(WP) You are the only advisor the King is list…

“Get me my adviser!”

A deep baritone voice rang out in the dining hall, accompanied by the crash of fists against the table, and the musical tinkle of breaking cutlery.

“Did you imbeciles hear me? Have you all suddenly gone deaf? I gave an order and I expect it to be obeyed!”

That pompous old windbag was going on and on, and the adviser in question rolled her eyes.

There were rapid footsteps, and a liveried servant skidded to a stop in front of the young woman, breathing heavily.

“His Royal Majesty requests your presence in the dining hall, madam,” He gasped, one hand to his chest. “He asked me to escort you, and he says that is urgent.” Without waiting for an answer, he began to walk down the hall, and the woman followed, rolling her eyes silently.

“I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting,” She murmured, more to herself than the servant, and only the sharpest ear would catch the sarcasm in her tone. They walked, the servant in front and the woman behind him, all the while the king working himself into a lather. How a man with such a violent temper had inherited a throne was beyond even her comprehension.

“You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?” The woman asked, gracefully curtsying, gathering her scarlet, bloodred skirts around her.

“Yes,” The King replied, looking red in the face from far too much wine and rich food. He looked at the servants gathered around them and he scowled. “Leave us.” There was some hesitation, some caught off guard by the sudden command.


At this order, the servants bolted for the door, desperate to keep their heads on their shoulders. The king was always moody, but there was something else bothering him, she could see it in his aura and the way his fingers twitched on the armrests of his throne.

“Whatever is the matter, my king?” Violet asked; he liked it best when she was deferential, though it hurt her pride to play the plaything to a monarch with dwindling power and mental faculties. “It appears that the issue is urgent.”

“Enemies are crossing the oceans, aiming to take our country for themselves and steal our resources, Violet.” He croaked, his bloodshot eyes meeting hers. “I don’t know what to do. Help me.” His voice cracked in his desperation, and it was a good thing that she’d spent so much time at his side; it helped her hold in the laughter bubbling in her chest.
He really was pathetic.

So much so that he had no idea just what she’d done to unseat him; all that power and he had no idea what to do with it, more concerned with his paramours, feasts, and the arrival of another heir, though it didn’t look like that was happening anytime soon. He hadn’t visited the queen’s chambers in months.

That was fine by Violet. It gave her more space to work him just how she wished, and she was looking at the big picture.

Who needed peace when they could go to war, use the peasants as cannon fodder, and ply the coffers with gold made from weapons dealing?

It was all so delicious that she had to restrain herself from jumping from her curtsy and clapping her hands with wicked glee. It was all coming together so perfectly.

“But of course I’ll help you, Your Majesty. My sole purpose is to serve you,” She purred in reply, and he raised a hand, glimmering with jewels, beckoning her closer to the throne. She stood and walked closer, head bowed carefully, avoiding looking him in the eye.

“Come now, Vi, you know you’re trusted more than anyone else in this palace. Look at me like we’re equals.” His tone was pleading, and her stomach turned in response. It was really no wonder that this man was so easy to manipulate; he had no stomach and even less of a spine. Nonetheless, she obeyed. It would not do to buck against his rule, not when she was so close to everything she’d dreamed of achieving.

She looked up, and he frowned at her, his face flushed from too much drink. “Please, tell me what you’re thinking.”

He grasped her hand, and her skin crawled at the overly forward touch. King or not, the feeling of his skin on hers was revolting.

“Would war not be a better solution, Majesty?” Violet said at last, folding her fingers over his and giving him a bland, blank grin. “Use the peasants and rabble as cannon fire. We’ve enough of them to spare, certainly, as well as your private army. Imagine the notoriety we’d receive, after we won.” She leaned closer, widening her eyes at him, whispering in his ear.

“Have I ever led you wrong before, Your Majesty?” Her lips tickled his ear, and she felt him shiver, just slightly. His body tightened, and she bit her lip to prevent from laughing. The man may have been a great bore; his father was much more fun; but he was certainly fun to play with. It was amusing to think that he had a chance with her.

He didn’t, of course, but he didn’t need to know that. She was willing to do just about anything to climb the social ladder.

Someday, she would be sitting on this throne. She just needed to be patient; she was almost there.

Muggles are not able to REBLOG this.






REBLOG this to prove you are not a Muggle.


my reblog button fucked up and i almost had a heart attack

I did it in the first try.





But the lack of notes truly worries me




niggazinmoscow: It’s fucking prison camps hold…


It’s fucking prison camps holding 1,400 children. that’s fascism

This is absolutely fucking disgusting. Fuck Trump and his joke of an administration. I feel totally nauseated. God.

DnD Apothecary Celebratory Giveaway


Since I have reached 250 followers, I thought it would be a great idea to do a giveaway!! 

There will be EIGHT total winners, in 3 tiers: 

Five bronze tier winners: 

  • One set of dice
  • One 2.0″ diameter bath bomb with a random d20 inside– 

    Choose from any of the dragons, forest camp, vampire, or beholder

Two silver tier winners: 

  • One 2.5″ diameter bath bomb with random d20s inside– 

    Choose from any of the dragons, forest camp, vampire, or beholder


  • One small Health Potion scented candle with metal d20 inside 

One gold tier winner: 

  • Two 2.5″ bathbombs – Choose from any of the dragons, forest camp, vampire, or beholder
  • One large candle with a metal d20 inside 

    (winner’s choice from what’s available in my shop)

  • One Beholder notebook from @dungeonmastersconsortium ‘s store (lined or blank, winner’s choice)


  • You must be following the @dnd-apothecary New followers are welcome! 
  • Do not tag your reblog post as giveaway, it screws up the notes. 
  • Like = 1 entry, Reblog =1 entry. You may reblog as many times as you like, but don’t spam your followers.
  • The giveaway will end at 12:00 midnight CST July 31st, 2018
  • Winners will be chosen via a random generator
  • It is open to everyone – if a winner is outside of the US, please let me know and we will work something out.
  • You must have your messages open at the time that winners are announced so that I can message you
  • You must be comfortable giving me your address so I can ship things to you.

Not interested in testing your luck? 

Feel free to check out my Etsy shop 

Want a cool Beholder-themed item here, including mugs, notebooks, shirts, hoodies, lounge pants and shower curtains? Check out the DMC Shop 




What’s everyone reading this weekend?

I’m hoping to finish The Wedding Date by Jasmine Guillory. It’s been slow going (I think I’ve been picking away at it for two months now). It’s a little light on plot and we all know how much I love plot. But the reviews say it picks up in the second half so fingers crossed.

I’m finishing my re-read of the Kate Daniels series. And then I’m gonna go big for Pride with a bunch of queer romances like Lucy Lennox’s Wilde Fire (firefighter boyfriends!) and Jae’s Falling Hard (opposites attract with forced proximity!).

(IP) Ridley’s Joy

“Testing, testing… Am I coming through?” Static. “Testing, three, two, one… Do you read me? Come on, rookie, I know you hear me! Respond, damn you! I need to know you’re okay.”


The captain sat back, clenching her fists. She had to resist the childish impulse to punch the motherboard in front of her. She’d sent a pair of officers out to patrol the area outside of the ship, the most seasoned veteran and the youngest private among the crew, and though she was the captain and used to waiting, she could not quiet the unease that was bubbling up in her heart.

There was something wrong, and she bit her bottom lip, hoping that her gut was wrong for once. She stood up from her seat, wincing when her back cracked in several places in protest. She swore under her breath and walked to the galley, hardly daring to breathe as she waited for either one of her crewmates to answer her. Sweat beaded on her brow, gathering in the collar of her suit, the back of her neck, the small of her back.

This was supposed to be a routine check to make sure that the probes were working correctly. What was in the Sun’s name was taking them so long? She walked to the counter and reached up into a cabinet above it, grabbing a freeze-dried honey and strawberry bar, devouring it in three bites. Planets, she missed real food. Food that didn’t have to be freeze-dried and specially packaged. She missed it more depending on the day: hot chicken noodle soup bubbling away on the stove, a medium rare steak hot and crusty right out of the oven, and gooey chocolate chip cookies.

She was on her last bite when a hoarse, rasping shriek came through over the mic, and she gasped, coughing for a moment when the last bit caught in her throat for a moment. She punched her chest until the piece came free, and she spat it onto the floor, her heart galloping behind her ribcage; she had to get answers out of someone, before it was too late.

“Hello? Hello! What’s going on? Lieutenant, Private–someone, answer me! That’s an order, damn it!”

She tried to keep calm, keep her voice quiet and business-like, but she was failing. That scream had caused her vision to spot, and she struggled to calm herself; she would be no use to either of her crewmates if she passed out in the middle of the galley.

Her mic started cutting out, garbled words mixed with static, and she groaned in frustration. How was she supposed to help her friends if all of her tech was failing her?

“Captain–” The lieutenant’s voice, smoky and harsh, finally came through, then cut out again.

“There’s been an attack!” The private’s voice came right behind, and the words sounded wet, her breathing heavy in the captain’s ears.

“Creatures were surrounding the probes and…” Another cut out.

“We need backup… We just barely managed to make it to shelter… Surrounded…”

“Send help…”

That was all that Captain Ridley heard before the mic made an angry, buzzing sound and died. She threw it down on the floor, running her fingers through her hair, her head bowed.

It looked like she would have to go after her friends. What kind of captain would leave her people to a mysterious attack?



“Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.”

Suli Proverb

I need to remember this quote.

(IP) Damn

The penguin frowned at the bright, round fruit on the grass, struggling to keep the delicate china balanced on his dark, regal head.

 Its rich, garish color seemed to be the only intense bit of color on the dark shoreline, and he frowned to himself, deep in thought. He wanted to scratch his head, to do something with his flippers, but he didn’t want to upset the bright dishware that he’d decided to wear as a hat. It was a miracle that it hadn’t all shattered into pieces when he’d washed ashore on his barren beach.

Looking up at the dark, churning sky, he frowned. How had the journey to find a pebble, and a mate, come to this? He was so far from home, from his family and the one he loved. He missed them all terribly. He even missed the ice, the stark gray sky, the dark waters where he hunted and swam, and the way the stars speckled the night sky, reflected on the ocean.

Turning reluctantly away from thoughts of the past, he bent down as quickly as he could and grasped the strange object in his flippers, struggling not to drop it. The rind was strangely bumpy and so slick with seawater, he just barely managed to keep it in his hands. Frowning down at it curiously, he rolled it over in his flippers, examining it.

He lifted the round orange to his mouth and bit down, wincing when a pithy bitterness met his tongue. Its color was beautiful, like a dying sunset, but the same could not be said for how it tasted. But perhaps it wasn’t food. Maybe it was something else entirely. All he knew was that he wanted to keep it; it would be a memento of this mad quest he’d somehow ended up on.

He’d wanted to leave home, leave eternal winter behind and make an attempt to be on his own for a while, at least until he’d mustered up the courage to ask a mate to marry him. But even before that, he needed something to woo the object of his affections. He frowned down at the bright, sunny fruit in his hands.

What if he could give her this? It was larger than any other pebble he’d ever seen, but it was like holding the sun’s light in his hands. It’d be perfect, a promise for forever.

Now if he could just get back home…

(WP) The 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse are earl…

“How could you have gotten the time wrong? We give you one job, and you screw it up. How hard is it to watch a clock?” A woman groused, astride a handsome white steed with a braided black mane.

She herself was so pale that she looked ill, her blonde hair hanging lank and greasy around her gaunt face. She covered her mouth as she hacked out a violent, bloody cough. Her clothes hung loose on her too-thin frame, a threadbare suit that was stained with mysterious spots; it looked as though she would blow away in a slight breeze. Her mount’s eyes glowed a bright, sickly yellow, and its bones stuck through its thin, patchy coat.

There were three people following her, also riding horses, black, crimson roan, and white with gray spots, all single file, and for a few moments, there was only the clop, clop, clop sounds of the horses’ hooves on the flat, barren earth. ‘Penelope’ had demanded that they keep to the back roads and stay out of sight, at least until they got their bearings enough to blend in.

“I’m sorry, I just lost the watch! It’s such a human concept, anyway,” One of her companions snapped back in reply, his teeth chattering as he struggled to keep in time with his horse’s movements.

His accent was vaguely European, maybe British or perhaps Irish. He was dressed in a black muscle shirt and dirty, ripped jeans, with combat boots on his feet. He was frightfully pale, with the only accent to his milky complexion bright red freckles adorning his nose, cheeks, and forehead. “You’re not my mother, Pen.”

Penelope glared over at him, her brows drawing together in annoyance.

“Will you please keep your voice down? At least until we get to actual civilization. Out here we’re too noticeable.”

“We need to get a hotel,” A quiet, placating voice piped up from the rear. “We need to get out of sight while we figure this all out. And all of this arguing isn’t helping anything, you two. We’ll talk more when we get settled. We’re just wasting time with these senseless quarrels.”

The voice was dry and soft, like crumbling leaves in a high wind, and female, but it was deeper than normal. The woman sat astride the roan horse was a tall, dark young woman, with bright amber eyes and dark corkscrew curls, pulled into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck, sweat glimmering faintly on her skin. She wore a ripped tank top with a black bra peeking through the fabric, and jean shorts and flip flops. Her steed was dark, black with a splash of gray splattered like wet paint across its muzzle. It nickered quietly, as if in agreement with its rider.

.At the girl’s words, both Pen and Warren quieted, though they were still mean-mugging one another when they thought Deidre wasn’t looking. The sun was still high in the sky, and soon all four of the group were exhausted, ready to leave the back roads of the desert and assume their place as normal humans, even though they were literally the last beings to be called normal.

After about an hour, they finally came to the outskirts of a town, small but busy, bustling, and soon the sun was setting, providing them vital cover.“Does everyone have IDs on them?” Deidre asked, patting the pockets of her shorts down. “If we don’t have that or any cash, we’re kinda screwed.” Her mind was racing; there was so much to do, so much to prepare for, and she couldn’t deny, at least to herself, how annoyed she was with Warren for losing track of the watch that would indicate just when the Apocalypse would begin, though she’d never admit it aloud.

“How do the humans keep track of all this stuff?” Warren complained, and Pen shrugged; it had been years, centuries, actually, since they’d taken humans for vessels. She had no idea how the humans kept track of everything they needed and had to do; it was a conundrum that had plagued her from the time she’d been formed.

Dee dug in her pocket and pulled out a slim leather billfold; there was indeed a valid ID and a fat stack of cash. She grinned to herself, flushed with this tiny victory. “First, we need to get a hotel, and then, after a few days rest, we’ll get more permanent living arrangements sorted out. Pen, could you please find a place to hide the horses? We’re already sticking out like sore thumbs.”

“Look at you, Deidre, picking up those human expressions. You’ll blend in like it’s nothing,” Warren quipped, his green eyes gleaming in the dying sunlight.“Will you stop griping?” She replied, turning to him and putting her fists on her hips, one wrapped around the money she’d found. “After all, this is your fault to begin with. So it’d be great if you could be quiet for once."With that, she flounced off to find a hotel, Pen’s shocked laughter following in her wake. 

Currently Reading: The Belles by @dhoniellecla…

Currently Reading: The Belles by @dhonielleclayton! Not my photo, just using for cover purposes!