My Son-in-law Is A War God - Chapter 28 Live Broadcast Scrap Ferrari_1

Keita Sumeragi was a man of dreams—once a hopeful mangaka who poured his soul into heartfelt tales of romance, comedy, and friendship. But the world never smiled back. Readers ignored him. Publishers laughed. And when the only offer he got was to draw the one thing he hated—NTR (Netorare)—he refused.Until life left him no choice.His wife walked out. His daughter starved. And when his first NTR manuscript was complete, the publisher gave the job to someone else.Broken, guilty, and hollow, Keita leapt from the rooftop with a bitter smile—Only to awaken in the world of his own rejected NTR manga.In this twisted realm, he’s reborn as the main protagonist—handsome, popular, and surrounded by women with all-too-familiar faces. His sweet and kind “motherly” wife resembles the wife who left him. His seductive stepsister has the same eyes as his daughter once did.In this warped erotic hell, where anyone can be seduced—teachers, aunts, even grandmothers—Keita must face his deepest guilt, his darkest fantasies, and the genre he once despised.Because in this world, NTR is fate.And the story must go on.

Just something I made to keep track of some of my favourite essences & powers from fics. {with personal twists}

In a world ruled by the Heavens, cultivators must form a Heaven’s Pact to gain power—except Lin Feng. Born with a Broken Soul, he is cast out as cursed and powerless.Everything changes when he discovers an ancient altar and meets the Usurper, who grants him the System—a forbidden technique that allows him to steal fragments of others’ Heaven’s Pacts.With each stolen fragment, he edges closer to uncovering the truth of this world, but defying the Heavens brings trials and tribulations.Will he topple the very Heavens themselves, or will he be crushed under their divine wrath?

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.