Aegon Really Just Straight Up Fired His Pops To Promote This Asshole And All I Could Do Was Laugh Because

Aegon really just straight up fired his pops to promote this asshole and all I could do was laugh because my dude, this man just let your son die and your sister-wife be traumatized for life because he was fucking your mother AND YOU PROMOTE HIM FOR IT

Lol hotd could never fool me, this is some top shit comedy

(Sorry online illiterates but you could never convince me this man is fit to be king)

i keep sucking at my job but they keep promoting me 😭

Overanalyzing my OCs' relationship at 2AM just because I can

I know no one you'll read this but I wanted so bad to make a character analysis of the characters of my latest book series, so I'll just do it and leave it here for anyone who might be interested,

So, one of the things I love about Khaos and Amalie's dynamics (and something that is vital to understand about their relationship) is that they don't fall in love with each other until the third book because the romance is not what their stories are about.

Of course, they feel attracted to each other but they really, really don't like each other in the first two books. The thing about Khaos and Amalie's relationship in the first book (Prison of Darkness) is that they are learning to trust each other as people who can do the job they are assigned to in their mission - the one thing they do share and are obliged to in the story, the thing that brings them together.

The first book (for them) is about establishing Amalie's trust in Khaos' ability to lead and to actually respect those who are below him in this group's hierarchy, and about Khaos' ability to actually trust that Amalie will go through with her promises and stay by their side even when she has such a strong set of morals. Once they recognize that the other has the capacity to be and do what they need them to be or do, they realize they can trust each other to be a reliable part of the same team.

That's the point of the first book in regards to their relationship - to establish trust, not between romantic partners, but as part of the same team.

Then, by the first book, once Khaos is forced to confront the worst demons of his childhood, Amalie is forced to see the humanity of Khaos. And it's in this context the base of their romantic feelings will be set later on in the third book, but I digress: the point of the second book is that Khaos is not a good person and that's not supposed to be ignored by the readers - Khaos is not a good person and he isn't a good person by choice.

Amalie sees that, and she despises him for it, and she is right to do so because Khaos is aware of the pain and suffering his actions as well as his inaction put people through, and he still chooses it every time. And unlike some dark romances would make us believe, it's not actually sexy, healthy, or even healing to not give a damn because of trauma. It's actually the opposite of it.

Of course, Khaos has his reasons, he has deep-rooted trauma to overcome on the path to becoming a better person than he chooses to be but what Amalie is forced to see in the second book (Crown of Death) is that, deep down, he's not cruel or vindictive or insensitive for the sake of it. What she is forced to recognize and accept throughout the second book is that Khaos is very much human just like she is, and he has the same complexity she has.

It happens with Amalie's perception of other characters as well but especially when talking about Khaos, the second book forces her to see him in a new light so that the pot twist in the ending lands more heavily on her. The story of the second book will reveal to Amalie that even through his cruelty, Khaos is capable of not only caring but also capable of choosing better options, choosing to do better by himself and the people around him.

And for Khaos, the second book is about showing him that he can do better without losing himself like he fears will happen because of his trauma. It's about his understanding that change can happen and as such, forcing him to recognize that his perception of Amalie is jaded, is tainted by his trauma's lenses. For him, the development of his character gives Khaos the chance to look at Amalie as someone who can not only rival his intelligence but also push him in the direction he not only needs to be pushed but also wants to be pushed to, just by her personality alone.

It's about him understanding that Amalie was right, and being humbled by it, and accepting that he was wrong in his choices - albeit justified - and thus opening a path for him to change in the ways he needs to.

And that's the point where we reach the third book (Treason of Blood) and I absolutely love that Amalie and Khaos just start to sincerely love each other in the last book because it's only then they actually become the people they would fall in love with.

I could never have written Amalie falling in love with Khaos before because I could never fathom loving a person who thinks so little of my principles and morals, so little of my capacity to understand the world around me, like Khaos does for her. And for Khaos, I could never convincingly write someone falling in love with a person who thinks so little of me, of the person I am, who judges me even though she knows nothing of my struggles or my past or the things I've been through.

So the third book is about change, it's about becoming better versions of ourselves, and more than that: doing right by the rest of the world because of it. The third book is about forgiving bad deeds but demanding change for them, accepting traumas but also holding themselves and others accountable for their own choices (even when guided by these same traumas), it's about falling in love with a person because they're trying to do better (not for you but just because they realized they had a shitty attitude) and falling in love because of their capacity to forgive, to be kind and amorous even when we can't forgive ourselves.

I just love their dynamic so much, I wish more people knew about them.

As I previously stated somewhere on this site, I would 100% go full-on Joaquin Phoenix's Joker if the love of my life called me as boring as a beige pillow

Okay, lemme be honest: I'd probably Joker myself up as well if Louis de Pont du Lac of all people called me as boring as a beige pillow

Armand wants Louis to be interested in him but every interesting thing he does also qualifies as torture so it has to be erased from Louis’ mind. And Louis might be kinda into that but Armand can’t risk him suddenly developing self respect and leaving him. So tragic

Taigh Hill Dedications - Chapter 1

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

“In a Midnight dreary while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door ‘Tis some visitor’ I muttered ‘tapping at my chamber door Only this and nothing more’” — The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe

People could go fuck themselves, this was Christian Anthony Evans's motto for life.

From experience, the boy could say for sure that seeking people's approval was always something bad. And Christian had learned that in the worst way possible: through the suffering of being rejected by his own father. When he was a kid, Chris couldn't understand why Maxwell wouldn't behave like his friend's parents did, carrying him on his shoulders and laughing at silly jokes that made no sense.

“Your father doesn't know how to express his own love,” his mother Jeanne would say patiently while putting him to bed when his bedtime would come. “He feels too intensely, Chris, and tries to hide these feelings to protect himself.”

At seven, Chris could understand his dad, or at least, he tried to understand the man he admired the most in the whole world. At sixteen, after countless ignored anniversaries and conversations, he was tired of his mother's excuses for his father's behavior and simply decided not to care. Well, not about everything: Chris cared about his mom and his friends, but not about his father.

Never about Maxwell.

When Jeanne had something to say about Maxwell, he didn't want to hear. Ignore just how he was ignored, Chris thought, and he couldn't be happier after he started to really do it, occupying his time with entertaining his mother, since she suffered just like — or even more than — him with his father's absence. He would have fun with his friends until late — at least after his fourteenth birthday — so he could avoid his dad all day but the five minutes through breakfast.

It was for this reason that when Maxwell came into the house that cold September afternoon, Chris and Jeanne knew there was something wrong. 

At first, the day seemed like any other day: Chris woke up at the same hour to go to school, had breakfast in an uncomfortable silence between his parents, gave his mother a goodbye kiss, and left without looking at his dad. When he came back home at lunchtime, the employees served the food while Nana, the old housekeeper who had raised Jeanne, knit in her rocking chair with an amused smile to Chris. Both of them, like his mother and him, had been very close since he was a kid and she loved to curl her finger through Chris's hair, commenting on how she had only seen his deep shade of red hair in books.

Nana was the one who had awakened the boy's taste for literature, although he rarely mentioned he liked books. For some reason, his friends seemed to think reading was boring and Chris didn't know what to think about it. He thought books were so interesting and truthful, so full of emotions and adventures, capable of curing all his pain with their magic infinite stories. He loved them immediately.

“You're quiet today,” said the old housekeeper with her sweet husky voice, her white hair as soft as cotton.

“I'm eating, Nana,” said Chris in response with a sly smile to the older one while he leaned back and looked at her. “Weren't you the one to teach me it's impolite to eat with my mouth open?”

“Sassy boy,” she provoked, laughing, and got Chris to smile, too. Then, he returned to his food. The old lady, though, seemed restless and said: “I think something is happening.”

“What is it, Nana?” the boy asked, frowning when he looked up from his plate to look at the older woman carefully while she rocked herself and looked at the window, lost in thoughts.

Nana, though, just shook her head and strongly clipped her tongue, smiling a little, but her smile didn't reach her eyes.

“Nothing, son, just an old lady's silly feelings” she finally answered and Chris snorted, sarcastically.

Like his step-grandma could be considered anything near silly.

Knowing what he meant with that snorting, Nana just smiled and got back to her knitting. After some seconds of silence, which was broken just by the soft noise of the needles hitting each other, Chris gave up and continued to eat, aware he wouldn't get an answer from the old lady.

The rest of the afternoon also passed without any problem: after lunch, he got himself clean and went down, where he knew his mother would spend her whole afternoon, waiting for visits that wouldn't come and for a husband who wouldn't come home until late at night. Jeanne was the sweetest person Chris had ever met in his life and it wasn't rare for Nana to say he should always give thanks for having a mother like her, because not many people in the world were like his mother. In fact, there were too many insufferable ignorant people and Chris could even include some of his own friends on the bill. And his parents too.

As always, Jeanne was sitting on the burgundy patterned sofa, staring at the window in front of her, so lost inside herself that Chris laughed at the sight of her open-mouthed and starry-eyed, something anyone would find weird and still, his mother was beautiful.

Silently, he allowed Jeanne to compose herself after this moment of distraction when his arrival woke her up, and walked to the right bookshelf, at the back of the living room. There was two of them, each one in one side of the marble fireplace. The wood floor ran the vertical, from the window to the bookshelves and the cream-colored wall, smooth like his mother, who had decorated the room.

“How about a bit of Jane Eyre today?” the boy offered when his mother turned to him, holding the black vellum and golden words book for her to see it.

“No, I think I want some poetry today” was Jeanne's answer.

Her voice sounded to Chris's ears like a feeling symphony, he almost closed his eyes to hear it better. There were always so many tones printed on Jeanne's voice that it was almost impossible to understand all of it.

However, instead of closing his eyes, Chris just smiled jokingly and raised an eyebrow:

“You guess or you sure?” he raised his hands in peace when his mother gave him that look.

In Chris's opinion, every mother had a look capable of stopping their children from doing whatever they were doing. It was a warning mixed with a caring firmness, hard to explain, but he could feel he should stop what was annoying her at that moment.

“Right, lemme sit next to you then.”

He traded the books on the bookshelf and sat beside his mom, without caring about the fact that she continued to look out the window as she always did, still waiting for someone who would never come. Chris just looked at his mother's red hair and looked down, to the pages of his book. Edgar Allan Poe wasn't Jeanne's style, but Chris was sure she wouldn't hear a word he said, so he just took a deep breath and started:

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary…”

And just like that they spend the afternoon, with his mom looking through the window and Chris's voice, soft and sounding for the reading, filling up the room with the word master's words. He read poems and some tales to his mother and, at the end of the third tale — Berenice — Chris closed the book and supported it on his bent leg, looking to Jeanne with hesitation before asking softly:

“Why don't you try to paint for a while?”

That woke Jeanne up and she looked at him, speechless for a moment with her son's suggestion, then smiled, but there was something painful in her smile, something that made Chris's heart contort inside him.

“Why don't you read to me a little more, cariad? Or maybe I could. Your throat must be dry already” was all that Jeanne said as an answer.

Chris didn't say anything for a couple of seconds, just staring at his mom and trying to convince her silently to talk to him, but it was in vain. Jeanne could be twenty times more stubborn than her son and just looked back at him, that soft expression making keeping the discussion up impossible for Chris. The boy looked away and handed the book to Jeanne in silence, giving up after a few minutes, but before the delicate hands could hold the book, the front door pounded open with a wicked noise and Maxwell appeared in the opening that led to the living room. 

Different from the days he used to arrive early, his hair was a mess and his cravat really twisted. And his eyes, the one thing father and son shared, shone like crazy, wide. That expression in his usually stoic father made his wife move, standing from the sofa and going quickly to him with her preoccupation printed in her expression. Chris also got up, hesitant and unsure what to do, not linking a bit the change in his routine.

“Max, what happened?” asked Jeanne to her husband with a frown. Chris looked at his father, who was staring at him without even blinking, and put his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth while trying to ignore the uncomfortable aura of the room. “Max, talk to me.”

“I'll… let you talk,” said Chris when he heard the urgency in his mom's voice.

He didn't want to see Jeanne like that, especially because of his dad, but when Chris motioned to the exit, Maxwell moved abruptly, as if he had just woken up from a dream, and said with a husky voice:

“No, I need to talk with you two.”

Chris felt his body go stiff, resisting Maxwell's authoritarian tone, but the boy forced himself to just nod, clearly uncomfortable, and sat back on the sofa, putting the book in his hand on the table beside it while his father held Jeanne by the shoulders, firmly gentle, and put her in one of the armchairs.

For a moment, all of the three stood there in silence, looking at each other as if they were strangers. Chris was impatient but just vibrated his own leg while massaging his right hand, which was sore. Maxwell's eyes fixated on his son's hand, who recoiled quietly under his stare, ignoring his pity expression.

When he was younger, Chris had an accident and broke his hand, which had never been cured quite right. Maxwell didn't even go to the hospital, although his mother told him he was worried. Not enough to go to a hospital, apparently. The older man didn't seem satisfied when he knew Chris could never be a part of the military like him because of his hand.

“Talk to us, Max,” said Jeanne, taking her husband's hand, while he was standing.

The older man looked at them and sat down, his face frozen in an angst expression made Chris's heart beat faster inside his chest.

"Today by afternoon, less than an hour ago, the prime minister decided we're at war against Germany,” said Maxwell, and Chris almost snorted his disdain if it wasn't the preoccupation he was feeling. 

Different from his friends, he didn't share their arrogant beliefs of England's superiority. Actually, he didn't even understand it, but maybe that was the result of his mother being Scottish, and Scotland, in general, was still sore about England. None of them spoke for a long time, then Maxwell cleared his throat and said, looking at his son:

“You and your mother will go to your godfather's estate at the north of Scotland in a week. It's already decided, Elijah has given his permission…”

“Hold on” Chris got up, his hand in the air, making his father stop. “How come, out of nowhere, I'll go to Scotland? What about school? My education? What the hell am I going to do in the middle of Scotland?”

“You'll be secure!” Maxwell yelled, closing his eyes as if asking for patience Chris also had to control his own temper, but just because of his mom's eyes on him. “And don't worry, Elijah was an Oxford professor, he will be able to take care of your education.”

The last words were said in an impatient tone that made Chris want to continue the discussion, but he was tired of all of this. He knew his father wasn't sending him to Scotland to free him from some responsibility: Chris wouldn't be able to fight in a war even if he wanted to. So that meant England was expecting violent attacks on the capital. Air Strikes, probably, but attacks nonetheless.

“I'll help Chris with his bags,” said Jeanne calmly, exchanging looks with her son before turning to her husband and adding: “But I'm staying here.”

“No, you won't!” Maxwell had an immediate reaction, turning to his wife with an expression nearly panicked. 

Even feeling himself shivering and his body freezing with fear, Chris turned to his mom and stood silent, waiting to hear what she had to say.

“Max, I'm not gonna argue with you. I'm staying and that's final” said Jeanne with a silent firmness, her eyes shining strong to her husband, who swallowed and tried to protest, but the woman was already exposing arguments: “You're gonna need me here to take care of everything. Wars last year, you know that, and we won't leave this house for anyone to enter, we won't leave Nana here alone and in danger, I won't abuse my friend's hospitality, we won't leave our things to thieves and mostly, I won't leave you here alone for the time you'll be in England, even if it is just a little.”

The two adults looked at each other in a silent argument and Chris took advantage of that to climb up the stairs in his room's direction. His mom knew how to take care of herself and, unfortunately, there was nothing he could do or say to convince her to go with him. With Jeanne's stubbornness, there wasn't a soul capable of making her go to Scotland with him and Chris knew it better than anyone.

Sighing, confused, he passed his finger through his hair, feeling the curls straightening in his hand. 

He had a lot to think about.

Go to Chapter 2

TBH

I find so funny when I'm scrolling on these hashtags and then find some post with a hashtag like "I don't endorse abuse" of smt like that bc you'd think, with a media like IWTV, that'd be a given

We obviously don't like these characters because they are sane babygirl