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can’t bring me down.

For @kyung-seokie​! Kyungsoo and 4. “Who gave you that black eye?” + 27. “Oh, fuck off.”

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader

Word Count: 3,848

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why are you a feminist???

because people are still asking that question

because women are payed less than men in approximately 99% of professions

because chris brown can still have a career after assaulting rihanna but miley cyrus takes her clothes off and there’s a huge scandal

because of this:

because currently it is estimated ten million more girls are out of education than boys (x)

because we’re expected to be mature but hairless like a child, in control but not bossy, sexy but not slutty and definitely not a prude, intelligent but not opinionated, independent but reliant on men, natural but look like the girl in the magazine etc etc

because being called a girl, a pussy or a bitch is an insult

because when i told my mum i refused to get anything less than a’s in my exams she told me it wasn’t ladylike to be so cocky

because my brother and 90% of my male friends think girls who wear revealing clothing are asking for rape

because every person who identifies as female should be allowed to choose if they want to get married, have kids, have a career, go to uni etc etc without expectations

because tampons and sanitary pads are stupidly expensive

because some people reading this will have flinched at the fact i just said ‘tampon’

because there are men out there whose job it is to make young girls feel like absolute shit about themselves just so they can sell the next best beauty product

because female masturbation isn’t considered normal whilst men can talk about their own penises for hours on end

beCAUSE OF ARTICLES LIKE THIS

because feminists are still seen as crazy lesbians who dont shave and some still feel like they have to defend themselves by claiming theyre not any of those things when in fact if i want to be a passionate lady who likes other ladies and cant be bothered to shave my legs every twenty minutes then thats my choice and if i want to be someone who wears make up and shaves and goes out partying then thats my choice and if i want to be a combination of the two or anything in between then thats. my. choice.

because i believe anyone who identifies as female is fucking badass and deserves the same rights as every privileged stuck up old white man sitting around and making laws about our bodies

because how can you not be

he’s SO HOT

im fucking crying

A Boy Like You | Yoongi

→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer in that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff → warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is → words: 11.5K → a/n: whaddup kids it’s ya girl… back from the dead after months of not writing shit, and what’s this owo… it’s a fluff fic?? miracles do happen… anyway i wrote this bc i just thot “man, wouldn’t it be super epic if i wrote a super self-indulgent fic where yoongi fulfills every single one of my deepest desires?” well… here is THIS!! pls feel free to scream into a pillow bc i certainly did!! enjoy!!

There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:

The air is thick with static; your hair stands up on end: a warning. The scent of raindrops hitting hot pavement graces your nostrils as a waterfall drops from the sky. You see the sea of heads begin to disappear under a canopy of multi-colored umbrellas. You, the lone ranger, rush back into the building from whence you came, dragging puddles and annoyance with you.

You should have anticipated it, should have thought to check the weather app before scrolling through dull social media posts when you left your house that morning. Instead, your fingers are left cold and umbrella-less.

You tilt your head upwards, watching as gallon upon gallon fell from the sky in an endless cycle. The watch on your wrist reads 5 PM, but the sky says it is 9 PM. The dark, swirling mass of clouds above you will continue on its thunderous parade, pausing for no one, especially not for you.

Your work bag is practically weightless, devoid of anything that might protect you from the onslaught of rain. The only thing inside is a small wallet that holds nothing more than dust and a loose promise of a paycheck. There is no way you can call a taxi like this, and the nearest bus stop is at least two blocks away. You are starting to think that your childhood dreams of becoming a mermaid hadn’t been so ridiculous after all.

Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.

In his other hand is your salvation wrapped in Kumamon print nylon. It is proffered to you with a silent nod, his gaze fixed somewhere behind you as he waits for you to take it. The tips of his ears begin to redden the longer it takes for you to respond. Eventually, your brain connects with your muscles as you robotically pluck the umbrella from his grasp, a stuttered “thanks” leaving your lips.

He nods stiffly once more, removing his palm from your shoulder as though he had been burned. He shuffles for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to say. You wait, patience never waning for the strange boy that you have come to know as your salvation.

He doesn’t find the words after all. You aren’t too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid getting wet.

You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you can return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.

You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm.

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📷 by Gweeivan