i want a how i met your mother to be about a pansexual ted mosby and the running joke is that barney’s offended ted doesn’t find him attractive
i want a legally blonde to be about a lipstick lesbian who goes to law school to get her girlfriend back
i want a that ‘70s show where jackie is bisexual and between dating kelso and hyde she brings her ugly ass girlfriends with her to hang out with the gang (because there’s no way she can have a woman in her life prettier than herself)
i want a 13 going on 30 where jenna rink wakes up to be 30 years old and his name is michael rink and he still falls in love with matty from the house next door
i want a parks & recreation where ann perkins is asexual but still becomes pregnant via artificial insemination because ann is perfect and would be the best mother in the history of ever
being lgbt+ doesn’t have to be the focal point of a movie or show
like i understand it’s still a pretty bold move in media but like i’m just getting sick of all of the representation being the ultra dramatic main premise of it all
there are so many lgbt+ dramas. just give me my sitcom.
◇ pairing: jungkook | reader ◇ genre: angst and a sprinkle of fluff ◇ word count: 18.748 ◇ warnings: implied smut ◇ disclaimer: I do not own the hanahaki disease concept.
I am immensely thankful for the talented people who have created art / edits for this story:x, x, x, x, x, x ♡ also, make sure to read moonlight (drabble from jimin’s pov) and home after rain (short sequel) after reading this story. enjoy!
You were eighteen years old when Jimin’s name showed up on your hand.
The day is fresh and clear in your memory: early December, the winds stronger than ever as they threatened to pierce through the windows of your room, hints of snowflake dancing in the air as the first snowfall augured an even sharper winter. There was a smile on your face that didn’t match the unrelenting coldness of the month, and even though the night was falling and the air felt icy on the tips of your fingers, there was only warmth in your chest as you went through the pictures of your phone.
Pictures of you and Jimin drinking hot chocolate, of clumsy iceskating, of funny faces that made you laugh out loud in the quietness of your bedroom. The feeling sparking in your chest could be considered somewhat dangerous— after all, you were just a girl that didn’t have any marks on her skin, a girl whose fate was yet to be decided. Something as enigmatic as love could be a treacherous thing, too risky for someone that couldn’t decide their destiny on their own.
Who broke it? I’m not mad, I just want to know.
I did. I broke it.
No. No, you didn’t. Sasha?
Don’t look at me, look at Connie.
What?! I didn’t break it!
Huh, that’s weird. How’d you even know it was broken?
Because it’s sitting right in front of us and it’s broken!
No, it’s not!
If it matters, probably not but… Jean was the last one to use it.
Liar! I don’t even drink that crap!
Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?
I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Armin!
Let’s not fight, I broke it. Let me pay for it, Captain.
No. Who broke it?
Captain, Mikasa’s been awfully quiet…
I broke it. It burned my hand so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now they’ll be at each other’s throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Good. Its was getting a little chummy around here.