#ruth moss

[sleepytimemoga-p2]

Quick doodle before bed

[friendlessghoul]

Publicity photo of Buster Keaton and WAAB radio show host Ruth Moss, in an aluminum drive publicity photo for the Yankee Network. - 1942

[0cloudybloom0]

Scent: Matching Icons [Ruth & Austin Edition]

[0cloudybloom0]

Gaming Headcanons [Modern AU]

Totally forgot to post this to Tumblr that I made on Docs 2 months ago ;w;

Cries at the ending

Jonathan, Emmett, Ruth

Doesn't know where to go next

“y/n, what do I do now?”

Austin

Achievement collector

Samuel, Wambliska, Barnabas, Austin

Gets jump scared by literally anything [horror]

Jonathan, Ruth

Will try to solve everything [mystery/crime]

Samuel

Will become a murderhobo

Cain

Tries to keep everyone alive [until dawn, the quarry, etc..]

Samuel, Wambliska, Jonathan

Will try to find funny glitches and/or mod the skins

Cain, Jonathan, Shadrach, Austin

Will be there to give you resources (just in case)

Peter

Will totally forget about something and has to retrace most of the map

Shadrach

[mossandjones]

One weird tip

Ruth has always felt like a failure as a single mother because she's never discovered anything as groundbreaking as "one weird tip to lose belly fat" or "one weird tip to whiten teeth". I suspect that neither dentists or dieticians hate her, either.

However, Ruth's life hasn't been entirely wasted. Here are ten of the things she has learned in her thirty six years so you, dear reader, can have the benefit of her sagacity.

1. Learn to touch-type as soon as you are able.

2. Always carry a banana.

3. Spoilers: the old man at the start of the film, the one who seems a bit too nice and possibly even called the investigation - he's the murderer.

4. The cheapest, most hidden away charity shops have the best ballgowns and sports jackets.

5. Forget your (erroneous) beliefs about 'canon' and get on the Big Finish bandwagon.

6. Unless you want to see your child saying "pow pow pow!" whilst brandishing what he thinks is a purple gun, hide the sex toys really well.

7. You can bluff your way through a lot of sport chat by shaking your head and tutting. It's harder to bluff celebrity chat, and "did you see that dress?" won't cut it. You'll be asked "which one?" and before you know it you're in a world of hurt.

8. Listen to Beethoven's late quartets. Do it at the same time as reading TS Eliot's Four Quartets. That's basically a scaled-down version of a Combined Arts degree, right there.

9. If you have money, spend it on a warm winter coat and boots. Everything else is ephemeral and easily obtained from friends and charity shops (see 4).

10. Listen to Moss & Jones.

[lilacsoutofthedeadlandmixin-blog]

Clean sheets: NaPoWriMo poem 5, no prompt

Pegging out my boyfriend's shirts I felt the cotton

of one of them smooth in my fingers

and remembered the sheets you and I bought;

Egyptian cotton, white, a bugger to iron.

/

I'd iron them in our bedroom upstairs

you'd be watching re-runs of something downstairs

I'd take my time, respraying them with water

and going heavy on the starch, the scent lingering.

/

I got pregnant on those sheets. You, duty done

would go straight back downstairs as I propped my hips up

on a pillow, encased in cotton, staring

at the white ceiling. Each night for just three weeks.

/

When I left you kept them, those best sheets;

I took the tatty ones that I'd brought with me

from my girlhood bedroom, and gave them a new home

a basic, sensible mattress, where I slept alone or with our son.

/

The wind is busy today and has already dried

the shirts my boyfriend tells me he doesn't leave

for me to wash, he's not that kind of man, he wouldn't

expect that of me. I unpeg them and bring them inside.

[lilacsoutofthedeadlandmixin-blog]

Solution (NaPoWriMo 2012, day 14, prompt: write a sonnet)

Solution

The sole from my black boots detached itself at some point on our second date. With glue from a little shop on Hardman Street, solved: enough to walk me to my bus, with you.

/

I think of how things stick. Like fuzzy felt, the shapes we make, in bed, in the soft night; or when, scared by the strength of love I felt I tried to flee, you fixed, like a magnet.

/

There was the morning when with my leave, on my skin, like a white flag, you left your mark. Because we’d lingered in your bed too long for me to shower before leaving for work,

/

I wore your essence underneath my blouse like superglue; a bond that no one sees.

  NB: this poem was accepted for publication into Message in a Bottle magazine and will appear in the summer issue.