charlies-storybook

[charlies-storybook]

1

Simon Gray interviewed a lot of criminals during his career — big and scary, serial killers who were classified as “psychopaths.” But most of them were men.

Not only was his current interviewee not a “psychopath,” they were a woman.

The guard walked him through the prison halls. He was intrigued by the prospect of a female murderer. Men were quick and ruthless, but not women. Women were delicate, and clean, and precise. Like in everything they do, including murder.

Finally, they reached the visitors’ room, and he got to see her.

She was pretty. Too pretty. She didn’t look capable of hurting a fly, to murdering a grown man. But, again, most killers lacked that appearance about them.

Simon sighed and sat in front of her, noticing she was handcuffed.

“Hi, I’m agent Gray from the FBI. I’m here to ask you a few questions.” He started, hitting the table with the bottom of his folder to arrange his files, watching her with a stoic expression. Not a trace of how he’s actually feeling about a female accused killer deep down.

The woman scoffed. “This is not a blind date, sweetheart, don’t be nervous.”

Simon chuckled quietly, shaking his head lightly. He was taken aback by her sassy attitude, but wasn’t surprised. He didn’t expect the woman, whom he was supposed to convince or defend, to have a big mouth and have wit to her. She was here for a manslaughter, not to warm his bed.

“You’re right, I was being a bit weird,” he admitted, clearing his throat. He shifted in his seat, adjusting his posture. “So, what’s your name?” He fixed on her gaze.

“Mary,” the woman answered without a trace of emotion as if this was a practiced answer and not simply her own name.

“That’s a pretty name,” Simon complimented her. He sat up, leaning his elbows on the table to get closer to her. “Can I call you Marie? Or is that a bit too informal?”

“Only my friends or lovers get to call me that. Are you either?”

Simon chuckled, raising his eyebrows. A slight, awkward cough to hide the light pink on his cheeks. Her comment caught him off guard, and he had a feeling that was exactly what she wanted.  

“I mean... I wouldn’t call us friends exactly -” he started, furrowing his eyebrows. “But I’m definitely not a lover.”

“In general, or?”

Simon bit his lower lip. “In general,” he answered. “Why, are you looking for a lover?”

“Why, are you offering?” Mary retorted.

Simon chuckled. The fact that she was trying to control the conversation was not escaping from him, and yet he found himself liking it.  He took a couple of seconds to answer her question, staring at her, and slightly biting his lip again.

“Are you flirting with me?” he asked in a teasing tone, leaning a bit closer to her while tilting his head.

Mary leaned in, too. The only thing separating them was the plexiglass. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Suddenly, the policeman piped up. “Mr. Gray, sir.  The visiting time is over.”

Mary leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms and smirking. She knew what she was doing and didn’t let him ask any useful questions. But she knew she was innocent anyway.

Simon raised his eyebrows, blushing a bit and gulping when she leaned forward too. For a second he forgot they were separated by a plexiglass, and he got closer to her to almost meet her in the middle... until the policeman spoke.

He cursed under his breath as the officer interrupted their moment; he had not only forgotten the fact that they were in a prison, but he also realized he hadn’t even started to ask her any questions...

“Damn,” Simon muttered before standing up, looking at her. “I’ll be back tomorrow, then.”

Mary’s expression faltered once she realized he was about to kiss her, if not for the plexiglass, and for a moment, she forgot she was trying to mess with his head.

Simon noticed the change in her expression, once again taken aback by her. He was used to interviewing murderers who were psychopaths, and sometimes it was very obvious that they were faking their emotions just to manipulate him. But her... he had a feeling there was some genuineness behind her reaction to his departure.

For a moment, he considered saying something, or reassuring her he’ll come back the next day... but he couldn’t find the words. So he simply cleared his throat.

“See you, Marie.”

Mary watched him leave. “...Goodbye, Mr. Gray.”

Simon felt his heart skip a beat after he heard her say his name once more, the way she said it.

Simon was still thinking about it as he walked outside the prison, back to his car.

It took him a couple of minutes to start driving to his apartment, it left him feeling nervous and flustered since he wasn’t used to interviewing women. But she had a certain attitude that had him intrigued.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered to himself, once again cursing under his breath. How could he get so affected by someone he’s only seen two times?

The jailer, meanwhile, dragged Mary back to her cell, her cellmate already smirking. She was twice Mary’s age. If you looked loosely, she could be Mary’s mother; and if you looked closely, that was hardly the case.

“Did your psychoanashit not work?”

“I- He-” Mary started, still in shock and disbelief, “he tried to kiss me.”

Her cellmate’s expression got even worse when she heard her explanation, raising her eyebrows.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she said. “You managed to have an FBI agent wanting to kiss you?”

Mary looked equally distressed. “I was trying to mess with him, waste his time. Not get down and dirty.”

The woman laughed out loud, throwing her head back. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard since I got in here,” she said with a smirk, crossing her arms. “You got the attention of the young, pretty FBI boy?”

“I just turned his words against him, Jean,” Mary mumbled.

Jean chuckled once again. “Damn girl, I’d expect you to use your attitude on the judge not a damn FBI agent!” She laughed for a moment more before regaining her composure. “What’s his name anyway?”

“I only got his last name,” Mary mumbled again.

“What’s his last name, then?” Jean asked, her expression looking as if she was expecting a juicy revelation.

“Gray.”

Jean had to take a moment to process Mary’s answer. “Wait a second... You are saying that an FBI agent with the same name as John Gray, the motherfucking poet and priest... wants to kiss you?!”

Mary frowned. “At least his name is not ‘Yellow’, is it?”

Jean had to hold back a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Jesus Christ,” she exclaimed. “This is either a joke or a damn fanfiction.”

Mary’s frown deepened, rolling her eyes. “Please...”

Jean giggled at Mary’s expression. “Are you joking?” she repeated. “The FBI agent, with the same name as John Gray, wants to kiss you.”

“We don’t know if he’s related to the poet guy.” Mary dismissed the idea.

Jean had to take a pause; she didn’t think of that possibility. For a second, she fell into a short silence, but it didn’t take long for a smile to reappear on her face.

“Jesus, that would be more funny!” she said, laughing loudly. “The FBI agent who wants to kiss you turns out to be the great-grandson of the John Grey!”

“He’s coming back tomorrow. He didn’t get his answers,” Mary interjected, completely out of context.

Jean raised her eyebrows, her interest piqued again. “You didn’t even let him ask you any questions?”

“No,” Mary shook her head,” that’s what I do. Mess with their heads, waste their time, they deem me too out of it, repeat.” Mary paused, still mulling over the previous events. “But none of them ever wanted to kiss me.”

“That’s... actually pretty clever, honestly,” Jean admitted, impressed. “But I gotta ask, kid... you’ve been in here for months, with different agents, right? Why is the boy named after a goddamn poet in the FBI so special?”

“He’s not.” Mary leaned against the wall, the back of her head hitting the hard and cold concrete harshly. Her tone dismissive and a bit petulant. “Why would he? He’s just another puppet. He’ll be gone soon enough, and I’ll have yet another unfortunate soul to mess with.”

Jean chuckled quietly, rolling her eyes. “Oh, stop trying to play tough,” she said, crossing her tattooed arms. “You know you find him attractive... even if he’s just ‘another puppet’.”

Mary laughed humorlessly. “What? Is he gonna bail me out, marry me, have a bunch of kids, a dog, and a picket fence dream?”

“Jesus Christ, kid, you are going to end up giving the poor guy an anxiety attack,” Jean replied jokingly. “But answer me this... Is this some weird manipulation strategy of yours, or is he actually the first FBI agent in months you wanna flirt with?”

Mary watched Jean, baffled. “As in I see a man, not an intrusion?”

“Exactly,” she said, her tone and expression of a teacher whose pupil answered 2 instead of 3 on a 1 + 1 equation. “Do you see him as a man, and not another FBI agent who can’t pin you down?”

“I don’t even know his name,” Mary hushed, looking away.

Jean smirked softly. She had a feeling her cellmate had a crush. “You do know his last name, though,” she teased, playfully.

Mary rolled her eyes. “Fine-uh,” she groaned like a petulant child being told to clean their room,” I’ll find out of you if he’s the descendant of John Grey.”

“You should do that.” Jean winked, already hearing the wedding bells. “Imagine if it turns out you have an affair with the great-grandson of the famous poet.”

“We don’t have an affair.”

Jean chuckled, raising her eyebrows.

“You sound so defensive for an innocent young girl who had a handsome man wanting to kiss her,” she said mockingly. “Why are you so scared to admit you liked the attention?”

“I’m in jail,” Mary pressed, her tone deadpan. As if the cold and dark rectangular rooms, separated by metal bars, weren’t enough of a giveaway.

Jean shrugged, a wide smirk appearing on her face. She was enjoying messing with her cellmate, a lot. So much for an entertaintment in this shithole.

“Exactly! You’ve been here for months, and you never let anyone get close to you... and now an agent named after a famous poet wants to kiss you and you’re all flustered,” Jean said, a smug tone in her voice.

“It’s like you’re a girl with a high-school crush, sweetheart.”

“Har, har. Good night.” Mary shifted atop of her bed and closed her eyes.

The last thing she heard before falling asleep was Jean’s cackle laugh, roughened by the older woman’s excessive smoking habit.

Tag List: @ashirisu, @topech, @falco-underscore-77

[charlies-storybook]

Your Pleasure is NOT Yours

Genre: fantasy, dystopia

POV: third-person

Tropes: Forbidden love, strangers to lovers, change of heart, bad boy x shy girl

Summary:

In a world where birth rate declined so they make ten random participants (5 women, 5 men) have intercourse with strangers to repopulate the Earth.

[charlies-storybook]

More Than Stolen Gold

Genre: romance, historical

POV: third-person

Tropes: inspired by Robin Hood, change of heart, themes of Stockholm syndrome

Summary:

Zachary Luk raids a carriage like usual, little would he know, its passengers were the local princess Evangeline and her maids of honor.

What will Zachary do when she offers the gold and riches from the carriage up and also herself, in exchange, he lets the carriage go home?

[charlies-storybook]

Mr. and Mrs. Fake

Genre: romance

POV: third-person

Tropes: class difference, strangers to lovers, kinda boss x employee, fake dating turned real, fake marriage

Summary:

So either Charles lets the company fall into his brother's grasp or finds a wife, fast.

But where does a man find one when all his life was a training field for a future CEO? His personality so brooding, his gaze was enough to sink Atlantis again?

Maybe Charles could hire an actress or call one of his exes, begging to get back together. No, Charles did many things, but begging wasn’t one of them.

[charlies-storybook]

Mind-Twister

Genre: crime

POV: third-person

Tropes: change of heart, grumpy x sunshine, FBI agent x criminal, proven innocent

Summary:

Agent Simon Grey proves that his interviewee killed in self-defense when the law failed her. She then proves to be more than another successful client for Simon.

[charlies-storybook]

happy sts! is there dark folklore within your world? if so, what? if not, what would be one real piece of folklore that might work in your setting?

Happy STS! Hm, I'm not sure. Google wasn't very helpful. But my stories are really set in stone so I don't think so.

[charlies-storybook]

Happy STS! What is the main setting of your WIP? How important is it to the story?

Happy STS! I'm a multi-WIP writer and the majority of my WIPs are set in the past. I wouldn't say it's that important to any of my stories but it brings a lot of research to write my stories accurately to the time I set them in.

[charlies-storybook]

Storyteller Saturday

It's that time again! Hope everyone is having a nice relaxing weekend. If anyone wants to chat about writing, my inbox is open!

Reblog this post for an STS question from me!

[charlies-storybook]

Phillipa sat on her throne. The same old tale, every week. A line of suitors - noble and non, trying to win her affection, and most importantly the crown.

She tapped her nails against the armrest of her throne restlessly. "Next," Phillipa grumbled, tired of their failed attempts of the clownery they called a courtship.

When it seemed like the queue wasn't getting any smaller, she straightened her back.

"Whoever can wield my lover's old sword, and strike me cleanly..." Phillipa started, her hand dipped to her side, her fingers curling around the handle of Frank's old sword, "Will be the new king, sit down at the throne, and rule with me as his queen."

Phillipa took a breath, pulling out Frank's sword by her right hip. "Let the blade strike, once you know that your aim is true." She glanced at the blade softly, caressing the metal gently before pointing it toward the horde of men. "Cause I'd rather die! Than grow old without the best of you!"

Tag List: @lexiklecksi @aquadestinyswriting @ashirisu @topech

[charlies-storybook]

Hogwarts IRL AU

A week before Christmas, Charlie and Lexi sat by the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall.

It was a few minutes till curfew. They were spending their time reminiscing on their nightly writing endevours. Like today, yesterday, the day before that, and any other day.

The two girls always snuck the other inside their common rooms. Writing, discussing, doing nothing at all, or just enjoying each other’s company until the first ‘hoot’ of an owl bid them good morning.

Today wasn’t any different, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students sat in the empty Great Hall, enjoying its’ stillness of peace and quiet. The only noise was the cracking of a candle and the scribble of a quill on a paper.

Charlie looked up from the disarray of scrolls in front of her. “How’s your book going, Lexi?”

“Great, thank you. I just need to figure out the order of these scenes.”

Charlie hummed and nodded. She hovered over the horde of sheets, staring at the words, or the lack of.

The session continued in silence, except for occasional pacing from Charlie between the tables, or staring at nothing from her.

Lexi glanced at the distracted Hufflepuff from time to time. As always, the Ravenclaw was organized and meticulous.

“Hogwarts to Charlie?” The older girl giggled, watching Charlie.

Charlie snapped out of her thoughts. “Ah, yes. Just distracted.”

The two girls continued to work on their respective stories. The tick of the Great Hall’s clock announced the impending curfew. The eeire silence adding to the feeling of the whole castle and its’ residents slowly falling asleep.

“Truth or dare?” The Hufflepuff suddenly voiced, not even raising her head.

The Ravenclaw shifted her attention to Charlie, wondering what’s up with the random question. “Truth?” Lexi tried, deciding to entertain the Hufflepuff girl.

“How many hours have you slept this week?” Charlie deadpanned, finally raising her head to search Lexi’s face. The Ravenclaw’s face showed signs of confusion and nervousness.

Lexi glanced between her scroll and Charlie’s face, hovering the quill above the paper.

“Uh,” Lexi started, unsure, “dare?” Lexi chuckled, trying to change the course of the conversation.

“Go to sleep.” Charlie deadpanned again.

Lexi furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t like this game.”

Charlie just laughed, shaking her head. “You can’t go on like this.” She gently chided the Ravenclaw.

‘Meow’ An undeniable sound of approaching Mrs Norris sounded out near the entrance to the Great Hall.

The two girls turned their heads to look at each other.

“Did you hear that?” Charlie asked a rhetorical question.

“Mrs Norris.” Lexi agreed.

“What is it, Mrs Norris?” The croaky voice of the Hogwarts’ caretaker followed after the cat’s distressed meows, slowly but surely approaching the dimly lit Great Hall, its’ doors open ajar.

‘Meow’ Mrs Norris answered the man.

“Students out of beds?” Mr. Filch sounded almost disgusted.

“It’s Filch!” Charlie gasped, looking around the Great Hall before her eyes landed on the teachers’ entrance at the back of the room.

Charlie took Lexi’s hand, helping her to stand. She started dragging her towards the back door. “Come on, hurry!” The Hufflepuff giggled.

Lexi looked behind her shoulder, the approaching figures casting shadows on the door of the Great Hall.

Once the door to the teachers’ entrance shut behind the laughing pair, a man with a cat appeared in the room. He grumbled, glaring at his pet. “It was a false alarm, Mrs Norris.” And with a hiss, he began to turn around.

A faint giggling could be heard from the secret passage in the walls of the Great Hall as the yellow-blue pair navigated it.

@writeblrcafe

[charlies-storybook]

Hi charlie!! From the oc questions ask game

11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”?

Hi Aqua!!

*takes all 9 of my wips and blows the dust off it* Ehm.

Phillipa Shaw from The Soldier is a Queen

Mary Wood from Mind-Twister

The rest of them are more like cinnamon rolls. And now I wanna do the 'looks like a cinnamon roll, could kill you' meme.

[charlies-storybook]

Some OC questions

1. Your first OC ever?

2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OCs?

3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from someone else?

4. A character you rarely talk about?

5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be?

6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?

7. Are your OCs part of any story or stories?

8. Do you RP as any of your OCs? If you do, introduce one of your RP OCs here!

9. Would you ever be willing to give any of your OCs to someone else?

10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design?

11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”?

12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lot

13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs?

14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory

15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people?

16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)?

17. Any OC OTPs?

18. Any OC crackships?

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)

20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?

21. Your most artistic OC

22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how?

23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like?

24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why?

25. The OC that resembles you the most (same hobby, height, shared like/dislike for something etc?)

26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will?

27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song?

28. Your most dangerous OC?

29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going?

30. Which one of your OCs would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection?

31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really)

32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why?

33. Your shyest OC?

34. Do you have any twin characters?

35. Any sibling characters?

36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends etc)?

37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human

38. Which one of your OCs would be the best dancer?

39. Introduce any character you want

40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share!

41. Has anyone drawn fanart of your OCs? If yes, maybe show a picture or two here (remember sources & permissions!)

42. Which one of your OCs would be the most interested in Greek gods?

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess

44. Something you like about your OCs in general

45. A character you no longer use?

46. Has anyone ever told you that you treat your OCs badly?

47. Has anyone ever (friendly) claimed any of your OCs as their child?

48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure

49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memes

50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you want

If you want, you can tag your ask answers with #yetanotherOCmeme so I can check them out too `v´9

[charlies-storybook]

storyteller saturday!

I remember when this was a big thing on writeblr, but it seems to have died down a lot so

reblog this post if you'd like STS asks about your story and characters! send an ask back to the people who send an ask to you.... and look through the notes and pick some people to send asks to as well!

you can ask anything you like! how someone came up with their ideas, how their characters would fare in a haunted house, what kinds of symbolism is present in their work... get creative! get silly if you'd like!

I'll be reblogging this post every saturday and sending out asks to people who share it :]

[charlies-storybook]

(1) The Night Before

Henry McCarty sat in a jail cell in Austin, Texas. He sat against the wall, a plank for his bed. He picked at his fingernails, shooting angry glances at his jailer.

Caroline Patterson, a daughter of the sheriff, found her place in the cold and dark office of her father. Caroline, at first glance, looked sweet and fragile. All blonde hair and pink clothes.

The official sheriff was busy tonight, some personal matters, he said. So he ordered Caroline to guard the man, who was imprisoned earlier that day.

And of course, the night she had to step up for her father, a cowboy convicted of two bank robberies, saloon fights, and murders, got locked up.

Henry watched as she leaned back in her chair and sighed. Caroline could be fooling around with her sister right now or anywhere else.

“Bored?” Henry sneered, still looking at his fingernails.

Caroline raised her head. “Are you?” She threw her legs on the desk, the heels of her boots hitting the wood and her skirt flowing over her legs.

“Bored, tired, pissed off, hungry. Take your pick. I’ll be lucky not to die of boredom in this town.” Henry crossed his legs in front of him. He shifted his hat, his face now shadowed.

“Hm.” Caroline hummed. “You’re lucky I convinced my father not to file an invitation to the gallows for your pretty little head.”

Caroline looked him in the eye even though his eyes were covered by the hat and barely visible. “I heard that’s pretty deadly.” She paused, a hint of boredom and disinterest in her voice. “Now, shut up.”

Henry chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as he looked at Caroline again from under his hat.  

“You’re all the same, you know that? All of you women. You’re either quiet and timid as a mouse or cocky and overbearing. Which means that you’re probably a lonely spinster.” Henry grinned at Caroline, tilting his body towards the bars. “Am I right?”

Caroline leaned back in the chair, wiggling the toe of her boot. “We’re around the same age. Does that make you a rake?”

Henry let out another scoff at the mention of the similarity in their ages.

“You’re a lonely spinster then. And I’m no rake. I’m a man who knows what’s good for him — and that most definitely ain’t a woman. Women are too much trouble, and there’s not a single woman out there worthy of trust and of time.” He glared at her.

“Yet... you talk to me.” Caroline tilted her head.

Henry paused, rolling his eyes.

“I only talk to you because I have no one else to talk to. You’re the only person besides the old sheriff guy who’s given me the time of the day in nearly four years.” He shrugged.

“And you’re not a terrible person to talk to... Unlike every other damn person in this shithole town.” His words were sharp, but the tone of his voice was a tad bit softer.

Caroline smirked in amusement. “The old sheriff guy is my father, but I’m flattered, Mr...” Caroline cut herself off, realizing she didn’t know his name. “Mr. uh...?” She made a noise to let him fill in the blank.

Henry sat up, clearing his throat. “Name’s Henry, dollface.”

Caroline gave him a pointed look at the nickname but didn’t comment any further, instead repeated his name as if to taste it. “Henry, huh? I like it.”

Henry’s demeanor turned cocky again, grinning from ear to ear. “Is there a label to the doll face?”

Caroline schooled her expression back to annoyed, rolling her eyes. “Caroline.”

“Caroline.” Henry drawled out, glancing over her body before meeting her eyes again. “So Caroline... Why’d you convince your father not to kill me? Why’d you give me a second chance? You know how many people in this town want me dead?”

“I’m not one of them, Henry.”

Henry stared at her, listening for any hidden meaning. Waiting to see if Caroline revealed she was part of the revenge-thirsty townies wanting to see him hang like a Christmas ornament.

“...And you’re not just going to kill me in a week? Keep me prisoner until Daddy changes his mind and decides to send me to the gallows anyway?”

Caroline watched him. “I’m just a stupid woman, I don’t have the means to kill anyone.” She said innocently, almost cutesy. Pointing out their earlier conversation.

Caroline put her legs down from the desk and made her way to the jail room, stopping an inch before the bars.

Henry tensed but immediately puffed out his chest not to show Caroline’s sudden proximity affected him. He eyed her up and down, watching what she’d do next.

“Stupid is not a word I’d use to describe you, Caroline. You’re too smart for your own good, dollface.” Then he went silent, watching as she stopped right before the bars.

Caroline looked up. “Well, thank you.” She drawled out, muttering. Then she started to lean in absentmindedly.

Henry watched Caroline lean in, and as a response, his body moved closer to the bars, too. He was confused, but to his surprise, he went along with it. Their faces getting closer, their lips inching to touch. A part of him was curious, curious about the action, curious about the feeling. Henry didn’t even think about escaping at his point.

As Henry and Caroline’s lips were about to be just a breath away, the door to the sheriff’s office sprung open. A robust man, with a shotgun by his hip, stood in the frame.

“Caroline Patterson.” A deep voice rumbled through the confined spaces of the room.

Both young adults jumped at the sound of the intrusion, pulling away from the bars to their respective sides to create some space between each other.

The man made quick but purposeful steps to the center of the office, stopping before the jail room. He pulled his daughter to the side, away from the bars and Henry.

“What were you thinking, standing so close to the dangerous man?! Did the scoundrel touch you? Was he trying to escape?”

“Henry would never!” Caroline countered, getting heated from the intrusion.

“Ohoho, it’s Henry, now?” The man let out a humorless laugh. “You’re banned from entering the office until your wedding.”

Caroline’s aggravation fell, and it switched to confusion “My wedding?”

“You’re getting married to Samson’s son in a fortnight and that is final.”

“You can’t!” Caroline protested, getting angry again.

“I can, and I will. Now, go on. You’re grounded.” The man watched her without a trace of emotion.

Caroline just pouted, stomping and rushing out of the office.

The man then turned to Henry, lowering his voice. “Stay away from my daughter, you bastard. I’ll get you hanging, even if it’s the last thing I do.” With those words, the man gave Henry a look, turning around to follow after Caroline.

Henry watched the man leave, puffing out a breath. He plopped himself on his plank of a bed, leaning his head back against the stone wall.

His eyes followed as the Moon started to come out and the night sky littered with little shiny dots.

---

Tag List:

@gaslightwestern, @ashirisu, @aether-wasteland-s

[charlies-storybook]

Happy STS! What is your favorite thing about your current WIP?

The Love I Write About (my 2nd album): That it was changed to a love album thanks to a boy who doesn't see me as anything more than a friend.

---

And what to say about my books... I love them all equally, they are all about something different, yet the same. They're all about lovers facing obstacles but overcoming them because to love is to live for.

[charlies-storybook]

watch out, tumblr. i'm in the mood to go into random writeblr's inboxes and asking questions for no reason other than to hear them yap about their books

[charlies-storybook]

1. Vera

Vera stepped into a pub.

It was packed to the brim with a varied folk; fellow pirates, locals, and the British Navy. A Drunk British Navy. A Drunk British Navy was more dangerous and more stupid than a sober Navy. As long as she avoided them, they shouldn’t be a thorn in her mission’s side.

And there he sat at the back of the pub, at the farthest table. Drinking a pint of beer. Bartholomew Swift, a cleric, she was ordered to kidnap.  

Vera started making her way further inside the pub. She felt like suddenly all the eyes were on her and her outfit wasn’t adding to her subtlety. Despite the Navy being drunk out of their asses, it felt like they were more alert. And it pissed her off.

She glanced at the pair of the Navy soldiers through her peripheral vision. Yes, they were watching her like hawks. With smug expressions of drunkenness and a predatory glint.

Vera slowly started working to adjust her disguise. She let down her messy bun to convert it into a neat half updo. She took her jacket off, tying it around her waist for an impromptu skirt, and unbuttoned her shirt slightly. A perfect lady in the making.

The pair of Navy soldiers lost the smugness on their faces, yet the predatory glint remained for a different reason now. A donkey had more brain cells than the two men combined.

They exchanged looks and finished whatever remained of their drinks, and with a heavy thud placed the pints on the table they were leaning against, making their way towards Vera.

Vera sensed their movement and tried to push her way through the bodies as quickly as possible, approaching the cleric.

But the Navy men had other plans, the taller Navy man grabbed Vera’s shoulder and spun her around. “Let’s see your face, doll!”

In a swift motion, Vera drew her pistol out and aimed it at the center of his face. “Not a wise decision if you don’t want your brains blown out.” She squinted her eyes.

The man took his hand off  Vera’s shoulder and put them up. The shorter Navy man did the same. They could see how calm and dangerous she was even in a situation like this.

“Good choice.” Vera started backing away, keeping her eyes and pistol on them.

As she backed away, a drunk fisherman fell into her arms. He grabbed her shoulder and looked down at her in a drunken way. He looked Vera in the eyes and at the pistol she was holding, he grinned. Mouth full of rotten teeth for a fisherman. “You look like you could use some company.”

“I’m good.” Vera whacked him across the nose with her pistol.

The fisherman stumbled back, clutching his nose and looking at Vera. A drunken expression of surprise and anger on his face.

The Navy men now focused on the drunk fisherman and Vera. The shorter man suddenly pointed his rifle at Vera. She needs to get out, fast.

Vera gasped, her eyes widening. “I’m being harassed, you dimwits! You got it all wrong!” she screamed at them, her hands searching for anything sharp to attack with.

The short Navy man aims the rifle at Vera’s head. She was standing in the middle of a tavern and all sharp objects were too out of reach. She was trapped from all sides by the men. If all the eyes weren’t on her before, now they were. The fisherman’s nose broken and bloodied.

“Shoot her already!” Another drunken man shouted behind Vera.

Vera grabbed the nearest pub stool, putting it under the barrel to try and push it towards the ceiling.

The short Navy man dodged Vera’s stool, re-aiming the rifle at her. The drunk man from before yelled again: “Just kill her already! That’s what they do on a pirate ship, shoot anything that doesn’t listen to you!”

Vera held the stool in front of her body as a shield, slowly backing away.

The taller Navy man pulled out his own rifle, too, aiming it at Vera. The drunken fisherman speaks up again: “She’s not one of us! Shoot her!”

An unsuspecting pub-keep walked among the tables, holding a tray filled with beer mugs.

Vera caught sight of the pub-keep in the corner of her eye the moment he started walking past the ruckus. When the pub-keep's tray was near Vera’s reach, she knocked over it with the stool and let it fly at the Navy men along with the stool.

With the created chaos, Vera ducked on the floor - crawling towards Bartholomew.

The beer spilled, the mugs clanged on the floor, and the stool knocked the Navy men over, making them stumble back and crush the table near Bartholomew’s. Both Navy men open fire in confusion and panic. The bullets bounced off the fell-over table and the ground. The fisherman, who taunted the Navy men earlier to shoot, fell to the ground, dead.

The rest of the pub-goers finally took the present ruckus into account the moment bullets flew around their heads along with Bartholomew himself as he stood up behind the fallen table. Some pub-goers stood frozen in fear or panic, some tried to escape and leave the pub. Bartholomew stared at Vera as she crawled to him, he was shocked by her actions.

Vera found a cover behind the fallen table, she glanced up at Bartholomew, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down next to her behind the table. “There’s an open fire! Are you dumb?!”

Bartholomew didn’t respond immediately. He was still in shock but he quickly realized what was happening and nodded, ducking next to Vera. He pulled her to himself and wrapped a protective arm around her body.

Vera shifted a bit and scrunched her nose at the proximity, she turned her head to look at his face. But, oh. She wasn’t as repulsed as she wanted to believe.

The Navy men came to hover above Vera and Bartholomew and their table, pointing their guns at them. They talked and shouted among themselves. The taller one spoke up: “Where is Étoile?”

“And why should I tell you the whereabouts of my father?!” Vera retorted.

The tall Navy man sighed and aimed the rifle at her. “Because if you don’t tell us...” He suddenly pointed the gun at Bartholomew. “His head will be on the spike by the end of this day. So will be your own. So, I’ll give you one last chance. Where... is... Étoile?”

Vera’s heart started beating faster as she glanced at Bart. “His?! What does he have to do with this!”

The tall Navy man put his finger on the trigger. The pub-goers, who didn’t have the time or guts to fleet, went quiet. “If you do not say anything in the next ten seconds, the entire table will be shot into pieces. One... two...”

Vera pushed Bart behind her while he still clanged to her own body. “I’ll tell you everything. Just don’t hurt him.” She stuttered out, to her own surprise.

The Navy man hesitated but put his finger back on the trigger. “Don’t play games with me, pirate. He’s your father. If you do not say anything, I’ll swear I’ll shoot the entire table. Five... six...”

“I’m telling the truth! Just spare him! Please...”

The man hesitated again and looked at Vera with a face that indicated he had some empathy for her. Made one wonder if he had a daughter himself.  He lowered the rifle as he spoke: “Okay. Tell us about your father and I swear I will not hurt the boy.”

“Ursa Minor harbors in the Dock of Sirens. It’s half a day’s walk from here. The sirens do not harm you unless you plug your ears.”

The Navy man nodded, he took a deep breath and a moment of silence passed. He nodded again in an affirmative manner and lifted his rifle and pulled it back to his hip. “Thank you for your cooperation. Stay where you are and watch us leave. If you follow, we’ll shoot you. Do you understand?”

Vera glared at him. “Understood.”

With the confirmation, the Navy men - newly sobered up and with a new determination - departed the pub.

---

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