Not before, but in the future, every princess of Solaria will speak the shadow language fluently; I will see to that, she thought maliciously.
Chimera: She will create a world where all of Solaria dances to her will. And her hatred for Stella will be the key that leads her to her goal. There can only be one princess of Solaria, and that will be her.
・* ○・* ●・* ○・● * ・
Chimera had learned Shadow Language on Beta Academy, practiced dark magic, and mixed poisons into potions with a passion that was unbecoming of a fairy. That's why her mother had put a stop to it and strictly monitored Chimera's academic performance and course content. Darkness was unbecoming of a future princess of Solaria. Solaria was the light, the brightest kingdom in the magical dimension. With a princess as radiant as the sun itself.
And that's why Chimera truly despised the light. She hated Stella, she hated her bright magic and her shining appearance. She hated being told from a young age that was the only way a princess should be. Everything she did was compared to Stella. Stella of Solaria. Fucking Stella of Solaria with the sacred aura of perfection.
How Chimera hated it when people only looked at Stella's beautiful facade. No one saw what lay beneath. Stella was self-centered and attention-seeking. She got everything she wanted without ever lifting a finger for it. And Chimera, like all the other young nobles of Solaria, stood forever in her shadow.
Do as Stella did. Stella is your role model. No one had ever seen the Fairy of Shooting Stars. All her life, she was just a shadow beside Stella. Wasn't it surprising, then, that Chimera hated the light so much and found solace in the shadows of darkness? Why couldn't her mother understand? She wanted nothing more than to crush this Fairy of the Sun and Moon, to see her light extinguished.
I hate when people say “oh it doesn’t affect me” to issues like child labour, war climate change, and poverty bc that’s just really fucking selfish for you to say. it may not affect you because you are so privileged but that doesn’t fucking mean you should ignore it and not feel empathy for those going through it. Worst part is when they enjoy entertainment like the hunger games or an inspector calls because you might watch it but you don’t understand it and you don’t understand why although something doesn’t affect you you shouldn’t advocate for it.
crazy thought, what if reader came back as something like tomie in ‘nightly swim’ 😝 it would be crazy tbh, tomie died in a similar way i think.
That's such a good idea though!!! I never actually read/watched 'Tomie' but I did a little research on it. I also added my own twist to it! It honestly sounds perfect for a second part of 'Nightly Swim'! Thanks for the request!
[Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con (referenced), Torture, Mind Control, Psychological Horror, Body Horror, Darkfic, Revenge, Vengeful Spirit, Ghosts, Possession, Body Switching, Loss of Identity, Moral Corruption, Descent Into Madness, Dark Magic, Forbidden Spells, Curses, Necromancy, Supernatural Transformation, Inhuman POV, Ghost POV, Possession POV, Graphic Violence, Torture, Murder, Fire, Burning, Emotional Manipulation, Psychological Torture, Revenge Is Not Healing, Hurt No Comfort, No Redemption, Everyone Suffers, Graphic Violence, Torture, Murder, Fire, Burning, Emotional Manipulation, Psychological Torture, Revenge Is Not Healing, Hurt No Comfort, No Redemption, Everyone Suffers, gore, arson, suicide, blood, burnt, ghost, possession, knife, love, major character deaths]
«Revenge is all your soul can do now.»
Hey……. how long has it been since ive wrote? i think last time i wrote was septemeber or july….. 2024 maybe lowkey forgot? WRITERS BLOCK WENT CRAZY!!! (plus i kept throwing up blood for a week and was at the hospital for a week and eveyrthing still hurts sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh) SORRYYYYY!!!!!! Im happy i wrote this. Im happy people keep giving me requests. Writting is one of my favorite things in the whole world, though i had writters block on this one for a while, i think im back. :)
Thank you for reading!
Your eyes open wide to see empty, black… plastic?
Water surrounds you — terrified of drowning, you hold your breath. Your nails break through the black plastic. Then you try to swim up to the surface. You couldn’t feel your legs; it felt like they morphed, morphed into one to help you swim.
It had been too long. Too long since you held your breath. Your nails seemed too sharp. Your feet… You couldn’t even feel them. Everything was dark; you couldn't see.
You swam up to the surface to see the night. The full moon lights the way, the stars glistening. You swam to the edge of the lake and got out, feet still in the lake.
You looked down at your feet to see a tail, with black and green scales lining it, ending with a fin. Terrified, you looked at your hands to see long, sharp talons instead of nails. You looked back at the water to see your reflection. Your ears were fin-like shapes, and a big fin was on your back.
You had to be dreaming, this wasn't real! But then you remembered — remembered the men who assaulted your body, the men who killed you. Maybe that’s why you were like this. Maybe that’s why you couldn't feel the sharp, stinging pain you felt in your thigh when you were alive.
Anger bubbled in you — pure hatred. The taste of bitterness and resentment lingered on your tongue.
As you got out of the water fully, you were wet and bloody, your legs came back, and the fin disappeared into your back. A few scales still on your body. All you were wearing was the plastic trash bag.
You stood there, staring at your reflection in the water, still in shock at the transformation you had just experienced. The moonlight seemed to dance on your scales, adding a mystical glow to your appearance.
…
It felt like you were walking through the dark, leafy green forest for hours. Finally, you felt a paved road under your feet. You had finally reached the highway.
You walk onto the road and suddenly — a car zooms through your body! You can feel your heart beating a million times faster in your chest; oh wait, you can't — you're dead. Then you spot a car, more so a truck, a white jeep parked next to the dense forest. And leaning on it were two guys.
You walked up to them. Right in front of them. You felt disgusted that they were here, nonchalantly smoking after they just killed you. You wanted to rip out their guts, peel their skin off, torture them just as they tortured you.
“You feel that? It's kinda cold,” one snickers, his gaze distant.
“Oh! What if it's a ghost!” Gojo said, obviously high.
“How much did you smoke?” Getou laughed out, moving towards Gojo. Then he pinned Gojo against the side of the car. Slowly moving closer, then kissing him. Biting on the lighter-haired’s lips so he could get his tongue into Gojo’s mouth. Tongues swirling together in sync. Then finally pulled away to catch their breath.
Standing behind them, you seethed. Angered by the way they forgot about you like you were nothing, you punched the back of Getou's head. Hand going through his head — and Gojo — his face, hitting the glass window of the jeep.
The window shattered.
Gojo visibly jumped. “What the fuck!” Getou said, grabbing Gojo in a tender hold — a hand behind his head and the other at the back of the base of his neck, pulling him into his chest.
“Did any glass get on you?” Getou said, concerned.
“No, but what the fuck just happened?” the white-haired boy responded.
You were there, mouth gaped. ‘How did a fucking car go through me, and when I tried punching them, my hand went through them, but not the glass? It fucking shattered! This doesn’t make sense! What the fuck!?’ you think, angered.
Again, again, again — you tried and tried and tried to physically hurt them, but nothing.
“Let’s go, maybe it's that chick's ghost,” Gojo said, trying to lighten the mood.
The desperation to hurt them got to you. So you followed. You followed them back to the place where your murder took place.
Deep in the other side of town, there was a building covered in foliage and trash. The walls, which were covered in graffiti, looked like they would break at any moment. It used to be a cult building. After all the members of the cult died or were shoved into a confinement center, the building was abandoned. You trailed behind the two living monsters into the building. In one room, there was a bed, posters on the walls that covered the graffiti— or attempted to cover the graffiti — a chair with a pile of clothes, and a small, broken nightstand. You followed them down to the basement. This was where they did everything. The mattress was no longer on the bed frame, and the guy was still in the corner, no longer living.
“I forgot about him. What do u wanna do with him?” Gojo asked.
“We just got back. I don’t wanna give a shit about him until tomorrow,” Getou replied, leaving for another room.
Gojo let a soft hum out, acknowledging what Getou had said.
You wandered around in the basement, eyes drawn to the graffiti that twisted along the cracked cement walls. Your eyes were drawn to one unlike the others — it was carved in deep, looping scratches, almost burned into the surface. It wasn’t just a symbol or a message. It pulsed.
You couldn’t make out what it said, doubting if it even said anything. It was more like your eyes interpreted it, like the markings weren’t meant to be read, but felt. The longer you stared, the more your head hurt. Your heart raced. Something whispered at the edge of your mind.
‘What the fuck… how do you even pronounce that?’ you thought, as your mouth began to move on its own.
You tried to say it once. Failed.
Tried again. Your voice cracked, static in your ears.
The third time, your throat finally formed the sound. Something unholy. Not human. Something that echoed in the basement, that was never meant to be said.
And then,
Agony.
You felt this agonizing pain pulsing through you. It felt as if your bones were cracking inside you, your skin and muscle stretching and pulling, ripping itself apart and putting itself together again. You weren't a ghost.
You were in a bathroom. Your new body felt muscular and tall, and you looked into the mirror to see Getou’s face. Frantically, you started reciting that stupid black magic spell or whatever the fuck it was.
Once. Then, twice. Then, thrice. Then the fourth, you cut yourself off, feeling like you were no longer in a being.
Your head was frantic, screaming, ‘What the fuck; What the fuck; What the fuck,’ over and over again.
You needed to figure this out.
…
A few weeks later, you figured out how to switch bodies at will.
The spell wasn’t perfect. It tore at your soul every time, like dragging barbed wire through your ribs or yanking each and every one of your bones out of your body one by one. But it worked. You just had to be near them, smell their cologne, hear their voice, see their face, and whisper the incantation, like a curse soaked in mold, a rotting stench they will never escape.
And then boom, you’d wake up in their skin.
You practiced. Started small. Switching into stray dogs that wandered too close to the abandoned building, crows, and even rats. Your control was shaky, but every time it got easier. Every time you felt less like yourself, more like something else, something inhuman, detached, cold.
You liked it.
And then, the opportunity came.
Gojo had wandered off alone again. ‘Idiot.’ You spat in your thoughts. He was half-drunk too, stumbling through the dark forest near the building. You were waiting.
Invisible.
Watching.
You whispered the spell through the trees, and in a blink, you were inside his skin. This time, you weren’t frantic. It was intentional. Controlled. You could feel his heart. You could feel his memories, little flickers of sick laughter, of your screams, of blood and plastic bags.
You didn’t scream this time.
You smiled.
Because now, you could end them… from the inside out.
You walked back to their little hideout, Gojo’s voice slithering off your tongue like venom. Getou grinned when he saw “him.” Walked right up to you as if nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t thrown your body in a fucking lake and lit a blunt after.
“Where’d you run off to?” he asked, dragging his thumb across your — no, his — jawline. “Left me bored, babe.”
You could have kissed him.
Instead, you smirked.
“Sorry. Got distracted.”
The two of you went inside. He flopped on the mattress like a dog, lit another cigarette, and talked shit about some gang near the west side. You sat beside him. You didn’t move. You just watched him talk.
You wondered if he’d scream when you killed him.
Later that night, when he passed out, you slipped the knife from under the bed. The one they used to hurt you. It still had a smear of dried blood on it. You pressed it to your — Gojo's — stomach. Let it sink just enough to feel pain. You needed to remind yourself this wasn’t your body. If you did this, you would feel the pain. This shouldn’t be your pain.
Then you turned it toward Getou.
You wanted to carve your initials into his bones.
But you hesitated. Because revenge? It had to be slow. Poetic.
You leaned down, breathing against his neck. Whispered just loud enough for him to stir.
“She’s still watching.” Then whispered the incantations.
He jolted awake. “The fuck?!” He looked at Gojo, who seemed to be horrified. “I don’t know what happened — I — what the fuck — that wasn’t me!” he yelled.
This was new. You couldn't talk to animals, so you didn’t know that they could see what was happening. The time in the bathroom was different; you didn’t do anything, just stared at the mirror. This was even better. You could make one destroy their own love by their own hands and then kill themselves.
You tried to say it once. Failed.
Tried again. Your voice cracked, static in your ears.
The third time, your throat finally formed the sound. Something unholy. Not human. Something that echoed in the basement, that was never meant to be said.
And then, now this was poetic.
You were across the room. Smiling. The look on his face made you feel alive again.
You were going to destroy him.
Soon, they’d beg to join you in the grave.
“What is that?” The words spilled from Gojo’s lips. Getou had been staring at you this whole time, terrified to move or say something.
“You don’t remember me?” you spoke, smiling as your voice came out distorted.
“I will destroy you.” As you said this, you spoke the incantation, and now you were Getou.
“Come here, Gojo! It’s me, Getou, your love!” you giggled out. The look on his face is priceless.
“N-No, you're not! Get out of him! Look, I—We are sorry! We—” He got cut off by you throwing the knife at him—not perfectly aimed, so it hit the wall behind him.
“You're sorry? Sorry? You can ask for all the forgiveness you want, but you will feel my pain, and yet I would never forgive you!” you screamed.
You grabbed an empty glass bottle and hit him in the head. A thud, and he fell to the floor. ‘Huh, this body is stronger than I realized. It’s gonna make it easier to kill him.’ The thought made you giggle. You bent down to grab hold of his leg, then started dragging him to a different room.
You stopped in front of one of the rooms in the basement—a bed frame in the middle, blood smeared on one of the corner walls… This was the room they- they did those things to you… The thought still makes you gag, angering you more.
You drag him into the room, let go of his foot, and move towards the bed. It was just rusted metal. You grabbed the bed and flipped it so it was standing tall on the footboard. You looked around. ‘Ropes, handcuffs, anything?’ You needed to tie him up.
In one of the corners of the room, you found a rope. ‘Bloody… it will work,’ you thought. Grabbing it, you dragged him to the bed, pulled his hands up to the headboard, and tied them there, then tied his feet to the footboard.
“Done!” you giggled, then left the room.
He was now dangling off the headboard with his legs tied, oh so helpless, just like you were.
“Tied up, tied up now what…? Killing them is the end goal, but how…. oh…….” you giggled “perfect.”
You look around the room, ‘nothing… He better not get out, I'm sure I tied it tight enough’ I thought, then I left the room. ‘He's tied up; this should give me plenty of time to look around.’
First room, another ugly bedroom with graffiti on the walls, dirt, rocks, and grim on the floor. Second room… dining maybe, ‘they really turned this dump into somewhat of a house… If I'm being generous,’ busted table and two chairs with a knife lying on the table, a vase of flowers, and a small candle— and of course, the walls peeling.
“Get. the fuck. out of me!” I hear a screaming, agitated voice in my head as I stepped foot into their living room. “Shut the fuck up!” I shrieked, covering my- his ears.
This is new, not once did an animal overpower you while you were in it, were it. But for some reason, he can?!
The screaming didn’t stop.
“Get out. Get out. Get out.”
It echoed inside your skull like nails dragged across bone. You staggered back, slamming your—Getou’s—shoulder into the peeling wall. The candle on the table flickered wildly, flame stretching sideways as if pulled by an unseen breath.
“Shut up,” you hissed, teeth clenched. “You don’t get to talk anymore.”
But he didn’t stop.
Memories forced themselves forward—his memories. Not the ones you wanted. Not the cruelty or the laughter or the blood. Softer things. The way Gojo laughed when he snored himself awake. The first time Getou hesitated, hand hovering over your body like maybe—maybe—he could still walk away.
You screamed, clutching your head.
“No. Don’t you dare show me that.”
Your reflection in the cracked mirror across the room twitched a second too late when you moved. Its smile lingered after yours fell.
Your chest burned. The spell wasn’t just tearing at your soul now—it was unraveling it.
“You think this hurts?” Getou’s voice snarled inside you. “You think this is punishment? You’re wearing me like a costume. You don’t even know what I am.”
You laughed, breath shaky. “I know enough. You're filthy, foul, disgusting. You did so much to me, and now I'm back. My soul can’t rest until you both are gone, until- until you have suffered as I did,” you screamed back at him.
But doubt crept in anyway.
You felt your fingers twitch without your command. The knife on the table rattled. The ropes in the other room creaked.
Rope creaked, the bed creaked. You walked back to the room, grabbing the knife with you, to where Gojo was hanging.
“Hi there, my love, finally awake?” You say pressing the knife to his throat.
“Don’t call him that! Let him go!” You hear from the back of your head, you wish you could silence his stupid little voice.
“Getou? W-what are you doing?” His voice trembling.
“Oh? Don’t worry, I'm just having some fun.”
“You're not my Getou… what the fuck are you!? Get away from me!” He says in a rather stable voice.
“You’re smarter than you look. You’re right im not your Getou. I’m not Getou at all. I hope you remember me...” As you say this, you get out of Getou, and he falls back. Showing yourself to the both of them. Your wet hair framing your face, your eye completely black, the red bloody hole in your thigh, your sharp teeth, and more blood.
“I-it’s you!” Gojo says, shocked and terrified.
“Fuck… just leave us alone!” Getou screamed from the floor where he fell.
“Leave you alone…? You. Took. Everything from me! My life even!” You say your voice trembling as you scream.
You get back into Getou, knife in hand, close to Gojo's neck.
“Don’t!” You hear the panicked voice in the back of your head. Ignoring him, you take your knife and drag it down Gojo’s neck down to his stomach, then press hard, not enough to break skin.
“Please stop!” Gojo says.
“Shut the fuck up before I gag you.” All you can see is red; the revenge you get will be everything.
“I’m going to kill you, your precious Getou is going to kill you.”
“Stop, we’ll do anything!” they both said at the same time, as if they were the same person because of their love. Too bad they won’t be alive for much longer.
“There's nothing you can do….” With that, you pierced through his shirt and through his skin, not deep enough, just enough to hurt.
“Stop! Don’t make me do this!” Getou cried as he watched his hands hurt his lover; there was nothing he could do.
“You’re hurting him, Getou. Why don’t you stop? Don’t you love him?” you say back to him mockingly.
You drag the knife deeper spliting his skin, still not deep enough. A few more, his shoulder, arms, legs, and collar. Now he's all bloody, blood slowly dripping down his torso and legs, slowly to the floor.
“It hurts… why don’t you just kill me?” Gojo whimpers.
Silence, Gojos breathing, your–Getous breathing, and tinnitus ringing in your ear.
“Stop making him kill me,” Gojo pleaded.
“Did you just kill me? No. So why shall I grant the both of that mercy?” You say calmly, placing the knife down and leaving the room. You walk back into the other rooms, looking for a different tool, anything. You're back in the other bedroom and spot something in the corner, gasoline. That’ how they will end. You check Getou’s pockets, you know, they smoke or get high or whatever they were doing when you first saw them. A dark blue lighter in his right pocket.
You walk back into the room, where Gojo is. You kick the knife out of the room and close the door; the door locks from the outside, you lock it, making sure they are trapped in here.
“W-what are you doing…? Getou…” Gojo says in a breathy voice.
“No… No! Please its not me!” Getou screamed from the back of your head.
You douse Gojo in gasoline and liquid seeping into his wounds, and he cries in pain. You make a line of gasoline on the floor reaching him.
Finally, this is your revenge.
You light the line of fire as Gojo squirms and Getou screams from inside you.
And you make him watch.
“You did this, Getou. You did this to the one person you love,” you say to getou as gojo screams, squirms, and burns.
“You’re a monster, Getou.”
“How could you, Getou?”
The flames engulf Gojo; the agony he feels is delicious. After a while, his screaming dies down, and he stops moving.
“He’s dead, and you killed him, Getou.”
As you saw this, you leave his body and move to the corner of the room, he falls to the ground as you do, and stares. Stares at his lover, burned skin blotchy, melted, and red. No movements, no breath, just a butned body.
“I killed you.” He says in shock.
He grabs the bottle of gasoline, pouring it all over himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I… I deserve the same fate, I love you…” As Getou says this, he grabs the lighter and sets it alight; he doesn’t hesitate and sets himself alight.
Bright orange, red, and yellow engulf him, and he screams, pleads his apologies to his lover, and slowly they die down. The fire extinguishes itself in the concrete room.
“I would drag your bodies to the lake, but you both don't deserve to lie with my body…”
I feel like this is such an underwritten genre. I write as a hobby, and whilst I don't intent to make writing a career I do one day hope to publish one of my books. Morality corruption is such an interesting topic to me, because what do you mean it's always someone influencing a character for the better?
In media we see so many villain redemption stories, but not many stories where the main character becomes tainted with ideologies and morals from 'worse sources'. It is something that we see all the time in real life as well!
I absolutely love writing about vampires, where a character gets turned and you see them gradually losing everything that made them 'them' until they are virtually a completely different person is just so interesting to me, you get to see their deterioration and get to see the struggles they go through with this too.
If any other writers or readers have recommendations for any sort of media (whether this be fanfics, books, shows or films etc) that addresses this particular sub plot, PLEASEEEE share because I will devour anything to do with this >:)
Remember Rafah? For months, the Biden Administration bitterly opposed an Israeli invasion of Hamas’s last stronghold in Gaza. The mantra was that Israel had “no credible plan” to evacuate the city’s 1.3 million civilians. Yet the Israelis went ahead anyway, and two weeks later they have safely evacuated an estimated 950,000 people.
This was supposed to be impossible. Rafah became a red line for Mr. Biden on the logic that there was no way to conduct a major operation with all those civilians present. That was the justification for the President’s arms embargo. “We’re walking away from Israel’s ability to wage war in those areas,” he said.
Even as the evacuation got under way, Secretary of State Antony Blinken repeated that Israel had “no credible plan.” National security adviser Jake Sullivan added, “We still believe it would be a mistake to launch a major military operation into the heart of Rafah.” When the evacuation began to work, the Biden team moved on to criticizing Israeli readiness for the “day after” the main fighting, as if success in Rafah were a foregone conclusion.
Finally on Tuesday, the Administration claimed credit. “It’s fair to say that the Israelis have updated their plans. They’ve incorporated many of the concerns that we have expressed,” a senior U.S. official told reporters. He also said the Rafah operation might create “opportunities for getting the hostage deal back on track.”
The maneuvering has costs. “This Administration never supports anything we do until we do it,” a senior Israeli official told us early this month. To win Mr. Biden’s consent, the Israelis first had to advance and succeed. But the delay his opposition caused has dragged out the war to all but Hamas’s detriment.
Rafah remains critical to any day-after plan, since nothing can work if Hamas governs territory with military battalions and controls the Egyptian border. Israel has already discovered 50 tunnels crossing from Rafah into Egypt for smuggling. Once troops finish clearing a buffer zone along the border, Israel can cut off Hamas from Egypt, a key to strangling whatever insurgency may follow.
It’s reasonable to ask what force will control Gaza in the future. But no one else will fight and die to defeat Hamas for Israel, or even to resist it as a civilian power. Certainly not the feeble Palestinian Authority, which wants a power-sharing deal with Hamas in Gaza because otherwise it knows it would be slaughtered.
Though Israeli liberals won’t like to hear it, Israel probably will need to fill the vacuum in Gaza for a time. Though Israeli right-wingers won’t like to hear it, the purpose would be to make way for local governance. The politics, there and here, explain why it has been easier to pretend there’s no plan at all.
==
Apparently, evacuating 950,000 people before conducting a military operation is somehow a "genocide."
It's worth pointing out that the Exodus in the bible involved upwards of two million people. Obviously, this was fiction, but here's a mass migration on a comparable scale, and while the fictional one gets written into a holy book, the real world one goes largely unacknowledged.
In morally corrupt Corinth, love had become a mixed-up term with little meaning (1 Corinthians 13:13). Today people are still confused about love. Love is the greatest of all human qualities, and it is an attribute of God himself. Love involves unselfish service to others; to show it gives evidence that you care. Faith is the foundation and content of God's message; hope is the attitude and focus; love is the action. When faith and hope are in line, you are free to love completely because you understand how God loves.
