Many moons ago in the Cicada magazine, there was a short story by you about an old woman that finds the Holy Grail in a secondhand store. Is this story in any of your anthologies? I think about it sometimes and I'd like to read it again.
It’s called CHIVALRY, and it’s in Smoke and Mirrors, yes.
This tumblr post is hilarious and accurate, and it made me think about what my ideal McGenji fic would contain. Twenty minutes later I had this idea, so here is the McGenji fic I’d write if my fiction writing spoons ever return from the war.
They go on a Blackwatch mission together and kick ass, but then their clothes (Genji’s included because I said so) are ruined for probably the same contrived reasons that women in anime have strategic clothing rips from a weapon passing by them briefly. And this wouldn’t be a problem except they’re technically undercover, and while civilians don’t blink at weird outfits or cybernetics, blood and ripped clothes means violence that they want to stay well away from. So they have to get new clothes. McCree is ready to head to the nearest secondhand store, because lbr people who end up in street gangs in their mid-teens are generally not financially stable people, but former rich playboy Genji is like “oh honey no, let me show you a better way.”
And Genji manages to ferret out a clothes store that serves the very wealthy of the city, because in thrift stores, they’re always looking for the “criminal element”, but the wealthy and famous have any number of sins they want to cover up, so they pay well and the staff of the boutique are always very discreet. And sure enough as soon as Genji starts talking to them, they identify that attitude that people born into privilege often have, and like magic, their old ruined bloody clothes have disappeared and they’re in designer (“only because we don’t have the time to be properly tailored, you understand, but surely you can fit in a few alterations, no, we don’t mind waiting, could one of the staff perhaps go and get us something to eat and a little something for yourself of course”) and they wait out the manhunt for them eating fancy food and drinking expensive coffee in this boutique, because of course the local police wouldn’t dare come interrupt the patrons of this shop, they’re very important people.
And McCree cannot pull off the attitude Genji can, but the staff assume they’re together, that ~poor disabled Genji~ (ugh) can’t date someone ~proper~ so he provides for this handsome young man. And McCree, being a black ops operative, is good at reading the room, and he goes with it because things will go more smoothly this way. And he’s shocked how good he looks in these clothes with just a little tailoring (rich people get literally everything tailored, it’s why celebrities always look like that, not even kidding y'all) and Genji, from the other stool where he’s examining his own outfit, gives him this look. Y'all know what I mean, that classic fanfic “you gon’ get laid” look.
So they keep up this charade until they leave, and Genji drops the facade and has a heart to heart with McCree about how sometimes people like that are so fake and he can’t stand that people won’t acknowledge how fucked up rich people are under it all, everything gets swept under the rug including attempted murder Hanzo. And then he gives McCree another Look and he’s like “at least it gave me a chance to see what your body looks like out of those layers you wear.” AND THEN THEY FUCK.
(look I know what I like and it’s violence, fake relationships, and putting clothes on characters that I desire but can never afford.)
Bitty is a Thrift Store Enthusiast. Yes, all caps.
He combs through the local thrift stores, consignment stores, and secondhand stores looking for the next piece of his wardrobe.
Those bowties he wears? That shit is vintage. No one makes spiffy AF ties like the ones he wears anymore. His flannel? Probably used to belong to a lumberjack. Those sweet sweet sweaters and jackets? 100% secondhand baby, those are the best kinds of finds.
All the patches in his clothes, the knitwear, the scarves? A mixture of his Mama’s knitting, gifts from Jack, and hours spent looking through every rack and bin.
No one does tiny Southern hipster chic like Bitty, and Bitty works hard to make sure it stays that way.
He’s probably going to get those glasses just to keep all those wannabes in check.
I found this little bag in a secondhand store. It didn’t have a price on it or anything, and I was told that I could just have it. So I took it home with me. There are these stones in it, though. They are all a rough oval, all almost the exact same shape. I wondered briefly if they were hard candies, and I gave one an experimental lick, but it was incredibly bitter and salty (I spat and rinsed and spat again, I know better than to lick weird rocks). So then, I got a little bowl of water and put one in, and it’s been about fifteen minutes, and it has started dissolving, leaving the water this strange, light, jade green.
They are jade green, with a bit of sparkle running through them. They dissolve in water, and have a distinctly salty flavour. Anyone have any thoughts on what this is?
A/N: hey guys! I’m new to tumblr but not to writing, so this is pretty much all I do. I’ve written this one for a friend who suffers from depression and social anxiety.
Warning: TRIGGER WARNING! This fic may be triggering to those who are depressed/have suffered abuse. Contains images of self harm and attempted suicide.
Pairing: Stiles x Reader
Summary: Stiles makes a new friend, and falls in love with her without realizing it.
If he was being totally honest with himself, Stiles Stilinski could admit that he was a complete bookworm.
At first, he’d started with the basic, cheap, children’s books you could buy at garage sales. Admittedly, he didn’t really think about the stories all that much.
Then, one faithful day at a secondhand bookstore, he picked up the first Harry Potter book.
To him it was like he had discovered a whole new world, albeit at the tender age of eight. It didn’t matter that it was fictional because in this world he could be a wizard and go to a magical school, or he could be the son of a Greek God and meet others just like him, or he could find a beautiful new world in his closet and talk to lions, or could cure his mother of her dementia. In this world, he could be anything he wanted to be.
He’d admit that after his mom died, he didn’t find as much fascination in the beautiful stories anymore.
But then, along came high school and with it assigned readings. Stiles wouldn’t hesitate to tell you that he very much hated the idea of falling back into a book. Of course he would, after he’d been so lost in them the first time around he didn’t notice his own father turning into a drunk.
However, no one could be exempted and Stiles was forced to pour himself into Oliver’s Twisted tales, and write a report on it by the end of the month.
Of course he fell in love with reading again, and of course he began to swallow up any book he laid his hands. There was just something different about it now. Now he could appreciate the beauties of literature. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He understood the irony of foreshadowing, relished in the thrill of predicting the plot, and gasped in horror at his favorite characters deaths.
*cough* Sirius Orion Black *cough*
And at the end of the day, his love for reading was pretty much the only reason he could help the pack. He knew it was nothing personal and it wasn’t his fault, but the truth remained. Stiles was just human.
Anyway, back to the story.
It was his love for reading, his passion for the written word that had gotten him into this little predicament. Of course, he couldn’t blame every single thing on the books. It had a lot to do with teenage hormones and a girl who was just too damn beautiful for her own good.
A girl by the name of (Y/N).
A girl who didn’t want to take care of herself.
Stiles saw the signs, of course. He remembered the way his psychologist had explained them. Stiles first met her at the secondhand book store. She didn’t eat, at least from what he could see. She had glasses but Stiles saw the way her eyes continued to strain to see clearly. She didn’t sleep as much as she should have (he was completely aware of how hypocritical he was being) and she spent the hours that he was in the shop pouring over books that were becoming increasingly worrying.
Books like Freaks Like Us
Books like It’s Kind of a Funny Story
Books like The Impossible Knife of Memory
Books like Me Before You
To name a few. If Stiles was being completely honest with himself, he didn’t know why he watched her. He didn’t know why he cared. He should have just left it as it was. If she wanted help she would get it, right? Why should he care that she looked like a small gust of wind could blow her over or that she wore long sleeved shirts in the blazing heat?
He should have just let her be, but Stiles was never one to do what he should have done.
It started out pretty simple. He’d call her over to ask for some book or the other, make small talk and offer her whatever he was eating at the time. (Over the past few weeks his food became healthier because he noticed she would cringe at the fries and burgers). (Y/N) was too polite to refuse and she took one or two cherries or maybe an orange slice. Stiles watched the books she read and made certain to place little notes in the ones he thought she’d like. He smiled at her and offered to help stack the shelves and just tried to keep her company in general. He was just being a decent human being, you know?
But then, things started getting worse. Stiles quickly became attached to the cute, little lady behind the counter and her lovely, albeit rare, dazzling smile. Soon, he’d come to the store every day after school, when he knew she’d be there. He’d bring along his homework and whatever the pack needed and sit at the tiny desk in the corner for hours just to keep her company. He’d come up with stupid questions to ask that he totally knew the answers to, just to hear her tiny voice laugh. He’d invite her to dinner (Platonically, he’d say) and bring roast beef over when she said she had to close up.
Afterwards, when it was just about closing time, she’d playfully yell at him to leave and tell him to stop bothering her because ‘I’ve got work to do, Stilinski’, but the smile on her face would contradict her completely. When she closed the store and he was forced to leave, he’d throw his arm around her in a casual side hug, and feel the way she’d relax under him, as if all the tension just drained out of her.
He would pointedly ignore the way she instinctively swerved away from him, before practically tucking herself into him.
He would ignore the way she shuddered when he let go after walking her home, which was just a few blocks away.
He would ignore the way that he too began to find comfort in the small amount of intimacy they shared.
He couldn’t help himself from becoming attached. He liked her, really. She made sharp, witty conversation when she was in the mood and aways had a sarcastic side comment to mutter under her breath when she thought no one was listening. She had read the most beautiful of books and could pick them apart word by word for hours on end. She was, in general, a beautiful soul trapped inside herself.
The teenager jumped at the sound of his friends voice. He didn’t bother to look towards where he was sure Scott was staring at him in confusion. It was like someone had strapped him down and forced his eyes open; he couldn’t look away.
Stiles stood with Scott next to him, staring at the scene in front of him with his mouth agape. The Sheriff’s department had sent out a couple deputies to keep the scene under control. No one was allowed forward. He heard the sound of people gasping in horror and the ambulance sirens calling out in distress, but to him it was just background.
The medics rolled out a gurney with a body strapped onto it.
Stiles moved on instinct. He pushed his way through the crowd and towards the front ignoring Scott’s confused calls. The deputies saw him and made a weak attempt to stop the teen from getting through. Maybe it was the worried, crazed look about him that stopped them from doing anything.
He made it right to the front of the scene before he was pulled back. He could see the gurney being pulled into the ambulance truck, and looked at see who had come in his way.
It was his dad.
“Wha-?” was all Stiles could manage through the lump in his throat. He looked over his dad’s shoulder to see the doors being closed and the ambulance speeding away. Noah Stilinski let out a sigh and Stiles’ attention snapped back to him.
“Neighbors called when they heard screaming last night. Deputies only came in this morning when there the girl’s guardian couldn’t wake her up.” Stiles’ stomach dropped. “She’s got a history of mental illness. PTSD is one of them. She was on the suicide watch list until a few weeks ago. They thought she was getting better.”
He felt as though a knife was trying to cut its way out of his stomach. His eyes went wide and his body began shaking. “Wh- When? When did all this happen?” It took everything inside if Stiles to keep his voice steady.
“About a half hour ago.” The Sheriff looked at Stiles, confused. “Did you know her?” Suddenly, his tone was worried.
“Y-Yeah.” Stiles managed. “I- I, um-” he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. In all truth, he knew what he felt for (Y/N). He knew that it was more than just interest and curiosity. He looked at his father, and was sure that he had tears in his eyes. “I care about her, a lot.”
That, apparently, was all that the Sheriff needed to hear. He nodded to a deputy and clapped Stiles on the back, leading him towards the Sheriff’s Department Vehicles.
“She’s at Saint Bartholomew’s.”
It was more than five hours later that Stiles got any news. Her guardians weren’t there, and the teen suspected that it was because they didn’t actually give a fuck. The Sheriff’s persuasion and Stiles’ mad looks were probably the only reasons that the Doctor had divulged the details of (Y/N)’s condition to them.
“She attempted to overdose on sleeping pills.” The doctor told Noah and Stiles, sounding apologetic but looking cold. “We managed to get the drugs out of her system before any long term effects took action, but only barely.” he looked to the Sheriff. “You got lucky.” He said in an unprofessional manner, one that showed emotion. “I don’t think that you’ll be so again. I don’t know what your concern is with this girl, but I strongly suggest putting her in to a new home. The bruising patterns on her arms and stomach suggests she’s being abused by someone close. She needs help.”
Noah nodded, looking extremely grief stricken. The way he saw it, this girl was his son’s age. She was just another teenager that no one cared about. What if she had been Stiles? He read her report and knew that she’d gotten this way after her mother died and her father abandoned her. He shuddered at the parallels.
Stiles looked horrified for a completely different reason. He knew that she was suffering and he did try to help, but he never asked why. His dad explained the details of her case to him while they waited. If only he had known. He would’ve tried harder. He would’ve been braver and just asked her out. He would’ve brought her home to meet his dad and he would have shown her the love that she’d so desperately deserved. He would’ve convinced her to turn whoever was doing all these horrible things to her in.
Stiles had known her for months, *for months* without really knowing her at all.
“Can I see her?” The question fell from his lips before he could process it. Stiles looked up at the doctor, knowing just how he appeared. He’d always worn his heart on his sleeve and never bothered to hide his emotions. He knew his face reflected all the grief he felt within.
He suspected that to be the only reason the doctor nodded.
“She’s been awake for about a half hour.” the doctor said, looking at Stiles with pity. “I suspect that she’ll still be a little drowsy. Try not to agitate her or make her any more stressed than she already is.”
Stiles nodded and got the room number before taking off. He caught sight of a social worker in the waiting room and felt a small amount of relief. He knew his dad would take care of it. As Stiles approached the room, something in the gift shop caught his eye and he quickly bought it before going in.
“Hey.” he said softly from the door, closing it behind him. (Y/N)’s head shot up and she looked guiltily at Stiles, turning her face into her pillow. “Come on now, none of that.” The teen said immediately, walking to her in three quick steps and kneeling down at the side of her bed.
(Y/N) looked up at him in shame. This was the first time Stiles had seen her without makeup on. He saw the bags under her eyes that she tried desperately to conceal and the sadness within them that were usually hidden behind he glasses. He thought she looked tragically beautiful and he hated it.
“I’m sorry.” she said, a tear rolling down her face. Stiles held her gaze.
He didn’t say anything. He simply took her hands in one of his and used the other to wipe away the stray tear. Honestly he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to cry with relief because she was okay, *she was fucking alive*. He also wanted to scream in anger because how could she? How could she think so little of herself and truly believe that she could just *leave* and it wouldn’t matter?
He didn’t tell her this, of course. He knew what it was like to want so desperately for the pain to end; to truly believe that death would be better.
Stiles brought her hands, which were still wrapped up in his his, to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “You’re okay.” he said, and whether it was to remind her or himself he did not know. “You’re fine. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”
In all truth, Stiles didn’t know this. How could he? He was just a teenager who had fallen in love. But that didn’t matter. When he down at her, her body looking absolutely tiny against the huge hospital mattress, he knew it would be. When he looked into her eyes and saw the hope that shone through them, he knew that it was true.
Hey Lana, may I ask what fashion stores you avoid (or which ones you recommend to avoid) now that you are making more ethical choices?
I’d first like to acknowledge that the meaning of ‘ethical’- or what may be deemed ‘moral’- may differ from person to person. The following are merely choices I have made and goals that I have set for myself that reflect what I believe to be ethical.
I now avoid stores/brands that use the fast-fashion system; that exploit their workers; that are unconcerned with the social and environment effects of their process. Stores like Mango, H&M, Zara: the clothing may be cheaper, but somebody elsewhere is paying the price.
I shop at stores that are transparent (share information about their process) and that provide their workers with a safe environment to work in. I admire stores that care more about human beings than profit. Stores such as Everlane, Reformation, Zady, Ayton Gasson, and Luva Huva.
I also shop at vintage and secondhand stores: I live close to Toronto’s Kensington market which I frequent for vintage goods. Etsy is also a wonderful source.
To me, shopping ethically also means taking caring of the clothing you own, shopping less, and appreciating what you have. It’s not just about where you shop, it’s about your attitude towards consumerism in general: It’s about questioning the system and questioning what you purchase as well as educating yourself. Ethical shopping rejects the West’s disposable and materialistic culture and values simplicity, minimalism, and elements of life beyond the material.
When searching for materials, don’t be afraid to go secondhand/OP shopping or simply to your local supermarket
* candles can always be found at secondhand stores and they’re usually priced at around 50 cents each! Though when I have a bought a bunch they bulk price it for even cheaper!
* same with candle holders, they’re so common and barely ever more than $5
* Secondhand stores will always have spare pieces of cloths and fabrics you can use during spells or even as your altar cloth! (Would recommend washing them first)
* They have so many bowls, all the time! You will always find something you can use to burn incense in or a smudge bowl. Again, these sell for like a dollar
* figurines are also really common in secondhand stores, they’re a great place to look for God and goddess figures for your altar as they always have antique and unique pieces for super cheap!
* most herbs and spices can easily be found in your local supermarket! These are just as good as something home grown, it’s all about intent after-all :)
* The Reject Shop (not sure if these exist in any place other than Australia? Hey may be called things like Dollar Stores???) always has candles for reasonable prices
* If you are needing to find a herb or spice that you can’t find in a supermarket, ETSY is an online store with lots of witchy supplies :) chances are it won’t be cheap but what can you do!
* 90% of my book collection has been bought secondhand from either Op shops, fairs or garage sales. I picked up 10 books on mythology, aromatherapy, dreams and such for like $7 at a school fair once! And secondhand stores charge from 0.50 cents to $5 for books so they’re always a great place to look!
*Heaps of towns have monthly/weekly markets and many i have been too have crystal stalls and they’re usually a lot cheaper than stores! I bought a bunch of crystals for about $20 in total! and they were raw, points and clusters :) Very cheap and good quality.
pick up some acrylic paints ((black, white and red)) at a dollar store, cut up some old black shirts//pants and you can make your own patches that way!!!! you can print out stencils on card if you want them to look more clean i guess. you don’t even need thread to sew them on, you can just use dental floss.
safety pins!! make every item of clothing look more punk!!
thrift stores are your friend. seriously. i got a leather jacket ((that i didn’t know was real at the time)) at a thrift store for literally €10. you can find cool shit!!! any denim jacket that isn’t too small for you?? cut off the sleeves, now you have a denim vest and some scrap fabric for patches!!
join buy//sell groups on facebook. you may find some gems.
i found my new rock boots on a secondhand site for €40. which is incredible. new rock boots are NOT cheap, and these were perfect condition too.
a lot of punk is DIY – and yeah, maybe you’re not so…….. creative?? like myself?? but honestly, my crust pants?? every patch on them ((so far)) has been made by me.
cut//dye//shave your own hair. SERIOUSLY. or go to a barber. salon places charge so much?? but don’t be afraid to colour your own hair. i mean that, you will be overcharged otherwise. here, i can pick up good bleach for less than €10. and i really recommend manic panic hair dye. cruelty free, vegan, and the colour payoff is 11//10. they’re not expensive at all either, and a little product goes a long way.
a lot of punk is anti capitalist. the best way to be anti capitalist is to be as self reliant as possible, buying from thrift stores and secondhand places and etsy stores which WILL help the people your money is going to, instead of going straight to big corporations who have more money than anyone could ever spend in a thousand lifetimes.
whenever you need anything, you should think first: is it something you can do//make yourself??
you can make almost everything yourself, like even laundry detergent!! but from small//family-owned businesses as much as possible, and avoid big companies like the plague.
this turned into a rant i think lmfao i’m so sorry
What was that, piggy? I couldn’t understand you with your
mouth full. Are you getting too fat? What a silly question! I suppose you’ve
put on a little weight, but not that much. Now open up!
Before you ask, no, your shirts aren’t too tight. They’ve
probably just shrunk in the dryer. And, those new ones I got you last month,
well you know how clothing companies are sizing everything so small these days.
Here, have another bite.
What? Oh! That chair you broke yesterday? That was a fluke.
Didn’t we get that from a secondhand store or something? It was probably
already worn out. Come on, you’re almost done with these donuts.
I’m telling you baby, you’re not even that fat. Lots of
people get winded just walking out to the car. It probably didn’t help that we
were leaving a buffet. You do get a little sluggish after six plates. And no,
six plates isn’t too much. You were just taking advantage of the deal. Simply
an economical decision.
I know it said 450 last time you weighed yourself, but I’m
pretty sure our scale is broken. Stop worrying so much piggy. You know I’d tell
you if you were getting too fat, right? Just trust me.
Okay, last bite. Then I have another dozen waiting.
Ok so I’m still cracking up this is the most hilarious thing that’s ever happened I still can’t believe it. I was already going to post it but it’s just gotten better and better. Buckle up kids, this is a long story.
It all started two weekends ago. I was at a convention, Anime Detour, because I’m a nerd. My mom had, over the past couple of years of misplaced parental affection, presented me with birthday and Christmas presents of anime and SuperWhoLock shirts that A) I didn’t need because I’m drowning in t-shirts and B) were kind of awful. Not awful enough to be worn ironically, but not good enough to actually wear. Before shipping them away to the nearest secondhand store, I decided to take them to a couple of conventions that have swap meets. I could get them off my hands, and some kind soul with different taste will love them and give me something in return.
I got to the swap meet at Detour pretty late. As in, 15 minutes before it ended. A cursory glance around the room told me that most of the really great stuff had already been swapped away. I made my way slowly towards the exit, resigned that I’d have to wait to rid myself of these shirts, and that trying to find anything quality was in vain.
I was soon to be proven wrong, however.
While I was idly eyeing a gently-used DVD, I heard someone mention a “freebie table”. Apparently this is where vendors put their wares that they have tired of trying to hawk to the dead-eyed weebs that roam the halls, free for anyone to take, no barter necessary.
That’s where I found it. Just as I was walking up, a vendor tossed it onto the table among the Pokemon energy cards and copies of Death Note, Volume 6. As soon as I laid eyes on it I knew I had to have it. It was the most awful, cringe-worthy, beautiful piece of garbage I’d ever laid eyes on.
A physical CD of original songs composed and performed by Vic Mignogna.
I felt like I’d found the Holy Grail of Ironic Memorabilia. Just look at this incredible monstrosity. Look at the terrible font that nobody can actually read
Gaze upon the horrid, cheesy song titles
I couldn’t even think about listening to it. I knew that, in order for me to not turn off the sultry tones of Dick Lasagna instantly, it would have to be past 2 AM where I already am losing my grip on responsible decisions. I told all my friends about it. I reveled in their glee-filled horror. They made me promise not to listen to it until they could be there, and we joked about how hilarious it would be if we could get him to sign the damn thing. I put it on my dresser in as much of a place of honor as I’ve got.
But I didn’t open the case.
Then a couple of days later, it caught my eye as I was about to leave for class, and I realized that I hadn’t checked to see if the CD was actually in the case. It didn’t feel empty and it rattled when I picked it up so I hadn’t questioned it before. But just to make sure, I popped open the case. And wait…
I FOUND THE AUTOGRAPHED HOLY GRAIL OF IRONIC MEMORABILIA TOSSED ONTO THE SCRAP HEAP. I WAS ACTUALLY LAUGHING SO HARD THAT I ALMOST MADE MYSELF LATE TO CLASS BECAUSE I COULDN’T DO ANYTHING BUT LAY ON MY BED AND WHEEZE BECAUSE THIS WAS THE MOST HILARIOUS THING THAT HAD EVER HAPPENED IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.
Yesterday, late at night, my friends and I gathered around a small USB disk drive as it hummed to life, the nostalgic whine of a spinning CD the only noise in the quiet kitchen. An iTunes window appeared and the first track loaded up - “Italian Boys”. We stood in terse anticipation as the bravest one of us clicked play. Twenty seconds later we were all in various stages of collapse, shrieking with laughter at every line. It was awful, in its purest form. This is, without a doubt, the absolute worst item on the face of the planet.