Men Use “I’m Just A Man” To Cheat On Their Wives. Odysseus Uses “I’m Just A Man” To Kill,

me: I don’t get on my knees for no man

namor: get on your knees, In yakunaj

me: 🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️

My Favorite MLs from manhwas

1. Riftan - Under the Oak tree

Such an amazing and loving husband!!!!

2. Blake - I became the wife of the monstrous crown prince.

I quickly want this baby rabbit to grow up into a wolf, I mean into a man like his dad. His dad is hot though.

3. Raphael - The Villianese is a marionette

I love black hair male leads and this guy is sweet.

4. Max - Daddy, I don't want to get married.

As I said before, I like male leads with black hair + tyrants. But this guy is a blushing mess, throughout the whole manhwa. I could just make a collage out of his blushing face only. Just look at him!!!!

5. Heinley - Remarried empress

Do I even have to? Come on, though who read this manhwa surely knows that this guy is an angel.

(Actually, there are more male leads I love. But since the one post only allows 10 pics, maybe I'll do a part 2 later.)

LISTEN UP Y’ALL

THERE’S THIS SONG CALLED “YOUNG BLOOD” BY BEA MILLER

NOW WHY AM I SHOUTING ABOUT A SONG THAT’S NOT KPOP?

IT FUCKING DESCRIBES SKZ’S WHOLE CONCEPT/MV PLOT FROM HELLEVATOR TO SIDE EFFECTS

DON’T BELIEVE ME?

*cracks knuckles* BUCKLE THE FUCK UP BITCHES AND LEMME DO THE YELLING

VERSE 1

We were making history Breaking rules and breaking free Questioning the writing on the wall Comin’ from the underground Laughing as we’re falling down Soaking in the glory of it all

BREAKING RULES (IN DISTRICT NINE)

AND BREAKING FREE (FROM THE SYSTEM)

QUESTIONING THE WRITING ON THE WALL

(IN THIS SHOT HE ACTUALLY FURROWS HIS EYEBROWS IN QUESTION IT WORKS OKAY)

COMIN’ FROM THE UNDERGROUND

LAUGHING AS WE’RE FALLING DOWN

(DO YOU SEE WHERE I’M GOING?) 

STANZA 2

But in dark times when we close our eyes  It’s a nightmare, it’s a nightmare  When the sun don’t shine we lose our minds  But I swear, we can get there

BUT IN DARK TIMES WHEN WE CLOSE OUR EYES IT’S A NIGHTMARE 

WHAT IF THE SIDE EFFECTS MV IN ITSELF WAS A NIGHTMARE I –

SKIP THE CHORUS BECAUSE IT DOESN’T HAVE MUCH TO DO WITH CONCEPTS

STANZA 3

Someday we could run away See it all before the pictures fade And bottle up the feeling in a jar Pass around to all our friends We could breathe it in all again Huddled in the backseat of the car

SOMEDAY WE COULD RUN AWAY

SEE IT ALL BEFORE THE PICTURES FADE

HUDDLED IN THE BACKSEAT OF THE CAR

SKIP CHORUS AGAIN

STANZA 4

And the voices will get loud If we never learn to shut them out If you’re lost you could be found If you follow me until you hear the sound Put ‘em put 'em up now If you know we’re never backing down We’re never backing down, no

DO I EVEN NEED SCREENSHOTS FOR THIS

AND THE VOICES WILL GET LOUD IF WE NEVER LEARN TO SHUT THEM OUT

THEIR SONG “VOICES”, STEP OUT OF THEM VOICES

IF YOU’RE LOST YOU COULD BE FOUND? 

THEY’RE LITERALLY STRAY KIDS IN A MIROH OR MAZE

IF YOU FOLLOW ME UNTIL YOU HEAR THE SOUND? 

LITERALLY CHAN + ANY SIREN IN DISTRICT 9 AND MIROH I —

SO YEAH

THAT’S MY THEORY

AN SKZ THEORY

same same same same same same

Yooo i never thought about this before but u know how Jason literally died lmao and in some issues he has like autopsy scars apparently and i was wondering if you’d consider Jason with reader who he recently started dating and they hadn’t seen him shirtless yet and he’s kinda stressed about how they’ll react (maybe they already know what happened) to seeing the scars? Maybe just fluffy with slight angst if u will bonus points if they kiss his scars please

Jason knew his scars told a story.

Scars always came with a story.

Sometimes they were winded recounts of bravery and badassery. Sometimes the stories revolved around an incredibly stupid drunken night. Or a treasured childhood memory brimming with curiosity and consequence.

He had scars to fit the bill of each.

But the ones that were most daunting, most pronounced on his skin, were the ones that proved to him that he had been given a second chance of life.

It was a long twisted tale, in truth. One he wasn’t keen on dwelling over.

Yet, whenever he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, his mind forced him into a litany of cold, dark memories.

Coming back from the dead was tremulous on a whole. Seeing the raised ‘Y’ autopsy incision that started near the tops of his shoulders and ran all the way down to his navel was like a hard slap of reality to his face each time.

He had died.

He had died and he didn’t stay dead.

He was an unnatural, unearthly entity.

Sadness and something bitter like regret sullied his soul. The truth was a heavy burden to carry and his scars were the burning points at which the weight rested, concrete on his chest.

All of this— the pain and misery, self-pity and confusion— melted away when you looked at him. Stone turned to butter, and his chest was filled with warmth at your influence. As a whole person, he knew what he looked like, even when his scars were hidden. He was a tall guy with a white streak in his hair and eyes that looked like permanent contacts; he was used to being looked at.

With you though, when your eyes ran over him from tip to toe— in that quiet, shy way you had— he finally felt seen. You watched him with such fascination, such fiery intensity that he was sure you could see the shattered fragments of his soul. He was useless when you were looking at him and often, he would let himself fall into your gaze. Because, while it was harder to feel like he deserved the love in your eyes— it was just as impossible to deny you whatever you wanted.

And so, on a rainy night between soft giggling and wine and his inability to keep his hands off your skin, he finds himself torn between fear and desire. Hate and love. Life and what lay beyond death.

You’re in his lap, thighs secure around his hips and mouth just within kissing distance. He can’t get enough of you, a greedy lavacious voice begs for him to pull you closer. To steal you away into the night and show you all the unseen parts of the world until he found just one other existent thing in the universe that was just as beautiful as you.

But as you whisper his name, slow and warm like melted butter, he feels a dangerous tug of hesitation in his gut. You’re so willing to give, tender and deliberate in all your touches— never once moving your hands unless your instructed to. It’s almost like you know what he fears the most, like you know how much he needs the comfort of explicit, repeated consent.

He drags you down by the hand cradling your neck, bites at your mouth until your sighing happily against him. For a moment it’s quiet. Easy.

And then you shiver almost violently as he slips a hand up your shirt, palm flat against your lower back. Something heady and primal crawls into his chest and he loses himself then. The desire to press bare skin to bare skin claws at him wildly and he finds his own hands at the hem of his hoodie.

You freeze, heartbeat skipping up. Concern grows in your eyes, “Are you sure, Jay?”

He catches himself, swallowing thickly as tension settles coldly into the room. He isn’t sure. Guilt makes him recoil into his own skin, sick and nauseous.  Panic builds behind it, chases the air from his lungs.

How could you still see him as a regular guy if he showed you all the parts of himself that proved he was only pretending to be one?

“Jay,” you lean your weight off of him. “Take a deep breath. You’re okay.”

His queasiness settles. You’re always so good to him.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” You brush a hand through his hair.  "Do you wanna watch something on Netflix? We could watch The Office?“

Too good, maybe.

"Do you remember …do you remember when I told you about how I….” He fumbles with words, “how I was …and then I wasn’t-”

“Dead. How you were dead?” You’re able to soften the blow of the words somehow.

He nods once, more of a quick jerk of his head than anything. “I have scars.”

“I know that,” you say, tracing your finger over a jagged one on his forearm.

“No. I mean I have autopsy scars.”

“Oh.”

The light from the TV pales the room, casts a deep shadow for him to hide in. Tears prickle his eyes before he can quell his emotions.

“We don’t have to anything you don’t want to do.” You parrot, “But I promise you those scars won’t scare me away. So….when you’re ready, I’m here.”

There in your eyes was the same quiet reassurance he couldn’t get enough of. Once more, he was seen. Heard. Understood.

3RACHA deleted songs

(all of their songs + the 14 deleted ones and Jisung’s and Changbin’s solos)

here 💛

credits to Stray Kids Brasil