging to his back when he stepped through the front and released Black Spot off his leash.
“Well, I’m never doing that again.” Came out in a monotone as he pulled off the loose shirt he’d worn that day and stepped in the direction of the bathroom- his feet sore and covered in a layer of dust.
“Well...he had to work off all those extra treats you’ve been sneaking him somehow, didn’t he?” Gwyn smirked, leaning against the frame of the bedroom door with her arms crossed as she watched Tristan, biting back a laugh. “You didn’t believe all those stories I’ve told you about him, did you?”
Closing the space between them, her amusement turning to sympathy when she notes the stiffness in Tristan’s movements as he pulls his shirt off, one of her slender hands closes around his and brings it to her lips. “Do you need some ice?” She murmurs, looking up at him through her bangs.