The reason I've been drawing so much au fluff is because the main story is very 'fuck fizz in particular' because Blitz is Blitz. Man deserves a break.
Rating: M? (just to be safe, since there is discussion of sex. Also violence in later parts.)
Pairing: Female OC x ??? (it's a surprise/choose your own-ish? There is a reveal moment, but you could easily put in whoever you want I suppose)
Warnings: implied rough sex/choking/etc., torture/violence in later parts, Not Beta Read
Word Count: 5824 (like I said in pt. 1, this one is a beast...sorry?)
Cross posted on AO3 @- Lupine_Princess
Part 3 *is* coming soon. Hopefully by Monday at the latest, but that's what I thought about these two, so who knows at this point right? Please enjoy the Part That Wouldn't End Because the Character Is Super Thirsty, and tell me what you think? lol
Part Two
The woman remembers that day as though she were watching it happen in real time all over again. Six months prior, she had been invited to a party by a friend of hers at the last minute. Apparently, the woman’s friend had a date that had cancelled on him the night before and so he had no one to go to the party with, an entirely unacceptable state of affairs for any socially conscious person in their area. The friend’s only options then were to either go alone, again unacceptable, or take a friend who understood that the late invitation was not a slight but also that the night would not lead to anything more either.
The woman of course understood all of that, she had often been a plus one for her male friends when their own wives or girlfriends couldn’t or wouldn’t attend an event with them, and so had no problem reprising that role once again. It would do nothing to silence the town gossips who were determined to either set the woman up with every available man in the vicinity regardless of their acceptability, or else slander her for her current, and enduring, lack of a husband. They just didn’t seem to understand that a husband was a good and wonderful thing to have, but bonds formed by love, affection, and sex and extended through into friendship had a much better return and were better in many ways. A husband was one potentially powerful connection, but her own liaisons had formed connections that endured with multiple powerful families and had given the woman power of her own. Clearly, the local gossips didn’t have Mamas like the woman did. Mamas were was willing to teach their daughter the ways of the world and how to get the most out of it in the most practical way. That, or they did, but their Mamas had realized their daughters didn’t have the visual appeal or intelligence necessary to succeed in the least, and so the lessons would be wasted. Shaking off that thought, the woman scolds herself, such cattiness is unbecoming of a lady. I know better. Mama taught me better. I’m sorry again, Mama… The woman sighs and returns to what is seeming less like a search for answers to her downfall and more like penance for forgetting herself and her Mama’s invaluable teachings. Enough of that, the woman thinks, back to the matter at hand. That night…the woman sighs as the memory washes over her like it had a thousand times before.
The night of the party that lead her astray had been a beautiful one. All of the stars were out in force and the wind whispered through the trees as though it was sharing a secret. Maybe it was. Or maybe it was whispering a warning, either way the woman had simply enjoyed the breeze and continued on as she always had. By the time her friend arrived at her home to take her to the party, it would never be acceptable for them to arrive separately after all, her hair was perfect, her makeup stunning, and she was dressed to kill. Not that she would, of course. A living, happily married, rich, powerful man who felt friendship and fondness for her and also felt indebted to her for his happy state was much more beneficial to her than a dead one, unless of course that man had an appropriate and legally valid will, though that would only be a short-term benefit at best. No, for now it would be far better to merely look like a woman a man would die for, even though later on it may be necessary to…ask them to prove it. After all, lessons in deportment, practicality, and strategy were not the only ones her Mama had taught the woman.
All dressed and largely ready, the woman only made her friend wait a few moments in order to apply her favorite perfume and for it to dry down a bit so that it wouldn’t be overly strong in the confines of the car. It was simply good manners, though her friend would still have the scent of her signature fragrance on him from the car ride to the event. The thought wasn’t a displeasing one despite the fact that the woman didn’t have any designs on her friend’s heart. After she still wanted to remind every woman there of who exactly he was with that night. Her friend told her she looked lovely, and she smiled, thanking him for his compliment. Friends alone they may be, but never let it be said that the woman and her friend were lacking in manners.
On the way to the party, the woman’s friend spoke to her about his business, and how he was finally looking to settle down, now that things had started to calm down following his recent explosive success. He was still do very well, he reassured the woman, but things had stopped being so fast paced and chaotic. The woman had nodded, indicating that she understood, and began to think of acceptable female friends of hers that would be best for him. She assured him that with her on the case, they would see him married by Christmas at the latest. His laugh echoed through the car and the woman chuckled at his mirth. He thought she was exaggerating, but she was entirely serious. In any case, at least he was in a better mood and that was good. There was nothing worse than a melancholy date, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t a “date” date as the kids liked to say. By the time they arrived at the party, her friend had fully shaken off his moodiness, and they were sharing amusing stories about the past and other mutual friends, and so it was a laughing pair that entered the event rather than a silent one. Much better optics if you asked the woman.
An hour or two after arriving at the party, the woman and her friend had separated to mingle with friends of theirs on their own. The woman had breathed a small sigh of relief because it would seem that her dear friend had forgotten part of the arrangement for the night and their friendship in general. He had started look at her with the kind of longing that she knew stemmed from his loneliness and needed to be nipped in the bud as soon as possible. He had always before understood that while she adored him and valued his place in her life, she would never look on him as a potential suitor. He had even understood her reasons and her Mama’s lessons, having gotten similar lessons from his own Mama. It would seem that those lessons needed refreshing. The woman had sighed, shaken her head, and decided that she would speak to him gently about it the next day. It wouldn’t do to lose a good friend who understood her to what amounted to a puppy love crush. Especially not one born out of a desperation not to be alone anymore rather than a genuine desire and need for her. Frankly, she deserved better.
Resolve firmed, the woman smiled and laughed as she chatted with other friends that had been invited to this party. As she was talking to a woman who was more of an acquaintance than a true friend, another acquaintance came over with a person the woman couldn’t quite see, so she finished what she had been saying and turned to look at and greet this new person who had entered their little circle of chatters.
Her heart stopped. Her breath froze in her chest as her lungs forgot how they operated. Her blood started racing in her veins and rushed to her head. She felt like she’d had too much to drink, when she hadn’t even finished one glass of wine and she knew no one here would dream of putting something in her glass. Her vision blurred for a moment, which she was thankful for because it allowed her brain to function properly once more. Before her was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on in her entire life. His shoulders and chest were broad, and even through his suit she could see that both were well-muscled, and her knees began to shake. His arms lightly strained the sleeves of his suit jacket, so they were well-muscled as well, and at the sight of his hands, her knees nearly gave out.
But that wasn’t all. As she continued to observe the man (she was not staring thank you very much, staring is incredibly rude, and Mama had taught her better than that), she realized how tall he was and felt her a rush of moisture seep into her panties. She had always been a fan of tall man and this one had the actual height itself coupled with a presence that made him seem even taller. She studied his sculpted jaw, complete with five o’clock shadow, and expressive mouth that seemed to command attention and demand that she press her own against it. Her mouth, wanting, needing to answer to his, but denied due to social restrictions, began to water.
Looking further, the woman notice that his hair was either expertly styled or he was blessed with hair that fell in an artfully messy style reminiscent of a man freshly out of bed after a night of passionate lovemaking with a very lucky woman, all on its own. She knew where she would be willing to place her bets, but she didn’t actually know for certain…yet. By this point the woman couldn’t concentrate enough to even begin to tell you the color of his hair. Perhaps it was dark brown or maybe it was black, but in the dim light they were standing in it could easily have been much lighter than it first appeared. The same could be said for his eyes. The color was as much a mystery as his identity because of the accursed lighting. Were they brown? Blue? Green? Some odd combination? The woman didn’t know, but she desperately wanted to. I never did figure it out, the woman pouts privately, I never saw him in bright enough light to tell even though I was…rather close to them for several hours. At the thought of how the night had progressed, the woman shudders in aftershocks of remembered pleasure and sighs with a girlish smile.
The only real things that the woman remembers about the man’s hair and eyes are how soft his hair was as she ran her fingers through it (or gripped it tight) and how his eyes had burned with hunger the moment he looked at her. She remembers how it had shocked her so much that she had had to bite back a gasp. The intensity of his eyes on her had made her feel as though she were standing before him as naked as the day she was born. She could feel his eyes raking over her body leaving a scorching trail, even through her black dress. Perhaps in effort to quench the flames racing across her flesh, the woman’s body sent a flood of wetness into her already damp under garments. The silk, she was certain, was now completely ruined, and her body’s efforts were in vain. The fire was nowhere near quenched. If anything, they leapt higher when it became apparent that some part of her dilemma had shown on her face as the man sent the most sin-filled smirk in the woman’s direction. She sincerely hoped that the owners of this home had a good cleaning service scheduled to come in the next day, because the moment the woman saw that smirk, she was certain that there had to now be a puddle forming on the carpet at her feet.
Thankfully, the woman thinks, I had decided to wear a floor length dress in spite of the warm late spring evening because, if there had indeed been a mess, at least no one else could see it. The only thing I had to worry about after that was an…olfactory give away, but the only person other than me that seemed to notice was Him. He had seemed…pleased and satisfied by my response to him. That satisfaction did nothing to dull the ravenous hunger we both felt. Cutting off that train of thought before it could force her to skip ahead, the woman moans and shifts uncomfortably. Not an uncommon state of affairs since that night, but nearly overwhelmingly common in the last several days.
Biting back a scream of frustration, the woman forces her thoughts back to That Night. That Night, the woman scoffs, capital T, capital N. The night everything changed. The night that led me to this place. Too bad I didn’t know about all of this then. But can I honestly say it would have changed anything? Gritting her teeth, the woman mentally waves off that most uncomfortable question, and returns to That Night once more. Specifically, the moment He opened his mouth and spoke. Smoky, dark chocolate. Smooth, but somehow simultaneously rough. Crushed velvet on sweat soaked skin. Decadent, but firm. Strong. The unspoken promise of pleasure so strong that it borders on, flirts with, then becomes pain. But such an unexpectedly, but wonderfully, intense pain that it circles back around to pleasure like a never-ending feedback loop. This time, the woman can not contain herself, and audibly growls in frustration at her runaway mind. This is not the time for that trip down memory lane. And what a well-traveled lane that particular one is. One walked many a time over the previous six months in the dark of the night and the comfort of her own home. The woman less than gently slams her head back, then freezes at the unexpectedly loud resulting noise.
Back to That Night, for the love of God! Let’s just get this over with! the woman all but screams in her own mind. She is fine with self-reflection; it has served her well over the years and was one on Mama’s more important lessons. It was how she knew when to move on from a lover and who to gently and respectfully hand him off to. It was how Mama had known when to cut her losses and deal with the problems Daddy had caused. The woman snorts delicately, ‘Problems Daddy caused?’ By the end, Daddy was the problem, but Mama…oh, Mama handled it beautifully. Thinking back to that time far in the past to her young girlhood, the woman struggles to think of a more elegant picture than the one seared into her mind of Mama dressed in black. The woman remembered the tears that had rolled over Mama’s cheeks gracefully as if she were so grief-stricken that she could not stop them, but neither did she have the strength any longer to give any notice, so deep was she in her sorrow, while she sat in the church and listened to the preacher. The woman also remembers the first of Mama’s lessons given that very night. If it must be done, dear one, it must be done with grace. Mama applied that to everything in her life. Grieving with grace. Mourning with grace. Healing with grace. Moving on with grace Very permanently ridding yourself of a husband who has forgotten his place…with grace, the woman mused. Mama had made sure Daddy thought everything was all right, so neither he, nor anyone else, suspected anything in the least. She had waited until the bruises had healed and took the woman, then seven years old, on a pre-planned weekend getaway. They returned to news of a tragedy. A gas leak. Daddy found in bed by the neighbor. So very sad. So very unexpected. Mama handled her business, with grace of course, and began teaching her daughter how to handle her own. All those lessons. All of that time. And I wind up here…the woman thinks sadly.
But it does bring her back to the point of self-reflection. Self-reflection is a wonderful tool when used properly. Not so much when it is derailed by hormones running rampant at the thought of the man who was the cause of all of this. She has been obsessing over this man for the last six months, and had only now come to the conclusion that, while part of the blame for this whole situation is invariably on her, the majority has to rest with him. It has to. Because otherwise, either she is entirely to blame, an unacceptable notion, or this is nothing but a horrid coincidence, and that thought is even more repugnant to the woman than the first. It has long been her belief, her dogma, that nothing, nothing, happens without reason or purpose. Nothing happens that cannot be controlled, ideally by her, but failing that then by her more powerful and well placed…friends. She must call them that, because any other descriptor would make her sound callous and cruel, and she could not fathom anyone calling her that.
So how did this happen? This travesty. Truly it began just after the woman heard Him speak. With nothing more than a simple “Hello,” she knew to the depths of her being that she absolutely must have him. In her bed. In his. Against the nearest wall or other semi-flat surface. It absolutely did not matter. She knew nothing about him, and at the time did not care, so she didn’t know if He would be useful or if he would even be worth keeping forever, but that didn’t matter either. She craved him. She was a woman dying of thirst and He was blessed, cool water. And it appeared, to the woman at least, that he felt similarly. Perhaps not quite as strongly as the woman did, but certainly strongly enough to respond to her favorably.
After introductions were made, the acquaintance who had brought Him over to the group explained that He was an agent for with the FBI who was in their small town because he was working on a case in the next town over. The acquaintance and the man had met a few years prior when the acquaintance’s car had broken down on an unknown road when the acquaintance was out of state on business and the man had stopped to help. They had talked while the man had fixed the car and then talked more over the dinner the acquaintance had insisted on buying the man as a thank you. They agreed to keep in touch and when the man had been assigned a case near where the acquaintance lived, it only made sense that the man would choose to stay near and be shown around the area by a person He knew. The woman nodded and smiled, praising the man for his compassion in helping “her friend,” meanwhile she was trying not to combust then and there. A handsome man with power who was good with his hands and was practical and intelligent enough to do the logical thing without someone else pointing it out to him? The woman would later swear she had heard wedding bells for a brief moment, before they had been melted into nothingness by an inferno of lust.
It was a sweet story and made sense at the time, but later the woman would wonder how much of it was true. It was too neat, the woman decides. The acquaintance had never in the woman’s nor their mutual friend’s memories had car trouble of any kind. The acquaintance was well known for, and often teased about, their near obsession with maintaining their vehicle. It was sensible when you thought about it. The acquaintance was constantly out of town for one reason or another. It seemed as though they were gone more often than not really, which was why they were only the woman’s acquaintance rather than a friend. Moreover, the acquaintance had always struck the woman as…odd. Not necessarily in a bad way, of course, just different. Maybe that’s what happens when a person falls too much in love with history and not enough in love with another person, the woman pondered, somewhat cattily, but at this point she doesn’t care anymore. Mama’s lessons clearly aren’t getting her out of this, so she’ll have to figure something else out.
Back to self-reflection minus hormones clouding the issue, dammit, the woman scolds herself. Though really, she can’t be held entirely responsible for that either. That man had a way of making everything in her brain reduce to a pile of quivering, lust filled goo. At any rate, back to That Night, after the appropriate, and probably fabricated, explanation, the circle went on to continue its chatting about this, that, and the other thing, and not one bit of it anything with any substance whatsoever. Had the woman not been standing next to a man who simply oozed sex from his very pore, she would have been able to feel her brain-cells begin die and would have drifted away from the group to recover. As it was though, the woman was unable to anything of the sort. To do that would move her away from Him, so she had to hope that the lust would protect her. It didn’t. She wouldn’t find out until later that it had apparently had the opposite effect entirely.
But would I really have walked away then if I knew what I know now? the woman demands of herself. She still isn’t willing to answer that question, but it does bear acknowledging if nothing else. The woman remembers how His burning eyes rarely left her, and how his voice, even when not directed at her specifically, caressed her body like the lover he wasn’t yet, but she so wanted him to become. It was about an hour after meeting Him, that her escort for the evening found her to let her know he was ready to leave. And this brings me to the first misstep and the first of Mama’s Rules broken…
Normally, the woman would never dream of leaving any event with someone other than the person she came with, and certainly not alone. You always leave with the one that brought you, sweet. It is, if nothing else, good manners, and manners are the bedrock of society. One cannot hope to succeed in any endeavor they take on if they cannot conduct themselves well, after all, the woman hears Mama’s voice ringing through her head as though she had just spoken the words to the woman. Considering the woman missed her Mama deeply since she had passed several years before, the voice would have been comforting. Unfortunately, the tone was somewhat scolding and as much woman wished otherwise, she honestly understood the implied censure.
The woman did not leave with the friend that brought her to the party. When He saw her friend come over and attempt to end the evening for both of them, he had offered, in a very pleasant and gentlemanly way and not at all lasciviously (though the woman will swear to this day that she heard a touch of prurience in his tone), to escort her home should the woman want to stay longer than her present escort desired. The woman had had to bite back her immediate agreement to the plan so as not to offend her friend, but she could still see a glimmer of jealousy and anger in her friend’s eyes. That would not do, the woman decided and she stood firm in her decision despite her friend trying to change her mind when she told him that she was having far too good a time catching up with friends to end the night so early, and that since the man was offering an escort home and her friend was already ready to leave, she would not ask her friend to stay and would instead accept a ride home from her new friend. Thinking back later, the woman would swear she saw a hint of an amused smirk on her acquaintance’s lips, and that they rolled their eyes, possibly at the woman’s behavior, possibly the man’s, more likely it was both, but the woman didn’t care then, and she doesn’t care now.
In the end, it didn’t matter. The woman’s friend was surprised by her actions of course, having grown up with similar lessons. Even though he seemed to forget some of the more important ones when it pleased him, the woman thinks with no small amount of irritation and disquiet. The idea that she should be held to a different standard than her friend, as if she had not followed every rule and lesson given without fail or fight while he had repeatedly needed to be brought back into line several times in their youth, apparently now as well, offended the woman to the depths of her soul. More than the whispers of the town gossips. More than the idea that all of what has befallen her is her own fault and no one else’s. More even than being lied to in deed if not in word, by both her acquaintance and Him. It was clear that her friend thought he had a claim on her then and now, and the he also thought he was better than her. Superior to her. Above her. That she should be grateful for his attention. He had said almost exactly that over the last few days as a matter of fact, but she hadn’t believed or understood then. Now, on reflection, she believes every syllable she wonders how long he had felt this way. It seemed there was a glimmer of it that long ago night, but it had gotten more and more clear as time, culminating in the last…however longs it’s been… the woman thinks with her ever present sigh.
The woman recalls the slighted feeling of apprehension when her friend had finally gotten the message that she would not be leaving and that He would be the one to take her home, not her friend. Ultimately the feeling was fleeting. As if it had never been, it vanished with the smile of satisfaction and pleasure that He bestowed on her. His friend, the woman’s acquaintance, had made a sound like a chuckle and told the man that he should be glad that they had brought separate cars to the party, before they said their own polite goodbyes and moved off in search of less fraught conversation.
As soon as the woman’s acquaintance had wandered off, it was like a leash had been slipped or a floodgate opened. The other chatterers had meandered away before during the conversation between Him and the woman’s friend, and so the woman and the man found themselves blessedly, terrifyingly, wonderfully alone. Granted they were still surrounded by people because the party was not yet over, but they were off to the side in a less open area. Not entirely private, so they were still constrained by social convention, but private enough for small touches, private smiles, and the kind of innuendo laced talk that would have sent the gossips’ heads spinning and rushing to the nearest telephone. The wine flowed as well as the conversation. Rich and decadent like His voice. Ordinarily, they woman judged harshly those who left with a person who had been drinking, but in this case, she had argued to herself, she had already given enthusiastic consent to anything the night held before she had started her second glass. She had intentionally waited until they had some sort of privacy before she had allowed herself to have any more than the one glass. She wanted no misunderstandings and not miscommunications. She wanted him. She wanted to be His. Even if only for a night, but ideally longer.
After her complete and total surrender to Him, the night progressed quickly, also but oddly in slow motion. It was like a dream. And like in a dream, time seemed to have a mind of its own. It sped up and slowed down at random, for no real reason, although on further reflection, the woman supposes the slowest moments may have coincided with the small touches the two exchanged throughout the night. Fleeting touches. Burning touches. A hand on an arm while laughing. A piece of escaped hair tucked behind an ear. A dance than nearly had caused spontaneous combustion, though there was nothing provocative or indecent about it. A firm hand on the small of a back. A soft helping hand into a car. A guiding hand to motel door.
And just like that, another rule was broken. Several actually. One: Never sleep with a man the first night. Two: Never sleep with a man you don’t know. Three: Never stay in a
motel.” Hotels only, the more stars the better. And the last, four: Always, always, stay in control. Of yourself. Of him. Of the situation. Always stay in control. With the combination of the wine and Him, the woman more out of control than she had ever been. She swears she remembers His sex-soaked voice chuckle darkly something about knowing she’d be a hellcat in bed. At the time, she hadn’t cared, and now she can’t be bothered to be offended even if she could remember exactly what was said.
And that was another thing. There were many things said that night. Filthy things. Things that would have normally had her stalking away with a stinging hand. Things that only served fan the flames higher and higher until total combustion and meltdown her only options. She knows all of this, but the words themselves escape her. Six months on and all she is left with is a deep, dark rumble purring in her ear, dripping with sin and promise. A promise what was absolutely fulfilled. Again, and again, and again, it was fulfilled.
The remainder of the night had been a blur of flesh and sweat, pleasure and pain, whispers and shouts. She is certain she did a fair amount of that shouting, if not outright screaming, if only because when the night had reached its inevitable conclusion, her throat had been quite sore. Then again, the woman muses, shouting was probably the least of the causes. A chuckle escapes her lips and she shifts in discomfort once more. Remembering that night always made her uncomfortable. Not in a negative way, certainly, but every time her skin would feel hot and tight, her heart would race, and her body would invariably prepare itself for a lover that would never appear. Ordinarily, she would force her body under control until she could get to her home. She lives alone, so she has complete freedom to take care of her needs where ever and how ever she sees fit within her four walls. It is a good thing to. Her thoughts and actions as she seeks out that same loose-bodied, exhausted high make her blush even now. Depravity is the privilege of the powerful, well-connected, and well thought of, the woman scolds herself. Blushing, like tears, will serve no purpose and so will not be tolerated. Besides, she had and has nothing to be ashamed of. Though she hadn’t been as sure of that then when morning came as she is now six months later.
When dawn broke after having spent hours with the man, the woman had been just sober enough to be ever so slightly horrified at her actions. She realized, now that the lust had faded what exactly she had done. That overwhelming lust would never completely disappear, of course, but it had loosened it grip enough by morning for the woman to be able to think a bit more clearly. And the first thought that had crossed her mind as she saw the sun make its arrival known, was that she had to leave. She had to get out of this bed. Out of this room. Out. Now. Oh, she didn’t feel like she was in danger, in truth she had never felt safer than in his arms, but the knowledge of Broken Rules and suspect behavior came crashing down on her and all she could think to do was run.
As the morning sun kissed the treetops, the woman brushed a kiss across the sleeping man’s lips, gently so as not to wake him. He deserved his rest, especially after the night just ended. She looked for her clothes, and felt shame try to creep itself into her mind. Shoes on either side of the door. Last night’s dress in crumpled heap on the floor. Last nights panties next to the bed, silk ruined beyond saving. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and the shame crept further in. Hair in disarray. Makeup smudged. Lipstick gone. Skin stained red in various places from a scratchy beard and large, strong hands. Dark splotches dotting otherwise creamy skin. She had to get out of there.
Once the woman was finished dressing and attempting to make herself look presentable, she decided to scribble her phone number on a piece of paper and laid it on the lone table in the room. The one covered in books whose names she couldn’t make out, but looked like they belonged in a museum rather than a no star motel in a small town. She had shrugged it off assuming that they were for the case her was working in the next town over, and would only later wonder why he needed books so old for no one knew anything about in a town just as small as the one she lives in.
When she was as presentable as she could possibly be, given the situation, the woman walked to the door intent on using the payphone at the and of the row of rooms to call for a taxi to take her home. Before the turned the handle to leave, she looked back at the man still sleeping on the bed. She studied his features once more and thanked a God she wasn’t sure she believed in for bringing him into her life. She was so sure that would not the last time they would see own another and so did not linger long. If she had known then what she knows now, she may have stayed longer. More likely, she would have just stayed in bed and fallen asleep with Him.
But, she didn’t. And she left. She called the cab and was gone less than ten minutes from leaving that motel room. But while she sat in the back of that cab in last night’s clothes with last night’s passion written across her skin, she did then what she does now…
DAD, I illustrated my 1st picture book this last year. The Kirkus Review for it just came in and it isn't stellar. Should I apologize to my publisher? I don't 100% understand these reviews. Does this mean my book will do poorly and the publisher will never ask me to work with them again? (That sounds so overly dramatic, I know but... I can't help feeling like I let everyone down.) Thanks for all you do!
HELL NO DON’T APOLOGIZE!
Publishers don’t expect every book to be a bestseller and receive nothing but glowing reviews. They’re professionals, and they’ve released a lot of books to good, bad and mediocre reviews. They’re not taking this as hard as you are, nor are they holding the book’s performance against you.
I assume that their last interaction with you was positive. They obviously were satisfied with your work, or else they wouldn’t have published it! If you apologize, then you’re not only implying that they made a bad decision by publishing you, but it also suggests that perhaps you didn’t do your best. And you did your best, right?
If you submitted good work, communicated well, and met your deadlines, then most likely this client has nothing but good thoughts towards you. Always do your best, and you will illustrate many more books in the future.
I WENT MIA FROM HARRY UPDATING THIS WEEK - AND I KNOW, THIS WAS THE *MOST IMPORTANT AND EVENTFUL* WEEK. SO IM GOING TO PICK UP BACK WHERE I STARTED AND BASICALLY SPAM EVERYONE WITH EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED OVER THE WEEK IN ORDER, STARTING MONDAY. SO SORRY!!
if i ever tag something improperly, fail to tag entirely, or otherwise do something to annoy or irritate you: i'm really sorry.
i promise i wasn't trying to steal from you, trying to irk you, or trying to be a internet butt.
i probably just got too excited about whatever it was and autoreblogged without thinking or was just dumb in some other way. (i do kind of have an addiction to the autoreblog thing. probably the worst trick i ever learned.)
but if you tell me i will try to fix it.
i honestly spend a ridiculous amount of time wondering if my tumblr etiquette annoys people or if i've broken some unspoken rule i needed to have... spoken. so i promise i didn't mean to fuck up.
