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reidgraygubler · 3 years

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peanut buttercup (matthew gray gubler/reader)

Title: Peanut Buttercup

Anon Requested: Hi so I been asking for this request for awhile but no one seems to do it. I was wondering if you could write a Matthew Gray Gubler x Fem! Reader. And they have a 5 year old kid. They both work together on Criminal minds and play each other’s love interest. One day their babysitter cancels and they have to bring their kid to set. They have a balance taking care of a kid and filming. And can you possibly add that Matthew is filming one of his unauthorize documentary and he includes his kid. I would really love to read this.

Couple: Dad!Matthew Gray Gubler/Fem!reader

Category: fluff

Content Warning: swearing, Dad!Mgg, mentions of being sick

Word Count: 5,076

Summary: When reader and Matthew’s babysitter cancels on them on a last minute notice, they’re forced to bring their 5-year-old daughter, Tallulah ‘Peanut’, to set. Matthew and Reader have to re-learn to balance filming, on set tomfoolery, and taking care of their daughter.

A/N: i literally love this request so much, it’s so cute and makes me feel so soft. I really needed to write some cute fluff after everything im writing, especially for a different type of high… so thank you for sending this in. i think we need more dad!mgg fluff too, we stan dad!mgg. So, meet tallulah jane ‘peanut’ gubler, and reader ‘buttercup’ gubler :))) im so soft right now. thanks for all the love and support! check out my masterlist!

{***}{***}{***}

It was… quiet. Quite possibly too quiet. Especially for a house that has 2 actors and a five-year-old daughter. I was getting the chance to sleep in a little later than normal, and there's no husband or little girl begging for breakfast. Maybe husband took her on a morning jaunt? No, that'd be too ambitious for him, and even for her. Or, maybe he put a movie on and she's actually watching. Or maybe- frick, nevermind. I clearly spoke too soon and had my hopes too high. The pitter-patter of little feet, followed by the louder footsteps of an adult man came running into the bedroom.

"Tallulah," Matthew's voice was soft, like he was whispering but knew it'd be useless. Because once she got up into the bed, I was starting to wake up more.

"Mommy, mommy! Wake up! Wake up!" A little girl's voice shouted as she jumped on the bed. I kept the blanket over my body and groaned as a small body jumped on top of mine.

"5 more minutes," I pretended to whine as I pulled my blanket over my head. I could hear Matthew's laughter as Tallulah jumped into my body. I groaned at the sudden weight on my still tired body. "Okay, okay I'm awake," I tiredly spoke as I sat up. Tallulah fell onto the bed beside me in a fit of laughter.

Matthew was already dressed and what seemed ready for the day. His glasses sitting on his nose, and his hair falling perfectly around his face. A bizarre patterned shirt, that I wouldn't be surprised if Tallulah picked it, hung off his frame, paired with a pair of jeans and his converse. How long had he been awake?

"I tried telling her you wanted 5 more minutes," Matthew laughed as he looked at me. I looked back at him and smiled, before looking down at our daughter, who was still laughing. Her beautiful brown and curly locks of hair, though somewhat a ratty mess, covered her face just enough to show her toothy smile and brown/hazel eyes. "She just wouldn't listen. She wanted to know what you wanted for breakfast," Matthew smiled as he sat beside me on the edge of the bed.

"Breakfast!?" I exclaimed as I looked down at Tallulah. She looked up at me and smiled before rolling around on her back. "I guess that’s up to you, Peanut," I smiled as I placed a hand on her stomach.

"Pancakes!" She sat up and looked at me. I looked over at Matthew and smiled. The amusement he wore on his face made me feel happy. Of course, no matter what his daughter did, he was amused or happy. I don’t blame him though, she’s basically the mini-me version of him.

"Pancakes!? That sounds like a great idea!" I brushed her hair away from her face, "how about you and daddy get started in those while I take a quick shower and get ready for the day?" I asked with a smile. I glanced back at Matthew, silently telling him to help me out with this. “Maybe make me some chocolate chip pancakes? Oh! Or a few apple cinnamon?” I smiled at him. Matthew laughed at my enthusiasm for pancakes.

"Sounds like a solid plan to me," Matthew stood up and placed his fists in his hips. Tallulah looked between Matthew and me before falling off the bed in a sensible style.

"Sounds like a plan," she copied Matthew's action and looked up at him with a smile. I smiled and watched as the pair marched out of the room.

I sighed deeply before lying back again for a minute. I knew the second I left my bed, mommy mode would have to be fully turned on for the morning. Although mommy mode was way more preferable than actor mode, I just get to be around my favorite little girl and it makes me happy.

Time, unfortunately, was not on my side. It was nearing the time Marianne (Tallulah’s nanny) would be here, and Matthew and I would have to leave for work. Which all meant I had about 15 minutes to shower, get dressed, and actually get ready for the day.

Once I was finished showering and getting dressed, I went to the kitchen where I knew I'd find Matthew and Tallulah. The sweet smell of apple cinnamon pancakes found its to my nose.

“Those pancakes smell amazing!” I spoke as I entered the kitchen. Matthew was standing beside Tallulah, gently brushing out her knotty hair. “I can't wait to have one,” I looked down at Tallulah, “did you help make them, Tj?”

“Yeeeah!” She exclaimed as she put her fork in her mouth.

“Did you also help make the mess?” I looked around the counter at the mess that suddenly appeared overnight. Matthew looked down at Tallulah, who was looking up at him with wide eyes. She was obviously whispering something to him, causing Matthew to laugh.

“That was, uh… That was Rumple Buttercup,” Matthew nodded as he looked back up at me. I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “He came up here just as you got into the shower and made the biggest mess? Isn’t that right, Peanut?” Matthew looked back down at her and wink.

“Yeah! It was Rumbellercup.” She looked at me with a cheesy smile.

“Right,” I faked an amused smile before nodding. I quietly grabbed a sponge and began wiping up the sticky flour mess on the countertop. “Well, next time, Rumple Buttercup should stick around and clean up,” I smiled as I looked over at the two.

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry about the mess,” Matthew winked at me. I rolled my eyes before continuing my cleaning. Well, tried to continue before being stopped by my phone ringing.

“Phone!” Tallulah shouted as she pointed towards me and my phone. I looked up at her and smiled.

“Looks like it’s Marianne,” I looked at the screen, noticing her name, “Wonder why she isn’t here yet,” I spoke before answering.

“Hey, Marianne! We were just talking about you!” I smiled as I tossed the icky sponge into the sink.

“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Gubler,” her voice was low as she spoke. I furrowed my eyebrows and cocked my head, “I’m afraid I have to cancel. I can’t babysit Tallulah today?”

“What do you mean you have to cancel?” I asked, I honestly had my answer the second she sneezed, then coughed, then sneezed again. “You know something, it’s okay,” “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Gubler,” she spoke through a cough. I cringed as I looked over at my husband and five-year-old. I could sense that she was talking about something, and he was doing his best to keep up and understand whatever it was she was saying.

“It’s okay! It’s okay, really. I hope you feel much better. Take all the time you need,” I insisted as I rested my hand on the counter, “We’ll figure something out. I just hope you feel better,” I frowned as I kept my eyes on the two.

“Again, I’m so sorry,” Marianne whispered. I bit my lips back and shook my head.

“Get some rest. Call if you need anything,” I replied before hanging up. I placed my phone on the counter before going to grab things for lunch for Tallulah.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Matthew looked up at me as he brushed Tallulah’s hair into two pigtails. He had a certain look of worry on his face as he looked at me. I looked up at him as I made a ham and cheese sandwich. Hopefully, she enjoys a sandwich with all the fruit snacks a five-year-old could consume (which, unfortunately, was a lot), and some actual fruit. I'm sure when on our way home we'll stop somewhere for dinner or late lunch. That's hope it usually works when Tallulah comes to set with us.

“Marianne is sick. Can’t babysit today,” I frowned as I looked between him and Tallulah. Tallulah was too busy eating her pancakes and rambling about Alvin and The Chipmunks (specifically about how Theodore was her favorite, not Simon) to actually care about our conversation.

“Really,” Matthew looked at me and dropped his shoulders. He puffed his cheeks a little bit before frowning, “No one else?”

“I mean, I could call Aj and see if her babysitter can watch Little Miss, but that’d be a lot for one lady,” I paused as I looked down at our daughter, “Or we could bring her. You know how much everyone on set loves seeing her,” I shrugged as I looked up at him. Even though it was a lot of work bringing a five-year-old to set, we both loved it. The balance between working and taking care of her was a bit rough, but we always made it work.

“We could do that, we have a couple of scenes together, I’m sure we could get Kirsten or someone to be with her for that time,” he looked down at his daughter before adjusting her pigtails, “Maybe even convince the writers to give Spencer and Mollie a daughter,” he looked back at me and winked. I shook my head.

“You should finish getting her ready because we have to go soon,” I pointed out. Matthew looked down at Tallulah with a smile before shrugging.

“Alright, let’s go, Peanut!” Matthew spoke as he lifted Tallulah up and stood her up on the table. I looked at the two and smiled.

“You get to come to work with me and daddy today,” I walked over to them and readjusted her crocked pigtails, and carefully pinched her cheeks, “That means you get to see Auntie Kirsten, Auntie Aj, Auntie Pag, and everyone else,” I smiled and watched as Matthew lifted her up on to his hip.

“Yay!” Tallulah shouted once she was clinging to Matthew’s side. The two of them closely resembled a Koala. She grabbed Matthew’s face, a hand on either side, to get his attention, “Daddy’s work,” she whispered. I smiled, already looking forward to the shenanigans that was about to happen during our day. Whenever we bring Tallulah to set for a visit, almost everyone wants to spend time with her. And she sucks up all the attention. She’s got everyone wrapped around her tiny little finger.

“Go pick out some cool clothes with daddy while I finish making your lunch. Sounds good?” I looked at her. She smiled and nodded before looking at Matthew.

“Let’s go get out of your jammies,” Matthew spoke, tugging on her Elsa nightgown. The two walked away and towards her bedroom. I seriously hope he’ll help her pick out something nice to wear and not let her wear a princess dress. I love it, but not today. {***}{***}{***}

“You gotta be a good girl for mom and I, okay? You can watch us while we work, but you gotta be super quiet,” Matthew held a finger up to his lips, as if he was telling Tallulah to be quiet. She smiled before copying his action. “Can you do that?”

“I can do that,” she enthusiastically nodded once Matthew set her on the ground. I squatted beside her and gave her a few quiet toys and coloring books as Matthew went to talk to one of the assistants/interns nearby.

“Look, we packed your favorite coloring book,” I smiled as I placed the coloring book on the ground beside her. She grabbed the crayons from me and poured them out. I looked at her for a moment before standing upright.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just have her in the trailer? It’d be safer for, well, everyone. And if we check on her every so often,” I looked at Matthew once he was back beside me. We walked side by side back towards wardrobe and makeup.

“Nah, it’s fine. One of the interns said they’d watch her. And then we can get one of the makeup artists to watch her. You know how much they love her,” Matthew smiled at me. I rolled my eyes and shook my head as I remembered the day we visited set after Tallulah was born. Other than Kirsten and AJ, the makeup artists were the ones to not leave our side because they loved her so much. I honestly didn’t blame them. “Don’t stress so much about this, Buttercup, this isn’t the first time she’s had to come to set with up. And you know for a fact it won’t be the last time,” he stopped right in front of the door to the makeup studio. “She’ll do a great job,” he smiled before hugging me.

“I know, I know. She’s just a lot older than she was the last time she came with us. And I know something will happen,” I sighed, pressing my face into his shoulder. Matthew laughed as he squeezed me tightly.

“And, if she does, we’ll take a break, bring to the trailer, and calm her down. C’mon, you know she’s a great kid,” he looked down at me as he rested his hands on my shoulders. I laughed as I looked up at him.

“That’s because she’s your kid,” I nodded before stepping away from and entering the makeup studio.

Of course, luck was not really on our side. We were a few hours left of filming, Tallulah had been doing a great job, staying quiet and playing with one of the make up artists. Until she bashed her head into a table, causing her to go into full hysterics.

“I got it, I’m done for the day anyways,” Aj looked at me from her space on the ground, away fro the raised set, “She’ll be okay. I can make all little girl boo-boos go away,” she smiled before stepping up to me. I looked at her before looking over at Matthew, who was already over soothing our daughter.

“I owe you big,” I walked up to her, “You know we have stuff in our trailer for her. I think it might be naptime,” I looked at her, feeling the worry in my brow.

“Got it, naptime,” Aj gave me a thumbs up before stepping off the set. I watched as she carefully approached Matthew and Tallulah. Tears were still fresh in her eyes, but she was laughing at whatever it was Matthew was telling her. I could feel a smile tugging on my lips as I watch Aj grasp Tallulah’s hand, leading her away from the studio.

“She’ll be fine,” Matthew smiled at me before pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. I hummed before stepping away from him.

“Oh, I know that, I don’t doubt. I’m just tired, I suppose,” I rubbed the underside of my nose, “But, we’re almost done,” I nodded with a smile. I was just happy we were able to get back to work pretty quickly after the temper tantrum.

{***}{***}{***}

“I think we’ve got what we needed for today! That’s a wrap!” The director shouted to everyone on set. I allowed my shoulders to slump as a yawn worked its way through my mouth. Matthew laughed as he looked over at me.

“You definitely needed those extra five minutes,” he spoke as he shrugged off his ‘Spencer Reid’ blazer. I yawned, again, and nodded.

“Suppose that’s life with a 5-year-old,” I stepped off the set with him and walked beside him towards our trailer, “Do you want to go get that girl in question, or should I?” I raised an eyebrow once we were both in the privacy of our small trailer.

“You should. I want to do something real quick,” he pecked my lips real quick as he walked towards the backend of the trailer. I looked down at the few toys that were thrown around the floor, before grabbing Tallulah’s backpack and sweater.

“You want to do something? What would that be?” I asked, throwing the strap of the backpack over my shoulder. A moment later, Matthew stepped back towards me, wearing a Babygirl hat that Shemar got for him, and a purple scarf that he totally stole from me. “You look like a douchebag,” I scoffed as I turned towards the door, “You’re lucky I love you, and that we’re married,” I turned back and looked at him for a moment.

“I think you’re the lucky one, Buttercup,” Matthew spoke to me as I stepped off the trailer. I laughed and shook my head. “Not everyone can score this,” he spoke as he gestured towards his body. I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, are you going to let me go get our kid? Or are you going to pull me into whatever it is you have planned,” I asked with a sly smile on my lips.

“Should probably go get Tallulah,” he shrugged as he followed beside me. I looked at him and allowed him to kiss me softly. “Good luck,”

“I’ll need all the luck in the world,” I laughed before peeling away from him. I could hear him talking to someone as I walked away, and I could only imagine it was one of the cameramen.

Usually Aj took her out of the studio the second the tantrum started, bringing somewhere quiet. Usually, it was our trailer, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were there for a bit, but I knew after naps it was always snack time. So, I went towards the cafeteria.

“Mommy!” A little voice shouted from across the room. My eyes scanned around, looking for my little girl and friend. Aj was sitting at one of the tables with Tallulah on her lap. Tallulah was busy, eating chicken nuggets that Aj must’ve gotten for her. So much better than a ham and cheese sandwich.

“Hey, Peanut!” I exclaimed as I sat across from them at the table. I glanced at Aj and smiled, silently telling her thank you. “Did you have a fun time with Auntie Aj?” I looked back down at Tallulah.

“Yeah!” She exclaimed before shoving a whole chicken nugget in her mouth. I raised my eyebrows and laughed.

“We took a nap, colored, played with some dolls, and then we were hungry,” Aj looked up at me as she listed their activities during the last few hours. I nodded and leaned over the table.

“That sounds like a great time. I wish I could take a nap,” I sighed before stealing one of her nuggets. Tallulah glared at me as I munched on the food. “I wanna see your drawings!” I smiled at her. Tallulah turned and looked up Aj, asking her to show the drawings she made.

“Tada!” she beamed as she showed me her drawings. I looked down at the 4 sheets of paper with a multitude of colors. One of them was easily imaged as a family portrait and I could easily point out Matthew and me, and Tallulah. Another one was just a tornado of colors, with animal stickers placed around them. And the last two pictures were coloring pages we had printed off, a Disney princess and a picture of Alvin and the Chipmunks (again, it’s her favorite movie… And not because her dad is in it).

“These are awesome, Peanut!” I looked back up at her with an excited smile, “I’m sure you had such a great time with Auntie AJ! I can’t wait to hear about it all! What do you say to her?” I looked at Tallulah as I brushed hair away from her face.

“Thank you, Auntie AJ,” Tallulah looked up at Aj with a bright, cheesy smile. Aj returned the smile as she looked at my daughter.

“Of course! I had a wonderful time with you! You be good for mom and dad, okay?” Aj asked before offering a hug. Tallulah squealed before throwing her arms around Aj. I smiled, watching the pair interact.

“Should we go find daddy? I’m sure he’d love to see your drawings!” I asked stood up. Aj helped Tallulah to the ground before standing up herself. Aj handed me Tallulah’s stuffed animal and a few of her other things. “Thank you so much, Aj,” I smiled at her.

“Of course, you know I love watching her,” she returned the smile, “Seriously, if you need help with you, you know I’m always available, even on set,” she hugged me.

“Of course, again thank you so much,” I returned the hug before letting her leave. Tallulah watched as Aj walked away, before looking up at me with a smile, “Let’s find dad,” I smiled before offering her my hand. She grabbed it before walking beside me. I handed her stuffed animal back to her as we left the cafeteria.

“Are you going to show daddy your pictures?” I looked down at Tallulah. She was holding a small stack of papers in her hand as she skipped beside me. Her stuffed animal was now stuffed under her arm since her hands were too busy holding her drawings and she didn’t want me to hold it. “You did a good job with your family portrait,” I looked at the papers in her hand. She was looking down at that very picture with a big smile on her face.

“Yeah!” She looked up at me and gushed. I chuckled as she hugged her pictures close to her chest.

“Do you think he’ll like them?” I looked up and saw Matthew at a bit of a distance, someone standing beside him as he talked. He was moving around a lot, which told me he was up to something.

“Yeah!” Tallulah exclaimed as she added a little bit of a skip to her step. And that skip in her step told me that she was excited. Well, it was more than the skip in her step. It was also the sweet-tooth, cheek-achingly, adorable smile she wore on her precious little face.

“Do you think he’ll… Love it?” I looked down at her for a moment. She stopped walking for a second as she looked down at the picture she had drawn. Tallulah was definitely blessed with Matthew’s sense of style when it came to art (and clothing), which was lovely. She’ll be something of an artist when she grows up, I’m sure of it. Especially when her family portrait has three people and two of them have 2 heads and 4 arms, and the other one has a tail. But, that’s okay. Matthew will most definitely love her drawing. I know I do.

“Love it! Love it!” She looked up at me as she jumped. I laughed and shook my head. She looked down at the pictures again before holding them up to me. I raised an eyebrow before taking them from her to hold.

“Well, I know I love them,” I looked back down at her. As we continued walking, she kept talking about what she got to do with Kirsten and Aj. Her babble was still a little bit incoherent, but I knew what she was saying. God bless Kirsten though. “I’m kinda hungry, do you think daddy will let us get McDonald’s on the way home?” I looked back down at her as she grabbed my hand.

“McDonald’s?” She looked at me with wide eyes. Let me just put that into my child’s mind so she can ask Matthew. Because everyone knows it’s hard to say no to the Gubler child. No one knows better than Matthew.

Unfortunately, our conversations ended there. Because as we turned the corner, Matthew’s voice could be heard. I looked up and saw him standing beside our trailer. The second Tallulah would hear his voice, she would be off and glued to him, instead of me. What a little daddy’s girl.

“Who the fuck is that?” Matthew half-shouted to the cameraman beside him. Even though we were a good distance away from him, I could still hear the words he was saying. I was grateful that Tallulah couldn’t hear him. We both know she’d repeat any word she knows she’s not allowed to say. And since he was standing beside a cameraman, I knew he was filming one of his Unauthorized Documentaries. “Who the fuck is that,” he pulled the cameraman and pointed him towards Tallulah and I. This man and his swearing around his 5-year-old. I swear.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Tallulah shouted once grew closer to him. She let go of my hand before sprinting away from me and towards Matthew. When she was close enough to him, she jumped into the air and Matthew caught her. “Guess what, Daddy!” She shouted into his ear. Matthew laughed as he looked over at me.

“What, Peanut?” He asked, swinging her around so she was on his back. Sort of like a monkey with its baby. It was Tallulah’s favorite way to be carried. “You got to hang out with Kirsten and Aj while mommy and I worked, right?” He looked over his shoulder at his daughter. She laughed as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah!” she looked over at me as I got closer to them. I shuffled the few pictures before flipping them around to show him. “Auntie Kirsten and Auntie Aj let me color!” Tallulah, again, shouted into his ear. Matthew looked at the pictures in my hands and smiled.

“Woah! Peanut, these are awesome! Are you going to be an artist like dad?” He looked over his shoulder and at Tallulah. I smiled as I shuffled the pictures to show more of them.

“Yeeeah,” she smiled before pressing her face into his shoulder, like she was hiding. I smiled before stepping up to him. Matthew smiled before pecking my lips.

“Little Miss and I are starving,” I grabbed his hand and swung it beside me.

“Starving?!” Matthew spoke loud so Tallulah could hear him. A little giggle came from her as she readjusted her position, “Well, we can’t have that! Where do you want to eat, Peanut?”

“McDonalds!”

“McDonalds?” Matthew looked over at me with a raised eyebrow. I smiled and looked down at the ground, “Let’s fucking go then!” Matthew half shouted as he jumped. Tallulah giggled as she hugged her arms tighter around his neck, almost nearly suffocating him.

“Matthew,” I looked at him with the signature mom glare I adopted from my own mother. He looked over at me as he placed a hand on his daughter’s arms. He knew exactly what the glare was meant for. Swearing in front of our 5-year-old. Of course, we both knew that wouldn’t be the first or last time he’d swear in front of her.

“Daddy said fuck!” Tallulah shouted before laughing. Matthew looked at me with an apologetic look in his eye before swinging Tallulah off his back and on to his hip. I cocked my head as I placed my hands on my hips. “Fuck!” She repeated, shouting the word at Matthew. And, again, this wouldn’t be the last time she repeated a swear word.

“Now, Tallulah, that is a mommy and daddy word. You know you shouldn’t say that. Just because mommy or daddy does, doesn’t mean you can,” he looked at her. She pouted before nodded. Thankfully, she actually understood when to not say swear words, she also understood what “mommy and daddy” words were. “Got it?” Matthew looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. She looked up at him and stuck up her thumb.

“Got it!” She smiled before throwing her arms around his neck. Matthew laughed before picking her back up.

“Now, let’s go get some happy meals,” Matthew spoke as he pointed towards the direction of our car. I sighed deeply, walking the opposite direction towards our trailer, knowing they’ll both know we need to stop by there before we leave.

{***}{***}{***}

“She asleep?” I asked, glancing away from my script as Matthew entered the room. He pulled his shirt off as he went towards his closet.

“She’s always insistent on Rumple Buttercup, but almost never makes it to the end,” he laughed as he put his pajamas on. I smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Maybe it’s time you wrote a second one… Give Rumple Buttercup a brother or sister,” I laughed as I rubbed a hand on his back. He looked over his shoulder with a smile before getting comfortable in the bed beside me.

“You know… I’ve been thinking,” Matthew started as he moved closer to me. I looked up from my script and over at him with a raised eyebrow. Something was telling me he wasn’t going to continue talking about a second Rumple Buttercup book… “What if Tallulah had a little brother or sister,” he asked as he looked up at me with puppy dog eyes. I couldn’t help but burst out with laughter. I felt bad for my laughter, mostly because I knew he wanted a second child. But, we were running slim on time with that.

“She is too much of a daddy’s girl to share with anyone, including me, Matthew,” I closed my script as I looked up at him. He looked genuinely hurt with my laughter and comment. “Besides, I thought we were good with the one,” I gestured towards her room.

“But, what if we had another one,” he shrugged. I dropped my shoulders and sighed, but kept a smile on my lips nonetheless. “C’mon, two! That’s a perfect number!” “Two is a perfect number,” I swallowed roughly as I looked down at the bedding in front of me. I couldn’t help but allow the smile on my lips to grow. “And she wouldn’t be alone on family trips,” I mused as I glanced over at him. Matthew was looking at me with the excitement of a kid in a candy store. “You don’t think we should talk about this first? I mean, Matthew, you’re almost 40, I’m nearly 35...” I let out a small laugh.

“I think we just talked about it! And to me it sounds like we both want it,” he smiled before pressing his lips to mine. I hummed before moving away from him.

“Okay, okay, we can try. But not right now. I’m exhausted. Maybe once Marianne is better and we don’t have to take Tallulah to set. Because that was so exhausting,” I ran a hand through his hair and smiled, “Fair?”

“Fair,” he smiled before kissing me softly, “Love you,”

“I love you too,”

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echo-three-one · 3 years

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Whatever It Takes

It's Task Force 141's first mission after gathering intel about the whereabouts of Samantha Coleman. Gary and the rest of the team proceed to briefing and would probably head straight to their rescue mission. Do these mini summaries even make sense? Find out soon.

Chapter 3 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

Previous Chapter : Soap - F.N.G.

"Run Through the Jungle"

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 - Mess Hall

Gary was almost done with his raccoon story when the PA system alerted them of an immediate briefing. Simon nodded to him and got up making his way to the briefing room. Gary also noticed the rest of his squad from earlier walk to the door, and was France crying on Alex? Much to his curiosity, he went to John who was still sitting by the chair.

"Anything you want to tell me, Soap?" he asked, patting his comrade's shoulder.

"Bugger off, mate. Let's just go to the meeting." he replied, Roach couldn't tell if he was sad or disappointed or mad, but it may have something to deal with France crying.

"Whatever mate. I'm always here if you want to talk it out." he assured, and he was in fact true. It's been a month since the Task Force was created and Gary was the team's therapist, everybody's friend and ally no matter what. He always felt that he could feel everyone's emotions and believes he could be a sponge for someone who's unable to deal with the trauma. Ghost was one of his customers, he had a lot to deal with and Gary was always there for him.

"Few hours ago, our informants intercepted with a group of armed men on a safehouse near the borders of Germany. They told us that there was a man named Augustus who happens to be our step closer to Nero." Gary took note of the information General Shepherd relayed, his scribbles became faster as the General continued.

"We also received word that our hostage, Samantha Coleman is with them in one of these houses. We have to proceed with caution as this area may be rigged with traps or surrounded with tangos." he added.

"As for rules of engagement, fire only when fired upon. This is a local settlement and civilians may be anywhere. We don't want to create unnecessary civilian casualties just to retrieve a single person." he instructed. Gary took a quick survey of the room, everyone looked at the screen intently, he could see MacTavish's eyebrows furrowed in anger, France's eyes were downright sad and Alex, despite being a CIA agent, actually looked worried.

"As for assignments, I'll let your captain take the floor." Shepherd concluded and exited the area, Price then stepped forward and began briefing.

The silent chirping of the crickets echoed from the nearby forest. Gary took a cold exhale and leaned on the railings just outside their quarters.

"Big day tomorrow, huh?" Ghost surprised Roach as he spoke.

"Yeah, it's been a long time since I spotted, but I still know the basics." Gary answered. He and Ghost were assigned for sniper support a few clicks away from the Alpha Team lead by Alex and the Bravo Team lead by Captain Price.

"Your math is good and fast?" Ghost asked, chuckling at the question. Gary inhaled before he answered the question.

"Yeah. Try me." he dared, glancing at the masked man.

"Suppose there's a target about 516 meters far, the wind is one half value." Ghost planned out the situation. Gary's gears started turning as he scratched his freshly shaven chin.

"Five degrees. Descending." he muttered. Ghost thought about it and agreed.

"Yeah. Your math is still on point." he mused laughing at him.

"What do you think Nero is up to? I mean it all doesn't add up. And what's with erasing memories?" Gary flooded the man with questions. Simon just pondered without saying any words.

"I dunno mate. I'm as baffled as you are." he replied, waving to Alex and France who were out on a late night walk.

"Say Gary, what's the deal with the new girl? One minute she looks tough as nuts then the second Soap comes in she's fucking crying?" Ghost rambled. Gary could feel a hint of jealousy but not entirely. It's as if he's mad and jealous at the same time.

"Well, we were too far from their table and I couldn't hear anything. Maybe they had an argument while Soap was out with her on the training room?" Gary speculated, he saw Simon's fists clench as he left his side.

"Eh. Not that I care anyway. Get some rest, spotter. Big day tomorrow." he remarked and went to his room.

"Yeah yeah." he replied waving at the two walking around the oval. They both waved back and Gary yelled good night to them before entering the quarters himself.

Gary plopped on his bed and closed his eyes. He was actually nervous enough that he could hear his own heartbeat, he took deep breaths and lulled himself to sleep. He wanted to see to it that they save the hostage tomorrow and a perfect sleep is what he could contribute right now.

GERMANY

0458H

Gary hated the ghillie suits. It was heavy, uncomfortable and animals sometimes land on you, but it does the job well. Treading the dense forestry just above the safehouse, Gary and Simon head out to look for a perfect spot.

"This one's got a view of the houses." Ghost whispered, signaling Roach to move forward.

"This is Echo Three One, we've cleared the two houses on the right, all empty. Over." Alex reported over their comms.

"Bravo Six copies that and the two houses here are also clear." Price reported.

"Looks like it's going to be the one on the far side." Soap concluded.

"I've got eyes on the safehouse. There's no activity on all windows. Proceed with caution." Ghost reported.

"Rog." Price replied.

"Copy that, eye in the sky." Alex replied.

Gary put out his spotting scope and placed his eye behind the lens.

"I've got my eyes on them, Ghosty. Alpha Team is on its way." he whispered.

Ghost rolled some knobs on his sniper making a soft clicking sound as he spins it.

"Don't call me that, Bug. I have eyes on Bravo Team. Still no movement from the safehouse."

"This is Alpha Team, approaching the left side of the safehouse."

"Bravo Team is Oscar Mike as well."

"Roach, did you see that?" Ghost whispered.

"Yeah. The winds are shifting." Gary noted, sticking out a tool that detects wind speed.

"Three Fourths value at 400 meters. 15 miles per hour. Adjust to 15.3" he informed, calculating on Ghosts still shoulder with a pen. Decimals are too dangerous to calculate mentally. Ghost's sniper clicked once again to adjust with the wind, he took a deep breath and his targets stabilized once again.

Leaves rustled behind them, Roach quickly held on his rifle and slowly turned back to check if it was an animal. Nothing, but before turning back on his scope, he saw a black figure from the corner of his eye.

"Bollocks. We've got movement on our Six." Roach reported.

"Remember our ROE, Roach. Fire only when fired upon." Price reminded.

"I'll take care of it from here. You go check on that." Ghost said as he turned back to his scope.

"Roger that. Be safe." Roach quickly ran to the direction if the rustling.

He couldn't make out much of the figure, but he was sure enough it was human. He tried to look for areas where the leaves were disturbed but with the wind picking up, he was clueless. Then there it was again, movement. He quickly dashed to it's direction, not wanting to get lost again. His boots slapped the fresh soil as he made his wauy to a clearing.

'Left, right then left by the rocks.' Gary mentally noted his each turn so he could easily remember but when he's chasing someone whom he felt like it doesn't know where it goes, then it's a whole different story.

Gary was alone in the windy forest, in pursuit of a person who's out on the woods at five in the morning. He wanted to go back but there's something that bothered him and convinced him to keep chasing it.

"Roach, you okay? They're almost in the safehouse." Ghost pointed out.

"Yeah haaaah… I'm still haaaah… hot on its trail." Gary panted. He suddenly turned when he heard a yelp.

"It's a girl. It might be our hostage." he radioed and followed the direction of the sound.

Soft sobs and English curse words could be heard from where Gary emerged. This alerted the injured female and she plead at the British solider.

"Please. I'm not an enemy. I'm I'm- I don't know who I am or where I am… Please. Don't hurt me." She was an American girl, possibly around 20-30 years old and had blonde hair wearing a black tank top and grey sweatpants, there were a few bruises on her arms and she was threatening him with a stick.

"Maam, put down your weapon and calm down. I will not hurt you." he dropped his weapon slowly on the ground stepped forward, his hands both raised.

"Good good. I need help." she whimpered, looking at her sprained ankle.

Gary immediately took his ghillie off and ripped a piece of his sleeves to wrap around the sprain, treating it with something from his medical kit.

"There you go… You're feeling better now? Maam?" Gary accommodated. The unknown blonde nodded in agreement.

"So.. you don't know who you are?" Gary asked.

"All I know is that I'm with another girl, Brunette." she added.

"I located the one out on the woods. She's American but I can't ID her. She's about 20 - 30 years old, short blonde hair." Gary informed.

"Is that Maxine?" Alex and France simultaneously replied over comms.

"Excuse me. Do you go by Maxine?" Gary asked politely. The girl quickly covered her ears and screamed.

"Aaaaaah! My head hurts!" She yelled. Gary was quick enough to cover her mouth as soon as she opened it as to not give away their presence.

"I don't know if that's a yes or a no guys. But that definitely is a reaction." Gary said over the comms. He assisted "Maxine" and lifted her up as he tries to get back to Ghost.

"Thick trees everywhere. Any Idea where you are Ghost?" he asked over the secure radio.

"I'm at the same spot I've been since we got here. Can't you retrace your steps?" he replied.

"I could try." he muttered, carrying an unconscious woman on his shoulders across the jungle.

Next Chapter : Déjà vu

#horRAYfic #codmw #codmwfic #gary roach sanderson #john soap mactavish #john price #simon ghost riley #alex echo 3 1 #Roach deserves some love

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sweetdreamsjeff · 7 years

Text

Knowing Not Knowing

"Early in the spring of 1997, singer and songwriter Jeff Buckley headed down to Memphis to begin pre-production on what would have been his second full-length album. A few weeks after Buckley arrived, his bandmates flew in from New York to join him. He was in high spirits: the songwriting was going well, and he was reunited with his group. The same night his band arrived Buckley went out for a late-night stroll to a Memphis harbor and waded into the river. He had always admired Led Zeppelin, and was singing "Whole Lotta Love" when a boat passed in front of him. He lost his footing, perhaps dragged into the water by the boat's wake, and was never seen alive again. He was thirty years old, two years older than his father, the folksinger Tim Buckley, had been when he died of a drug overdose. "I first met Jeff Buckley and saw him perform about two years before he passed away. It was near midnight and Buckley was sitting int he back office of a Tower Records store in lower Manhattan. Buckley had become a scion of the Lower East Side antifolk scene, and was preparing for an in-store performance in support of his album GRACE. "But first he needed to do something: he insisted on listening to a crackly old recording of "The Man That Got Away" by Judy Garland, in the pretext that he wanted the store manager, who had given the CD to Buckley, to understand how magnificent a gift it was. Buckley needed to demonstrate the album's beauty. He had also picked up gratis CD reissues of vintage Aretha Franklin and Nina Simone records, and two albums by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, who had a major influence on Buckley's singing. While Buckley could occasionally summon the same kind of ecstatic vocal power that was Khan's trademark, his singing had more in common with Garland's delicate, vulnerable warble. "Buckley was an unglamorous star. That night he was wearing a wretched pair of weathered combat boots- the sort you occasionally see homeless men selling- a frumpy gray cardigan sweater, and jeans that hadn't been washed in a long time. Ditto his hair. In an oddly white-trash bit of accessorizing, Buckley's wallet was attached to his belt by a chain, in the style favored by motorcyle gangs. Three days of beard growth rounded out his anti-coif, but his sex appeal remained intact: a nervous girl approached to ask if, as she suspected, he was a Scorpio. Another pressed a poem she had written for him into his hand. He folded it carefully and put it in his pocket, as though he would cherish it forever. Maybe he did. Buckley was at an odd moment in his career when he died. Having moved to New York several years before from California, where he was raised by his mother, he crawled his way up through the ranks of teh insular lower Manhattan music scene. He had beome a mini-star in that highly circumsribed mircrocosm, perched on the cusp of national and international success. That night at Tower records the line between Lower East Side local hero and international stardom seemed pretty thin. On one hand, his debut album sold several hundred thousand copies (although more in Europe than America), and there was a trhrong of photographers and autograph-seekers pressing around him. ON the other hand, he wasn't above hauling his own gear onstage, more or less indistinguishable from the half dozen stringy-haired sound men and roadies who were putting together the sound system in the first place. "Buckley had no video in heavy rotation on MTV, largely because he insisted that people judge the music on the way it sounded before supplying them with an accompanying image. For the same reason, he refused to even suggest a single to radio deejays. 'What I'd love,' Buckley said, 'is if a deejay had a lineup of songs, and he'd just use one of my songs as part of a really nice evening. But that's the way I would deejay, not the way they do it. They usually have playlists.' "For a guy with folksinging in his blood, Buckley had assembled an arsenal of prog-rock guitar effects you'd expect at an Emerson, Lake, and Palmer show and had set his amp at cat-spaying volume. (In fact, he had been raised on Led Zeppelin and Kiss.) Several dozen more stringy-haired people with assorted rings in their lips and noses (his fans) materialized. AS he stepped onto the makeshift stage, a grumpy security guard began clearing some fans from a stairway, but Buckley interjected: 'Wait! Those are my friends! Can they stay there? I give them special permission.' What started as dispensation for four friends ended up being extended to anybody who wanted to stay. "The set began with a ghostly wail from Buckley, and a mildly Middle Eastern guitar line. He sang with a vibrato that quivered like the tongue of a snake. It was so atmospheric that you hardly realized his bandmates were rocking their tits off. That was the tension: Buckley ululating in sensual falsetto, the band churning out mid-seventies Led Zep knockoffs. He seemed a strangely ethereal cherub in the midsst of all that visceral thrash. "After the show, Buckley signed autographs, taking several minutes with the thirty or so fans who lined up for an audience with the tousle-haired singer. Rather than just scribbling an autograph, he wrote a personal note to each person. Everything he did seemed to place poetry before commerce, but I couldn't help wondering if it was all an elaborate ruse, a crafty stance aimed at those disenchanted with the slickness of pop posturing. Didn't Buckley, after all, want to make a lot of money and sell records? "'If it happens it'd be great,' he said later that night, over omelettes and wine at an all-night eatery, 'but we just play to express. I want to live my life playing music, so that we can be immersed in it. In order to learn how deep it goes, you have to be in it.' "As to why he took so much time with each of the fans who asked for an autograph, Buckley articulated his basic anti-rock-star stance: 'The way I experience a performance is that there's an exchange going on. It's not just my ego being fed. It's thoughts and feelings. Raw expression has it's own knowledge and wisdom." He trailed off, as though humbled by the mere thought of his audience wanting to hear him play, or asking him for an autograph. 'I've been in their position before and all I wanted was to show my appreciation to the performaer. So I feel like it's kind of generous of them to even be asking me for an autograph.' "'It's true that there's also the people who want a piece of you,' he conceded. 'But it's pretty hard to keep feeling protective all the time, because there's really nothign to protect yourself against. Sometimes people shout at me on the street, and they feel they know me through my music. But that doesn't substitute for a real personal relationship. I don't feel like people know me, I just htink we share a love for music in common, and for some reason they key into the way I play. I feel appretiative when people come up to me, and I feel good when we connect. Usually, it serves as a nice comedown after a performance. Any other conduct would bust the groove, because I'm buzzing when I get offstage, and I'm consciously protecting that connection because that's what got me through the performance in the first place. It's an invocation and worship fo this certain feeling, this direct line into your heart, and somehow music does that more powerfully than anything else. It's like ! a total, immediate elixir.' "By all appearances Buckley conformed to the stereotype of the poetic artist: largely lacking the practical, thick-skinned psychic barrier that separates most of us from the harsh realities of life. With a rabbit-like nervous disposition and a hypersensitive vulnerability that bordered on the tragicomic, he looked like he was about to burst into tears at any moment. His face was contorted and slightly tortured-looking during most of the interview, though I got the impression it wasn't so much the experience of being interviewed that was torturing him but the pain of grappling with his own thoughts and the world around him. "Relationships were at the heart of Buckley's world. Although he was marketed as a solo artist, the attitude he had toward his listeners mirrored the relationshiop he formed with his three-piece backing band. 'Playing with a band is all about accepting a bond, accepting everything the way it is. It takes a lot of patience and a lot of taking chances with each other. It wakes seeing each other in weak and strong lights, and accepting both, and utilizing the high and low points of your relationship.' "It wasn't only interpersonal relationships that Buckley held sacred-- he was aware of making his music in relation to all the sounds around him. The environment was Buckley's co-composer: to his ears, no melody or rhythm was separate from the sounds going on in the background. 'It's not like music begins or ends. All hinds of sounds are working into each other. Sometimes I'll just stop on the street because there's a sequence of sirens going on; it's like a melody I'll never hear again. In performance, things can be meaningful or frivolous, but either way the musical experience is totally spontaneous, and new life comes out of it, meaning if you're open to hearing the way music interacts with ambient sound, performance never feels like a rote experience. It's pretty special sometimes, the way a song affects a room, the way you're in complete rhythm with the song. When you're emotionally overcome, and there's no filter between what you say and what you mean, your language beco! mes gutteral, simple, emotional, and full of pictures and clarity. Were you to transcribe it, it might not make sense, but music is a totally different language." "'People talk all day in a practical way, but real language that penetrates and affects people and carries wisdom is something different. Mayve it's the middle of the afternoon and you see a child's moon up in the sky, and youfeel like it's such a simple, pure, wonderful thing to look at. It just hits you in a certain way, and you point it out to a stranger, and he looks at you like you're weird and walks away. To speak that way, to point out a child's moon to a stranger, is original language, it's the way you originate yourself. And the cool thing is, if you catch people in the right moment, it's totally clear. Without knowing why, it's simply clear. That sort of connection is very empirical. It comes from the part of you that just understands immediately. All these types of things are gold, and yet they are dishonored or not paid attention to because that kind of tender communication is so alien in our culture, *except* in performance. There's a wall up between people all day long ,but performance transcends that convention. If pop music were really seen as a fine art or if fine art were popular, I don't know what the hell would happen-- this wouldn't bee the same country, because if the masses of people began to respect and really open to fine art, it woudl bring about a huge shift in consciousness. "'Music is so many things. It's not just the performer. it's the audience and the architecture of the song, and each builds off the other. Music is a setting for poignancy, anger, destruction, total disaster, total wrongness, and then- like a little speck of gold in the middle of it- excitement, but excitement in a way that matters. Excitement that is not just aesthetically pleasing but shoots some sort of understanding into you.' "Buckley's songs were composed with made-up chords, bright harmonic clusters that seem too obvious not to have been written before, yet they rarely feel formulaic. There's a lot of open strumming, suggesting that the songs were written largely for the sheer physical pleasure of playing them. He and his band modified the arrangements during each performance, playing with an elasticity and openness typical of Buckley's personality. 'Hearing a song is like meeting somebody. A song is something that took time to grow and once it's there, it's on its own. Every time you perform it, it's different. It has its own structure, and you ahve to flow thorugh it, and it has to come through you.' "Buckley's entire career reflected on his outsider's approach to the music business. When he arrived in New York, rahter than recordings a demo or finding an agent, he simpley began to perform for free. He palyed at a small cafe on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, and before long, crowds were lined up out the door. As a result, representatives of record companies sought out Buckley, rahter than the other way around. 'There is a distinct separation of sensibility between art as commerce and art as a way of life. If you buy into one too heavily it eats up the other. If instead of having songs happen as your life happens, you're getting a song together because you need a cetain number of songs on a release to be sold, the juice is cuked out immediately. That approach kills it.' "Still, it took a strong belief in one's art to sit in a small cafe and trust that the world's record companies would come calling. buckley palyed down his seemingly effortless approach to career as though it were common-sense. 'I just wanted to learn cetain things. I wanted to just explore, like a kid with crayons. It took a while for me to get a record contract, but it also took a trememdous amount of time for me to feel comfortable playing, and that's all I was concerned with. And I'm still concerned with that, mainly. "'I don't think about my responsibility as a musician in terms of any kind of religious significance. I don't have any allegiance to an organized religion; I have an alligience to the gifts that I find for myslef in those religions. They seem to be saying the same thing, they just have different mythologies and expressions, but the dogma of religions and the way they're misusued is all too much of a trap. I'd rather be nondenominational, except for music. I prefer to learn everything through music. If you want divinity, the music in every human being and their lvoe for music is pretty much it. It's the big indication of their spirituality and their ability to love and make love, or feel pain or joy, and really manifest it, really be real. But I don't believe in a big guy with a beard on a throne, telling us that we're bad; I certainly don't believe in original sin. I belive in the opposite of that: you have an Eden immediately form the time you are born, but as you are conditioned by your caretakers and your suroundings, you may lose that original thing. Your task is to get back to it, so you can claim responsibility for your own perfection.' "buckley considered the development of awareness to be the main goal of his life. 'I think of it as trying to get more aligned with the feeling of purity in music, however it sounds. I think music is prayer. Sometimes poeple make up prayers and they don't even know it. They jsuit make up a song that has rhyme and meter, and once it's made it can carry on a life of its own. It can have a lot of juice to it and a lot of meaning: there's no end to the different individual flavors that people can bring to the musical form. 'In order to make the music actual, you have to enable it to be. And that takes facing some ting sinsude you that constrict you, your own impurity and mistakes and blockages. As yo uopen up yourself, the music opens up different directions that lead you in yet other directions.' "Asking most pop musicians if they're satisfied with records sales is liek asking moleds about the aging process: they say they don't care, but it's hard to believe. For commercial recording artists, sales are the only objective indicator of whether they're doing things right- that fans are sincerely motivated to walk into records stores by the tens or by the millions, pull out their wallets, and pay for the music. But with his quiet, unaffected boice nearly a whisper, Buckley steadfastly maintained tha the really didn't want to sell a million records- and it was strangely believable. When he talked aobut multiplatinum-selling bands who felt "disappointed" by a mere five million copies sold, the disgust he felt for commercialism was palpabale. 'The only valuable thing about selling records, the only thing that matters, is that people connect and that you keep on growing. You do many choices based on how many poeple you reach, meaning, now that I have a relationship with strangers worldwide, I have to try not to let it become too much of a factor and just accept it. The limited success we've had in the past is definately a factor, it's just there. It jsut is. The whole thing is such a crapshoot, you can't really control what your appeal is going to be. My music ain't gonna make it into the malls, but it doesn't matter. I don't really care to make it into the malls. "'Whether I sell a lot of records or not isn't up to me. You can sell alot of records, but that's just a number sold- that's not understood, or loved, or cherished. "'Take someone like Michael Jackson. Early on he sacrificed himself to his need to be loved by all. His talent and his power were so great that he got what he wanted but he also got a direct, negative result, which is that he's not able to grown into an adult human being. And that's why his music sounds sort of empty and wierd. "'Being the kind of person I am, fame is really overwhelming. First of all, just being faced with the questions that everybody faces: Do I matter? Should I go on? Why am I here? Is this really that improtant? All that low self-esteem shit. Your'e constantly trying to make sure that your sense of self-worth doesn't depend on the writings or opinions of other people. You have to wean yourself off acclaim as the object of your work, by learning to depend on your own judgment and knowing what it is that you enjoy. Youhave to realize what the difference is between being adored and being loved and understood. Big difference. "'I don't really have super-pointed answers to the big questions. I'm just in the middle of a mystery myself. I'm not even that developed at having a real psycho-religeous epistemology about what I feel. All I can tell you is that I feel. It's just the same old fitht to constantly be aware. It's an ongoing thing. It'll never be a static perfect thing or a static mediocre thing, it just has it's rise and fall.'" The following chapter has been transcribed from Shambhala Publishers' _Inside the Music: Conversations with Contemporary Musicians about Spirtuality, Creativity and Consciousness_, by Dimitri Ehrlich; ISBN #1-57062-273-6

#jeff buckley #inside the music conversations with contemporary musicians about #spirituality #creativity and consciousness #Dimitri Ehrlich

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anjibooks · 6 years

Text

Mini Reviews: Rhapsodic, A Poison Dark and Drowning, and One of Us is Lying

(Copied over from my blog anjibooks.weebly.com. Originally posted 3/7/2018)

I always try to write my reviews close(ish) to the time after I read them, because the longer the time between the review and actually reading the book, the less detail you can give. Here are three books that I read last year (2017) and never got around to actually fleshing out a full review. I know I use this excuse every time but I'm really sorry, it's a really busy year. I know these are all excuses but I'll give them to y'all anyway to ease my guilt. It's my junior year, and I'm taking all the hardest classes accessible to me = lots of work. Aside from that I also for some reason decided to take on a ton of extra work on the side including tutoring several students, being a producer for our school's play and musical plus I also do stats for the wrestling & lacrosse team plus I also do Cappies and I also like to enjoy just hanging out with my friends while also getting around to read occasionally. So yeah, lots of excuses but now you know why I don't write reviews quite as often. I actually haven't been having time to read quite as often, either, so sorry. Alright, now that you all are tired of hearing my excuses and about my busy life, here are some mini reviews to give you a feel for these three books.

Rhapsodic by Laura Thalassa What attracted me to this book? While scrolling through Tumblr on my occasional need to look for ACOMAF material (my favorite book), I heard this book had a similar set up of characters and story to A Court of Mist and Fury, and it had a good review. Obviously I had to get it immediately. Unfortunately, this book was just that. A rip off of A Court of Mist and Fury. Instead of using the good bits of ACOMAF and twisting them into a new and enterprising book, this just took the tropes and tried to rush into a story that readers will swoon over. Spoiler, I did not swoon. In fact, I spent most of this book rolling my eyes. I really wanted to like it, I did, but I just couldn't. Other than the characters' amazing journey and the well thought out plot in A Court Of Mist and Fury, that book worked so well because we were already attached to the characters and story and knew the world from our experience with the first book. Also the writing in A Court of Mist in Fury was just beautiful. I've never fallen in love with a story and its characters more than my experience with A Court of Mist and Fury. I know, y'all might be thinking I might've enjoyed the book if I quit comparing it to my favorite book. It was impossible not to compare, though. In fact, Rhapsodic basically was A Court of Mist and Fury with just changed names, and instead of beautifully setting up a story to connect with like A Court of Thorns and Roses did, this book just rushed right into the part of the story everyone loved, as if trying to just get to the money//fans. There was no journey to get attached to the characters. They were just there already, as was their relationship. All together, I found this book to just be a mess. The characters were just meh, I didn't care for any of them. I was actually more annoyed with the choices they made more than I actually found myself connecting with them. There were scenes where I knew I was supposed to care and that were pivotal moments, but I just didn't because I didn't care enough about the characters (or at all, really). I think that's all due to the lack of set up for the story. Would A Court of Mist and Fury have done as well as it did without its first book? Who knows. I just couldn't fall in love, or even in like with this book. Sorry. 4/10 stars. I'm not all that interested in trying the next one. Might as well leave that to fans who actually enjoyed the book and leave out the low rating for it. Synopsis: Callypso Lillis is a siren with a very big problem, one that stretches up her arm and far into her past. For the last seven years she’s been collecting a bracelet of black beads up her wrist, magical IOUs for favors she’s received. Only death or repayment will fulfill the obligations. Only then will the beads disappear. Everyone knows that if you need a favor, you go to the Bargainer to make it happen. He’s a man who can get you anything you want... at a price. And everyone knows that sooner or later he always collects. But for one of his clients, he’s never asked for repayment. Not until now. When Callie finds the fae king of the night in her room, a grin on his lips and a twinkle in his eye, she knows things are about to change. At first it’s just a chaste kiss—a single bead’s worth—and a promise for more. For the Bargainer, it’s more than just a matter of rekindling an old romance. Something is happening in the Otherworld. Fae warriors are going missing one by one. Only the women are returned, each in a glass casket, a child clutched to their breast. And then there are the whispers among the slaves, whispers of an evil that’s been awoken. If the Bargainer has any hope to save his people, he’ll need the help of the siren he spurned long ago. Only, his foe has a taste for exotic creatures, and Callie just happens to be one.

A Poison Dark and Drowning by Jessica Cluess As you may or might not recall, I was very enraptured with the first book in this series and was quite looking forward to book 2. Unfortunately, the second was not nearly as fun a read as the first. There was just so much about this book that felt rushed. Since I read it a long time ago, I don't recall the exact details of what irked me about this book, but I remember a lot of feeling irked and a lot of eye rolls. A lot of stuff happened in this book that I didn't particularly care about. There's a new character introduced that I could tell from the beginning was going to be a main, but I just didn't care for them. Still don't. Also, sorry, but Rook annoyed me even more in this book than he did in the first, so, yeah, I didn't feel all that bad for him and his plight. Yeah, it's been a long time so I don't want to start spouting off too much stuff because I can't accurately remember it all. Also the "plot-twists" were not so much as twists as they were just... there. The big reveals? Yeah, they were easily guessable from about five hundred miles away. I'm sorry for the rant. This is why I don't like to write reviews long after I read the book, it's easier to remember the negative, especially if there wasn't anything overwhelmingly positive. I'm sure there were good elements of the book, they just weren't great and they are forgotten in comparison to the negatives of the novel. All together, like the first book, I suppose you could call it a fun combination of classic tropes and cliches. (Which is part of what made it so predicable). If you enjoyed the first book, read this one. Why not? Don't let my short little rant stop you from reading it, because plenty people did enjoy this one. Don't take my word on this book too seriously since it's been too long for me to give an accurate review. All I can really accurately remember is being annoyed and liking this book less than the first. So if you didn't like the first all that much, maybe this isn't the book for you since the story doesn't actually get better... I can't decide what to give this book, I'm caught between 5-6/10 stars, so I'll leave it there. Synopsis: The magicians want her to lead. The sorcerers want her to lie. The demons want her blood. Henrietta wants to save the one she loves. But will his dark magic be her undoing? Henrietta doesn’t need a prophecy to know that she’s in danger. She came to London to be named the chosen one, the first female sorcerer in centuries, the one who would defeat the bloodthirsty Ancients. Instead, she discovered a city ruled by secrets. And the biggest secret of all: Henrietta is not the chosen one. Still, she must play the role in order to keep herself and Rook, her best friend and childhood love, safe. But can she truly save him? The poison in Rook’s system is transforming him into something monstrous as he begins to master dark powers of his own. So when Henrietta finds a clue to the Ancients’ past that could turn the tide of the war, she persuades Blackwood, the mysterious Earl of Sorrow-Fell, to travel up the coast to seek out strange new weapons. And Magnus, the brave, reckless flirt who wants to win back her favor, is assigned to their mission. Together, they will face monsters, meet powerful new allies, and uncover the most devastating weapon of all: the truth.

One of Us Is Lying by Karen M. McManus I often talk about how hype can completely ruin a book. This book was one that was severely overhyped. Sometime, I think it was over the summer everyone was talking about this book, you could barely turn a corner in the book world without hearing about One of Us Is Lying. Eventually, after a lot of resistance, I finally got sucked in and figured: screw it. I might as well try it out, I might be missing out. I wasn't. One of Us if Lying is advertised as a modern day "mystery" novel. The basic premise is that five students go into detention. The jock, the popular girl, the nerdy/good girl and the "bad boy" are all the classic cliches you need, and then the fifth is a student universally hated by everyone in his school. He runs a gossip blog and basically ruins everyone's lives. If you have a dark secret Simon posts about it. So when Simon is murdered in detention and it's discovered that he was about to make a post about everyone who was present in the detention room, they all instantly become suspects in his murder. Without spoiling on the mystery of the novel, I'd just like to say it was predictable and also poorly written/thought out. Why do I say that? Well, I predicted the murderer before I even opened the book. It's kind of hard to scrape by on calling the book a mystery if it's that predictable. By poorly written I mean the characters weren't written well enough for me to find them and their story compelling. There was not a single character in this book that had my sympathy/that I even remotely cared about. And the relationships? Don't even get me started. I know, I was suppose to majorly ship the bad boy and the good girl because that's a classic, right? I had to love it. I didn't, and it's not because that's a total cliche, because I love cliches. It's because the writing and the story, I just didn't particularly care for their relationship. At all, partially (mostly) due to the fact that I didn't actually care about any of them. They just weren't compelling, or written in a way that I could connect with them. And by poorly thought out? I mean this book caused a lot of controversy from a certain group of people, more on that in my spoiler section, but let me say I agree with this group 100%. Was it the hype that destroyed the book, or the book itself? I think a combination of both. I went into the book expecting great things, and was met with less than mediocre content, which made the let down even greater. All together, I was left unimpressed. 5/10 stars. Synopsis: The Breakfast Club meets Pretty Little Liars, One of Us Is Lying is the story of what happens when five strangers walk into detention and only four walk out alive. Everyone is a suspect, and everyone has something to hide. Pay close attention and you might solve this. On Monday afternoon, five students at Bayview High walk into detention. Bronwyn, the brain, is Yale-bound and never breaks a rule. Addy, the beauty, is the picture-perfect homecoming princess. Nate, the criminal, is already on probation for dealing. Cooper, the athlete, is the all-star baseball pitcher. And Simon, the outcast, is the creator of Bayview High's notorious gossip app. Only, Simon never makes it out of that classroom. Before the end of detention, Simon's dead. And according to investigators, his death wasn't an accident. On Monday, he died. But on Tuesday, he'd planned to post juicy reveals about all four of his high-profile classmates, which makes all four of them suspects in his murder. Or are they the perfect patsies for a killer who's still on the loose? Everyone has secrets, right? What really matters is how far you would go to protect them." SPOILERS Spoiler: ALL OF THEM WERE LYING, but not in the way that counted. See, the author tried to make it a huge plot twist that none of them killed Simon. Except that wasn't plot twist, it was actually what I was expecting. What would be more of a plot twist and what I was hoping to occur (but not expecting) was that one of them actually did kill Simon, because that would've actually made the story interesting. Seeing inside the character's head the entire book and being fooled by them? And then seeing why, the motivation and how (they came up with the plan)? Yes. I would have absotlely loved that. In fact, if that had been the case it might have actually redeemed the novel somewhat in my eyes. Instead, the novel took the predictable route and made Simon the culprit. Which is exactly what I had been expecting the entire time. And that group pissed off? It's the group saying that this book is mocking mental illness and using it as a get out of jail free card. I agree with that. As someone who's seen a lot of mental illness and is very close to it, I would say this was not a good way to represent it. At all. I could go on a whole rant on that topic, but I'll just leave it at I don't think this book handled the mental illness aspect well. Thanks for reading these rant-ish reviews. Sorry they were ranty. Love y'all! Anj

#one of us is lying #karen m mcmanus #rhapsodic #laura thalassa #a poison dark and drowning #jessica cluess

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