LEVERAGE 4.07 - The Grave Danger Job

 ↪ “The man put me in a coffin, Nate. A damn coffin.”

(Source: big-ol-cookies)

(Reblogged from maderr)
The writer’s job is to get the main character up a tree, and then once they are up there, throw rocks at them.
Vladimir Nabokov (via elucipher)

(Source: iapprovethispost)

(Reblogged from maderr)

queendread:

I don’t understand the USA, all your roads are straight and all your cities look like they were planned using Excel.

Everyone knows the only way to build a city is to wait until a bunch of tiny villages merge together over centuries and create a sprawling clusterfuck of winding roads that make no sense and have no street signs and are impossible to navigate unless you’ve lived there all your life.

image

You’ve apparently never been to Boston.

(Reblogged from nikerymis)

afhenley:

kellywyre:

mrlabrador:

mattwt:

*presses button*

*smashes the button harder than any other button ever*

FINALLY. Something to tell my family and friends to explain my three-hour daily minimum…

IKR?

*aggressively pushes button multiple times*

(Reblogged from arver7)
Some women are
lost in the fire.
Some women are
built from it.
Michelle K., Some.  (via atmosfare)
(Reblogged from pipervaughn)

Editing

ursulavernon:

I must remind myself—

they can’t tell that I didn’t write this bit immediately after that one

the six months where I ignored the manuscript are not visible to the naked eye

the bit where I put my head in my hands and muttered “I have no idea what I’m doing” takes place in the single space between the period and the next capital letter.

As soon as I shove that character in, she has always been there

and someone will probably say that she’s the emotional center

and the book couldn’t have been written without her

and nobody will know that I thought of her three thousand words from the end and scrolled up and shoehorned in a couple of paragraphs near the beginning because, for whatever reason, the story needed an elderly nun

she was almost the cook

and for about ten minutes she was the earnest young village priest

and now she has been there since you started reading.

I am sanding down the places where my editor found splinters

kicking up a fine dust of adjectives and dropped phrases

(Wear a breath mask. Work in a well-ventilated area. Have you seen what excess commas can do to your lungs?)

and eventually it will all be polished to a high shine

and hopefully when someone looks into it

they’ll see their own face reflected back

instead of mine.

(Reblogged from maskedfangirl)

guo-jia:

stunningpicture:

After a lot of rain here in FL these baby frogs appeared. They eerily all faced the same direction.

THE RITUAL HAS BEGUN

(Reblogged from pipervaughn)

clcero:

i dont even have guilty pleasures anymore i just like stuff and if people have a problem with that they can go fuck themselves

(Reblogged from pipervaughn)

stupidswampwitch:

masooood:

safeidgul:

Why can’t there be a male hooter’s equivalent where male servers are shirtless and highly sexualized for their bodies and looks

Male Strip clubs. You’re thinking of male strip clubs.

No. Not a male strip club. A strip club is a strip club. I want a place called Cahones where waiters wear Speedos and are forced to stuff if they don’t fill out their uniform well enough. I want them to giggle for my tips. I want it to be so normalised and engrained in our culture that women bring their daughters there for lunch (because whaaaaaat the wings are good! Geeze sensitive much?) where they’ll give playful little nudges like, “Wouldn’t mind if you dad had those. Heh heh heh.” that their daughters don’t even understand but will absorb and start to assume is just the normal way grown up women talk about grown up men. I want to playfully ask my waiter if I can have extra nuts on my salad and for him to swat my arm with an Oh, you because he knows if he doesn’t his manager will yell at him. I want other men to pretend to like going there so I think they’re cool. I want to go to Cahones during my lunch break at work and when I come back and tell the other women in the office where I went they chuckle slightly and the men around us suddenly feel self conscious and they don’t know why.

(Reblogged from haletothequeen)
(Reblogged from delightful-horror)