why i want bisexual stiles (in 4,000 words or less)
Right, so, standard disclaimer (and especially for this post, oh man): hi, I’m gyzym, this post is full of my opinions on stuff! They’re just my opinions on stuff; it’s okay if they’re not your opinions on stuff, and I don’t expect them to be your opinions on stuff. I write a blog on the internet about my thoughts and feelings, from a place of personal bias, and do not claim to be doing anything else. So when I say things, below, like, “we should or should not do whatever,” I mean that I, personally, think that we should or should not do whatever. I don’t mean that WE MUST DO OR NOT DO WHATEVER or that EVERYONE MUST AGREE WITH ME or that DISAGREEING WITH ME IS WRONG. At all! If you read this post and agree with me, sweet; if you read this post and disagree with me, sweet; if you read this post and don’t know what I’m talking about, or don’t feel like you’ve got enough information to agree or disagree with me, I hugely encourage you to take some of the words I am using and stick them into google and inform yourself, whether you use that information to agree/disagree with me or not! Honestly, I care a lot more about people googling stuff than I do about people agreeing with me. Like, a lot more. A whole lot more.
With that established: let’s talk about Stiles, and bisexuality, and the possibility (however likely or unlikely you think it may be) of canonically bisexual Stiles.
God. Fucking. Dammit. I’m going to have to watch Teen Wolf, aren’t I? God damn you Gyzym, and your fucking words that make me want to do things. Both activist things and silly things like watch TV shows even though I hate TV shows.
a thank you, the only way i know how:
Okay, so, I have made it 23 years to the day without devolving into maudlin paroxysms of gratitude and adoration on the internet, but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to avoid it in the face of this. We had a good run, the vague semblance of composure and me; I’m sure that I’ll look back fondly on the times we spent together, like a photo album full of pictures where I am NOT, uh, puffy and teary-eyed and so overwhelmed with love that I keep making this face that, based on the reaction of the dude across from me in the coffeeshop, makes me look like I’m going to stand up and start committing serial murders for reasons of unhinged, unfiltered joy. Which is, in case that wasn’t clear, what’s been going on since Postcard linked me to the best birthday present I have ever received, bar none.
So, uh. I’m going to try to say thank you now. Please bear with me, as this is going to be rambling, DEEPLY tl;dr, entirely overwrought and embarrassingly inadequate, but I do mean it with all my heart.
One of the most amazing authors I have ever read, and one of the handful of people I am exceedingly proud to know. One of the sweetest, kindest, funniest people I have ever seen. I would rather meet with her in real life than anyone else still living.
this isn’t even word vomit, this is the next stage, this is wordspolsion
oh my god this is a stoned rambling post about east of eden and MIKE THE EXAMPLE BARTENDER and writing, GOD I AM EMBARRASSED TO KNOW MYSELF I AM A STEREOTYPE OF EVERYTHING I MAJORED IN
but you know what, it’s november, fuck it
[and, okay, for the purposes of attempting to make at least a modicum of sense here’s the introduction of mike, who continues to be an example and also a bartender, because he already exists kind of and i’m sorta interested in building him now just to like, SEE HOW IT GOES.]
Still nothing I don’t love about this woman.
oh well this is some word vomit
putting this behind a cut because it’s drunk-on-exhaustion rambling about character development/original fic; these are the things i think about in the middle of the night.
This. This is everything about writing, this is what writing is.
Just. Just read this. Gyzym is my favorite person, I swear.