Reborn in the Eighties as a Housewife with a Space - Chapter 22 - : Drawing Blueprints

Ten years ago, Magnolia was blamed for her sister’s death and cast out of her pack. Her Alpha father’s final words “Why did she die, but not you?” drove her into exile. She lived among humans, hiding her identity, her wolf, and her pain.Now, at twenty-eight, Magnolia learns her mate is none other than Rhett Callahan , the powerful Alpha of the strongest pack and heir to a billion-dollar empire. But instead of love, he offers her a contract: marry him for one year so he can fulfill the requirements of his inheritance.Magnolia accepts to save her parents’ home but finds herself in a loveless arrangement, mocked by the pack and haunted by the past. Then Camille returns with another woman, the one he truly loves… and it’s Magnolia ’s sister, long thought dead.As secrets explode and bonds unravel, Magnolia must decide if she can forgive the mate who rejected her or burn the past down with him in it.

After blacking out at a class reunion, Li Yuan awakens in a brutal world reminiscent of ancient China. Famines rage, human life is cheap, and the specter of war looms at every corner. Worse still, the eerie rumors of monsters lurking deep in the forests and things that go bump in the night prove all too real.Now scraping by as a humble hunter in a remote village, Li Yuan must also watch over a woman entrusted to his care. Although he’s blessed with a mysterious status window, he’s still just a leaf on the wind—easily blown astray by the sweeping storms of change. Join him as he struggles to navigate political upheavals and unforeseen perils, striving to forge his own destiny as history unfolds around him.Official: Li Yuan crosses over into a martial world where demons and ghosts lie dormant, becoming an ordinary hunter struggling to survive. It’s only after he takes a wife that he discovers a status window. As the stars shift and ages pass, though seas dry and lands change, he remains steadfast and unchanging.

In the 21st century, a young judge time-travels to another world.Here, martial arts are evergreen, and myriad schools compete for dominance.Confucianism: Immense righteousness, impervious to all laws.Legalism: The power of rules, the law follows the word.Military strategists: The power of conquest, invincible in battle.Mohism: Ingenious mechanics, ordinary humans rivaling gods.Yin-Yang school: Numerology and the five elements, seeking divination, pursuing good fortune, and avoiding disaster....What's this? The Legalists grow stronger by adjudicating cases?Li Nuo, who has just vowed to advocate for the people and eliminate the corrupt, discovers that his father is the greatest villain in the court.Faced with countless enemies seeking revenge against his father, Li Nuo says he only needs one sentence.'My lady, guard me!'

“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.