order is being restored

I feel like you can tell which Shades of Magic character you are by what you want to see most in CoL

Do you want reveals about the pasts of the world and characters, a deescalation of all the drama in the present, and some kind of assurance that there’s a chance for happiness in the post-book future? You and Kell are on the same page.

Like do you want, more than anything, for a reconciliation between Kell and the King and Queen? Or for the King and Queen to at least apologize to Kell? You’re probably Rhy.

Is what you want action packed scenes full of breath taking fights and a high stakes, heart pounding climax? You are Lila Bard .

Do you want a promise of balance? Of some kind of order being restored to the four Londons? Of a restoration of both Black and White London, of the magic no longer being solely in the hands of Red London, and some sort of equilibrium reached? You are the most beautifully suffering Holland.

Are you highly, foolishly invested in everyone reaching some kind of emotional stability? In Rhy not hating himself for lack of power and learning to appreciate what he can do without magic? In Kell finding a balance between responsibility and self-care? Of Lila learning when to step back, when to slow down, and when it’s okay to stay and grow close to people? If so, You are Tieren, my guy, bless your heart.

And finally, is what you want more than anything else in this book is for Lila and Kell to have sex? You are Calla, and your single-minded focus is admirable.

“A great king is the result of a great need. When the nation is sore beset, when the times are full of presage of disaster, and ruin hangs ominously on the horizon; then the great king comes to rescue his people from danger, to restore order and well being, and to reign over his realm once more made happy and prosperous by his efforts.” 

- Stanley Lane-Poole, ‘The Moors In Spain”

theowelman  asked:

companions reaction when they tried skydiving for the first time (thank you! :))

So, just to set the context: Sole Survivor finds an abandoned Vertibird at an old Paramilitary outpost. With Sturges or someone else’s help, they get it back to fully functioning order, and put (way too much) faith in the old parachutes they found lying around. Skydiving ensues!

Cait: Cait curses her ass off, until eventually going quiet and pale as the Vertibird ascends “pretty damn high!”. She peeks out of the open door as the pilot begins to hover, and immediately jerks back, a tinge of green now on her ghostly face. Sole whips out a bottle of brandy they brought up, and pours two doubles. Cait stares between them and the glass. “Oh, fuck it!” She yells. They clink glasses, shot, link arms, and jump!

Codsworth: Due to how old Codsworth is, and the lack of surviving General Atomics maintenance staff, both he and Sole decide not to risk it. Much to Codsworth’s relief. He waits on the ground, helping to salvage the spent parachutes as the other companions touch down.

Curie: The minute Sole informs her about the Vertibird being restored to working order, she begs for a skyline tour of the Wasteland. Sole happily accepts, and offers a parachute, insisting she can get an even more exciting view. Curie hesitates for all of 0.5 seconds before accepting, a massive grin on her face during the flight, the jump, and the landing. She’s positively bouncing with joy for the rest of the day, surprising Sole with hugs and bursts of laughter afterward.

Danse: Danse gives Sole’s request a shrug and a slight frown. “That Vertibird could very well help the Brotherhood, Soldier,” He begins, but seeing Sole’s adamant glare he relents, shifting awkwardly. “But considering all of the hard work you put into it.. Well, I suppose you deserve some use.”
“You’re damn right I do,” Sole agrees loudly, folding their arms. “So are you gonna jump or what, Paladin?”

Deacon: Deacon is the pilot. Sole had assumed he was talking his usual nonsense when he claimed ten years of aviation skills, but once the Railroad agent donned his Flight Captain hat and jumped in the cockpit, he flew smoother than trips Sole had taken before the War. Screaming and horror occurs when Deacon appears in the crew area just before they’re about to jump. He shrugs. “What? Autopilot is there for a reason.”

Dogmeat: Dogmeat is strapped to Sole for every jump they take. He looks adorable, aviator goggles keeping his warm brown eyes safe and a harness keeping him snug with his master. His ears and tongue flap wildly in the rushing wind, slapping Sole in the face more than once. As soon as the jump finishes, he runs back to the Vertibird, ready for the next trip!

Hancock: Hancock loads up on jet beforehand, and is totally chill the entire process. Only when he leans out to examine just where they’re jumping does he react with more than a lazy smile. “Whoa. We’re throwing ourselves out there?” He turns to Sole next to him, tugging on his parachute straps. “Yeah. You ready?” Sole says excitedly, swinging from the metal bar on the ceiling. Hancock gawps for a moment, then grins. “Yeah.” He says, the end of his word trailing off as he takes a single step, falling out into the sky. Sole stares, wide-eyed for a moment before launching out after him.

MacCready: MacCready has terrible motion sickness for the entire flight and can’t jump. Sole sits next to him, rubbing his back as he proceeds to vomit into his hat, the only thing available. He grumbles the whole time. “That was a good hat..”. “I know, Mac,” Sole resists the urge to laugh, signalling Deacon to take the Vertibird back down. “My favourite hat..”

Maxson: Maxson does the jump in his specially modified power armor, keen to set the new Brotherhood record for highest freefall. Sole is still checking all their parachute straps and goggles when they hear the whoosh of hydraulics. They rush to the edge of the Vertibird, squinting to the ground below. Maxson drops like a stone, and Sole gasps as they see a massive cloud of dust erupt with his landing. They wait with baited breath, then sag with relief as they see the triumphant fire of Maxson’s laser gatling into the sky.

Nick: Nick shakes his head, chuckling at the way Sole pleads him to join for a jump. “Just one,” They say. “C’mon Nicky, even Dogmeat jumps!”. “Dogmeat would jump into a live volcano if it was with you, Sole,” He snorts, puffing away on his cigarette. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” Nick begins. “Well actually, I don’t want to, but also, look at me, pal,” Nick gestures to his metal hand, and the wearing plates of his synthetic body. “I jump out of that thing? You’ll be picking me up in pieces.”

Piper: Piper is nervous at first, but warms to the idea once she takes a tour in the Vertibird. The view is breathtaking, and the steady comfort of Sole’s arm around her shoulders during the flight keeps a smile on her face. “Alright, Blue. I’ll do it.” Sole leaps up from their spot next to her, grabbing out two parachutes they’d stowed away. Piper rolls her eyes, but laughs all the same. They jump holding hands, and when they land, Piper has the biggest, brightest grin on her face. She joins Sole on several other jumps.

Preston: Preston’s leg jostles as the Vertibird ascends. His hand picks at a frayed thread on his pants, and his jaw clenches. Sole reaches over and squeezes his hand, firing him a reassuring smile. Preston lets out a low, whistling breath, then moves to the edge of the Vertibird, preparing to jump. He turns to Sole. “If I die,” He begins, prompting a chuckle from Sole. “I’m coming back to haunt your ass.”

Strong: Strong is too bulky for both the Vertibird and the parachute. Instead, he roars with laughter at the sickly look on the weak human’s faces as they board the Vertibird, and how goofy they look, stumbling around upon landing.

Travis: Tandem jump with Sole. Travis faints on the flight up. He faints as they jump. When he comes to mid-dive? He faints again. As they come to a gentle landing, he dazes awake, confused as to why he’s strapped to Sole and where they are. He doesn’t remember a thing.

X6-88: X6 denies the request, dismissing it as an unnecessary diversion from their main goal. “What if we drop over our objective?” Sole suggests, not to be dissuaded. X6 considers it for a while, then nods. “It could be an excellent stealth approach. Very well.” He and Sole plan the jump for late in the evening, and ascend higher than any of their other dives. Sole peers out into the dark sky, breaths coming quick into their lungs from the sheer altitude they are at. This is the only jump in which they are nervous.

I’ve actually been skydiving in real-life. Its one of my fondest memories and best experiences. If any of you guys get the opportunity, do it! The flight is nervewracking but the jump is a rush of adrenaline like nothing else. 


Caverns and Tests P.3

I don’t know if I should analyze what’s happening around me or not. Robaj has already proven to be a master a illusions. So as the elegant buildings of Dalaran appeared, much like a work of sand art being restored to it’s proper order, I caught myself in a impressed breathless moment.

“How real is this?” Was the first thing out of my mouth.

The white haired man chuckled. “Thorough as ever, no, time for you to pay attention. This is the second lesson. First you learned to observe. Now. You must insure someone stays on their path.”

Robaj moved forward his hands catching some golden light. “It’s early April of the year you are currently in… You are in Dalaran, and someone has just noticed you…”

His face suddenly grew pained. “I am sorry for this pain you must live, but you will understand, as well all do…”

I was going to ask him what we meant. At first my mind couldn’t think what was happening in April that would be so important to be of note. Instead.. I hear it… I hear him.

“Didn’t think I’d see you in Dalaran.” An arm slides comfortably around my waste.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

But could you imagine an alternate ending to Gutters where years later when the world is being restored back to order and the sea level is decreasing? Peter could be just helping to build a shelter on Denmark's land and, when he's picking up a really heavy piece of wood, he gets some assistance. Wondering who decided to help him, Peter turns to see a reincarnated Denmark who smiles brightly at him and asks,"Need a hand?"


pearwaldorf  asked:

Phasma, Hux, and Kylo at a dinner party where they have to be nice to each other

With thanks to @kylostahp for pointing out how this should go.

Scenes from the dinner party that nearly killed General Hux

The dowager duchess of the planet greets them off the landing pad. It’s a great honour to have the First Order visit, she says, as Hux takes her hand. So nice to see some real order being restored. Approaching Ren, she extends her hand again and- miraculously- he folds himself into a perfect Alderaanian court bow, taking the extended limb and pressing it to his lips. The dowager duchess giggles.

It takes all of Hux’s self control not to fall off the landing pad.

“Captain Phasma, is it?” Says an elderly gentleman, the sixth to approach her this evening. ‘Goodness me, you’re tall.”

Hux pales.

Instead of staring him down, Phasma just smiles. “Why, thank you. That’s very astute of you to notice.”

Kylo Ren keeps doing this weird thing with his face. Hux can’t work out what it is until he sees him talking across the table and realises he’s- not smiling, exactly, but the usual intense moodiness has been dialled back a good few notches. He’s even talking about things that aren’t himself. Hux wasn’t aware that Kylo could even do that. 

It’s enough to put him off his food.

“Another war story?” Phasma laughs, full-throated and amiable and entirely unlike herself, and everyone around her is hanging on her every word. Hux has, by this point, decided he’s having some kind of fabulous dream. “Well, gentlemen, if you insist-”

(Five hours earlier)

In the shuttle, Kylo Ren watches Hux stand in the cockpit, fists clenched tensely behind him.

“He doesn’t trust us.” Phasma remarks from behind her mirror, putting the final touches on her lipstick despite the turbulence of re-entry. Kylo glowers.

“As if we’re children.”

Phasma closes her compact with a decisive snap and gives Kylo a red, mischievous smile.

“Want to prove him wrong?”

After our trip to Spain, Ryan and I decided that we needed to set aside days to spend together on the weekend. We have always had date days….but they are random and scattered and sometimes are a half day here and a half day there. There was never a weekend and in our culture, weekends equal rest and there was no rest. It’s easy for me to become a whirlwind of doing, doing, doing. I was bad about shutting off after work. Bad about closing my computer. Bad at paying attention to conversations. Bad at valuing life. Between helping run a company, keeping up this blog, and photography work, I was beginning to feel like there was work and work and work and nothing to hope for. After a few months of having a completely overwhelming, busy, and disorganized life (with a lot of tears), I am beginning to feel like I am finally making progress. After we got back from Spain, Ryan and I set aside Saturday just for us. No matter what. We won’t budge on that or schedule other things. And Sunday is for serving and Jesus and resting and hanging together after church. I am remembering to stop and listen to the things people say for what they say, and not turning their words into an immediate task list. I am starting to work harder, but close my computer way more. I am beginning to look forward to things….this weekend with Ryan spent garage sailing and next weekend camping. I am beginning to feel a semblance of order being restored in my life and it is making everything more enjoyable and hard work is happening but rest is much more prevalent and I am so, so happy. 


Turkey’s economy today is based in part on confiscated Armenian property.


The most immediate association that comes to mind with the Armenian Genocide is the massacre of many individuals on a large scale. Add to that the deportations, the death marches, and the narrative of a general national loss becomes sealed in the collective memory and consciousness of the Armenian people.

There is another side to the story, however, one that has come increasingly to light in recent years. What happened to what the Armenians left behind? Individual homes, entire villages. Tables and chairs, fields and orchards. Books and clothes.

The confiscations of Armenian property began with the massacres of the 1890s, peaked during the Armenian Genocide between 1915 and 1923, and even continued into the decades of the Republic of Turkey that followed. The basis of many parts great and small of the economy of Turkey today can be traced back to these confiscations. The bourgeoisie – the middle class, professionals, or merchants – did not feature many Turkish names in the Ottoman Empire of 1915. Such wealthy families as the Sabancı and the Koç in today’s Turkey, with their multi-millions-worth industrial empires, have their roots in Armenian enterprises of the early twentieth century.

The Armenians who were deported were asked to make an inventory of their property, which was to guarantee its safeguarding for the duration of the First World War. Instead, the twenty thousand or so buildings and over a million acres of agricultural land were left in the hands of either the local population or those who arrived in Anatolia and Asia Minor from the Balkans and the Caucasus after the war. The project to create a new Turkish nation-state, assimilating the entire Muslim population into the Kemalist vision – whether that population was Kurdish or Bosniak, Circassian or Laz – was made possible at least in part due to all that was left behind by the Armenians and others who were killed or made to leave.

Discriminatory policies and unfavourable legislation provided the legal cover to take over, destroy, or re-arrange property in Turkey both during the genocide and well after. It is only in recent years that studies have been done and action is being taken in order to restore at least some of what has been lost or to provide compensation. The most active such work is being led by the Hrant Dink Foundation in Istanbul, which has prepared a comprehensive survey of Armenian property claims from the era of the Turkish Republic.

Another element of economic fallout stemming from the Armenian Genocide involved life insurance claims brought up by lawyers and other descendants of survivors in the early 2000s. The issue remains a controversial one, both in legal and political terms. The memoirs of Ambassador Morgenthau, who represented the United States in the Ottoman Empire in 1915, include a demand made by one of the Young Turk leaders and chief architect of the Armenian Genocide, Talaat Pasha, on taking over the life insurance policies on behalf of the government, since the Ottoman Armenians were “practically all dead … and have left no heirs to collect the money”.





laurenhansen  asked:

Alright, this is going to be my last message. Liv's love for Fitz isn't a weakness. I didn't say that. But Fitz is her weakness - if a villain wanted to control her, they would hurt Fitz. And Liv is Fitz's weakness. It's not a bad thing, it just is. My only problem is that the writers chose to maker her weakness a character like him, because it's a theme we see repeated over and over again. I really admire your eloquence. Thank you for replying to my messages! xxx

Ok, since we are writing our good-byes, lol, this will be mine. It’s a long one…

I like words. I like them so much, sometimes I think it’s important for the discussion that we define key terminology we are using. I do not do it to be patronizing or facetious. It seems we have a miscommunication over the word “weakness”.

Here’s your direct quote from your last message to me:

“…It just seems sort of disempowering to me to make her weakness a white republican politician, as if “even Olivia pope falls on her knees for this perfect white man.” I’m sorry. But I guess that’s just because again, I just don’t see enough positive or mature traits in Fitz (to me, he’s just a whiny child a lot of the time, but I accept that you feel differently).”flymetothelostmoon

According to my interpretation, you are saying that having a black woman be “weak” for a “perfect” (don’t know how you arrived at that deduction) white man is disempowering. The very thing for which she appears to be “weak” in your eyes IS her love for Fitz. You then go on in your current argument to state that others try to exploit Olivia via Fitz. The only way that  is possible is through love. Therefore, you are indeed accusing that Olivia’s love for Fitz is a “weakness”. Speaking of which…

Weakness (n):

the state or condition of lacking strength.

“the country’s weakness in international dealings”


frailty, feebleness, enfeeblement, fragilitydelicacy; More

a quality or feature regarded as a disadvantage or fault.

“you must recognize your product’s strengths and weaknesses”


faultflawdefectdeficiency, weak point, failingshortcoming, weak link,imperfectionAchilles heelfoible

a person or thing that one is unable to resist or likes excessively.

“you’re his one weakness—he should never have met you”


So in every which way, “weakness” is not a word people use favourably. It is not a word by which people want to identify themselves. I’m going to quote what I said last night in a follow-up q&a:

“I have a problem in general with how some people view “weakness”. The root of the issue is that we see and value “strength” in really narrow, masculinist terms. Therefore anything that falls outside those narrow confines is seen as “weakness”. It becomes a kind of feminized trait to be eradicated, especially if you wanna get your grown woman on. It’s ridiculous. We are all made vulnerable by someone, or something…”

You could just as easily say that Mellie is made “weak” by the supposed love she has for Fitz. That Fitz is made “weak” by his love for Olivia. That Olivia is made “weak” by her familial love for her father. I think the better word to use when we are talking about Olivia and her love for Fitzgerald is “vulnerability”, which means open to attack, harm, or manipulation. All of that is true. But is the vulnerable party at fault, or is it the motherfuckers who try to take advantage of the vulnerability?

From where I am sitting, it’s the latter. Vaginas are open to attack, harm or manipulation by their very existence on a human woman. You wouldn’t call having a vagina a weakness, would you? Yet the possession of one was the basis on which Olivia’s father, Jake, Cyrus and god-knows-who-else manipulated Olivia in S2 B with that misogynistic ass seduction story line. You see, her father thought Olivia was just Fitz’s favourite concubine, and that if evidence could be shown to Fitz that Olivia slept with another man, then surely he would reject her. Literally, that was the premise and it did not work because Fitz is not that kind of asshole. So, again, loving someone isn’t a “weakness” so much as it is can make you vulnerable, ceding a sense of control.

So here we have the perfect storm of Ms. Pope being at the intersection of blackness and femaleness, wrapped in the inherent imperfection of humanity. Actually, I guess this discussion is about the impression that Olivia is made “weak” by the writer because she doesn’t love the right person.  Fitz’s good and bad qualities are not the point at all, so we can agree to disagree on him as a love interest.  This discussion is about Olivia’s choice in love interest. But you do say that a black woman loving a character “like [Fitz]” is a theme we see over and over again. What is that exactly? Black women who genuinely desire a white male love interest (as opposed to being in love with whiteness as means of salvation from black self-hatred—itself promulgated by racism)? A pulled-together black woman being in love with someone others regard as a fuck boy? Black women whose projection of perfection belies a more complicated being underneath? What is it that we see “repeated over and over again”? By the way, are you totes OK with the problematic relationship of Olivia and Jake?

The core issue of our discussion from tonight and today is an insistence that there is a type of man to whom our black anti heroine  would be most suited. A suitable boy, if you will. Or perhaps, you wish for our heroine not to be made vulnerable in any way by romantic love at all. Perhaps, then Olivia could exist as some feminist fantasy trope instead of a woman who wants and is going after everything. And I’m saying that as a feminist who rejects the paternalism of grown women telling other grown women how to behave in order to further the cause of equality. Similarly with my own folk—black folk—I reject the notion of embodying some Christian respectability (cultivated as a direct response to the de-humanization of racism) as the antidote to racism. Because then I don’t get to be fucked up and human in my own way.  Reading Olivia as “disempowered” by the love she chooses tells me that you don’t see Olivia’s full being as a character, but rather her archetype. You seem to judge Fitz in the same way: a representation of white perfection, which is a way of seeing that is absolutely dismissive to the point of caricature.

I want you to be aware that the lens through which you are regarding Olivia convinces you that she is “disempowered” (your word) through her choice in lover because that lover is white (you have emphasized his whiteness in every single response, so clearly that’s a problem for you), yet perplexedly simultaneously “perfect” and “selfish, immature and self-entitled” (again, your words). You are reading the narrative as Olivia being in-love with the idea of perfection of whiteness (“even Olivia Pope falls to her knees for this perfect white man”). I think you have to dismiss a great deal of the narrative in order to arrive at that conclusion, so I reject it. It’s too simplistic and doesn’t work.

You know what would be actually disempowering? If, in order to be considered “strong” or “great”, Olivia had to choose between the imperfect love that fulfills a great desire within her, and being a kick-ass business owner who restores order. If Olivia had to be judged in narrow masculinist terms of “strength” and “power” to be seen as powerful. If everything Olivia’s brilliance and slayage loses their shine for the audience because she wears the battles scares of familial and romantic love. Now that is disempowering.

Before you cry “the writers!” when you disagree with the parts of the narrative, question yourself on why you don’t do that for aspects of the narrative you accept. Why is what you accept more valid for the writers to portray? Our readings are only as good as our eyesight—and those are limited. 

So I Stay

“Love, please take SJ away from your piano, I don’t think Ate Irish wants to hear him bang around.”

“It’s not banging around, it’s music, my love. My son has talent.”


“Alright removing him! Come on buddy, we’ll amaze mommy some other time.”

The loud squeals of her son and the playful growling noises her husband made got her to smile widely, just in time to stop her three year old daughter from biting Clarky Junior’s tail - again. 

“Luna, what did we say? No biting Clarky’s tail!”

“Sowwy mommy!”

She inherited James’ eyes. Of course, she had to inherit her father’s eyes to get her out of the mischievous situations she always found herself in. A trait she inherited from her dad as well.

Currently, said eyes were pooling with tears and she huffed and picked up her baby girl and hugged her tight. “It’s okay baby, just don’t do it again, you wouldn’t want Clarky to bite you, hmm?”

The white fluffy dog merely flicked his tail at the both of them, and settled once again in his perch beside Clarky Sr, who was still sleeping despite the general mayhem going on around him.

Her husband walked out of the music room, their five year old son who looked exactly like him hanging from his legs as he walked. He had dirt on his nose, his hair, cut close to his head was matted with sweat and his missing two front teeth evident from the way he grinned so widely as he clung to James’ leg. His white shirt was now smeared with some unknown substance and his Buzz Lightyear Pajamas were torn at the butt.

Sadly, her husband looked exactly like her son. Hair tossled, white shirt smeared, and yet somehow, he still looked like every bit of the teenage fantasy she held in her mind.

Her husband saw her staring and gave her a lascivious wink while licking his lower lip. A lip he knew she loved to bite….

Damn it Nadine. This is why you have four going on five children after only six years of marriage. Control your hormones girl!

“Mom! We’re space cowboys! Beep beep!”

“SJ, what happened to your jammies?”

“Dad and I went through a space war mom!”

James bent down to pick his son and hoisted him against his hip. “And now we’re about to have a space bath! Sorry Ate Irish, we had a bit of a late start this morning, we though we’d be ready by the time you get here.”

The reporter merely smiled at James apology and the way he approached his wife, dropped a kiss on her forehead, left a lingering touch on her arm and picked up his daughter from her arms, slinging him against his other hip, causing the little girl to squeal and cling to her father’s neck in glee.

“Agwain, daddy! Agwain!”

“Baby it’s again.” He murmured as he pressed a kiss to his daughter’s nose.

“Yeah Loon, it’s again!”

The little girl’s forehead knotted as she stared intently at her dad and brother.


James smiled at her and SJ slapped his hand against his forehead in an adorable way.

“Daddy sige na, later na yang again again, ligo na muna kayo ha. Yaya Cel, can you take Luna and SJ?”

But James hugged his kids close to his chest and glared at the nanny playfully.

“No, I’m in charge of bath time. It’s Saturday.”

“Love… late na tayo andito na si Ate Irish-”

“No it’s okay! Keep your routine! Pwede naman interviewhin muna kita Naddie, while maliligo muna sila.”

James winked at Irish as he hoisted his kids higher against him sending them into squealing laughter.

“Bilis lang kami love, I promise.”

He then pressed a quick kiss on Nadine’s lips causing his kids to scream out in disgust and the parents to laugh at them. Nadine ruffled her kids’ hairs and patted James’ butt directing him to the stairs.

“Bilis lang daddy ha, no boat bath tub races muna. Pipicture later doon, baka madumihan niyo, nalinis na ni Ate Ophie yun.”

“Yes po ma’am. Yes wifey.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips again before carting off his children to the stairs, making elevator noises.

Nadine turned to Irish again and smiled helplessly at her.

Her hair was in a messy bun, she had on an oversized shirt that was faded, had holes in several areas and was obviously owned by James. It had a peanut butter smear at the bottom and her leggings were faded with age. Her feet were clad in bunny slippers. She looked tired and messy, but Irish has never seen a person smile as if they had all the happiness in the world until she saw Nadine.

Well, who wouldn’t be this happy, Irish thought? Living in a McMansion, 4 happy kids and a husband who looked at Nadine as if she was the most beautiful woman on Earth even after 6 years of marriage AND looked like a God from Olympus. Plus, she and her husband were the most sought after actors in the country, not to mention, they had a booming restaurant and cafe business.

Life was peachy for the Reid family, and she was happy to see that sometimes life worked out for the best, after all the crap it threw their way.

“Sorry ate ha. Weekends lang kasi talaga bonding namin with the kids kaya medyo strict si James about work ng weekends, ang lakas mo lang talaga samin. And medyo nalate ng gising so… magulo pa dito sa kitchen. Sa theatre muna tayo mag-usap then later na yung tour papalinis ko muna. Ate Ophie, ikaw na muna bahala.”

She didn’t bring anyone with her. The Reids, after being in the spotlight due to the whirlwind of their marriage preferred to keep their privacy. And nothing could be more private than this expansive land in Alabang where they chose to settle their family. They also did not want to expose their kids to the spotlight, so when she asked for an interview they agreed with the condition that it would be just her.

She was glad that they trusted her enough to do this for them. 

They walked along the hall of the house from the kitchen to the theatre room. Their house was open, warm and lived in. It was beautiful of course, but not in a museum kind of way where you won’t be able to touch anything. It was a beautiful house, inhabited by slightly messy people.

The kitchen was walled on one side by a floor to ceiling glass door that opened to the pool and the garden. The center of the kitchen was a bar where people can sit while someone cooks. It was cluttered with plates, and open boxes of cereal and bread and peanut butter, but it was quickly being restored to order by the woman Nadine called Ate Ophie.

Nadine lead her from the kitchen into the wide hallway, her socked feet in the bunny slippers a maid offered her when she entered the door. Shoes were not allowed inside the Reid residence, at least until the kids grow older. 

The hall was lined with several framed photos of the entire family. She stopped at one particular photo of a pregnant Nadine, James hugging her from behind and they were both laughing at the camera.

“That’s when I got pregnant with SJ. Just before we bought this house. Man this was 6 years ago.”

She softly traced James face and smiled and Irish elbowed her.

“Wala namang nagbago. You still look at him as if he’s everything you ever wanted in life.”

Nadine rolled her eyes and wrapped an arm around Irish steering her into the theatre room.

“Anong magagawa ko, love of my life eh.”

Irish giggled as Nadine lifted a bunch of toys from the couch in the room and set them on the white utility bin beside the TV console. Light streamed in from the glass windows, overlooking the view from which the house is situated.

Nadine settled on the chair across from her, tucking her legs under her, as comfortable in her skin as she was in her home. Irish smiled, she always loved interviewing James and Nadine, they were always so… raw. Real. She thought, and that translated well into print.

“Grabe six years ago, would you have imagined you’d be here? Married to James Reid with 4 children?”

Nadine laughed as she picked up a framed picture of her family taken last Christmas and showed it to Irish. They all had reindeer sweaters, Nadine was leaning her head against James’ chest who was carrying Luna with one hand. SJ was grinning in front of them, and their twin babies, Fred and George in ther carriers on either side of SJ. They were all sitting in front of the fireplace. It was a lovely photo and Irish asked if she can use it for the interview. Nadine agreed.

“Married to James Reid… siguro dream ko yun noon eh. Pero hindi ko inimagine na… ganito kasaya. Tapos hindi ko rin inimagine na 4 kaagad yung kids namin. Gusto ko lang 2 eh, a boy and a girl, but wala eh, mukhang a lot talaga yung kids namin. May twins pa eh.”

They giggled at that joke and she was about to ask something more from Nadine when she heard a gurgle from the baby monitor.

“Ay ate, gising na yung twins, wait lang ha.”

But before she can make it out of her chair, James’ voice boomed over the monitor.

“Love, I’ve got them! Mornin’ mah boys. You heard the party at the bathroom? You want in? Of course you do…”

Nadine listened for a while as her husband cooed at their boys before shutting the monitor off. She grinned at Irish again.

“Ayan, di ko rin inexpect yan na ganiyan siyang daddy. Very hands on, very loving… pag pinapagalitan niya yung kids namin iiyak pa yan kasi naguiguilty daw siya. Basta… he’s the best dad anyone can ask for.”

“So… tell me more about your kids, hindi niyo kasi sila masyado inexpose to showbiz ano?”

Nadine settled down in front of her again and sighed.

“Actually, as much as possible ayaw talaga namin na lumaki silang laging may camera, laging may yaya, especially si James. Ayaw niya, maspoil yung kids, so we try to give them as normal as a life as we can manage. May chores sila, even at this age, and ayun nga, weekends si James and I are here, bawal work, kailangan bonding with the kids. Lalo na si SJ he’s starting school na, so we try to help him out.”

“School, na agad? How old na ba si SJ? And sorry ano nga ba ulit full name ni SJ?”

Nadine rolled her eyes at the question. “Sirius James. Fan kasi si James ng Harry Potter. Nako gusto pa nga Harry James ipangalan kay SJ, sabi ko wag Harry kasi ang pangit ng Harry Reid. Ayun, 6 na siya so he’s starting school. Tapos yung kasunod niya si Luna, Lauren Naomi yung full name niya, after the titas na nagpilit so pinagbigyan, and yung daddy na Harry Potter fan, ayun, naging Luna ang nickname.”

Irish smiled at Nadine’s obvious annoyance at the names of her children. “And yung twins.”

“Ako na nag-name. Akala ko nga safe na. Twin boys kasi, so yung older, I wanted his name to be George, kasi si Prince George kabirthday nila. And then yung younger, sabi ni James, Frederick na lang. Siguro pregnancy hormones hindi ko naisip na Fred and George, Harry Potter nanaman. So, ayun nalusutan ako. So sabi ko, itong fifth baby namin ang name na original.” She patted her belly, the slight bump unnoticeable under her baggy shirt.

“Finally girl na ulit yung baby ko, but solo passenger lang siya this time around. We’re naming her Elizabeth Sky, after James’ lola.”

Irish laughed at Nadine who kept her hand cupped around her abdomen.

“Kamusta naman na 5 kids na ang meron kayo?”

“Before, I thought it would be hard, kasi may work, tapos yung kids, but we made it work, James and I… si James kasi ang galing na daddy and the best husband in the world. He makes time for the kids and us, siya pa lagi yung nagreremind sa akin na stop work muna kasi may program sa school si SJ and close talaga siya sa kids namin. You wouldn’t know it looking at him, but James is the perfect everything.”

There was a peace in her when she talks about James, the kind of peace you find in people who have found what the thing they were looking for that they forgot for a while, the kind of peace you find in people who have done what they should have, the kind of peace you find on a person who knows that she has found the person she was bound to love forever.

There was a slight twinkle in her eye, a mist, something like wonder, like she couldn’t believe she was this lucky, to have all she wanted in her hands and it was something that wasn’t there years ago, when she interviewed a girl who was lost and did not know who she was, or at least, denied who she was and what she felt.

“If you don’t mind me asking Nadine, what made you see finally that James was this person, that he was the one. What made you stay, even after all the issues and the girls.”

Nadine shifted in her seat, raising her feet once more and resting a hand on her belly as she settled in the chair.

The smile on her face was warm, as if she revelled in remembering how she fell in love with her husband, and who wouldn’t smile, at the greatest love story that was ever told?

“To be honest ate, I think a part of me always saw it in him. After all the girls, all the issues… there was this James in there, he was just really scared because Ate we were 22, 23. We were too young to be these people, raising kids… so he partied and I let him because I wasn’t ready as well. I had a career, I had a life I was building, I was happy. I was really happy. So we didn’t pine for each other, we didn’t wait or suffer, there was nothing like that.”

“But what was it about him that made you tell yourself you were ready?”

Nadine paused, unconsciously rubbing her belly and looking at the framed photo of her husband accepting his best actor award from the Toronto Film Fest for their joint movie project. 

“It was when he asked me to stay.”

Irish inched forward in her seat. They never spoke about their relationship before, but something about having their dream house, a plethora of successful movies and 5 kids made them ready to speak up and she waited with bated breath.

“He asked you to stay?”

“Hmm. It was like… I saw the look on his face and I knew he was asking me to stay so I did.”

“Just like that? All he needed to do was ask you?”

Nadine smiled at her again but before she could respond James’ voice crackled through the baby monitor. “Love?”


“Did you drink your vitamins?”

“Yes po.”

“Okay, just checking.”

“Ikaw talaga, baby number 5 is fine, no need to worry.”

“Can’t help it, I love you too much.”

He clicked off before Nadine could say anything and with twinkling eyes she turned back to Irish.

“To be honest Ate Irish, I would do anything he asked me to do.”

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