Sublight Drive (Star Wars) - Chapter 87

Sam Sanderson is envied by many for his job, however he himself didn't seem to like it much.

Due to his expertise in nanotechnology he was tasked with monitoring the state the Valkyries, humanity's strongest weapons who all just happen to be made into gorgeous females.

Forbidden from even touching any of them, Sam spends his days in agony watching flowers he couldn't hope to touch. However one day all of that seemed to change.

Lancelot Haier came from a dynasty of politicians who had ruled with tyranny and oppression. Despite those origins, he despised his family and was willing to help the citizens who had long suffered under their rule.However—before he even had the chance to change his country, the people revolted. His entire family was executed, and he was killed along with them. In his final moments, he wished for a second life—one where he could redeem himself and carry the sins of his bloodline.Unexpectedly, that wish was granted.He was reincarnated into another world as the crown prince of the Kingdom of Aragon. But in this world, everything felt backward.The country was ruled by an absolute monarch. Feudalism was the norm. Technology resembled that of the late 1700s.Fortunately, in his past life, he had earned degrees in both mechanical engineering and political science—knowledge he once hoped to use to reform his homeland. Now, it seemed he would use them here instead.He would use his modern knowledge to transform the lives of his people, industrialize his territory, gain the upper hand in technology, and form alliances with foreign nations—all while navigating the treacherous waters of internal affairs and politics.P.SWhile Reincarnated as the Crown Prince draws inspiration from historical settings, political systems, and technologies of the late 17th and early 18th centuries, this work is entirely fictional.All characters, governments, names, and events—although some may resemble real-world history—are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictionalized, altered form for narrative purposes.This novel is not a historical account. It should not be interpreted as a factual representation of any real monarch, nation, revolution, or political figure.Lancelot Haier, his backstory, and the alternate version of different kingdoms portrayed here are entirely original creations. The inclusion of familiar concepts like feudalism, industrialization, and political reform serves the plot and world-building, not historical documentation.Readers seeking accuracy in history are encouraged to consult verified academic sources. This story is a creative work meant for entertainment, character development, and speculative exploration of “what-if” scenarios rooted in alternate history.Thank you for reading, and I hope you will enjoy the journey.

“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.