Overanalyzing My OCs' Relationship At 2AM Just Because I Can

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.

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

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

And I'll tell thee: Love to understand'em 'Cause only those who loved could hear Could listen and understand stars. — Milky Way, Olavo Bilac

Oliver smiled from his house's window when he saw his father walking through the street, satisfied because Anton had come back home safe and sound. Not that he was afraid of the war, but he was afraid of what people could do to a German immigrant in the middle of it.

Of course, Oliver understood England's fear, but it didn't make him any less worried about his father, not even a little bit. The war had started six days ago and, on that day, especially, their memories of Germany were particularly hard on Anton and himself, but his father couldn't get out of work early to spend time with his son, especially because his dad's boss, the Terrible Mister Kurtz, as Oliver used to call him, didn't allowed it.

In general, the day had been good, something really surprising. Oliver had gone to school and had some fun with the colleagues he had, even if all those memories were there, pinching him every moment of the day and if it was hard to breathe sometimes. That was the reason why the sight of his dad entering through the door was such a relief for Oliver: he didn't know if he could go through the day without Anton's help.

The moment he heard the noise of the key scratching the door, Oliver left his bed and climbed down the stairs to the hall. Anton had just put his keys on the table when the boy hit the first floor and, when his eyes met, they stared at each other, motionless.

His dad looked like he had aged a lot more than the three years that had passed since Liora, Oliver's mom, had been taken from their house by the SS. That day, November 9th, 1936, would be marked in their memories forever. Anton tried to hide since then, but Oliver knew his dad was exhausted to the bone since they fled Germany to England.

The old man's blonde hair was grey and his eyes had dark circles and wrinkles. Anton walked increasingly more shrunken, trying not to drawn attention to himself in the middle of English society, because everyone knew that dark times would come to each one of the beings who lived under European skies.

“Let's go,” said Anton with his strong German accent in English, without a greeting, but stretching his hand to him with a sorry glow in his light-green eyes. “I'm going to make some dinner. Did you excuse Mrs. Mason, didn't you?”

Oliver swallowed hard and nodded, letting his father guide him by his dad's hand on his back, realizing how shaken they were by the touch. Anton didn't speak while making toast with jam for them, because the old man had no idea how to cook. Sometimes, Oliver thought that was the biggest mistake: how could someone leave to other such a basic necessity as food making?

Any other day, he'd have annoyed his dad with that, but not that day. Neither of them knew how to act normal even if they tried, Oliver knew that for sure. They had tried nine months ago on his mom's birthday and four months ago, on Hadrian's birthday.

Because of that, neither of them spoke while eating, facing the plaid white and red tablecloth they used for picnics in the countryside when his dad had to travel for work. Oliver had such sweet memories with his father and was grateful to Anton for all of them. He was a wonderful dad and had always been, Oliver just hadn't been capable of noticing it before they'd lost his mom.

When the boy got up after finishing up, aware that his every move was monitored by his dad, Anton caught his attention with a calm and tired tone of voice. He had been using this voice after the German soldiers had taken Liora, much weaker than his usual baritone voice, the voice his mother used to love echoing through the house in endless songs.

“Oliver,” he said, “sit down again, I want to talk to you about something.”

Slowly, the boy sat again, feeling the muscles on his back stiffening with the tension while Anton ran his hand through his face with a sigh full of exhaustion. That made Oliver’s heart miss a beat, sore for his dad’s pain, and he wanted to get up and hug him more than anything, but something in his father’s expression warned him not to.

“What about, dad?” he asked with caution, getting more worried when Anton stared at him with a shinier look than before.

“Do you remember me and mister Kurtz work for a Scottish man named Elijah Wood, right?” asked Anton and Oliver just nodded, frowning with the suspicion that he knew what way this was going. Anton had already tried to talk to him about it, but he thought his father had given up after a whole hour of fighting about the matter. “Mister Wood allowed you to stay with them in Scotland during the war.”

For a moment, both of them stared at each other, their eyes identical except for what they showed. Oliver was deeply mad at his dad even considering the thought of him leaving him alone in the middle of a goddamn war when they were the enemy there.

Anton, on the other hand, had decided that his son was going even if he had to force him to enter that train, the strong necessity of keeping Oliver safe was his everyday motivation and he wouldn’t give up on it that easily.

“You can’t be serious,” said Oliver after he processed the information his father had just given him. “I told you I didn’t want to go!”

“It’s not about what you want, it’s about your safety, Oliver,” Anton countered without raising his voice, his tone still calm as a windless night. “We’re talking about a war and London will be one of the most affected by it.”

“I’m not going,” Oliver declared, frowning. “You’ll be here, dad, you’re my only family.”

“And I’m going to be forever,” Anton said with a bit of soothing. “But I need you to be safe, Oliver, you know I need you to be safe.”

“Don’t use mom and Hadrian against me,” the cutting in Oliver’s tone made the older one recoil in his chair, shrinking even more and the boy hated that, he hated his father thought he had to hide from him, because of him. “You know as much as me this family would stay together if it was up to her.”

“And look how things turned out, Oliver!” Anton exclaimed and, even with the desperation in his voice, all the boy could do was resent it, because he was really trying to use his mother to make him change his mind. “You’ll go and I’m not going to discuss it further. I… can’t allow you to stay here.”

“You’d preferred if I had been taken last year,” Oliver said without looking at his dad, it seemed like such a horrible discussion he couldn’t do much to hold his tears. “It’s the reason why you want to send me away, right? Because you don’t wanna remember what you’ve lost.”

“Oliver...” Anton whispered upon hearing him, but his voice failed and he said nothing more, mainly because Oliver got up, dragging the chair on the floor and making the screeching noise echo in the house’s silence, and he left the cramped kitchen, leaving him alone.

The boy didn’t think of anything before climbing the stairs and entering his room, feeling the anger pump blood into his veins and making him hot. He threw himself on the bed, looking up at the painted stars in the white ceiling while they blurred with the unshed tears, and then focused again when they ran through his skin to the roots of his blonde hair.

Those stars reminded him of his mother and, when they’d arrived in England, to see them was like a self-inflicted punishment to compensate for the guilt Oliver carried around in his heart, but now they were just a painful sweet memory.

Liora Krause was the most wonderful person to ever exist, Oliver thought. His mom was the face of Life, always cheerful, always willing to drag the family men to a dance in the middle of the night or throw a party in the tiniest apartment in the world to close friends of their family, always willing to help old ladies cross the street and shelter and give food to shelterless boys even if one of them ended up robbing her every time.

She had a fiery spirit and carried words in her hands like her shield and sword, ready to defend the one she loved and be firm with those who needed firm words. It may have been because of that, and her harsh critique of Hitler and his hateful government, that she was marked as one of the Jewish women to be taken that night. It may have been just random. Oliver didn’t know and probably wouldn’t come a day when he’d find out.

His brother, Hadrian, was just six-year-old when he was killed by nazi soldiers. Oliver had seen it all. He saw it when the soldier pointed the gun at his brother’s head and shot, the blood and remaining brain matter spattering through the small apartment which had been his family’s, on the living room his parents used to dance and sing and play with him and Hadrian. Even after a year, Oliver could still hear in the silence the buzz the gun’s noise had caused in his ears.

Oliver heard when his father’s shuffled steps got closer and stopped by his room’s door. Hesitated. Anton carried on to his own room, closing the door quietly, so quietly Oliver barely heard it.

The things Oliver had said to his dad weren’t even close to the truth, he knew that. And knew he had broken Anton with his false accusation, but he was so mad the word just slipped out of his tongue, without any coherent thought. He knew that wasn’t a good excuse, that when he was angry, the best thing to do was take time, calm down, and think about it when he could, but the thought of leaving his father alone scared him more than anything.

After what happened that night, Oliver’s dad didn’t rest until he got his best friend, who was a soldier, to help them flee to English territory. Once they got to England, Anton was just a shadow of the man he was before, not even close to being the father Oliver remembered or needed.

Those first months were so hard sometimes that he didn’t even want to get up, knowing the day would find countless ways of making him melt down with the memory of his mom. Oliver could hardly breath in those times and now, they were a blur in his mind, so far away the seemed to have happened years ago, but still hurt like hours ago.

Oliver couldn’t sleep.

He couldn’t sleep, not yet, not when he knew he had hurt his dad, not when he knew the nightmares would torment him during sleep, hopeless and terrifying. When the clock struck eleven PM, he rolled over, took the book from his nightstand, and opened it to his most beloved page.

The paper was worn and yellowish, and curved slightly in the corners, but Oliver passed his fingers through the written words below one his mom’s favorite poems in life. Low-toned, he read to silence the buzz in his left ear:

“Well (you say) hear stars! Right Lost thy mind!” And I tell you, however, That, to listen’em, many times I wake up And open my windows, pale and baffled…

And we talk the whole night The Milky Way, as a pale openness, shines. And, coming the sun, wistful and morose, I still search for them in the desert sky.

You say now: “My mad friend! What do you talk about? What sense Can their words have, when with you?”

And I tell thee: “Love to understand’em! ‘Cause only those who love can hear Capable of listening and understanding the stars.

Oliver, then, read what was written below Olavo Bilac's poem with attention and felt his heart clenching as he saw the familiar handwriting:

I hear the stars because I love an easy-laughing boy and the smiling young man with a silver tongue to whom I gave birth and because I love the man who makes all the stars shine in his eyes.

He knew Anton was crying in his room and knew he should go to him and apologize for what he had said, especially after re-reading his mother’s words. He knew he’d been wrong, knew that Liora’s first priority in this situation would be ensuring that her kids and husband were safe. And he knew his dad couldn’t bear to lose him, knew he was the only thread of hope Anton had in his life because he was Oliver’s as well.

Dragging himself out of bed and through the corridor, Oliver didn’t knock before entering, finding his dad crying as he clutched to a portrait of Liora and Hadrian. In the picture, they were on a family trip to the countryside of Germany. It had been in the summer so they didn’t need to worry too much about coats and gloves. They were all smiling, having fun in the grass and, if he closed his eyes, Oliver could still hear the sound of his brother’s laughter and his mother’s arms around him.

At that moment, however, the broken, sad image of his dad crying over it broke his heart and ended up making Oliver realize the severity of his words and the effect they had had on Anton, as well as the fact he’d have to deal with it.

Oliver quickly closed the space between him and Anton, gently taking the portrait off his hands and sitting beside his dad on the bed before he could say anything. Anton didn’t look at him as he said, his voice hoarse from the crying:

“I’ve never, not in a single moment, wished you to have the same fate as your mom and brother, Oliver.”

“I know,” said the boy with a painful lump in his throat, stopping him from speaking anything he needed to. “I know you didn’t. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I said that. I’m... sorry.”

“I just want you to be safe,” murmured his father and Oliver couldn’t hold the tears back any longer.

He also started crying and hugged his dad with all his strength, as if he was never letting him go. Oliver was so completely terrified he wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with his dad just so that Anton could tuck him in like he did when Oliver was a kid — even if it wasn’t the same because of his age.

“I’m afraid, Dad,” said Oliver in a desperate whisper, “I don’t… I don’t believe anything I said to you in the kitchen, I’m just terrified of losing you too.”

Anton stayed quiet and didn’t promise anything. They knew some promises were Worth nothing in the face of war, knew Anton didn’t have a say whether he died or not in it. Instead, his dad said: “You’re a Krause, you’re Liora’s son. You carry part of her fire inside of you, Oliver, I could see that every day of my life. You’ll do it because if anyone could, it was your mom. And you are just like her”. Those words ensnared Oliver’s heart and consoled him enough that the perspective of going to the property of his dad’s boss didn’t seem so unbearable. When he nodded, consenting to the trip, Anton just said: “Let’s go down to the kitchen, I’ll make you come hot cocoa.”

Go to Chapter 3

YOU WANNA TELL THAT I'M WRONG?!?!

another campaign i want to highlight: Khalil Abubaker Khalil lost his employment, as did his father, leaving them all with no chances to support themselves during this war. they have exhausted all of their savings and no longer have hope that the situation in Gaza is going to get better.

that's why this family needs our support. Khalil made a campaign at the beginning of the month for him and his family so they have a chance to evacuate and start a new life in Egypt. time is of the essence. with every passing day, the situation in Gaza becomes more dire, dangerous and unliveable.

tragically, this gfm is only for half of his family: his parents, his youngest sister and himself. many Palestinian families are being forced to decide who gets to evacuate and who stays behind in Gaza, facing an unknown fate. i urge you to read through their story in their own words in the link of the gfm. as of today (06/20/24) they have reached €712 / €30,000, still very far away from their goal. let's help him and his family not only get enough funds but also give them back their hope for a better future.

gofundme.com

Donate to Help My Family Survive and Evacuate from Gaza, organized by Khalil Abubaker

Compassionate Hearts Around the World, My name is Khalil Abubaker, a… Khalil Abubaker needs your support for Help My Family Survive and

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