The powerful and rich Philip Graves has it all - money, connections, and a beautiful woman at his side. But something is off with her and wrong. Very, very wrong.
A Rusalka is a being from Eastern-European folklore. They are not mermaids and don't have a fish tail but are connected to water. They are supposedly very beautiful and are linked in stories to drowning and cannibalising men who want them harm.
CN sexual harassment, cannibalism, gore, blood. Graves has the wrong type of sugarbabe. <3
From afar she was a pretty set of tits and ass, a sweet face turned eye candy, turned girlfriend, turned unpaid assistant to her rich and powerful man.
From afar she was pretty lips - smiling and whispering nice words with that slightly unplaceable accent as she did a secretary's work for the Shadow himself, Commander Philip Graves.
From afar she was a lucky girl being spoiled and protected from the world by the secretive founder of the infamous Shadow Company, always dressed up nicely and pleasing to see hanging from his arm.
Yes, from afar it was a nice sight - her and the man.
The pinnacle of success. The living american dream. The big house and perfect hair and black AMEX.
But getting a bit closer the scenery disintegrated into pieces, rotten and decaying. Like him. Like her.
It started on a private jet. Graves and a selected handful of men in his charge were travelling back home to the US. He had wanted it to be a relaxed occasion. A nice reward to travel more private after all the blood and grime and hustle.
“Hey commander!” One of the rookies called as he leaned back and pressed against the pretty girl. “Hadn’t expected you to be the type to share.”
She only stared at the bottle of water in her hands, watching the little waves caused by the vibrations of the plane.
“I hardly have a say in what she does. Or who.” Philip Graves called back as he opened up another bottle of champagne. Of course it was champagne even if any sparkling wine would have done it for a bunch of men drinking it just for the air of exclusivity and hardly the taste.
“Well then, doll.” The man tried seductively. “Would you mind sitting on my lap?”
She looked up, cold eyes that pierced into his and warned him that he might regret it.
“Why?” Her words peeled off her tongue like drops of water.
“Because you have a nice ass I want to feel it, sugartits.”
She smiled, beautiful and hot and dangerous with lovely red lips and sharp teeth.
Instead of a word she leaned over, raising her leg gracefully over his lap and up until she straddled him. The short skirt she wore sliding up slightly only helped up further by the calloused hands that grabbed her bum.
“You are a wild one.” The man huffed in surprise. “Adventurous. I like that. I can see why Graves has you.”
“Has me?” She asked, confused. “I have him. And now, I have you too.”
The man chuckled. “Sure. Whatever you say, honey.”
Her fingers trailed up his shoulders and up to the collar of his shirt.
“I like your shirt. Nice colour.” She stated. “Would you mind getting it off for me for what comes next?”
The man's eyes wandered behind her to the commander.
“Told you, I have no say in this.” Graves declared with a shrug and turned away to attend to the other men further up the plane in the passenger area, leaving the man alone with her.
“Well then, allow me to get out of this.” The man stated and slightly leaned away from the girl in his lap, unbuttoning his silken shirt and throwing it onto the floor.
She hummed approvingly, nodding as if he had done something good.
“Alright, dear, let’s continue this to its logical conclusion.” He mused and grabbed her by the hip.
“Yes. Agreed.” Another pragmatic nod from her that slightly confused him. “I am hungry.”
“Allow me to satisfy-”
She leaned closer, grabbing him by the neck and bit him.
With a gurgling sound paired with the crunch of tendons and bones being torn and crushed, she drew blood and a mouthful of flesh. His armed flailed up, confused at first and he wanted to shove her off but she only swatted away his weakening arms. Next was an attempt to scream. He wanted to call for help but she grabbed him by the jaw, forcing his mouth shut with inhuman strength and leaving nothing but a muffled sound out of his desperate lips. His eyes turned from dazed, to panicked, to lifeless as she held him like that until he stopped moving. Then, she took another bite, tasting and finally grimacing disapprovingly before sliding off his lap.
“Having fun?”
It was Graves standing in the room, shielding her from the sight of the other men on the plane.
“You promised me better kill, Philipp.” She cleared her throat. “This one tasted like bad financial decisions since 17, alcoholism and a couple of failed marriages.”
“Not my problem, you are a picky eater.” He said casually.
“I could always eat you.”
He nodded as he grabbed a blanket and strategically placed it over the dead man while closing his eyes. With a bit of good will he looked like he was sleeping.
“You could.” Philipp Graves admitted. “But I am hardly tastier than him.”
The girl eyed first the dead man, then the commander. Some considered Graves good looking, his smile may even pass as charming. And the man knew how to dress himself while also never skipping a chance to work out and enjoy a homemade meal. But she knew better than to be tricked by looks, a good life and a bit of hair gel.
“Yeah you are right.” She concluded. “You are old. And your meat would be too tough.”
“Right.” He sighed and grabbed a serviette to tenderly wipe off the blood from her face. “Just my meat would not help you with your little culinary adventures. Imagine the hustle of getting off this plane while having to explain a body.”
She shrugged and grabbed the silken shirt on the floor with her nice ass up for a short little moment.
“I don’t. That’s your job, Philipp.” Her eyes gleamed up at him - innocently and big, enticing and inviting with that sweet mouth and cute face of hers. “Look at this, Phil. The colour of my new shirt is so pretty. It works with my skin. You never get me stuff like this.”
She pulled off her bloodied blouse, standing in front of him half-naked before slowly buttoning the new shirt over her bare chest without losing eye-contact. He dared not to look down, to peak at her bare body and beautiful curves and luscious skin so close he could feel the heat emanating off of her as she moved.
He swallowed.
“Pardon me, Princess.” He huffed. “I’ll think of that the next time I’mma getting you something pretty. Right after I’ll clean up this mess of yours.”
Her fingers trailed up his chest until it brushed over his shoulders, neck and chin. The commander held his breath as she leaned closer and got on her toes before she gave him a little peck on the cheek, her breasts brushing up to him for a moment too short to enjoy yet to close not to notice.
“Thank you, Philipp. You are the best.”
She wandered off, joining the other men again and leaving Graves alone with the body draped like a sleeping person and a bloody blouse on the floor.
He allowed himself a short moment, standing there and taking it all in. Then he grabbed the blouse, hid it under the blanket with the body and returned to join his men and the woman in his life everybody believed to be his.
the idea that your friends won't like you if you're too weird is wrong you just need better friends for example one time I told a friend whenever I was losing my mind I laid down on the floor under my desk and stared at it until I was better and next time she visited me she taped a bag of salami snacks to the underside of my desk with a message saying "going insane all by yourself, handsome?" which I only saw months later when I had a breakdown. that's friendship.
There is this a peculiar set of reasons and biases when it comes to NOT commenting on AO3.
They are all false, but here they are:
Do not comment on old fics
Do not comment on each chapter of a multichapter
Do not comment if the author left the fandom
Do not comment if the author doesn’t respond to comments
It can be summoned up as DO NOT ACT LIKE YOU ENJOYED THE WORK AND YOU LIKE THE AUTHOR.
It comes from the idea, that if you leave a comment on my old work, or leave too many comments, I will think you are strange, clingy, and gross.
Readers are imagining it as commenting on an old Facebook photo — only your granny and creepy strangers do that.
That is not the case with AO3.
Writers put their works there for long-term storage, and we expect, wish, and hope that you will like our works and tell us about it.
This all very interesting, not, but why should I care?
This has awful consequences. Fanfic authors feel constant pressure to create more and crippling fear of being forgotten, useless, and being literally kicked away from fandom.
I’m online friends with a few great fandom authors, who wrote storied with thousands of kudos, but ALL of them at some point expressed this fear. Very talented people told me, “I’m not sure if I should have ‘writer’ in my bio. I didn’t post anything new in the last half of a year.”
Some young or entitled readers might say, “Hm, well, they are right. They should create MORE to be relevant. Isn’t that a good thing to push authors to write more?”
For better or worse, life doesn’t work like that. We are talking about real people, who go to real schools, have real jobs, families, and all the other important things outside the fandom. Some of them might push to create more from that fear, but most would only get more frustrated and depressed about the whole fanfic writing.
So, please, if you like the work comment on it.
Even if it’s old, even if it’s a multichapter, even if the author doesn’t have time and energy to interact. Especially in all those cases.
Encourage your authors, and show them your support.
UPD:
my previous post How to start writing comments
explanation about fics from 70s by olderthannetfic. Thank you so much for it.
I’m not going to see two posts by the same person on two different fics and think “o no, they’re stalking me!” I’m going to think “Yay, someone *finally* read that admittedly very niche thing I wrote!”
If I see a comment by the same person on two fics, it’s the best thing in the world! They liked my story enough to read a second one. Thank you, commenter. You’ve made my day. More than that, it will probably improve me whole week, if not longer.
There’s an extremely specific and special sort of feeling that comes with seeing the same commenter name in your inbox as they methodically make their way through a story or your AO3 page and it is somewhere in the neighborhood of if glee/pride/disbelief had a baby.
So let me take a stab at this, for folks who are accustomed to only social media:
Think of AO3 like a library. Comments or kudos are like checking out a book from a library. Do you ignore books that look like they’ve been in the library for a while out of fear they’re too old for you to check out? Of course not! Same thing applies here.
AO3 is literally an archive. The intent is not for you to only look at the newest stuff. Its purpose is to hold on to works over the course of time so we can find them again later. Writers wouldn’t put their stuff in the archive if they didn’t want people to be able to find it after a while - that would defeat the entire purpose.
Reblogging to shoutout AO3 user NatashalieLumley who is currently making their way through the Toasterverse, because it always warms my heart when people read the dumb little side stories, too. Blessings on you, you kind soul.
Also, they are pacing themselves. the only time I get concerned about comments on old fic is when it is clear that someone has just read a decade’s worth of my fic (literally) in 36 hours (also literally) and I am like please sleep. Please. Too much crack fic at once is gonna cause brain damage.
the day my mom died, I woke up to 3 or 4 comments on old fics. really nice, whole paragraph comments that highlighted lines the reader liked and praised the concepts they enjoyed, and gd, it was so nice to cry over something joyful and kind instead of just. mama.
There is a special kind of joy, for an author, in watching somebody comment on every chapter of one of your multi-chapter fics. If you’re lucky enough to get the notifications while they’re still reading it’s especially good, but even seeing them after they’re done is nice. You get to read along with them, watch them react to story twists and plot elements in real time, see their little comments like “ooh I hope X doesn’t find out” and then when X finds out 3 chapters later “OH FUCK”. It’s like recommending a book or TV show to a friend and getting to watch them experience it.
At no point will an author ever think you’re clingy or creepy for commenting too much. We put the fics out there because we want you to read them, and we want to know what you think. Comments make the writing feel like meaningful communication instead of throwing thoughts out into the void.
I make a point of trying to leave a comment on every story or chapter I read, even if it's just something like "oh, nice chapter", "well done", "this is interesting" or something along these lines.
I appreciate the writers and I want them to know. Even if it's just 4 words.
Do you like enemies to lovers because it’s hot or do you like enemies to lovers because you think of yourself as unlovable & unworthy of love and therefore like the idea of someone seeing all the worst in you right away and still falling in love with you anyways
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