Showing results by author "Robyn Peterman" in All Categories

According to Baba Yoscarybutt, it’s time for me to witch up or step back down into the Cornholio minor leagues. While Cornhole is definitely not my beanbag, I can’t stand to lose. I don’t want to be the next Baba Yaga. I’m doing just peachy as the Shifter Wanker who heals the clumsy idiots of Assjacket, West Virginia. I love my life. My werewolf mate is hotter than asphalt in August, my twins are adorable, my dad and brother rock, and I have real friends for the first time in my life.

After a Luke Skywalker/Darth Vader moment, I discovered I do indeed have a father. He comes with a hell of a lot of baggage, but I’ve decided to keep him. Not only do I have a father, I have a kick-ass new sister, a ghostly family, and super powers to boot. If you add to the mix that I’m dating the Grim Reaper, it’s a freakin’ party. The only thing standing in the way of my happiness is the Angel of Mercy, though Angel of Misery is more appropriate. She’s responsible for almost everyone I have loved, and who has loved me, being taken away.

Four months of wallowing in embarrassed depression should be enough. I’m beginning to realize that no one is who they seem to be, and my life story might be spinning out of my control. It’s time to take a shower, put on a bra, and wear something other than sweatpants. Difficult, but doable. With my friends - real and imaginary - by my side, I need to edit my life before the elusive darkness comes for all of us. 

With the darkness on the horizon, I need to clear my name and get to work. Forming a Goodness Army is on the top of the list. Shockingly, my army consists of my wacky-tabacky-smoking aunt, my high school counselor who can shift into a house cat, the town gossip who turns invisible after downing five beers, and a few fabulous others with nefarious talents. And of course, a cast of fictional characters...who I created and definitely have an opinion on how I should proceed.

Being 40 is supposed to be freaking fabulous, not fatal. Taking on a daunting new job minus the description isn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made, even if it was to save a friend. Hopefully, it doesn’t turn out to be the stupidest...or deadliest. Why can’t things stay the way they were? I love my old job. Supergluing ghosts back together and solving their issues is its own reward. Not to mention, I’m seriously good at it. Although, I must say, I’m ridiculously excited for the new Death Counselor’s arrival in nine months....

Mermaids. Check. Pirates, werewolves, genies, and a drunken sea god. Check. Check. Check. Check. Come on an adventure with my mermaids and their unlikely heroes. Get three hilarious stories all in one big audiobook!

Come on an adventure with my mermaids and their unlikely heroes. Get three hilarious stories all in one big book. You'll get: Book 1 - Tallulah’s Temptation; Book 2 - Ariel’s Antics; and Book 3 - Misty’s Mayhem.

I’m desperate to resign from the Werewolf Treaty Federation aka WTF. Don’t judge. I didn’t name this crew of misfit Shifters so hear me out. After investigating a deadly Jazz Cabbage outbreak, I discover we need a necromancing demon to help solve the crime. My gay vampyre BFF, Dwayne, dated one of these gems several decades ago. Seems all we need to do is summon his evil butt into this plane of existence and poof, crisis solved. The question is, can we bring him back without causing a flesh-eating, end-of-the-world zombie apocalypse?

What in the salty seas could be more important than presents at Christmas time? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tis’ Christmas time on Mystical Isle, and just like the fat bastard in red, I’ve made a list, and now I shall check it...twice. Yeah, twice. I might wear a diaper, but I’m not an a--e. It seems I have everything under control and Christmas on Mystical Isle will be unforgettable, or I’m not the Well-Hung God of the Sea, Poseidon.

The love of my dastardly immortal life is eating everything that isn't nailed down and tried to behead me over a chocolate croissant. While I take chocolate croissants very seriously, I do believe decapitation is somewhat harsh. My daughters, the Seven Deadly Sins, are driving me to drink. Getting them mated off and the hell out of Hell is at the top on my agenda. The one thing that is keeping me sane - sane being a relative word - is my upcoming special day.

Unlike my sisters, I haven’t found my HEA. And I’m looking - hard. But finding a man who wants to blowhole dive in Hawaii on the first date is more difficult than you might imagine. I’ve been forced to settle for a few meaningless orgasms with men who disappear when I suggest fun activities, like scaling 20 stories while blindfolded.

With Ethan by my side, along with new friends and a few well-hidden enemies, it’s time to adjust my crown, put a few Vampyres in their place, and kick some Zombie butt. I’m dead. Life is still good. I have unconditional love. And on most days, when I’m not covered in Zombie guts, I’m wildly fashionable. Fashionably dead, that is, and loving it.

Getting dumped by the Demon of my dreams wasn’t exactly in the game plan. Game plans suck. Throwing caution to the wind is my new motto. I used to be a semi-happily single Vampyre. As the Princess of the Australian Dominion, I have an enormous palace, a fabulous wardrobe, I don’t look a day over 30, and I have gobs of friends — most of whom would be happy to see me permanently deceased. However, they hide it well. In the violent world of the undead, I consider it a win.

This is simply not my week. Finding out I can’t cook is appalling. My luncheon with the big-boned Immortal socialites went to Hell in a handbasket. I’ve been hoping to join the Fearsome Five and make it the Psycho Six. However, the chances of that happening now are looking slim. Of course, I could force my way in since I’m Mother freakin’ Nature, but I want to be accepted for being me - and because I’m fabulous. It’s bad enough my two sons, God and Satan, are driving me to crazy town while my best friend, Mr. Rogers, is riding in the backseat having a breakdown....

Letting the ocean current take me where it may for the last 25 years hasn’t worked out so great. So, instead of getting my tail in a knot, I’m making some swimmingly simple changes.

I’ve been happily human for 30 years. Now I’m discovering I’m the reincarnated Fairy Queen of a land chock-full of freaks who want me dead. However, I’ll admit the perks are pretty cool. I have more magic in my little pinky than should be allowed by law in any universe. Not to mention, the love of my life is a Fairy so smokin’ hot, he makes Hell look like a Winter Wonderland. Problem is, my hotter-than-Hades Fairy is imprisoned in Zanthia for nefarious reasons I won’t go into, but now I must head back to that crap hole where I’m the Queen, and save the damn day.

Poseidon is smoking some bad seaweed if he expects me to take the one job I’m obviously not qualified for. Rumor has it, Cupid is a chubby baby with a bad attitude. That’s all I need. A pissed off porcine toddler with love arrows gunning for my tail because I took his job. On top of that, the idiot I’m kind of seeing who shall remain nameless - mostly because I don’t know his name.

I’m bored. And if I’m being honest, I’m jealous. I want my sister to have her happily-ever-after. I do. But I want my own adventures and my own true love. For 200 years, I’ve suffered through one immortal asshat after another while stuck on Mystical Isle. And while running a tourist trap for humans might be entertaining, I’m never going to find my true love in this sea of monotony.

Getting blackmailed sucks. Getting blackmailed by Satan into ghost writing his autobiography/romance really sucks - hard.

Running a tourist trap for humans in the Bermuda Triangle had sounded like a fine plan - until it wasn’t. With the Sea Hags gunning for our island and ruining our questionably successful business, I did what any desperate Mermaid would do. I called for backup. Of course, getting help from the Otherworld Defense Agency is risky as they don’t usually deal with ocean creatures. Whatever. Desperate times call for crappy measures. Chances are they’ll send freaking Pirates. I hate Pirates.