pushpin

songsandeyeglasses  asked:

How do you redecorate without breaking your fragile bank account??

I love this question! Everything on this list is under $30, and most of it can be purchased from the safety of your dorm room couch.

Decorating on a Budget

1. Plants: Plants are my personal favorite decor (apart from Xmas lights). They’re inexpensive and look great in any location. If watering a plant every day doesn’t work for your schedule, get a cactus! I water my cacti twice a week.

2. Xmas Lights: I try to distance myself from people who say that Xmas lights are just “seasonal”. I have three different strands of lights up all year long, one in each room and one on my outdoor balcony. These lights are perfect for parties, romantic evenings, etc. 

3. Candles/Incense: Dorm room or apartment landlord permitting, candles and incense really help an apartment feel more homey. They also help stave off the smell of your cat’s litter box, which is always a plus.

4. Posters: Posters aren’t as expensive as you think they are, but poster frames are ridiculously expensive. And you can’t buy the cheap ones, they fall apart instantly- you have to buy the $40 ones. My advice to you, buy posters and hang them up carefully with pushpins or tape.

5. Clocks: Buy a cool clock off Society6 or RedBubble for $25. It’s my belief that the right clock can help brighten up an otherwise dull-looking room. I bought my boyfriend this Bob’s Burgers clock for his birthday last year.

6. Shower: You don’t need to use the low-grade weak shower head that came with your bathroom. You can buy color changing shower heads and spa quality shower heads on Amazon for $25. Go forth! Always keep your old shower head somewhere safe, and put it back on when you’re ready to move out. There are lots of great and truly unique shower curtains out there on the internet, but they’re expensive. You’re better off buying one from Target or Walmart.

7. Night lights: I am the sort of person who always needs to pee at 3am. I have always used night lights in my bathroom and kitchen because they’re so much better than blundering around in the dark. Similar to the Xmas lights, they help create that “mood”. I have these cute little lava lamp night lights.

8. Glow in the dark stars: Just trust me on this.

9. Chalkboard paint: Dorm room or apartment landlord permitting, chalkboard paint can help turn your room into a perpetual canvas. A friend of mine from college did this to his incredibly small room, and it looked so good.

10. Beaded curtain: Beaded curtains help make small spaces appear larger. We have a beaded curtain hanging in our hallway currently, and it’s great. You don’t need a super expensive one that was handmade by the indigenous people of wherever. Just a simple one to put in a doorway or hang on the wall to change your space.

I’ve always loved those “people in their personal environments” photo series and wanted to make one for myself, now that I’ve tried to really make my bunk my own. I regret not picking the bunk with the wood plank wall, ‘cause you can get away with sticking pushpins into the cracks.

"Igniter" Curse

A curse inspired by Butcher Babies’ “Igniter”, a spell for someone who can’t keep your name out of their mouth and likes to lie and rumor monger.

Now it rips me it fucks me it tears me apart
Just one push and I will ignite
This coiled up anger on you
So be my guest
Stand down, it’s my game and I say you’ll burn out
Your time is on loan
Silence your bullshit, your voice I despise
Don’t say another word, you hemorrhage lies

📌Gather: construction paper, black salt, red pepper flakes, chili powder, a burnt match, crushed glass, a pushpin, red or orange crayon, taglock

📌Perform on the waning moon if possible. I also recommend playing the song while you do this, but it’s not necessary.

📌Make a poppet using the construction paper, making sure to draw a face and mouth. Draw flames on the poppet with the crayon, pouring all your anger into the drawing, and then put the other ingredients inside the poppet. 

📌Put the taglock in last, or, if you don’t have a taglock, write their name on a piece of paper and burn it, imagining that their foul words turn to ash in their mouths. Put the ashes into the poppet.

📌Close it up and stab the poppet in the mouth with the pushpin, saying “Speak ill of me no more, all your lies are needles and ash, to be kept behind your teeth”.

Bury the poppet, or store it in a dark spot. Cleanse yourself thoroughly afterwards and maybe have a nice little treat for yourself.

Series of Unfortunate Events curse

-Make a witches ladder and tie it to your target however you’d like (hair, name, etc)

-Tie in items that relate to unlucky things 

  • used up travel toothpaste-> they never seem to have toothpaste when they need it
  • a key with a ‘?’ drawn in sharpie-> you’re gonna be late to work, douche
  • empty battery-> they’re always just too tired to really get any work done
  • loose pieces of yarn-> so they always have that one strand of hair tickling their arm
  • a pushpin-> step on something sharp, asshole
  • a ripped piece of paper with the words “REALLY IMPORTANT THING”->so they always forget that one really important thing
  • an empty toilet roll-> every. single. time.
  • broken birthday candle->nobody remembers their birthday

Charge that sucker with your annoyed motherfucking energy and swirl some fucking smoke on it with a few spritzes of cayenne water for good measure. 

Now stuff it in an old sock and forget about it. Or hang it up. You do you.

Cirque du Bangtan : A Carnival of Souls (Taegi/BTS)

Genre: Smut - Vampire!AU, Circus!AU, Detective!AU

Words: 14.5K+

Author: Admin Kaycie & Admin JP

Summary: Staring BTS as the exclusive circus troupe behind the nation’s biggest unsolved mystery. In the height of their fame, can Detective Kim Taehyung find the connection between the thousands of corpses turning up suddenly and tie it to the ethereal beings of the bangtan troupe- or will he fall as yet another victim claimed by Cirque du Bangtan, the carnival of souls?

Tags: Smut, Blood Play, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Oral Sex, Bukake, Pet Kink, Vampire!AU, etc.


Originally posted by iamyoonseoktrash


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landmark aesthetics
  • sun veins: dipping your feet in the ocean, flowing white dresses, light sunburn, locked fingers, butterfly kisses, lounging around all day, gazing at the person you love
  • way it goes: an organized day planner, bare feet on hardwood, your face hurting from smiling too long, black coffee, ballroom dancing, burning your fingers on a curling iron, a nineteenth century mansion
  • vines: bleached hair, laying under a willow tree, chapped lips, screaming to the moon, bruises on your knees, eating frosting with your fingers, the smell of your first car
  • epitaph: dark blue eyeshadow, fingers tangled in your hair, ripped jeans, the crinkles around you eyes when you smile, curly hair with glitter in it, stretching your back, happy crying
  • simple season: strawberry lemonade, a rickety ferris wheel, the sound of children laughing, two boys falling in love, the little sparks of light after you open your eyes
  • tuesday: strong bourbon, dark lipstick stains on collarbones, pancakes being flipped, waking up early, lacy underwear, the cold side of the pillow
  • western kids: neon signs, glitter that looks a lot like tears, the smell of sweat and deodorant mixing, gucci clothes, a wedding where no one knows the bride and groom, catching fireflies in your front yard while the sun sets
  • poems: stop-motion footage of a cherry tree blossoming, sailing in sunny weather, striped shirts, an old leather watch band, laughing softly, antique photos of your grandparents, getting your socks wet
  • vacation: sticking your hands out the window of a car, pushpins, handstands in the grass, orange soda, candy wrappers, the click of a camera shutter
  • boyish: cutting all your hair short, freshly starched collared shirts, cinching your belt a little too tight, the smell of sandalwood, a flat chest
  • buttercup: the smell of rain on flower petals, firecrackers sizzling, spinning around til you get dizzy, vanilla ice cream, fluffy clouds, clear lip gloss, putting stickers on your cheeks

“Susan,” by David Wyatt
Discworld 2003 Calendar April Image

This one is up on my wall, so don’t mind the pushpin.  It’s another one that was on a college dorm wall as soon as the year of the calendar was over.  Susan looks properly like her “Soul Music” teenage self here, doesn’t she?  I love her boots.  Also the weird swing is included, a nice touch!

rainbow valley

Summary: “As I’ve made very clear, Detective,” says Treville, strained, “I don’t make it a habit of getting involved in my employees’ love lives. But considering this precinct’s utterly abysmal and somewhat dangerous track record, you really cannot fault me for being concerned when you walk into work with a split lip that was not present the night prior.”

“Track record?” asks Constance weakly, and God, this really has just been the weirdest conversation.

“Athos’s wife is a wanted criminal in twenty-two states who only last week evaded arrest yet again, d’Artagnan’s spent the better part of the past year pining after you, and Aramis has gone and fallen in love with the very married wife of a European nobleman who has somehow gotten himself accidentally involved with the Spanish mob!” 

“At least Porthos is doing alright,” offers Constance lamely. 

“Yes,” says Treville, looking harried. “There is that.”

I wrote a shameless fic for @hansolosbutt‘s modern detective b99 au about the circumstances surrounding the day after constance leaves bonaciuex, which we decided were basically exactly like that one post where that personal trainer’s students all commiserated and went together without telling her to retrieve her things from her asshole ex boyfriends house. a good post, friends. a very good post. also, constance’s last name is baudin bc fleur, her niece (?) had that last name and i needed a maiden name for her. also also, trigger warnings for very brief mention of domestic violence. anyways, here’s this thing. this truly is like … my favorite au on the planet, right now,

Constance has always thought that Captain Treville’s office is somewhat spartan in decor. The desk is almost always immaculately clean, the commendations on the wall completely aligned and straight in their frames, and the clock above the doorway minimalist on charitable days. Aside from the small rainbow flag sitting among his pencils (all perfectly sharpened, all neatly arranged), fitted into his favorite fleur-de-lis-patterned mug at the edge of the desk, there really isn’t anything in the office that makes it particularly warm or welcoming or personable. Constance remembers only a few months before when the poor guy Deputy Commissioner Richelieu had sent down from human resources came to discuss Porthos and Aramis’s (convoluted, nonsensical, wildly work-inappropriate) email chain; he had entered Treville’s office looking apprehensive and left looking somewhat concerned. Constance, who had been privy to The Email Chain only once over Aramis’s shoulder, knew that it had somehow devolved from its benign origins of subject line: check out this guy’s suspicious-looking mustache to classic French literature-related memes. Quite frankly, unless one was particularly well-versed in the minds of Detectives d’Herblay and du Vallon, any poor fool tasked with reading through such an atrocity would likely as not emerge somewhat traumatized.

Joubert’s apprehension, however, had been surprisingly directed towards Treville himself; he had meekly suggested on his way out of the captain’s office, fiddling nervously with the bottom of his tie, that maybe he might consider putting a couch with earth-toned upholstery in the corner, just to make the place feel more welcoming?

Trevill had blinked at him, uncomprehending.

Aramis, who’d been trying to distract Athos from where he had his nose buried in case files by flinging paperclips at him across the room, had said, “Flower-patterned would make it even more welcoming, don’t you think Captain?”

Porthos had choked on his own laugh. Athos, engrossed in his case files, had tried to drink out of the communal bullpen pushpin mug and started spluttering in a most undignified manner.

D’Artagnan, bless him, had been the one to finally take pity on the aggrieved Joubert, leading him out of the bullpen and straight into the elevator with a comforting pat on his shoulder and a cheerful, “Come again soon!”

Constance remains standing in front of Treville’s desk, now, noticing that he never did take Joubert’s advice into consideration and get an earth-toned couch installed in the corner.

(There is, however, a small framed photo of the squad from last year’s Christmas party, the lot of them grinning like doofuses at the camera and more than one of them with their eyes half closed, perched neatly on the far right of Treville’s computer, and Constance feels a trickle of warmth expand in her chest despite everything.)

The door to the office clicks shut behind them and Treville comes to stand behind his desk in front of Constance, looking uncharacteristically apprehensive.

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A Discovery of Warming

Steggy Positivity Week, day 1
Prompt: Agent Carter

Summary: In Russia, Peggy encounters far more than expected. AU from The Iron Ceiling.

AO3 link here.


“You are not Leviathan.”

Two men in loose uniforms behind bars brought back worse memories than Peggy would like to admit, but she steeled herself. “We’re the good guys.” She smiled, but it disappeared quickly, business coming through. “Why is Leviathan holding you prisoner?”

The bald one leaned through the bars, clearly comfortable talking to them. “They acquired something, a weapon they don’t know how to fix. They want us to fix it for them.”

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  • Bones: I am way too sleep deprived to deal with your negativity right now. Let me show you what I did. I started off by making a map of all the bad stuff that’s gone down in space since stardate 2233 to see if there was a pattern. That led me to this…
  • Bones: *points to a map completely covered in pushpins*
  • Bones: …there is so much danger in space. No one should live here.
Bite Me (Part 2)

Characters: Reader, Sam, Dean (no pairings as of yet!)

Warnings: Minor character deaths, violence, swearing

Overview: You were raised in the hunter life. You fell out of it. It wasn’t your choice to get pulled back in.

Word Count: 1,059

A/N: This is the second installment in my first ever fanfic. Thanks to everyone who gave me support and love for Part 1! Still a slow burn, always a slow burn. We’ll meet a Winchester in the next chapter, promise! These words, like everything else I write, are for me. Feel free to join me in the adventure.

Read (Part 1)


The only face that filled my childhood memories was my uncle’s. No mom. No dad. Just Uncle Jay. The thought of parents had never entered my mind until we came across a family camping in the woods a few miles from our cabin. I remember asking him about my mom and dad, an innocent question in my five-year-old mind, and his response being, “It’s just us, Small Fry. We’re the only family we need.” He always called me Small Fry, a reference that was lost on me as I had never visited a fast food restaurant before. I asked him what a fry was one day and he tried to make some in a pan on the stovetop, but popping grease and several swear words later and our potatoes ended up being mashed that night instead. I remember laughing at him as he danced around the kitchen with the hot pan, arm stretched as far away from himself as possible before he threw the whole thing into the sink. He kept his nickname for me well into my teen years, even into my early twenties when I would scowl at him and say I’d outgrown it. If I had known there would come a time when I would never hear anyone call me Small Fry again, I would have realized the blessing of an affectionate nickname much sooner rather than years later with the loss of its memory. 


I was in the final stages of having all of the people in the feeder room back as far away from the door as possible when it was splintered from its hinges by a massive force. The smell of rotting meat permeated the entire room as the vamp I assumed to be Iver slowly walked through the doorframe, followed closely by Marv and Gareth. My left fist tightened around the broken bedspring I had managed to pull from the mattress while the fingers in my right hand held a shard of glass, poised and ready to throw.

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A Ghost at the Back of Your Closet 

In which Framework!Fitz is confused about her motivations, and Jemma is trying, really, she is, but her body is still operating like it thinks he’s the enemy.

2352 words 

cw for a mention of childhood abuse, and discussion of the attack in 4x15 

read on AO3 


“I need a shower,” Daisy groans out, rubbing her hands down her face. She flops back on the seedy motel bed, eyes pointed toward the white, popcorn ceiling in a withering stare. “Why do I even need a shower? We’re in the fucking Matrix, none of this is real. Yet still, I smell. It’s completely unfair.”

Jemma sits at the foot of the bed, inspecting the map they’ve drawn on the wall (it’s not like it’ll matter, once they shut the framework down. What’s a little destruction of private property in the grade scheme of things?). Each of the team’s locations are marked with pushpins, along with lists of all the information they’ve managed to gather on them. It’s not enough, Jemma knows. They need more.

“You do smell a little.”

Hey,” Daisy whines.

Jemma turns back to her, blinking innocently. “What? I said ‘a little’.”

“Whatever.” Daisy pushes off the bed, walks backwards toward the bathroom. She raises an eyebrow at Fitz, who’s sitting on the other bed. “You two gonna be okay without adult supervision for a little while?”

Jemma freezes. She and Fitz, this Fitz—Leo, he’s called here, though she refuses to call him that, even in her head—haven’t been alone together since they finally managed to convince him to come along. She knows what Daisy’s implying, and Jemma wishes she wouldn’t. She’s more than a little uncomfortable with the idea. This isn’t Fitz. Her Fitz. That’s what she tells herself is the problem, anyway.

“Yeah- uh- yeah, we’ll be fine,” Fitz says when she doesn’t speak, when it’s gotten just a little uncomfortable.

Daisy eyes them both, then holds up her hands, retreating to the bathroom.

Jemma doesn’t turn around to look at him. She knows what she’ll see. He’ll be sitting there, looking so much like Fitz but so not, so, so out of place in his posh suit and scarf. Looking like a person who would never set foot in a motel of all places, which he’d voiced when they’d arrived. He’s close, but he’s not Fitz. So she doesn’t look.

Plus, he might be looking back at her. She doesn’t know exactly why, but that’s the last thing she wants.

So she just focuses on the work in front of her. Not that she’ll figure out anything new just by staring at the same slips of paper they have been for the last two days, but still. The effort matters.

He waits until the water is running in the shower before he speaks. His presence alone is stifling, but his voice is something even more jarring.

“Why do you want me back?” he asks, and of all things it’s not what she expected. It confuses her enough that she looks back at him. He’s watching her carefully, thoughtfully, not really looking at her eyes but lower on her face, and it’s so Fitz-like that she wants to cry.

“What?”

“I- He- obviously wasn’t very good to you. Why do you even want him back?”

Her eyebrows draw together, mouth popping open in confusion. “Where are you getting that? Fitz is never anything but good to me.”

“You flinch.”

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We’re proud to announce that Biennial artist Pope.L is the recipient of the ninth Bucksbaum Award

[Pope.L aka William Pope.L, Claim, 2017. Acrylic paint, graphite pencil, pushpins, wood, framed document, fortified wine, and bologna with black-and-white photocopy portraits, 15 × 16 ¾ × 16 ¾ ft. (4.6 × 5.1 × 5.1 m). Collection of the artist; courtesy Mitchell-Innes & Nash, New York. Photograph Bill Orcutt]