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rem-is-best-almond · 7 years

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My thoughts on Rem's death in Shiki's devil route

I know the video has been around for quite some time on tumblr but today I decided to go watch the full video on Shiki’s devil route , which was on BiliBili, and skipped to the part before things actually went south in that 4 minute video.

Basically, Shiki’s route, specifically his devil route, is seriously not gonna do any good to people who have a weak heart and since the game recordings use a dummy head mic system, it makes the experience all the more real and a tad bit traumatising.

[Spoilers ahead ]

So what actually happened that led on to this mass murdering,Particularly, the post-scenario before Ritsuka actually meets Rem in the school Garden , was that the news of Azuna’s death was still bothering Ritsuka and she was rather depressed, to the point that she rejected her other two friends who were unaware of the news when they invited her to have cream puffs with them for tea.

Leaving the classroom to get a breather, she bumps into Shiki in the hallway. Ritsuka expresses that she just wished to be left alone and that she just couldn’t face Shiki right now knowing that he was the ultimate cause for Azuna’s death.

And so She runs away from him and arrives at the School’s garden. There she plans to mourn over her the loss of her friend when Rem appears and tells her that he’s been searching all over for her.

He explains to her that he wanted to know what happened with Jek that ended up with Shiki being injured. Ritsuka was reluctant to at first and tells him to ask Shiki about that to which Rem says that he would’ve if it weren’t for Shiki’s absence in school and assumed that he must be still recovering from his injuries as Ritsuka ponders over how She had just met Shiki in the hallway which could only mean that he never went to the third library.

So after she explains how Shiki shielded her from Jek’s assault and that’s why he got injured, Rem notes that it was a pretty unexpected move from Shiki . Rem then asks Ritsuka as to why she had bandaged Shiki’s injuries and Ritsuka explains that she figured that taking him to the hospital would expose his identity as a devil so she didn’t.

Rem tells her that that’s not what he meant but rather why did she still chose to help Shiki even after what he had done to Azuna, having heard about the news from Shiki himself. Ritsuka says that it’s because it wasn’t right to leave the person who got hurt because of her unattended and that she was also held responsible for Azuna’s death as Shiki wouldn’t have done that to her if Azuna hadn’t been friends with her.

Ritsuka then admits to Rem that she felt guilty because before such an ordeal had happened, she got into a fight with Azuna and in the end, they couldn’t even make up before her death. That was the breaking point for Ritsuka and she broke down crying right then and there.

Rem seeing this attempted to console her and tells her that she shouldn’t be blaming herself for what happened to her friend. He then wipes away her tears while telling her that no matter how many times she cries, nothing would change and it won’t bring Azuna back. This enlightens Ritsuka a little as she comes to a realisation that crying won’t change anything and that she was sure that Azuna wouldn’t want to see her in this state either.

After calming herself down, Ritsuka thanks Rem for hearing her out and he responds saying that he was glad that she felt a little better now. Just then, Rem was shot by a hidden arrow and as blood splatters onto the screen , Rem tells Ritsuka to leave immediately. Another arrow was shot and Rem immediately shields Ritsuka from it.

This time Shiki appears, noting that Rem must be pretty stubborn to not be dead yet. Ritsuka questions him as to why he’s doing such a thing and Shiki states that she avoided him but talks happily to Rem. Shiki continues on, saying that Rem must be a special person to Ritsuka and wonders whether if she’ll be horrified if he was dead , which he would like to see.

With Rem being helpless on the floor, Shiki walks over to him and tells Ritsuka to watch closely as he kills him. Stabbing him with an arrow, Rem screams in agony yet this doesn’t kill him instantly, as Ritsuka screams for Shiki to stop , Shiki plunges a second arrow into Rem’s body, ending his life while commenting on how he enjoys looking at Ritsuka in despair.

Personally, I really have no idea how I was able to watch this whole thing unfold but I guess part of me is a sadist after all, THAT doesn’t mean I didn’t cry though , I did teared up a little but since I was at school, it never commenced into actual crying except that my heart felt like it was being torn into pieces :“)

Honestly, after watching this, I didn’t really know exactly what to feel. At first, I was like it’s understandable why Shiki would be upset that Ritsuka avoids him yet hangs out with the other guys just fine but to take it to that extent, it was crazy, like thank goodness Ritsuka wasn’t voiced in the game cause it’ll make scenes like this 10 times worse than it already is.

And no, I wasn’t attempting to symphatise with Shiki’s actions at all ,cause well, he should’ve understood why Ritsuka didn’t really want to talk to him, since he himself confessed that he was involved in Azuna’s death. And it wasn’t that she personally went to see Rem for his comfort or anything like that, it all happened at the spur of the moment and Rem was only doing what any other decent ‘human being'would do.

Now that I’ve mentioned him, Rem oh Rem, my heart really broke for him in this one. Whether he was doing it out of romantic or platonic feelings, it was heartbreaking nonetheless. Seeing Rem in this other routes where he isn’t the love interest, there were times where I just sat there and wondered, is this guy for real? Was he really raised by such a vile and abusive devil of a father ? Did living in the human world all these time somehow made him humane? I’m not saying that Rem NEVER does anything wrong, he does but that’s where his character development comes in and it justifies his actions being something that isn’t up to him to decide, at least, without having to face the consequences .

Here’s the truth, Rem was involved in the uprising against Maksis , he was there to keep Roen at bay as Glax seals Maksis away and that was pretty cruel of him no doubt . But if we step back and consider his options, there really is none for him nor does Rem actually have a reason to disobey his father during that time. Of course, Roen’s holds a grudge on him for this very reason but considering how the class system works in the demon realm, what Glax did can’t be considered wrong. Whoever’s the strongest gets to sit on the throne and that’s that.

Living in the demon realm is quite literally an endless war zone to see who could keep their status in that society, which was why Rem was tasked to bring back the grimoire to his father cause that means the Arlonds would have immense power and rule over the demon realm permanently.

Back to the original topic, this is yet another instance that shows how Rem cares for Ritsuka, as for how he actually came to care for her in the trio’s route, that I’ve yet to see to judge. Although it is confirmed that he has romantic feelings for Ritsuka in every route in the left door common route given that I’ve already completed all of them. I’m not quite sure if it’s the same in the right door common route since I’ve heard that he still chooses to go through with his duty, that is to obtain the grimoire from Ritsuka ,in the human routes there but even then he doesn’t really put up much of a fight so I don’t know if this can be counted as an inconsistency.

Overall, this wasn’t a pleasant experience at all , obviously, and I guess I’m still staying neutral with Shiki as a love interest. He was cute in the manga as opposed to Rem who was much colder in it (but still is a dweeb in there to an extent) but I’m still sticking to my ship RemRitsu as something that is really irreplaceable to me like the sappy/ fluff roller coaster person I am :”)

#dance with devils #my thoughts #rem's death in shiki's devil route #rem kaginuki #shiki natsumezaka #ritsuka tachibana

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alunchboxfromthe90s · 7 years

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My first piece. What do you guys think??

When I was a kid, I had this box of rocks. It was more like a chest, I guess, and I used to pretend it was locked. I’d swipe an ace of hearts through the opening of the chest as some sort of secret spy way to open it to look at my collection of rocks. I took rocks seriously, I really did. I had almost every rock and crystal you could think of, different shapes, sizes, colors, you name it. I have no idea where it is today, but I’m sure they’re doin’ alright.

I woke up Tuesday morning to my blaring alarm at 7, followed by me turning it off and yelling about a new day. I got dressed with whatever the hell I found on the floor that smelled decent, deodorant, made the effort to straighten out my hair, poured a box of cereal in my mouth followed by an assload of milk, and I hit the road.

New Jersey was always fucking cold during the winter, and my mom always nagged me to wear a jacket, but I never did. I came out of the house, just like any ordinary day, and walked. I always walked a mile to school. It was freezing, yeah, and I walked on the sidewalk-less streets, almost certain that one day a car would hit me and dump me down into the endless forests to my left and right. I took a deep breath, only to choke on it as a hand heavily slapped my back. “Hey, Nick! Good morning!” It was Liam, a friend I’ve had since middle school. He was always such a morning person, and I certainly wasn’t. I stayed silent and kept walking. “What’s goin’ on?! Aren’t ya gonna say somethin’?” “No.” “Well, I had this amazing dream last night!” “Cool, Liam. I don’t really wanna hear–” “It was about me running away from something in the desert, and it was hot and dry, I was totally dehydrated, and I just kept running and running, I could hardly breathe. When suddenly I stopped, and wondered, ‘what the hell am I running from? what am I running for?’ and turned around to find this black monster with galaxy-like sparkles on him–” “For fuck’s sake, Liam–” I interrupted. “I’m not finished!” He continued. “The monster stopped and stared at me once we were inches away from each other, and I touched him, he went away, and the dream ended. Isn’t that so weird?!” I gave him an odd look. “Yeah..sure.” “Seriously dude, what’s wrong?” “Just tired.” “Oh you give me that same damn excuse everyday. Tell me what’s up.” “I don’t know, I’m just tired.” Liam frowned and sunk a little in his big jacket. “Alright.” He mumbled. I noticed how the cars rushed by me, one right after the other, most of them kids in my grade going to school as well, but the difference between us was obvious. I didn’t have a car. I hated it, but some days it didn’t bother me. I love nature, but not when it’s fucking arctic cold. My beanie had a hole in it, and I refused to throw it out or have my mom sew it up. I threw on my beanie and ran to catch up with Liam as we got to school.

PS-117 was an old school in southwest Park Hills that’s been up for probably a hundred-something years. All I know is that my parents went, and their parents went. “Cmon Nick!” Liam punched my shoulder, “Lighten up! Your birthday’s comin’ up.” I sighed. I forgot about that. “Yea..” “What are we gonna do? Let’s do something wild. The big one-eight, right?” “Yup.” “Woo!” He held up a hand for a high five that wasn’t returned. “I’d rather not do anything. It’s just another day for me. You get one year older and closer to death.” “If I cheered for death, would you liven up a bit?” I glared at him. Liam and I walked to English. We had the first few classes together, along with lunch, and I had the same attitude everyday, if you really want to know. I hate everything, and everything hates me. Everything obviously loves Liam. - Just like everyday, Liam and I walked home together and he kept pestering me. Each car slid by in the cold and glittering sunlight, engine revving echoing through the thick forests. I avoided the same patch of ice everyday that just refused to melt. I let the twigs with thorns scratch my legs. I felt angry, I felt bored. The crows flew over us and squawked as we continued to walk, Liam desperately trying to “liven” me up a little. “How about a bounce house? Chicks dig those, y'know.” “A bounce house?” “Yeah!” I managed to snicker a little. “Dude, chicks don’t want bounce houses. They want rough, passionate sex,” I joked. “I doubt that. I dated a girl once who liked bounce houses.” “Yeah, and I refuse to date anyone.” “I still don’t understand why.” I stopped in my tracks and whirled around to face him. “Because I hate everyone, and everyone hates me.” He stared at me for a long time. “The right one is out there, y'know–” “Yeah yeah,” I whirled back around and kept walking. “Heard it all before. I don’t even look right for love.” “What’s to look like?” I paused. “Perfection. Chicks dig that.” “But nobody’s perfect.” “Well tell that to girls.” “I highly doubt that.” “When’s the last time you dated a girl?” I asked. “Eighth grade?” “No, I–” “Yeah, it was. What happened to Sally McDumbell?” “Sally McDermott, and…we just didn’t get along.” “Rachel Field?” “Didn’t like the way she smelled.” “Elizabeth Kimberly?” “She actually used me to get back at her ex.” “Allison Rhodes?” “Hey, it was ONE date. I was bored and needed something to do. Worst date I’ve ever had.” “Uh huh.” We stayed quiet and trudged on. The walk home was a bitch. “And I know you don’t like talking about Renee.” I stopped. “If I said I didn’t want to talk about her, I wouldn’t.” “Right. Erm, sorry. You know you really ought to let her go.” “Do you really want to test that right now?” “Nick, all I’m saying is that you guys ended six months ago.” “I’m still fucking healing, Liam.” “I’m tired of you being so moapy and acting like a dick.” He mumbled. I whirled around. “What was that?” He raised his voice nervously and then shouted, “I’m…tired of you being so moapy and acting like a dick! That’s what I said!” “Oh ho, so you think I’m acting like a dick because I’m suffering?” “You’re always going to blame it on your poor poor suffering, Nick.” “Oh cry me a river, build a bridge, and get over it.” I stomped forward while Liam stayed back. “And I’m tired of you treating me like shit!” He added. “Since when do I treat you like shit? I can’t do anything to anyone without anyone getting pissed off at me!” “You could at least thank me for coming to your ass every morning, early as hell, just so you won’t walk alone, and I trade lunches with you when you don’t have anything good to eat, and I’m always here for you, and you never even say thanks! I can’t remember the last time you’ve told me a simple thank you!” I stayed quiet while Liam glared at me. “Cry me a river, build a bridge, and get over it.” He said, then pushed past me and took a different route home. “Fine!” He flipped me off. The next thing I knew, I ran toward him and punched him in the face. He fell down and kicked my shins, causing me to fall down. It all went down on the side of the road, cars blazing by at crazy speeds. I pinned him down. “Don’t talk to me anymore, you hear me Liam McCorney? Don’t fucking talk to me!” I saw his face and it had tears and blood running down his nose. I stayed there with him pinned for a moment, staring at each other. “Liam..I–” I reached into my pocket and gave him a tissue. He snatched it and covered his nose as he pushed me off his lap with his legs. “Don’t fucking talk to me.” He whispered, and he got up, and walked home. I shook my head, unable to comprehend what I just did, watching Liam turn the corner and leave. I ran the other way and went home. I bursted through the door, slamming it closed and sinking to the floor in tears. What the fuck had I just done? I tried calling Liam. No answer. I tried “*67”, and that didn’t work either. I went up to my room, threw my stuff off to the side, and stuffed a bag of chips, a flashlight, portable phone charger, my keys, and a jacket. My parents wouldn’t be home until late–they’d think I just went to Liam’s house to spend the night, and only half of that would end up being true.

I ran out of the house with my backpack, hopped on my bike, and road to Liam’s. He lived about 10 blocks from my house. When I got there, I banged on the door. “Liam! Liam you fuck! Answer! Liam!” The slams of my fist to the door got softer and slower. “Liam..I’m sorry. Please, answer!” I checked the windows, only to find nobody was there. I checked the garage, the backyard, the cars. Everything was empty. –END–

What do you think? Should I continue it? Don’t be afraid to share your thoughts!

~ Tag #sillyalienboy for any questions/comments/feedback and to see all chapters I post in the future!

#writing #writing piece #book #story #i wrote this #sillyalienboy

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bloodyshirtrpg · 6 years

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♔ OC INFORMATION ♔

NAME/ALIAS & AGE:

Risa, eighteen.

PREFERRED PRONOUNS:

she/her.

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL:

EST. I would place my activity at a 6/10 at the moment. I currently have a pretty heavy courseload, so on some days I won’t be online, though on weekends I’ll try to make up for it. During school breaks, I’ll definitely be more available, with my activity rising to a 7 or 8/10.

♔ IC INFORMATION ♔

FULL NAME:

Selene Iora Avery

Selene: For moons and goddesses, soft vengeance and honeyed venom. She was named after beauty and mystique, that twilight enigma captured by no man or empire. Selas (σέλας): for the bright elite, for the numinous and the sacred. People would worship her. She would illuminate their sins like a passing crescent of light.

Iora: Greek for pure; for what true politician could resist the opportunity to prove and prove again his allegiance to his values? She was pure, she was pure like all the others of her status. Through her veins ran the ichor of the highest echelons of her race. But there is no power in the obvious. It was almost pitiful, that her name had to reflect her father’s pointed ambitions: that he would treat her as a bartering piece upon which ‘pure’ had to be written, like an envelope addressed in ink and blood.

Avery: They were immortalized in the 1920s by Cantankerus Nott; and ever since that moment there hasn’t been a day gone by in which the Averys did not strengthen their legacy. To be Sacred. They were a sly family, full of weasels and snakes — but she would be a raven with wings as black and glossy as night, set apart from her predecessors by her ability to soar.

FACECLAIM:

Nina Dobrev

FUTURE PLANS:

Heartbreak; She was a seductress of the highest degree, a white rose dipped in a sheen of thorns. All her life, Selene has been the most beautiful, the most coveted — and while her beauty was meant to attract suitors, she used it to devestate them instead. I think that it would be a very interesting plotline to reverse the roles for once: let someone else break her heart, wrench her affections from her. Let them lead her on, let them kiss her and promise her great things, let her believe them. Then, and only then; tear it all away. In a way, there’s a terrible excitement to exploring the tragic and unexpected: and I think that this would be a game-changer for Selene, to finally want someone with all her will, and have them play her dirty.

Sabotage; Did she truly hate her brother, or did she just envy him? It’s a question that I want to explore with Selene in-game. She has very mixed feelings regarding Nathaniel and his inability to uphold their family values, and I believe that there will come a time when she makes up her mind regarding her brother, and acts upon it. If she hates him, then she will cripple him, ruin him. If she envies him, then she will do all that is in her power to steal the throne and crown herself queen: but which is the lesser evil? Essentially, I would love to have her move against Nathaniel and wreak some family havoc. What’s more classic than the story of Cain and Abel; one sibling coveting the other, even to the point of murder?

DATE OF BIRTH:

November 15th, 1959 (age seventeen, nearly eighteen) / Scorpio — “The Scorpio motto might be “What is hidden is more interesting than what is obvious.” Their magnetic personality draws others to them, but they can also be secretive, for they learn early on that when you express everything, others may be afraid of the power of your feelings. They can become cold and withdrawn when hurt in love, and have the magic to light up the dark, but sometimes they would benefit by looking at the positive side of things rather than going into the darkness at all.”

SEXUALITY/SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I believe Selene to be bisexual at the very least - though she has a tendancy towards hetero-romantic ideals. Her battle is against men, not women: and so she makes them her victims most often, though this isn’t to say that she hasn’t rendezvoused with the same sex before (in fact, I am certain that she has).

I’m very fluid when it comes to ships, so I don’t have a specific answer to this question. I feel that the bio sets the stage for a possible romance between Nikolai and Selene - and I would entirely be up for that, given development. But the possibilities are truly endless, and I imagine that whatever may happen, it’ll form organically as gameplay moves forward. I’m a huge fan of slow-moving, deeply built ships; so I don’t expect anything fast and furious. Angst is my middle name. Tragedy is my son. Anyways; I think you know how I tend to roll by now, and I’m too invested in crying over ships to relent my ways. Slow and steady wins the race…perhaps once in a blue moon. But isnt heartbreak always the more interesting route?

WAND, PATRONUS, & BOGGART:

Wand:

Madrona, 9 & ¾ inch, supple – “A beautiful evergreen from the Pacific Northwest region of North America, it is rare in British wandmaking. However, its distinctive peeling bark denotes its magical powers of change- hence, a powerful wood for Transfiguration.”

Veela hair core – “Veela wands are temperamental like the creatures they come from, and are considered too volatile for a decent wand core in many circles. However, some wizards enjoy the boost it gives to outdoorsy magics, divinations, and Charms. The veela’s inherent intelligence makes finding these wands among the non-Veela blooded most common in Ravenclaw.”

↳ She began with a wand of Rosewood; passed down to her from her father’s mother. The only defining trait was that it was a graceful wand wood, as if that alone merited her trust. To believe in appearances alone is the folly of a weak man. That first year was somewhat disastrous as she fanangled with the weak, graceful wand that had been pushed upon her. It was when Selene went to Ollivander’s herself that he retrieved for her a wand of Madrona, uprooted from his deep archives. Her particular wand was made in the year 1929, and the bark has been polished away from the wood.

Patronus:

Arctic Fox – “Cunning, stealth, persistence. The arctic fox is infinitely adaptable, living its life in one of the world’s most extreme climates. Arctic fox people tend to be sly, graceful, and have a near magic ability to make something out of nothing, utilizing even the most limited of resources. Arctic fox as a totem can teach us the ability to go with the flow of life, changing ourselves to suit our ever-evolving environments.”

Boggart:

“Darling, what are you afraid of?”

It was a sleepy, pleasure-fed rasp in the dark. Selene felt a body stir besides her, the boy at her side raising himself up with one arm in order to press himself to her, mouth at her ear, hands running along her skin like cold satin.

“Why do you ask?” And hers was a coy, soft response. “So that you can scare me in the dark?” She smiled for his benefit rather than her own. In truth, a trembling sort of doubt had crept into her chest with that one word. She didn’t like the concept of it.

Fear. It signified cowardice, it signified that there were things in this great, grand world which could cripple her with their potency, like a drowned man in the face of god.

He smiles into the nape of her neck. “The dark, then?” And she felt herself being tugged backwards, she felt his lips crash hungrily into her own; and she gave into it, not because she was afraid of the dark, but because she was afraid of the mundane. That fate that lay before her, every night like this one - it seized her in her most vulnerable moments, and she was entirely, helplessly afraid.

↳ Her boggart would be a vision of herself as a domestic housewife: the most mundane of existences, in her opinion. The idea that she can hold as much talent and ambition as all the world and still be confined to a lifetime of boredom - it’s more terrifying than the prospect of death. She is desperate to escape her fate and build a new one. She would rather die than be reduced to someone’s prize horse, to be ridden hard, and retired easy.

FOUR CHARACTERISTICS:

Fascinating: She was beautiful, she was full of divinity and consequence. Fascination is a curious thing: it’s striking, it’s memorable; it’s something otherworldly. She was a girl of silk and lace. The people she met, the hearts that she broke - she would never fade from them, they would never forget her. Her very presence cast an impossible imprint upon all those who looked at her and heard her speak. It made her formidable, she supposed. To be known and idolized, to be worshiped and dreamt of. Wetdream, daydream, chiffon-nightmare. Chanel No. 5, pervading their sleep and whispering sweet nothings into their ears.

Pragmatic: Her sharpness of mind was like the glint of a sword; all at once lethal and impressive. She was ambitious, yes. But beyond that, she was intelligent, sensible; possessing an enormous capacity for reason. Crime and Punishment. War and Peace. While the Slytherins followed their blind ambitions to the gates of Purgatory without blinking, she knew well what lay on the road before her. All things, even suffering, can be alleviated by planning. Her judgement is one of her greatest assets; and her mind is her greatest weapon: beyond her lips or her legs or her eyes, her mind is what truly entices. Aphrodite was beautiful, yes - but Athena had ended empires with a close of her fist.

Jealous: Even god himself is a jealous god. It seems that the fate of all divine beings is to want and hoard and hold close to them that which is theirs. Selene is often prone to envy: she envies Nathaniel for his unmerited inheritance, she envies Nikolai for stealing Evan’s affection, she envies and envies until it fills her lungs with thoughts of retribution. Things and people who she sees as “hers” are sacred in her eyes, and she will break heaven and raise hell in order to wrestle them back if they are taken from her.

Manipulative: She was a raven, but she possessed the cunning of a snake. As Helen had started a war of the ages with her manipulation and beauty, and Delilah had rendered Samson futile with her charming murmurs and a well-placed mouth; so Selene manipulated those around her with her charisma. She could be the devil’s prostitute for those boys who craved a bit of brutality, she could be a heavenly wraith for all the girls who wished to be treated softly. Her manipulation came in many forms - verbal, metaphorical, physical. Even with a single glance, she could convey entire worlds of lies. In the span of one conversation, sinners could be born again, the blinded could again see a pinprick of light. She had the tongue of a seductress, the mind of a empress, the voice of a siren, the hands of a nympth.

CONNECTIONS:

Nikolai Selwyn — “I don’t want to be around you. I don’t want to drink you in. I want to walk into the heart of you and never walk back out. “ —Nico Alvarado from “Tim Riggins Speaks of Waterfalls”

↳ She wanted him for no rhyme or reason: just that she could. She wanted him to bow before her, she wanted to place her hand upon his cheek and see him shudder at her touch. “You cannot evade me,” she murmurs to him in the twilight. “Not all of us are conquerable,” is his flippant response, matching her every move with a mirror move of his own. In truth, she envies Nikolai: she envies his bond with Evan, she envies his promising future, she envies that he is not hers to touch and hold captive. There is a wine-dark streak of ambition in his soul, and she senses it calling to hers. She’s considered it; my god, she’s considered it. How would they look standing side by side? Would their scepters match in shades of gold? How great an empire could they build, if they were to give into their primal urges and kiss each other like the hungry, insatiable beasts they were?

Nathaniel Avery — “Do you want it? Do you want anything I have? Will you throw me to the ground like you mean it, reach inside and wrestle it out with your bare hands?” —Richard Siken from “Wishbone”

↳ Her brother had everything that she ever wanted, but he still found ways to hurt her anew. But she loved him, oh she loved him with a lingering purity, an inconsolable affection. They were both children once, after all: those were the best days, weren’t they? She still sees Nathaniel as a child, given his reckless antics, and often she’s the one to clean up his messes. He resents her, she knows this. But as much as she covets what he has innately been given, she doesn’t truly hate him. They both know that she’s more capable, more dangerous, more fit for the throne. But no matter how he might shirk his responsibilities and despise his role, Selene knows that Nathaniel would never, ever relinquish his hold on the Avery legacy to her. Not without a fight, not without a blood-soaked war.

Evan Rosier — “You happened to me. You were as deep down as I’ve ever been. You were inside me like my pulse.” —Marilyn Hacker from "Nearly a Valediction”

↳ “Do you love me?” It’s a tradition of theirs, to ask one another this. She asks him now, curled up against his shoulder as they watch the breeze roll in from the mountainpeaks, rippling across the grounds like a ghost. “Until the day the sun sets in the east,” he replies with an absolute certainty. And she smiles. All else can fade, but she’s certain that her bond with Evan will last forever. Contrary to what others might assume from their affectionate touches and deep familiarity, they are not lovers and will never be. They’re platonic soulmates, a different sort of union that is unbreakable by time or war. She worries deeply over Evan. He is her light and her shield, and she can’t imagine losing him to the hysteria which has overtaken the others of their society — he is not Achilles, golden warrior of the front lines. He is Patroclus, and she’s so desperately afraid of letting him go, only to receive him back in ashes. She does everything in her power to save them both from their impending dooms.

FREESTYLE PORTION:

Playlist: The Comets (for Selene & Evan)

Tag: (quotes, images, flashes of who I envision her to be) Click here

Diary Entry:

JULY 21ST, 1976

There is a misconception that beautiful women are thornless. We are ripe for the picking, simply a commodity to be auctioned and then bought by the highest bidder. It is just as Mary Wollstonecraft wrote: we are flowers, cultivated and planted within the shallowest of soil, so that every breath we draw depends entirely upon the whims of our masters. Our petals are ground to be their perfume, and because we were watered with wine and dreams, we inevitably wilt before our time. I am my father’s flower, a helpless, wilting bloom. I am to be here one day and gone the next, and he is to clink his pouch of gold as he makes the trade.

I fear destruction. It is like oblivion, a monstrous, infallible thing, armoured and willing to face even the strongest of souls. I feel myself hurtling towards it every day, every night. Particularly now, when I cannot breathe for the corset at my waist, and cannot cry for the mask upon my face. The monsters are already closing in. Their eyes pierce into my side and shake every foundation I have built in my seventeen years. They undress me, and I am always scrambling for honour, fighting not to lose it. There will come a day when they become too many, and even I cannot fight them any longer. My weapons are quiet ones - they brandish armories and swords, I brandish only myself.

Today, I nearly lost even that. It sickens me to write of it, but it also is a reminder that must be committed to ink, an admonition to my future and my psyche.

I am always willing to be touched, to be violated, even - for the sake of my games. Like a queen must sacrifice pieces, I must allow certain events to transpire in order to reach my goal. Some are small.

Pawns: a man’s mouth against mine, rough and hard, his teeth clicking against my own, the taste of whiskey in his breath. The warm slithering feeling of a tongue slipping past my lips, intertwining as he presses me against the edge of a table.

Rooks…wandering hands that begin at my waist and then stray to my chest — grasping, handling, lingering over the black lace and dark chiffon we women don for their imagination.

Some are larger, more important, less forgivable…and it is when they are taken from me that I feel like I may be slipping, that I may be losing this match to the enemy.

My knights, my bishops.

Last night, I suffered a loss that haunts me even now. It is not a loss that I have not already seen. And yet his hand between my thighs, thrusting, twisting, drawing this primal, feral thing out of me…I’m almost ashamed to say that I almost enjoyed it, that I arched my back and cried his name out like it meant something. Then there was his mouth, already stained crimson from my lips, and I hated it, I hated him — and yet I fell to those carnal pleasures, the stubble of his chin against my thighs, my fingers grasping the thick locks of his hair, torn between wanting him to stop and wanting more.

This is the danger of the precipice.

You think yourself powerful, guarded — and yet as your soldiers fall beneath you, you feel the urge to leap into that gorge, to face the beast yourself, to offer everything for the sake of victory. But you lose yourself to the glory, the feeling of love and sweat on your hands, spilling down your thighs like Poseidon’s saltwater spring…unintentionally wonderful and yet utterly pointless.

And that is when you fall.

Or nearly. He was naked, a beautiful youth, Adonis of our age. I did not know him, but his blood was pure like ichor, like those of the gods, he may have been Aphrodite’s favorite. And in the marble bareness of his chest, that moonlit organ hard between his legs, I found a type of twisted satisfaction. But not enough, never enough. He was a bishop, but I am the queen. When I fall, the entire board capsizes.

I left him there with a kiss and nothing more.

There was something ugly, hideous in his gaze; when I pulled from him. He made as if to grab me, to silence my cries and get it over with. I would have killed him if he had.

Perhaps the blood wouldn’t even lie on my hands — I know that there are those who would murder with a single word of my command.

WRITING SAMPLES:

( For this portion of the app, I decided to take the prompt literally, and provide a few flashes, glimpses, and short windows of insight into Selene at various points across time. Some are vague, others are fleeting — but I hope that they come together to give a somewhat holistic view of how I plan on portraying her. )

♚ ONE.

“Do you believe in omens?” Her voice is quiet, musing, a murmured menagerie of pale interest and cool apathy. She watches the bodies stream pass their perch at the banister, one after another, caught in a bacchic frenzy, food and drink fueled by an anxious trepidation. Her companion looks on at the scene below. They are like lions surveying a stampede of gazelles; choosing their prey, calculating their victories. Selene scoffs, a soft sound. “In times of war, harbingers like this always promised riots to come. Look at them. Look at their fear.”

♚ TWO.

It was always an exciting affair to return an illicit volume to its rightful place upon the shelves. A trickyaffair, dangerous, full of sleights of hands and misleading paths to fool the eyes of any beholder. Selene slipped past the stories of magical beasts and their destruction, stepped through the sector dedicated to the most famous of the wizarding race — slowed as she approached potions and alchemy. Her fingers wrapped tighter about the leather-bound notebook at her chest, remembering page 37 and its deadly advice, thinking upon it. A turn of the corner, a glance cutting across the small expanse — and dark eyes reflected dawn’s light as recognition flooded their depths. A sigh, soft, like the grey light. “I don’t trust you with your own judgment this morning, mon cher. It seems to be…lacking.”

For there Evan was, asleep on the ground. He was graceful even in his sloth, but she nonetheless goes to him, shakes him lightly; presses a chaste kiss to his forehead when he stirs but does not wake.

♚ THREE.

Her smile wavered before falling into oblivion. She did not play games where others were used as leverage, certainly not those who she had purposely excluded from her board. Nathaniel had crossed some irreversible line, broken an unspoken rule. He had involved a piece that she had expressively hidden away in his convoluted games.

“Our father must be pleased that a boy like you is his heir and that I’m only the spare.” Her voice was quiet, eerily so; the imperium was not in volume, but in nature. “But to have half a beast inherit his name would be a harrowing blow, would it not? Like Minos and his Minotaur, a creature appeased only by the blood of maidens, confined within a labyrinth where he believes himself k i n g .”

Now she leans forward as she stands from her seat, her lips inches from his ear, dark locks lending the two Avery siblings a brief moment of seclusion, a heartbeat for her to etch her murmered mark. “I suggest that you heed my warning, little king. You’re running yourself into a dead end.”

♚ FOUR.

It dripped from her, a seduction as golden-dark and rich as honey; that gilded absence of imperfection. To look at her was to die. Such a mouth, such a face, such fingers, pressing bruised kisses into the flesh of men and women alike; Eros’ executioner, bedecked in a cloak of darkness and lace, feeding upon the misguided love of her victims.

She stands now, wrapped in that invincibility (that impossibility) of bedroom eyes and smokey murmurs, champagne-kisses and the soft flutter of a dress as it falls to the floor. About her, a dozen beings are having a thousand dreams of touching and being touched by her, and she is fully aware of their hunger. They may deny it, they may suppress it, but the way that she moves, ah, she is from heaven and they are sinners begging for salvation, found in the passionate press of her lips, the flicker of her dark eyes, silver in the moonlight.

“My darling.” It’s the real executioner sweeping up to her in all his finery, smiling like a wolf, all teeth and hackles and obsidian daggers. Nikolai Selwyn. He is seventeen and already holds himself with the same air which characterizes his father’s dynasty, and though she doesn’t want to play into his game tonight, together they nonetheless exude a sense of power which is both intimidation and seduction.

Their surroundings pale, their opponents simmer with a quiet envy, daggers in their gazes and an unbidded wanting drying in their mouths. Opulence and wealth become quite inconsequential unless they are inhabited by the sure-footed elite, and in this manor of silk screens and white lace doilies, of ash fireplaces and ancient halls of secrets, they nearly dominate.

“My tormentor,” she replies to him in greeting, offering him her hand. He smiles, a crooked sort of smile that indicates that he’s genuine, if only for a night. And though she never does tell him, throughout the duration of that night, she is grateful for his company, the shadow-dark solidarity of him. If only for a night. What more should they expect; when they lived lies as extravagantly as if they were the glorious truth?

♚ FIVE.

There was a certain restlessness to the halls even in their state of solitude: but perhaps the feeling of frenzy was merely the beating of her heart. Once, she had relished its pulse. It was a sign that she was human, that despite all her wrongdoings, she had not yet risen to a place too far to be redeemed. Surely, when the day of her judgement arrived, she would hear it in the beating of her heart; it would skip and wrench, she would know with certainty that this is the end. Wretched organ of love, destroyer of worlds.

Tonight, as she steps lightly over the marble floors of a castle asleep, there is blood smeared on her mouth.No, it was merely lipstick. Hers? Theirs?

It had come to a point where she barely blinked after one such entanglement. Kiss them, lead them, lay with them; hear their breaths in the dark. These sorts of excursions had once been sparse, but now, with the last dredges of her humanity coming out in desperate attempt to change her impending fate, the nights were blurring, the sheets tangling one step closer to the ultimate picking of the rose. She was on dangerous grounds. It was her version of delirium, this uncouth consistency, one hard mouth exchanged for another, a different skin against hers each time the moon rose again. Pureblood, halfblood, blood without blood - did it matter? Promiscuity was separated from temptation by a fine division, but she could be characterized as neither. This was not a sport to enjoy, it was a hunt to numb the senses.

She walked as if in a trance. Dark cloaks drawn about her to make up for the chill of minutes prior (she was told that her collarbones could bring the sharpest of men to their knees), Selene was sweeping through the empty bones of a great establishment, and her mind was fleeing from her. Gaze lost; thoughtless. This was her delirium. And someone else was witnessing it. Darkness’ brother was fear. But she does not fear the boy in the shadows when her black gaze coolly rises to meet his.

Few specters frequented this twilight realm of hers.

“If not for your trademark arrogance, Nikolai, I might have passed you by.” She raises her chin by the slightest degrees, adjusting her tired bones to his height, adjusting her mindlessness for weary blades of steel.

“If not for the smear of your lipstick, I would have let you,” is his quaint reply, light; but carrying a far deeper connotation. He challenges her.

She meets his eyes across the moon-dark hall, and all at once they understand one another. Not like Evan understands her, no; but there is something familiar and innate in the Slytherin’s face that mirrors the hidden emotions in her own.

They had been children once. Pure, untainted. Once - though she despised the act of remembering it, she had been defenseless. Perhaps he had been as well. She wonders then, what had brought him to this place, to walk with her in shadows, to see the same dappled halls as she did, with eyes cold, serpentine…a gaze that so mirrored her own.

For her, it had been the roughness of hands in the dark, a snarling command pressed against her ear by her father and all his male companions alike, the reminder, the constant beratement that she was weak, meant only for another’s pleasure, that her power lay between her legs and no place else. She was in a labyrinth, and it was her destiny to be devoured by the beast who lusted for her flesh. Or so they insisted.

She would devour them if they spoke to her now. They would see her and want her, and she would tear their filthy hands from her waist, leave them bleeding out like dogs groveling at her feet. She was more powerful than they could ever dream to be. One movement of her hips, and she could destroy ships, obliterate mountains, move men like pawns across a board built from her fear, her anxiousness, herdetermination. There was nothing inevitable but her, and she would make them pay for what they had wished. But Nikolai— he was this world’s gentleman, void of such malignant tendencies, such terrible bigotries. There was a cool charm to him. There is now, as Selene stands across from him, drinking in the image of his dark cloaks, his dark hair, those tantalizing eyes. They may seem like equals, her cold gaze holding his accountable, but she had climbed further, run farther, reached and sacrificed and tiptoed and fought with a vigor that he would never know.

Fear, know thy master.

“I’m tired tonight, Nik.” It’s a familar nickname, too familiar perhaps. But it slips from her like water, and she doesn’t try to take it back. “Let me pass.”

“Let me see you.” He’s looking right at her. But she knows precisely what he means. This is another game, but it doesn’t feel like a game, it feels real; it feels heavy like the weight of a world. Her heart sinks, she feels her exhaustion anew. When she speaks again, her wariness is palpable

“I’m standing right here.”

But he’s adamant. Nikolai never did disappoint. His control was impressive, and she sees it now. He wants to let go, but still he holds back. He’s holding back from her. He sighs, for her. Because of her. “No you’re not, Selene. Not the real you.”

She meets his eyes for a long moment. Then Selene brings one hand to her mouth, and with an almost brutal motion, smears the rest of her lips. A scarlet slash cuts across her face in shades of creme and rose. She looks like an angel of death, just returned from swallowing a mortal heart.

“See me, then.”

Now he falters, and she drinks in his fallacy as a butterfly would nectar. Leo Tolstoy once wrote; It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness. Did this boy of darkness and torn shirts fancy her in need of his protection? The thought makes her want to laugh, and if she were a being of impulse, who allowed every whim to come to fruition, perhaps she would.

Instead, a smile. It cuts like a wound, blood-red lipstick. Waning crescent, holding a transcendence like the moon in an unforgiving November sky. There are some things that she has learnt to sense. Darkness is an old friend, she has walked hand in hand with it upon many a lonely, narrow road; and she recognizes it. Tonight, it resides in Nikolai’s chest, fluttering as strongly as a dragon’s wings at her proximity. Selene knows that she has won. She sweeps forward, gliding in the silence, relishing its softness as she draws closer to this proud, tall boy who could not show his concern, could not live without his wand, cannot hope to capture her —

“I show you only what you need to see, mon amour.” A pause, and she is close to him. She can smell his cologne, and there it is again, the feverish reflection of herself in his gaze. “While you,” and she wraps one hand about his, which is slack at his side. It’s strangely warm. Her fingers intertwine with all those tendons and knuckles, calloused skin against her soft palm. “You show me everything that I want.” That flash of a smile. “Your gaze is feral, Nikolai. There are primal urges that have been awakened within you; but you crave for something more than flesh and blood.”

“You crave what you don’t understand,” She passes him like a wraith, and he makes no move to stop her. Her whisper lingers.

“And it consumes you.”

♚ SIX.

Any other would hide their marks, those shameful scars of being dominated by another. But she is not ashamed, nor is she made so by their words, those sly syllables crafted to strike, to bury themselves within her flesh and wound her psyche. But she was not ashamed. She had awned her head back, felt teeth bite. Her jugular was not so easily split.

“Do you think this is the first time someone has raised a hand to me?” A musing murmur, and as that velveteen tone slips through scarlet lips, she can see that somewhere, her words have struck a truth. She turns towards the windows, her visage illuminated by night, a small reprieve in which she will allow them to recover. The bruises upon her throat glow ghostly in the night.

“How do I cope?” It was the unasked question, so she asks it for them. “I like to think of it as a temporary affliction, an insect’s fervored kiss.” And like a velvet curtain falling to reveal the work beneath, a single movement of her head, and her cloak slips from her shoulder, revealing half a dozen more dark compressions, littered like stars upon the smoothness of her shoulder. She makes no move to hide what they already must suspect. Sex is rough. Ambition is rougher.

“Don’t worry after me, love. I have very high tolerance for suffering. ”

♚ SEVEN.

She had promised retribution, and it trembles in her bones, the sound and the fury of it, the echoes of every premonition and terror. He stands before her, gaze averted, and it’s written all over his face: the guilt, the ready admission. It’s too easy - she wishes that it were harder, that he stood tall and straight, unblinking, insisting upon his innocence, proud until the end. But it seems that tonight has changed both of them, turned one into the mirage of another, stuck pins into the hard ice of their hearts, melted them for the sake of preserving what has been tainted.

The sincerity of what is to come is heavy in the air between them, and as she swallows the lump in her throat, she thinks: how ironic, that only when a threat of such caliber hangs above them that he can face her like this, without his armour, his barbs, those offenses that would barrage her so, push her until she was gritting her teeth and at the edge of the cliff, tempted by the idea of abandoning all care for the sake of primal revenge. So when Selene does speak, she is past suppressing what has been building in her, for years and years — this is the tipping point, and he knows as well as she how terribly their ship has rocked, how monstrously the storm rages. “Look at me,” she says, once. She is the wolf and he is silent. “What did you do, Nathaniel?” Her voice is eerily calm, but then it breaks, and the anger, the emotion that she has withheld for so long; it begins to leak. She speaks in a hiss, like the snake she almost could have been. “Nathaniel.” It’s not a question, but a command, and you can see it in her gaze — she would kill to see it obeyed. “Were you or were you not part of that despicable affair?”

♚ EIGHT

Eyes are the window to the soul. It was a timeless phrase, recycled, reused, debated by philosophers who thought themselves privy to the world of inner turmoil, hidden agendas behind flashing eyes and painted smiles. Who thought themselves able to speak of a secret history. She had seen many eyes in her lifetime - met a thousand gazes. Demurely, coldly, sweetly, cruelly — and perhaps it was true, these musings. In those lingering stares, she found more than carnal desire…and oh, if the stars had only hid their heavenly fire, perhaps those veiled depths might have remained today’s gift, tomorrow’s mystery.

Nathaniel’s were dead wet, the color of sickness. A puerile sickness, all tantrums thrown at twilight and too much force behind thick fists as they pounded against mahogany tables. A vicious jealousy, fueled by rash thinking and a need to conquer all - a boy who thought his future held a crown, and thus acted like a tyrant long before it had ever touched his head. When he campaigned and lost against his self-made enemies, & all his tricks lay slain on the battlefield, the wail of rage that went up was a terrible, terrible thing…such a shame, such a waste of a pretty face, such a waste of p o w e r .

Hers were hellfire, obsidian dark and ash gray - smoking flickers of a smoldering flame contained in that crevice between her lungs and her ribcage. When you leaned into the crook of that beautiful neck, swanlike, it was the scent of jasmine…and something else. Did a m b i t i o n have a scent? Or was it a subtle thing that she tucked within herself, deep in that cold cool organ which she called a heart? A warrior queen dressed like a lamb: a long-legged, lupine thing, all silver teeth and golden claws, taking on the guise of her prey. She ate the bodies that the boy king left behind, wolfed down the remnants of his mistakes, turned that formidable pair of eyes upon another unsuspecting ruler to do it all over again. Her stealth was her weapon, it was her a d v a n t a g e .

Girls don’t speak until spoken to - and so she watched the world through heavy lashes until it bent to her bidding, until there was no creature that could resist her charms. She was not a beautiful thing, not in the classic sense, not like they wanted her to be. No, she was the crack of thunder against alabaster stone, a drop of blood in winter’s first snow, the thorn that pricks the unsuspecting finger on the underside of a rose. She was cruel, she was ruination, she was the saccharine taste of poison a moment before it grips and kills, bittersweet until the very end.

Girls don’t become powerful - and so she was not, at least, not from her appearance. She studied in secret, cut her delicate fingers fumbling with ancient pages in the midnight dark, marred those honeyed hands with the waxen heat of her quiet fury, her searing aspirations. Candlelight was where she stood her vigil, where she planned her battles. It was beneath the sun, in the clasp of daylight, that she played them out. A lovely thing she was, in these hours when she was most dangerous - soft, graceful, a vision of divine absolution, ichor flowing through her veins and making her glow, making her desirable. A lovely thing she was, when she had so much power to h u r t .

You are man’s plaything, you are their pet, their every whim. You are Eve, made for Adam’s pleasure. Their warmth, their foundation, their dearly beloved — their shadow, their buried support, the thing that they bend across the soft silk of a bed with hands rough and too accustomed to love lost. A mare to be ridden, until the sheen of sweat on her hide was broken by a cry in the dead of night, a child mewling its hallowed name. She knew what they expected, she had known it her entire life, this impending doom above her head, threatening her and constraining her, making it ten times more difficult to rise than to fall into that niche she had been born into - but her resolve was beyond what they ever could have imagined. She knew of legislation and judgement, of landmasses and kings - the history of the world perched upon her palm, and among it, there were so few women queens, so few heroines: but had they existed as she did? Quietly, a simmering force beneath a complacent exterior? Did they paint their lips, smooth the waists of their gowns and chiffon, glance at themselves in the mirror and see the serpent beneath the flower? She had been told to be men’s companion, and so she was. She was bound to them, so she made them her foundation, the poor unfortunate souls who she sucked dry, their blood smearing her mouth. And she laughed.

She laughed like a god.

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tortuga-aak · 6 years

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Why millions of Chinese people are filing for divorce every year

Reuters

Divorce is no longer social taboo in China.

1.85 million couples registered for divorce with the government in the first six months of 2017, an increase of more than 10% compared to the same period in 2016.

Domestic violence and extramarital affairs are the leading causes of divorce in China.

When Zhou Ying from Guangzhou ended her 10-year marriage last year she felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

Not only did the 38-year-old get custody of her eight-year-old son, as well as possession of the family flat and a substantial portion of their shared savings, she no longer had to face the constant arguments that had become a feature of her marriage.

There was little romance left between Zhou and her husband, and eventually the relationship became too exhausting for both of them, she said.

“We were in love at first sight and it will always leave a scar that the relationship ended in divorce, but I think it is less painful than if we hated each other and let the boy live in a hostile environment,” Zhou said. “Financially I can support me and my boy. My quality of life is not affected.”

Unlike older generations who may have settled for an unhappy marriage, divorce is no longer socially taboo in China.

Couples can either register a divorce with the civil affairs authority, indicating they have agreed to go their separate ways, or they can sue for divorce through the courts, which can rule on custody of children and how to dispose of any assets.

In the first six months of this year, 1.85 million couples registered for divorce with the civil affairs authority alone, an increase of more than 10 percent compared with the same period last year.

Shutterstock

Three decades ago, in 1986, 460,000 couples registered their divorces with the civil affairs authority – the most common route taken. By 2016, that annual number had risen to 4.15 million.

The average age at which people in China get married is 26, according to a 2015 survey by the All-China Women’s Federation.

Many relationship experts and lawyers put the rising divorce rate down to higher expectations and growing financial independence, especially among women.

But buried in the sharply climbing statistics lies a darker truth: domestic violence and extramarital affairs together are the leading causes of divorce in China.

Beijing No 2 Intermediate People’s Court said in March that 93 percent of its divorce cases in the past year involved domestic violence or extramarital affairs.

A survey by Jiayuan, a dating website and service provider, in April found 18 percent of divorced female members attributed domestic violence as the cause. Thirty-eight percent of female divorcees said they were divorced because their husband cheated on them. For their male counterparts, 25 percent said they had been cheated on and 2 percent cited abuse.

Forty-one percent of divorced members had ended their marriage within the first five years.

Lu Xiaoquan, director of Beijing Qianqian Law Firm, said most of the 1,200 legal consultation requests the firm and organization received since its establishment involved domestic violence and extramarital affairs.

Lu’s firm is linked to the non-governmental women rights organization Beijing Zhongze Women Legal Aid Centre.

“Some spouses grew up in a family where domestic violence was prevalent and continued the bad behavior when they grew up. The social environment was highly tolerant of domestic violence, too,” Lu said.

A relationship expert in Jiayuan, who wished to remain anonymous, said domestic violence included physical action as well as lashing out emotionally and “cold violence” represented by neglect or a lack of communication.

Ruby Xu, a 32-year-old health worker in Beijing who is in the process of filing for divorce, said she felt like she had been trapped in an endless nightmare.

She constantly suffered from verbal abuse from her husband, whom she married just months after first meeting him.

She became pregnant soon after they married but was left alone in hospital for weeks when she suffered complications that threatened the baby’s life.

Guang Niu/Getty Images

The abuse escalated to physical a month after she give birth. Her husband usually picked on her for trivial things such as when she bought a medicine prescribed by doctor without telling him, or if she did not rush to the baby the second the infant started crying. He would get very emotional while yelling at her and started to beat her, Xu said.

She tried to endure the abuse for the sake of the baby, but finally decided to divorce her husband after she sustained a skull contusion during a beating. She was thrown out of home and barred from seeing her son.

“I miss my boy so much that sometimes I wait outside my old home in the hope of catching a glimpse of him being taken out to play. It is a very cruel thing not let a mother see her child,” Xu said. “The past three years have been the most painful time of my life. My only hope is for the divorce to grant me custody so I can live with my son again.”

Xu’s divorce case has gone through two hearings and she is now waiting for the decision.

Zhang Qihuai, director of the Lanpeng Law Firm in Beijing, has worked on more than 200 divorce cases in his career. He said the Beijing court’s estimate that 93 percent of its cases involve domestic violence or extramarital affairs matched his experience.

Zhang represented Wang Baoqiang, a migrant worker-turned actor, in the country’s most high-profile divorce in recent years.

The movie star posted on his Weibo account in August last year that he was seeking a divorce because his wife Ma Rong had cheated on him with his agent.

Ma, who insists there is more to the story, although she has yet to give further details, is suing Wang for tarnishing her reputation in a case that is still ongoing.

Flickr/Yinan Chen

“Due to the influence of western culture, couples are pursuing romantic relationships. They are more financially capable of taking their lovers to restaurants and to hotels. Social networks also make finding one-night stands much easier,” Zhang said.

Zhang said couples had raised the bar for their romantic relationships, and were more focused on the “spiritual aspects” of life.

“[Marriage] used to be about providing a stable family structure to ensure the elderly and young children were looked after, but not any more,” Zhang said.

One court in Jinan, Shandong province, has tried to stem the rising tide of divorce by imposing a three-month cooling-off period for couples to think their decision over, according to Xinhua.

Li Jiang, a judge at the district court in Sizhong where the practice started, said he felt a sound family background could have made a difference for some of the juvenile criminals the court tried.

As many as 700 out of every 1,000 cases the court handled were divorces, but the judges believed couples were too quick to seek to end their marriages when they should be working through their disagreements.

They said sometimes the decision had been made in a rush or as a result of parental interference.

At the end of the cooling-off period, couples can either file for divorce as planned or request that their term of contemplation be extended.

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runningaddiction · 7 years

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The Endless Hills - Trail des Gueules Noires Race Report

Going to start off this race report with a PSA about integrity. Cutting the course or cheating is still cutting the course no matter if you’re in 1st place or 100th place! This may have happened in races I’ve done in the past, but I was never an eye witness or had direct knowledge of it. In the Trail des Gueules Noires (Trail of the Miners) I witnessed ultrarunners knowingly cut the course because they didn’t want to back track and do the right thing.

I couldn’t believe it. I did realize that the group of runners I was with was in approximately 90-100th place and didn’t have much of a chance to win at that point but that still doesn’t matter when it comes to integrity or sportsmanship.

There was good group of us following the “main” trail and passed several Red/White striped flags and that should’ve been the first sign for me to stop and turn around. However, I chose to keep going with the crowd. We went off course for about four minutes according to my Strava. Then we hit the course again. Every other runner that was with me, choose to do the wrong thing and just continued on with others in the race that had been on course.

I choose to turn around and try to find where I went off course. Understandably, I probably lost a few places in the race, but I didn’t want to compromise my integrity. I also was able to catch a few others runners that had only been off course for a minute or two; they choose to go back and find the course with me.

Throughout the whole race I went off course three times. It was really messing with me because this is the first race that I have gotten lost even once. Getting off track definitely taught me the lesson of making the hard right decision to go back and get back on course, plus who wants to go the wrong way?

The next thing I wanted to bring up was that this race, “Alex Bridgeforth’d” me. If you have ever trained with me for more than a day, then you’ll know that some (probably my only) good stories are from what I like to call “adventures” with previous training partners. These “adventures” are generally really hard or stupid training runs/rides/hikes/death-marches that I’ve pulled/pushed old training partners through. This may make this post longer than it needs to be but I am going to list the ones I can find in my training record.

Might have to write a post that dives deeper into each one of these or you could just ask me when we go out for a run together.

Robbie and I supposed to be doing an eight mile run for our scheduled Sunday training run, but turning it in 26 miles;

Keith and I running eight and half miles from home in Lakeside to School in El Cajon starting at 12:18 in the middle of the day at the end of May. This resulted in one of my more inspirational pictures.

Zion and I supposed to be doing an 8ish mile trail run that turned into 16 miles because we got lost; somehow running off of Fort Gordon.

Jerad, Chris, Brad, and I doing our own marathon around Fort Gordon. I completed a 50km that day, needed add a bit extra on the end apparently.

Zion and I deciding to do our own duathlon. We road 9 miles through Fort Huachuca to the base of Huachuca Mountain, ran 5 miles up it with 1,680’ of gain, 5 miles back down, and a 9 mile ride back home.

Derrick and I doing 12 mile trail run in Phoenix starting at 9:28am in August, and Derrick having no water…

Me talking Zion into a 64 mile bike ride around the Huachuca Mountains.

Zion and I doing the Surge Saturday 53 mile ride in Sierra Vista, AZ. Zion didn’t eat dinner or breakfast prior to the ride and only brought 1 Gu…

Doing a 50k Race with Keith and Joseph, 1 week after my wedding.

Doing 14 miles at Camp Arifjan, Kuwait with Angel E. in a Sand storm.

Eric, Matt, Michael, Zion and I riding 77 miles around Augusta, GA to complete the Strava Gran Fondo challenge. Only a few cramps later and we all got it done.

Tony, Chris, and I riding 70 miles around the small towns west of Sulzbach-Rosenberg and Amberg.

Bottom line is this race “Alex Bridgeforth’d” me well. Whoever the course designer was made this course as hard as it could be. If you ever gone out for a “hard” run with me you would know that I generally try to string together the hardest climbs or hills in an area, because why not. This race would not stop, the hills didn’t stop coming until the very end.

Stepping back a bit, I want to bring up our stay at the Radisson in Liege, Belgium. I have to include this story if only for my future sanity. 9 times out of 10, Angel and I will stay in an Airbnb with the boys. One of the reasons that we will choose that route, even more now, is the reaction of our “neighbors” and one of the employees. We arrived into the town late the night before the race and Ashur was super tired and didn’t want to stop crying. This resulted in the people staying in the room next to ours pounding on the connecting door then meeting me outside and telling me that she can’t sleep because of the crying baby.

I have not been that upset at a random person in a long time. I was just thinking like what do you want me to do? Choke him? So I felt like I did the right thing and took him to the stairwell, where even though the sound may bounce, he’ll have a chance to calm down without ruining any more Belgians’ precious sleep. But no, one of the employees came up and asked me if I could get him to stop crying because it was bouncing off the walls. That was it, I finally just put on a YouTube video for Ashur and told Angel what happened when I got back to our room.

Back to the race: With my nutrition for the race, I chose, well I didn’t really have a choice. In the morning I had a local european “energy” bar. We were kind of late getting up, trying to get both boys up and out the hotel door.

I was planning on using Tailwind and 33 shake during the race. I planned on the normal 200 calorie Tailwind pack with one 16oz collapsible water bottle per hour and also take in a 90 calorie Chia Seed “Gu” from 33 shake every hour. I had tried 33 shake before once in training, so I guess that counts as not trying something new on race day.

I think my nutrition went pretty well, I probably need to start bringing something to eat in the middle of races. I wanted real food by the time I got to the two aid stations in the 33 mile race. The first aid station I was at about 2.5 - 3 hours into the race and I definitely needed fuel at that point. I also need to get more collapsible bottles, Angel could’ve had some and we could’ve easily switched out at the aid station. The 33 shake worked well, but I didn’t have enough to take it in the latter stages of the race, that was a failure on my part.

I saw potato chips at the first aid station and of course those are my favorite "bad for you" aid station food. So by the time I was getting close to the second aid station I had my mind set on getting some. The problem with that is that I definitely had too many there. One handful of chips is probably enough, but I had probably four to five maybe more. I need to find some kind of salty snack that is more healthy that will get me through my urge to have chips. Also, I drank 2-3 cups of Coke, which I don’t think hurt me. I generally drink Coke the last 25 to 33% of every race. It helps settle my stomach and gives a nice caffeine boost as well. I may have had only one stomach cramp throughout the race which came near the end. Overall, I think I was pretty solid nutritionally, which was surprising. I think a lot of that had to do with my pacing though.

Pacing, I decided before the race, I wanted to do the first 2/3 of the race at MAF, or for me (180 minutes your age) is 142-152 heart rate range. My goal was to keep it in that range on the flats and downhills. For the uphills, I knew there was going to be a lot of them, but I had know idea how many, my goal was just to push as hard as I could power hiking, which most of the time meant I was higher than my MAF.

I feel that is ok in my mind because one of the ideas of MAF is that you’re saving blood from having to always be pushing to your legs and you can let your stomach actually process some fat while your running. When you’re just hiking, your stomach isn’t jostling as much. Your stomach is able to settle and calm down more. I power hiked a lot, there seemed to be no flats. Maybe... maybe, 10% of the race was flat enough to get any kind of rhythm going.

I planned to pick up the pace starting last 33% of the race at mile 23. That didn’t happen, there was so many vertical or straight up and down hills. If you can imagine a big hill to your left with no trail then that was probably where the race was headed. I felt it was impossible to get a faster pace going. I just kept working at the MAF on flats and downhills and power hiking the uphills as fast as I could go. At that point my legs were so shot it was just a fight for every step to pass people or just having the terrain slaughter my legs even more.

I need to use Angel and the boys as more of a race cheer leading crew rather than a race pit crew. In the past, we have struggled, causing Angel stress dealing with the boys and dealing with my nutrition. So this race I decided that I was going to bring all my nutrition in my Salomon pack with me. Instead of using her to help me focus on making sure I had everything I needed, I could do that and she could focus on the boys and getting to the next aid station to see me and relaxing and hanging out and helping only when I actually got to the aid station versus having to try to fight to remember everything that I needed

I think it worked out almost perfect. If I had some extra bottles, I could’ve given those to her with some extra tailwind with no expectation that she have it ready unless she felt that she had the time when she got the next aid station. But I would still maintain all the nutrition I need. I plan on keeping that strategy for the next race. I think the aid stations being spread out like they were and even if there are more than I need to choose some for her that are at about the 2- 2.5 hour mark, so she doesn’t feel so rushed.

Another big thing in all the races I’ve done here in Europe is that everyone else speaks a different language which makes me feel like I’m running solo. At least there are other runners around, but it still catches you off guard because I’m used to being able to have a full conversation with the other runners around me. Also, since I’ve been living in Germany, I’ve gotten better at listening and speaking it, I know some questions to ask and certain things to say. This race was in Belgium, where they speak primarily French and I speak/know almost zero french. Like, zero zero.

One of the hard things with all these races is breaking through the language barrier, because you can’t expect everyone to speak english. That’s just the way it is. Even running along with people they will speak German or French to you and look at you like you’re crazy because you have no idea what they just said and because I don’t even know what to say back to them. A lot of it is trying to convey to them that all I can speak is english, so if they want to converse at all then its going to have to be in english or broken english. I was able to talk to a few different people about where they were from but its difficult for me and them to converse.

It’s always difficult running a race and not having anyone to talk to except your crew at the aid station. The race really becomes about trying to focus and stay internal. Another big thing I did this race was the last 33% I put my headphones. That always helps deal with the time. Using music as reward has always helped me out, holding out on listening to it till a certain point will be motivation to get to that point quicker. I use an app called Pace DJ which sets most of the music in my iTunes to a specific cadence that I chose, which helps keeps my feet moving.

Now a little section about gear. Start from bottom to the top. I decided to run in my Pearl Izumi Trail N1. If you don’t know, then Pearl Izumi recently decided to stop producing running gear in 2017. When I heard the news I went out and got two pairs of the Trail N1s. These were my work horse shoes a couple of years ago, so I figured I would give them a chance again. I wore them in my 100 mile race in 2013 and they worked well then. They worked out fine here in Belgium, no blisters, although from all the ups and down there is some tenderness in my forefeet and just normal foot fatigue. However, that can also come from the miles that Angel and I walked around Brussels that evening and the next few days as well. Shoes were no issue and I will continue to use them until it’s time to change them out.

For socks, I always stick with Swiftwick, I have used Injinji before and I know a lot of friends use them, but Swiftwick has never let me down, and I like that they are made in America and I rock the American flag on them. I don’t really have to mess with my feet, no cream or powder, I still got no blisters, Just throw on Swiftwicks and shoes.

The race was about 35-40 degrees the whole way. Early on I decided to wear tights, but as the sun started to come out in the morning and with how hard I was planning on going throughout the race, I decided to go with shorts. I had brought my reliable Lululemon ones, with sewn in compression shorts, body glide in the nether regions and shorts work like a charm. Legs didn’t too cold going as hard I was the entire race.

On the top I chose to go with my Ink 'n Burn christmas sweater tech t. I had originally planned on wearing my lightweight jacket from Salomon, but about 5 miles into the race I took the jacket off. I was able to pull it off through my pack and stuff it away. By the end of the race when the sun was going down or when I was farther back into the woods, it did start to get a bit chilly, but that probably helped push me. A lot of people were wearing jackets, but not this guy.

I had my normal Merino Wool, Smart Wool liners on for gloves, they work well, my hands will sometimes get cold in them, but they wick moisture pretty well. I brought Julbo glasses, put them on for a bit and then put them on my head which probably looked dorky because the sun only came out for a few minutes the whole day. I started off with my Mountain Hardware fleece cap to cover my head, but that came off early in the race as well, I put on one of my Buffs on as a headband. My head did get cold by the end of the race, but again, more motivation to get to the end of the race.

The last big thing I wanted to talk about, which I kind of alluded to in the “getting Alex Bridgeforth’d”, is the hills. You can look at the course profile online and see some hills, but it felt way worse than it looks. It reminded me of some of the parks in the hill county of Texas where it's hill after hill and they never give you a break. This race course felt like if you just continuously pointed at the hardest hill you could see and chose to go run up it. When you got done with that hill, you look for the next hardest one and you were on your way they and it never stopped.

Overall, I always feel bad here in Europe, compared to in the United States, I am much slower against the field here. At this race I finished 102 out of 192. Which is part of the bottom half, in my mind I don’t like. I am not happy with that result. Normally in the states, I run in the top 25%, and it is not like I have lost a lot of fitness. There is nothing against being slow, it just seems “slow” people don’t run ultra marathons here in Europe. I need to keep working on climbs with my “A” race next year being Zugspitze Ultratrail, super hilly, super technical. I definitely need to get back to hill training rather than just doing loop trails.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading all 3,097 words. Probably my longest post yet.

Call for Comments: How did your last race go?

- Alex

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