My Talent's Name Is Generator - Chapter 171: I Broke Their Suppression

“My only regret was.. living like a puppet for my sister!”Olivia Witherland had no one but her sister in this world. So when her sister Oriana married the duke of Aykroyd and became the duchess, she had no choice but to follow her there. Despite knowing that her sister had killed the previous duchess and going to harm the child left behind, she kept her eyes closed. But when the child grew up as Demon,he killed everyone including her and the innocent kids, Oriana gave birth to.Olivia regretted that her silence had harmed not only Damon but her innocent nephew and niece. Everyone was killed, but the killer lived a hollow life too.But fate gave her a second chance. Would she be able to save everyone or would destiny play a cruel game again?

It was one thing to have my hands and feet securely tied, but why was my mouth also sealed? I should at least have been ...It was one thing to have my hands and feet securely tied, but why was my mouth also sealed? I should at least have been able to make a noise! Why was I confined in a mental asylum? Why did it seem like everyone was afraid of me? Why... do I feel like laughing?----------------This is a story where Holmes and the Joker wreak havoc on the SCP Foundation. I hope everyone will enjoy it!

A young man dies tragically while trying to stop a robbery—only to awaken in complete darkness, lost between life and death.As his memories return, he discovers that he’s been reincarnated into a new world brimming with magic, Soul Weapons, and mystical powers. Reborn as Ares into a loving family, he quickly realizes that this world is far from peaceful. Armed with an SSS-Rank Trait and a Unique Ability, he faces every challenge head-on as he searches for his purpose in this strange new reality.

“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.