lilu787788

[lilu787788]

"He'll Be Back for Her" shadowdaddyforlife

"On the second day of this silent and awkward journey, Alina recognized familiar landscapes. Spacious meadows covered with grass now gray from autumn, which she had traversed a year ago, riding on one horse, together with Aleksander. The tall towers of Os Alta were already looming in the distance, meaning that the capital was only a few hours' horseback ride from where she and David were. Alina felt a strange melancholy, experiencing something like déjà vu. She could have sworn that she was taking the same route as a year ago. Even the bushes she passed along the way looked familiar, inviting her to return to the places close to her heart. She was torn from her reverie by David's voice, who – as it seemed – finally decided to speak to her. Up until now, they had barely talked to each other, partly because of embarrassment, and partly because of distrust of her friend, which for some reason the future queen still couldn't get rid of."

Aleksander’s story is so much more than the Darklina. It is war and loss, a daily fight with himself, with a toxic mother, with a hollow monarchy, with the weight of persecution and with the ghosts of the past and the future that never let him rest. It is also the fight for love, for the soul he cannot abandon, for Alina, the gift that perhaps the Void itself gave him.

I invite you to read what many, not just I, call the most beautiful story in this fandom. These are not rushed pages or half-formed ideas, but long and carefully written chapters, each nearly or well over ten thousand words, created to pull you in completely.

This is Aleksander as he truly is, and Alina, his beloved little light, by his side. It is not the simplified version you may have seen elsewhere. It is a story told with care, patience, honesty and love, the way it should be.

Thank you Ewa for this amazing story! @evejustlovebooks

[lilu787788]

[lilu787788]

“Mal is boring!”

WRONG! Mal is a great example of how the Ravkan monarchy had failed its civilians, and how human beings can expect to find in their ordinary, ‘worthless’ lives remarkable, life changing, world saving power. Leigh knew EXACTLY what she was doing, making Mal the final amplifier- it wasn’t just about tragedy. It was a kick to authority and elitism; two orphans from Keramzin: a forgotten boy and a mixed-race Shu girl whom Ravka exploited and trampled mercilessly ended up being its saviours. The entire trilogy is about defying convention and authority- and that includes ‘boring’ Mal who was destined to die a forgotten soldier but instead ended up the legend who saved Ravka, magic in his blood.

Leigh wrote it purposefully so that the ordinary, ‘subservient’ people have the real power. And one of those people is magicless, Otkazat’sya Malyen Oretsev 🥰🥰

[lilu787788]

Nope. LB planned Darklina from the very beginning, that’s why the first SaB was called „The Gathering Dark - A dark heart, a pure soul, a love that will last forever”. That was the foundation of the story, the real core. Only later LB changed course and pushed Malina as endgame, most likely out of fear of backlash from readers screaming about ‘toxic romance’. Malina was never the original design, it felt like a late correction, a safe ending rather than the daring one she first set up.

And let’s be honest: calling Mal and Alina symbols of ordinary people’s power is misleading. Mal’s ‘role’ as amplifier stripped him of individuality, reducing him to a function. That’s not empowerment, that’s erasure. They also didn’t break the system, they bent to it, disappeared into rural obscurity, exactly as Mal dreamed. Contrast that with Aleksander, who refused to bow, who fought to reshape the world instead of hiding from it. One side is surrender, the other is vision. LB traded one for the other, and that shift is why the trilogy lost its original fire.

Also Alina’s final fate wasn’t liberation, it was the silencing of her voice and her light. Ordinary people’s power means fighting back, reshaping the world that crushed them, proving that even without privilege they can demand change. That’s what Aleksander embodied, refusing submission, refusing to vanish. Malina did the opposite: they became invisible, compliant, exactly what the monarchy and the system wanted them to be - nothing. Calling that rebellion is just wishful thinking. It’s not the triumph of the ordinary, it’s their capitulation.

And let’s not forget the show itself exposed the weakness of Malina. When Mal lost his amplifier power, he also lost his so-called ‘love’ for Alina. The moment the bond was broken, so was the relationship. That iconic line ‘I don’t feel it anymore’ wasn’t about the magic alone, it revealed the truth. What they had was never love, only the influence of the amplifier, a habit and dependency, the false safety of two orphans clinging to each other because they had no one else. Once the spell was gone, there was nothing left but emptiness.

That is the brutal contrast with Darklina. Aleksander and Alina shared a connection that didn’t need borrowed power or childhood familiarity, it was magnetic, undeniable, forged out of vision, desire and recognition of equals. He saw her not as a function or an anchor, but as the other half of something greater. Malina was hollow, held together by circumstance. Darklina was dangerous, yes, but real. And that’s exactly why it endures, while Malina fades the moment the illusion cracks.

“Mal is boring!”

WRONG! Mal is a great example of how the Ravkan monarchy had failed its civilians, and how human beings can expect to find in their ordinary, ‘worthless’ lives remarkable, life changing, world saving power. Leigh knew EXACTLY what she was doing, making Mal the final amplifier- it wasn’t just about tragedy. It was a kick to authority and elitism; two orphans from Keramzin: a forgotten boy and a mixed-race Shu girl whom Ravka exploited and trampled mercilessly ended up being its saviours. The entire trilogy is about defying convention and authority- and that includes ‘boring’ Mal who was destined to die a forgotten soldier but instead ended up the legend who saved Ravka, magic in his blood.

Leigh wrote it purposefully so that the ordinary, ‘subservient’ people have the real power. And one of those people is magicless, Otkazat’sya Malyen Oretsev 🥰🥰

[lilu787788]

Ravka’s greatest monster… Sure, until you meet Billy Russo ;)

So antis like to scream that Aleksander was the greatest monster Ravka has ever seen. The Shadow Summoner, the Darkling, the horror of horrors. They act like he was a nightmare dragged out of the fold itself. Yet if you look at him in the show, he was a strategist, a soldier, and above all a man who could still negotiate, persuade, even plead when necessary. He wanted loyalty, not chaos. He wanted a future that was organized and under control. That is apparently what the “bravest heroes of Ravka” call monstrous.

Now imagine if Billy Russo (also played by lovely Ben Barnes) had been dropped into that world instead, dressed in black kefta, with the same gifts at his disposal. Aleksander could have created the fold, but he did so unconsciously and in an effort to protect the other Grisha (including his wonderful „mother”) from slaughter, but Billy would have turned it into his private playground of entertainment. He would not bother with grand speeches or centuries of Grisha history. He would decorate Ravka with the screams of its “heroes.”

Alina would not glow, she would burn out like a cheap match. Mal, Alina's "lady of the heart" who constantly needs to be rescued from trouble would not be the loyal puppy, he would be a corpse before the first act. Baghra would discover what actual cruelty feels like. Nikolai would get about two words into his royal monologue before Billy carved the crown into his skull. Zoya the "blue rag” would not be tossing storms, she would be sobbing in technicolor agony. The Crows? They would not even make it to their second dramatic entrance. Billy would have turned them into punchlines faster than they could shout “No mourners!!!”

Aleksander was a man who could unify Ravka, who tried to carry centuries of Grisha history on his back. But Billy Russo? He is chaos made flesh, ambition without loyalty, violence without purpose other than his own amusement. If Ravka and his antis think Aleksander is terrifying, they would have learned very fast what an actual nightmare looks like. Every single one of those “heroes” would have been eating dirt long before they even had a chance to wave their little banners and scream about freedom.

So no, Aleksander was not the worst monster Ravka had ever seen. He was clever, dangerous, and flawed, but he still had limits. Billy has no limits. And if he had been the Shadow Summoner, there would have been no story left to tell, because the cast of noble “champions” would have ended up scattered like ashes on the first episode.

[lilu787788]

For me a truly morally grey character is someone who has to cross boundaries in order to protect others. It is not about being secretly good beneath a cruel mask or being a hero with one mistake in their past. It is about the willingness to make choices that others would never dare to make, because survival and justice demand it. Such a character carries both light and shadow within them, and their morality is defined by necessity rather than by simple ideas of right and wrong.

That is exactly why I love the Aleksander. He is not a safe version of morally grey where flaws are only surface level or quickly excused. His actions are strategic, often harsh and militarily calculated, designed to secure victory and long term safety for the Grisha. He wages war with precision, fully aware that mercy on the battlefield can cost countless lives in the future. His strength is not only in his power but also in his ability to think like a commander who must sacrifice, manoeuvre and sometimes destroy in order to protect his people. He is charismatic, intelligent and deeply human in the way he can be both loving and pragmatic. What makes his presence so captivating is that the series never simplifies him into a one dimensional figure. Antis like to portray him as the clear villain because their morality depends on an easy division between good and evil. To them it is more comfortable to condemn him than to admit that he embodies something far more difficult to understand. That is what makes him, in my eyes, the true definition of morally grey. He is not safe, not softened, and never reduced to clichés. The show allows me to see the full complexity of power, love, ambition and sacrifice through him, and that is exactly what makes him unforgettable.

Question time!

How do YOU define “morally gray”? If you were to see a character described that way, what would you expect?

Because I’m seeing that label more and more, but sometimes it means “evil character who is soft for the protagonist” and sometimes it means “hero who has had to make some controversial choices to save the world”.

[lilu787788]

For me, this is one of the most beautiful scenes in SaB and in general, but also one that perfectly shows the idea of ​​Darklina.

I'm sure other people spotted this before and I have just never come across their posts before, but I just noticed this and I am IN LOVE with the detail of this shot:

it struck me as a weird way to stand opposite anyone, sort of facing each other but as if someone had moved one of them to the side, it's really odd... but their position make sense when you look a the shadow on the wall, which reflects them as much closer than their bodies actually are. you know, darklina as the relationship between pure light and pure shadow. and their shadows already reflect, literally foreshadow where the scene is going to go:

[lilu787788]

Yes! Aleksander stands out precisely because his choices are anchored in reality rather than fantasy. He carries the memory of centuries, and with it the knowledge that survival is never guaranteed by hope alone. Every action he takes flows from that sense of duty. His vision is not naive, it is enduring, shaped by loss yet grounded in the knowledge that Grisha deserve safety and dignity. That clarity of purpose is what makes him not a villain, but the most morally consistent character in the entire story.

Not a villain, but a Survivor: Aleksander through the lens of history

When I think about Aleksander, I do not see a tyrant consumed by the lust for power. Ben portrays him as something far more complex: a leader carrying centuries of loss, forced into a role that demands calculation rather than compassion. Aleksander is eternal, and in that eternity he has absorbed history’s harshest lesson: idealism rarely saves nations. It may inspire in the short term, but when survival is at stake, ideals collapse under the weight of reality.

From the very first time he stands before the Grisha in the Little Palace, his presence makes clear that he is not an ordinary ruler. He speaks with conviction, but it is the conviction of a man who knows that words alone cannot protect his people. His charisma masks a deeper truth, he has lived long enough to understand that survival requires not dreams but strategy. In this, he resembles Niccolò Machiavelli’s prince. Writing in 1513, Machiavelli insisted that rulers who cling to conventional virtue will always fall before those willing to abandon it. Aleksander embodies this principle. He has watched Grisha children hunted and burned, he has seen alliances crumble, and he knows that only strength can create safety.

History echoes this realism. Winston Churchill, in May 1940, refused any peace with Hitler. Aleksander echoes that same refusal when he confronts Fjerdan hostility. He does not waste time appealing to their compassion, because he knows there is none. Like Churchill rejecting Lord Halifax’s proposals for negotiation, Aleksander refuses to gamble his people’s future on the goodwill of their enemies. His steel-edged words and unflinching stance reflect the same cynical but necessary recognition: survival depends on power, not hope.

The show also emphasizes Aleksander’s isolation, and here another historical parallel emerges. Catherine the Great of Russia presented herself as enlightened, a monarch in dialogue with philosophers like Voltaire. Yet when the Pugachev Rebellion erupted in 1773, she answered not with ideals but with overwhelming force. Aleksander’s solitude on screen mirrors Catherine’s predicament: admired in public, yet utterly alone in the moment of decision, forced to set aside ideals in order to safeguard stability. His every step through the gilded halls of the Little Palace reminds me that leadership is not a matter of personal comfort but of carrying a people’s survival on one’s shoulders.

Even leaders celebrated for their ideals often resorted to harsh measures. George Washington is remembered as the champion of liberty, yet during the Revolution he approved the execution of deserters and confiscation of loyalist property. Abraham Lincoln, portrayed as the savior of the Union, suspended habeas corpus in 1861 and accepted censorship of opposition newspapers. In SaB, Aleksander is condemned for secrecy and manipulation, but these moments place him firmly in the lineage of such leaders. He conceals truths not for personal gain, but because a persecuted people cannot survive without strategy. His every withheld word, his every measured gesture on screen carries the weight of this realism.

Machiavelli urged rulers to be judged not by intentions but by outcomes. In the series, Aleksander is the one who creates sanctuaries, organizes Grisha into a nation, and offers them something they never had before: protection.

What sets him apart is the element the series captures so vividly: time. Washington and Lincoln thought in decades. Aleksander thinks in centuries. On screen, his pragmatism is not only political but personal. He has lived through pogroms, betrayals, massacres. His eyes, as filmed in close-ups, carry that weight. He does not believe that this time will be different, because he remembers too many times when it was not. His refusal to trust in fleeting peace is not cruelty, but the scar of experience.

And this is why Aleksander in the series is not a villain. He is a tragic realist. He carries centuries of loss and refuses to gamble with lives by indulging in ideals. His opponents may condemn him, but his actions are driven by something far more compelling than ambition: endurance. He does not seek to be the spotless hero who dies for a dream. He seeks to be the survivor who carries his people forward, even if it means bearing the stain of necessary cruelty.

On screen, this is embodied in his elegance, his calculated movements. His charisma is not a mask but a weapon, one sharpened by history, wielded to give his people a chance at life.

History teaches that survival demands choices that seem harsh when judged by abstract morality. Aleksander understands that lesson better than anyone. Like Machiavelli’s prince, like Churchill refusing surrender, like Catherine facing rebellion, like Washington and Lincoln in war, he accepts that the world is ruled not by ideals but by power. That is not tyranny. That is endurance.

[lilu787788]

Not a villain, but a Survivor: Aleksander through the lens of history

When I think about Aleksander, I do not see a tyrant consumed by the lust for power. Ben portrays him as something far more complex: a leader carrying centuries of loss, forced into a role that demands calculation rather than compassion. Aleksander is eternal, and in that eternity he has absorbed history’s harshest lesson: idealism rarely saves nations. It may inspire in the short term, but when survival is at stake, ideals collapse under the weight of reality.

From the very first time he stands before the Grisha in the Little Palace, his presence makes clear that he is not an ordinary ruler. He speaks with conviction, but it is the conviction of a man who knows that words alone cannot protect his people. His charisma masks a deeper truth, he has lived long enough to understand that survival requires not dreams but strategy. In this, he resembles Niccolò Machiavelli’s prince. Writing in 1513, Machiavelli insisted that rulers who cling to conventional virtue will always fall before those willing to abandon it. Aleksander embodies this principle. He has watched Grisha children hunted and burned, he has seen alliances crumble, and he knows that only strength can create safety.

History echoes this realism. Winston Churchill, in May 1940, refused any peace with Hitler. Aleksander echoes that same refusal when he confronts Fjerdan hostility. He does not waste time appealing to their compassion, because he knows there is none. Like Churchill rejecting Lord Halifax’s proposals for negotiation, Aleksander refuses to gamble his people’s future on the goodwill of their enemies. His steel-edged words and unflinching stance reflect the same cynical but necessary recognition: survival depends on power, not hope.

The show also emphasizes Aleksander’s isolation, and here another historical parallel emerges. Catherine the Great of Russia presented herself as enlightened, a monarch in dialogue with philosophers like Voltaire. Yet when the Pugachev Rebellion erupted in 1773, she answered not with ideals but with overwhelming force. Aleksander’s solitude on screen mirrors Catherine’s predicament: admired in public, yet utterly alone in the moment of decision, forced to set aside ideals in order to safeguard stability. His every step through the gilded halls of the Little Palace reminds me that leadership is not a matter of personal comfort but of carrying a people’s survival on one’s shoulders.

Even leaders celebrated for their ideals often resorted to harsh measures. George Washington is remembered as the champion of liberty, yet during the Revolution he approved the execution of deserters and confiscation of loyalist property. Abraham Lincoln, portrayed as the savior of the Union, suspended habeas corpus in 1861 and accepted censorship of opposition newspapers. In SaB, Aleksander is condemned for secrecy and manipulation, but these moments place him firmly in the lineage of such leaders. He conceals truths not for personal gain, but because a persecuted people cannot survive without strategy. His every withheld word, his every measured gesture on screen carries the weight of this realism.

Machiavelli urged rulers to be judged not by intentions but by outcomes. In the series, Aleksander is the one who creates sanctuaries, organizes Grisha into a nation, and offers them something they never had before: protection.

What sets him apart is the element the series captures so vividly: time. Washington and Lincoln thought in decades. Aleksander thinks in centuries. On screen, his pragmatism is not only political but personal. He has lived through pogroms, betrayals, massacres. His eyes, as filmed in close-ups, carry that weight. He does not believe that this time will be different, because he remembers too many times when it was not. His refusal to trust in fleeting peace is not cruelty, but the scar of experience.

And this is why Aleksander in the series is not a villain. He is a tragic realist. He carries centuries of loss and refuses to gamble with lives by indulging in ideals. His opponents may condemn him, but his actions are driven by something far more compelling than ambition: endurance. He does not seek to be the spotless hero who dies for a dream. He seeks to be the survivor who carries his people forward, even if it means bearing the stain of necessary cruelty.

On screen, this is embodied in his elegance, his calculated movements. His charisma is not a mask but a weapon, one sharpened by history, wielded to give his people a chance at life.

History teaches that survival demands choices that seem harsh when judged by abstract morality. Aleksander understands that lesson better than anyone. Like Machiavelli’s prince, like Churchill refusing surrender, like Catherine facing rebellion, like Washington and Lincoln in war, he accepts that the world is ruled not by ideals but by power. That is not tyranny. That is endurance.

[lilu787788]

Happy birthday 🥳 Ben Barnes

Thank u @evejustlovebooks

This beautiful edit for ben barnes birthday 🎁 i love it 🥰

[lilu787788]

If your Ben Barnes fan and in love with his character that he plays we would love for u to join our darklina discord server we have friendly community . With thank to our wonderful admins @evejustlovebooks @lilu787788 

[lilu787788]

Happy birthday to our one and only perfect Shadow Daddy!!!!

Happy birthday 🥳 Ben Barnes

Thank u @lilu787788 for this beautiful edit for Bens birthday 🎁 it’s amazing 😻

[lilu787788]

I agree with your post and I would like to add a few more words about Zoya from my own perspective after watching the show.

Zoya is often presented as a symbol of female empowerment. By the end of the trilogy she becomes not only a General but also a Queen and even a Dragon. On the surface this looks like a story of success and strength. Many readers and viewers are encouraged to see her as a role model, someone who proves that women can rise to power. But when I watched TV series and thought about her arc, I saw something completely different. She does not represent real empowerment. Instead she copies the worst traits once criticized in male rulers. Cruelty, arrogance, and constant belittling of others are not positive qualities, yet in Zoya they are treated as something admirable just because she is a woman.

This is not real empowerment. It is an illusion. And it connects to a wider cultural problem. In today’s media and even in parts of feminism there is a dangerous trend of celebrating what should not be celebrated. For example, many voices now claim that prostitution, or the fashionable word sex working, is empowering for women. But calling exploitation and objectification a form of empowerment is harmful. In the same way, presenting Zoya’s arrogance as strength is harmful. Both are examples of how toxic ideas are repackaged and sold to young women as liberation.

The danger here is that younger readers and viewers may copy these models. They might believe that to be respected they must be hostile. They might believe that leadership means domination and putting others down. Instead of seeing empowerment as responsibility, fairness, and empathy, they are taught that empowerment is cruelty performed with confidence. Zoya’s disdain toward Alina, for example, is not written as a flaw but almost as proof of her authority. This is not only misleading, it is damaging.

After watching the show I also noticed how this glorification of Zoya spilled into fandom spaces. Her defenders treat her as untouchable, and anyone who criticizes her is attacked. Supporters of Aleksander and Darklina are often mocked or even harassed simply for having a different perspective. What should be a space for open discussion has turned into hostility. The same toxic misunderstanding of empowerment that shapes Zoya’s character also shapes how fans interact.

Zoya’s arc reflects a wider weakness in pop culture. Strong female characters are too often written without depth. They are given crowns, armies, and even mythical power, but they are not asked to confront their flaws. Their arrogance is ignored, their cruelty is excused, and their superiority is rewarded. This is not progress. If cruelty is wrong when men display it, it should not become admirable when women do the same.

That is why I believe confusing this boss bitch archetype with real empowerment is one of the most dangerous cultural trends right now. It teaches the wrong lessons to young readers and viewers, who deserve better models. They deserve characters who show that true strength means integrity, responsibility, and empathy. They deserve stories that do not reward cruelty but instead reward growth and care for others.

In the end, after watching the show and reflecting on Zoya, I see her not as progress but as a warning. She represents the same problem I see when society glorifies sex work or other harmful practices by calling them empowerment. It is a distortion that leaves young women with toxic ideals instead of healthy ones. If we want stronger stories and healthier communities, we need to reject these shallow archetypes and start demanding female characters who are truly empowering, not simply copies of male authoritarianism in a new form.

What would Zoya's rule look like:

1) The initial days would be a bit peaceful, of course.

2) The Little Palace would hold a decent strength as the Grisha would still be afraid to move out and venture by themselves.

3) A couple of years down the lane, the older Grisha would leave the LP, and settle down by themselves.

4) In 5-10 years, the Grisha would have migrated and settled down throughout the country.

5) Meanwhile in Shu Han, Makhi would have slowly started rebuilding her supporters once again.

6) Instead of using the army, she would use slavers and barrel thugs to inflirate and capture Grisha.

7) Once Leyti dies, Makhi will seize the throne again, disposing off Ehri. The experimentation would start again in secret, this time the focus would be suppress the grisha powers, rather than enhancing it.

8) In Fjerda, the 'prince' would be usurped. Their new idealogies would go against the Fjerdan political beliefs. Conflicts will arise and a new reign would be established.

9) Grisha capture/experimentation would resume again in Fjerda but in secret.

10) Border skirmishes would resume. Nothing drastic, just testing waters at first.

11) The attacks would grow bolder as the countries grow confident and/or succeed in their experimentation.

12) Things in Ravka would not good either. Zoya's temper and her non-noble butt sitting on the throne will create clashes in the court. People will grew tired of Nikolai's 'charm' and stop cutting deals as he is not very important right now.

13) They will not be able to abolish feudal system and serfdom, making people more and more unhappy.

14) Strong noble families will start reaching out to Shu-Han and Fjerda for a possible support in the coup.

15) West Ravka would hate the strain of East Ravka's development and the wealth gap and frictions between the two parts would increase.

16) Churches hold on the people would have increased a lot with the Age of Saints nonsense- pushing people away from education and science.

17) The continued poverty however, would radicalize a sect of people against the monarchy and the church, adding more chaos.

18) Both countries would declare war on Ravka after 10-15 years, taking advantage of the internal conflicts and this time fully equipped with supressors to deal with an overgrown lizard.

19) Zoya would call for all the Grisha to assemble only to find that the slavers had been quietly sneaking inside the country and kidnapping them. Since they didnt have any protective laws, no one would have noticed the disappearances and chalked it up as normal Grisha migration like the old times.

20) The few new ones that came to join the army would have no idea how to summon or fight because with the mandate removed, there was no testers to find and teach Grisha children. Many would have died of wasting sickness too, cause no one would have noticed what it really was. Cause the otkazats'ya have no clue.

Finally the war occurs. All would be lost.

The end.❤️

[lilu787788]

I don’t place the full responsibility for this fiasco on Netflix itself. Netflix functions like every other platform: it follows the numbers, it follows the money. Season 1 was a smash hit, the charts spoke for themselves, so a continuation was a foregone conclusion. Season 2, at first, also looked promising. The premiere drew people in, the statistics backed that up. But very quickly something broke. The numbers didn’t hold. Viewers began to drop out, abandoning the show in waves, and it wasn’t some mysterious curse or “algorithm issue.” It was a direct consequence of disastrous creative decisions.

Instead of building on what worked, the creators chose to overload the show with every possible subplot and to force-feed the audience the holy Crows, elevating them as if they were the most revolutionary creation in television history. Eric Heisserer and Christina Strain treated them like the crown jewel, practically shouting from the rooftops that everyone must watch and rewatch Season 2 on repeat, just so they could secure their spin-off. Their desperation was palpable. And yet, the so-called gigantic Crows fandom that was supposed to guarantee success never materialized. Where were those millions of devoted fans when Season 2 needed them? Nowhere. The numbers exposed the myth.

Worse still, Heisserer and Strain made the conscious choice to divide the fandom. They fanned the flames of hostility, deliberately marginalizing and antagonizing the Darkling and Darklina community. They did it shamelessly, and in Strain’s case, with documented arrogance — even Collider covered her infamous hostility. By erasing Darklina from the narrative, stripping Aleks of any meaningful presence, and reducing him to a near-background character, they not only gutted the very heart of the story but also alienated a massive part of the viewership. It was reckless, it was petty, and it was catastrophic.

The fallout was predictable. People tuned out. The excitement evaporated. I personally struggled to even get through the season: two failed attempts, constant rewinding and skipping, before finally finishing it on the third try. And what was the reward? A pile of incoherent, childish storytelling, crowned with Nikolai’s embarrassing speech, so painfully over-the-top it bordered on parody. It was supposed to inspire, but it only underscored how far the show had fallen into absurdity.

If Netflix ever considers renewal, the truth is brutal but simple: the only path forward is through Aleks and Darklina. Without them, there is no story worth telling and no audience left to watch it. Season 2 has already delivered the verdict. The viewers rejected the Crows. They failed to ignite interest, failed to carry the show, and failed to prove themselves the game-changing phenomenon their creators claimed. That carefully polished script for a Crows spin-off? It can rot in a drawer, because no one is going to line up for it.

Season 1 thrived because it had balance, intensity, and Aleks anchoring the story. Season 2 crumbled because its creators abandoned that foundation, gambling everything on characters and dynamics that simply couldn’t sustain the weight. In doing so, they not only sabotaged their own series, they also alienated one of the largest and most passionate segments of their audience. This wasn’t just miscalculation. It was hubris, and hubris always demands a price.

I will forever will be mad they canceled the shadow and bone series

Like the series is doing well was doing good. And you just cencel it?

I wa snot in the fandom when the series was getting filmed or was new on the netfilx. But joined when it was freshly canceled. And till today I stilů don't know why they did it. Give me one reason why they did it.

It didn't get the views: From what I am loookign at it has very goof viewer count and many do petition to get this siries back. To get it finished.

The story wasn't interesting enough: I mean the end of the original boooks might have ended how books are supposted to end. But the show was open ended.

Did they not know how to continuet the show. Then why did you end it like this. Why did you end it so open?

The nedning was very much how I wanted it to originaly to end. Like I am sorry but Alina didn't reject her powers instead embrace them? YES PLEASE! And then instead of loosing them she just lost the sun and the Darkling was like "Girl you gonna need this." And give her his power in his last moments. Like you all can be "he shouldn't have done it." and "She didn't want it." Y'all she would be dead if the Darkling didn't. She lost her powers. Like:

But yet again we will never know because Netflx was like "Nope."

I bet they had some kind of ideas for how the third season could have gone. Did they release it somewhere there thought. Because I would do anything to see and hear their ideas.

Does Alina become the new heretic? Does the cycle repeat? Does the Darkling reincarnat but this time with sun summoning? Is there a new fold or something worse? Does the battle of sun and shadow began once again and repeat over and over again?

Well, we will never know because Netflix canceled it :D

[lilu787788]

Thank you for your long post yesterday! I'm not really aware of what the Grishaverse is, but it was helpful for understanding things both about myself and some of the spaces I'm in!

I wanted to say that it also reminded me of an explanation I read years ago about how "The False Affection of Shared Interests" leads to newcomers getting heavily invested in group spaces due to a perceived similarity between themselves and other who like the things they like.

This eventually wears off, due to not being rooted in anything substantial, and if the group doesn't build up a healthy replacement, they can turn to "The False Affection of Shared Enemies" which is basically what you described, and a possible death spiral from whatever space it takes hold of.

I'm sure you're already aware of this, but the two simple names and A -> B pathway between them made so much of the internet and fandom make sense, and I thought it might be a useful model to share.

Thank you very much for sharing this. I find the way you described the shift from “false affection of shared interests” to “false affection of shared enemies” really helpful, because it puts into words something that I have been watching unfold. It is true that many groups begin with a positive bond over shared enthusiasm, but when that energy fades, some people look for a replacement. Too often, that replacement is hostility toward a chosen target.

In the Grishaverse fandom this pattern is especially visible. Hatred of Aleksander and of those who support him has become one of the strongest bonds holding parts of the community together. It stops being about thoughtful discussion of characters or story and turns into a competition over who can attack him more harshly and who can dismiss his supporters more aggressively. This is exactly what you described as the spiral of shared enemies.

I also appreciate the clarity of this model because it shows how dangerous these dynamics can be. Once hostility becomes the main glue of a community, it creates an environment where exaggerations and lies spread easily. People no longer correct each other, they reinforce one another, and the aggression grows. That is something I have been worried about for a long time in this fandom, and your words really capture the mechanism behind it.

So thank you again for taking the time to share this. It is reassuring to know that what I am noticing in the Grishaverse fits into a larger pattern that others have also recognized.

[lilu787788]

@kazzldazzle You just confirmed what I wrote in the original post :)

I want to take a moment to address a response I received to my post, because it perfectly illustrates what I was writing about — the willingness to distort Aleksander Morozova beyond recognition in order to justify unrelenting hate.

Your comment claimed that Aleksander “slaughtered a whole city, killed millions, left Genya with the king knowing what was going to happen, manipulated Alina” and then, without hesitation, threw in the ugliest and most dishonest accusation of all — calling him a pedophile.

Let’s be clear about the facts. In the show, Aleksander did not “slaughter a whole city” or “kill millions.” The destruction of the port was a direct and brutal military act — yes, ruthless, yes, merciless — but it was aimed at a specific target in the middle of a rebellion. Zlatan was preparing an invasion of Eastern Ravka, and if that had gone ahead, the loss of life would have been catastrophic, in the millions. Not just Grisha, but ordinary Ravkans as well. Aleksander’s action was calculated as a pre-emptive strike to stop that invasion from happening. You can condemn his methods — absolutely — but let’s not pretend he did it for sport, or that it was senseless slaughter detached from context. It was war.

The narrative is more complex than “he killed millions.” That statement is a lie. He didn’t. He destroyed a military stronghold at enormous cost, and in doing so prevented a larger-scale bloodbath. You may not like the choice, but let’s at least be honest about what actually happened.

And then there is the accusation of pedophilia. This is not only false, it is disgusting. There is nothing — absolutely nothing — in the show (or books) that supports such an idea. To invent something this vile is not criticism. It’s a tactic meant to paint Aleksander as so irredeemably monstrous that any level of cruelty toward him becomes “justified.” This is exactly what I was describing in my post: when reality is not enough, the haters create fiction on top of fiction. They lie. They escalate. They dehumanize, They want himm suffer.

Ask yourself: why is the truth not enough for you? Why must you add horrors that never existed in canon? Why do you need to call him something so vile, when the text itself never once supports that claim? This is not an “interpretation.” This is a conscious fabrication designed to strip away nuance, destroy any possibility of complexity, and encourage violent fantasies against him.

And it’s ironic, isn’t it? Aleksander is accused of manipulation, yet here we see manipulation at work. A comment that twists events, inflates numbers, and attaches baseless crimes to a character — all in the service of feeding hate.

Let me be very clear: calling Aleksander a pedophile is a lie. It is an act of defamation within fandom discourse. It poisons discussion. It reveals exactly what I have been writing about — the desperate need to exaggerate, to invent, to vilify, until nothing remains except a grotesque caricature that exists solely as a target for cruelty.

When people resort to this kind of fabrication, they expose themselves far more than they expose the character. They reveal their obsession with hate, their willingness to discard honesty, and their refusal to tolerate complexity.

And the result? A fandom space where dehumanization is normalized, where people compete over who can vilify Aleksander most extremely, even if it means fabricating crimes that never happened. That isn’t discussion. That isn’t criticism. That is toxic, and it is dangerous. By inventing lies about Aleksander, especially something as vile as calling him a pedophile — you are proving my point more clearly than I ever could. And it reminds me of what happens when hatred leans on fabrication: Goebbels himself once built an empire of lies in exactly this way. Repeat the lie often enough, make it monstrous enough, and soon people stop questioning it. That is how dehumanisation begins. It starts with fiction, but history has already shown us where such lies can lead.

Grishaverse fandom - hate, and the danger of dehumanisation

I want to reflect on something I keep encountering again and again in this fandom. Remarks like these are sadly common within the so-called tolerant Grishaverse. What stands out is that they are not ordinary criticisms of a character, they reveal something much darker. One person scoffs at the idea that Aleksandercould ever be described as morally grey, and another states that they would like to read three hundred pages of him being tortured and that even such an amount of suffering would not be enough.

This goes far beyond disagreeing over fiction. This is not a debate about narrative choices or literary archetypes. This is sadistic satisfaction expressed openly and proudly, and it exposes a worrying mindset that cannot be brushed aside as harmless fan banter.

Aleksander Morozova is the perfect definition of a morally grey character. He fought for the survival of the Grisha for centuries, a people who faced systemic persecution, oppression, and extermination. Without him, their survival as a group would likely not have been possible. His entire existence was a shield against annihilation. Yet he also relied on methods that were firm and relentless. This duality is precisely what defines him as morally grey: he is both savior and leader, both guardian and ruler, both a man shaped by suffering and a figure who carried immense responsibility.

To deny this complexity and insist that Aleksander is simply a villain is to ignore the essence of his role in the narrative. But it is easier for some people to flatten him into a caricature than to grapple with the discomfort of a character who resists simple classification. Complexity requires empathy, critical thought, and the ability to hold contradictions in mind. Not everyone is willing to make that effort.

But the hatred directed toward him goes beyond simplification. When someone writes that they want three hundred pages of him being tortured, they are no longer analyzing a story. They are indulging in violent fantasy. This reveals what I would call sadistic satisfaction, the psychological enjoyment of imagining another’s suffering. This matters, even if the target is a fictional character. Because it shows how some people respond to discomfort. Aleksander unsettles them. He is too powerful, too ambiguous, too resistant to easy labels. Rather than sit with that tension, they resolve it by destroying him in their imagination — not once, not briefly, but endlessly. They envision prolonged, humiliating suffering and then declare that even this would not be sufficient.

This is not criticism. This is cruelty. And cruelty, even when disguised as “just fandom,” is never harmless.

Why I think young people react this way?

Much of this extreme hostility comes from younger fans. There are psychological reasons for that.

Discomfort with ambiguity – Many younger people are raised on stories that divide the world neatly into heroes and villains. A character like Aleksander Morozova aka The Darkling, who cannot be neatly categorized, destabilizes that worldview. Sadistic fantasies become a way of pushing him back into the “villain box.”

Projection – Aleksander embodies traits that make people uneasy: power, control, charisma, and determination. Instead of reflecting on why those traits evoke discomfort, they project their hostility onto him. He becomes a safe vessel for hatred.

Illusion of power – Heis immensely powerful within the story. Fantasizing about his humiliation and torture provides a false sense of power over him. For someone who feels powerless in life, this reversal of roles can be intoxicating.

Group bonding through cruelty (found family...) – Online fandoms often create micro-communities built not around love for something but around shared hate. Within those groups, people compete to express more extreme disgust, more creative violence, and more vicious mockery. Saying you want three hundred pages of torture is not just about Aleksander Morozova — it is also a signal to the group: “Look how much I despise him. I belong here, please, like me!”

Normalization of exaggerated speech – internet culture thrives on hyperbole. Everything is the best or the worst, every opinion is exaggerated for effect. But when exaggeration becomes “I want endless torture,” the line between ironic exaggeration and genuine sadism is blurred.

The danger is not limited to fictional discussions. If someone finds joy in endlessly humiliating a fictional character, what prevents them from carrying the same mindset into the real world? Hatred is a habit. It is not easily contained. If a person learns to resolve discomfort through cruelty, they are more likely to apply the same strategy outside of fiction. If they are aggressive toward supporters of Aleksander online, what does that suggest about their tolerance for difference in the real world? If they cannot handle complexity in a books or a TV show, how will they handle the complexity of actual human beings?The truth is that many young people are already being radicalized online. They are drawn into communities where hatred is normalized, where cruelty becomes entertainment, where the destruction of “the enemy” is the central goal. When I see comments wishing endless torture upon Aleksander, I see the same pattern on a smaller scale. Today it is a fictional character. Tomorrow it could be a classmate, a co-worker in adult life, or anyone who represents something they dislike.

So why Aleksander in particular?

Aleksander is an especially effective lightning rod for this kind of sadistic aggression because he embodies qualities that both attract and repel. He is powerful, charismatic, and morally ambiguous. He inspires fascination and discomfort at the same time. For some, this duality is irresistible, they feel drawn to him, but also feel the need to punish him for what he represents. This ambivalence often produces the strongest reactions. A bland villain would not inspire three hundred pages of torture fantasies. A one-dimensional hero would not inspire denial of moral grey-ness. Aleksander provokes these reactions precisely because he is complex, layered, and emotionally challenging. The sadism of his opponents is a twisted acknowledgment of his power as a character.

Why this should not be ignored?

It would be easy to dismiss all of this as “just fandom”. But to do so is to ignore how people rehearse their moral instincts through fiction. If cruelty, sadism, and aggressive exclusion are normalized in the fictional sphere, they do not simply vanish when the book is closed. They shape how people think, how they argue, how they treat others. What I see in these comments is not harmless exaggeration but a symptom of something larger: the erosion of empathy, the glorification of cruelty, and the refusal to tolerate difference. That is really dangerous. It is dangerous in fandom, and it is dangerous in life. What troubles me most is how easily people can be taught to hate when it becomes a collective exercise. It often begins with words: exaggerations, ridicule, fantasies of suffering. Then it grows into a culture where cruelty is normal and where the target is stripped of humanity, reduced to nothing more than an object of blame. In the past, entire groups of people were pushed into this role — neighbours turned into enemies, individuals recast as threats simply for existing. Once the process of dehumanisation had taken root, cruelty was no longer questioned. If anyone knows the history of Europe in the 1930s and 1940s even a little, they know what I'm talking about.

Aleksander deserves to be discussed as the morally grey, tragic, and compelling character that he is. Those who deny this complexity and call for his endless suffering reveal far more about themselves than about him. They reveal a pattern of thought that thrives on cruelty, fears ambiguity, and seeks control through destruction. And I will say it plainly: such patterns are not confined to fiction. They are seeds of something that, left unchecked, can grow into real-world aggression and radicalization. That is why I find these voices not just unpleasant but deeply concerning.

[lilu787788]

Grishaverse fandom - hate, and the danger of dehumanisation

I want to reflect on something I keep encountering again and again in this fandom. Remarks like these are sadly common within the so-called tolerant Grishaverse. What stands out is that they are not ordinary criticisms of a character, they reveal something much darker. One person scoffs at the idea that Aleksandercould ever be described as morally grey, and another states that they would like to read three hundred pages of him being tortured and that even such an amount of suffering would not be enough.

This goes far beyond disagreeing over fiction. This is not a debate about narrative choices or literary archetypes. This is sadistic satisfaction expressed openly and proudly, and it exposes a worrying mindset that cannot be brushed aside as harmless fan banter.

Aleksander Morozova is the perfect definition of a morally grey character. He fought for the survival of the Grisha for centuries, a people who faced systemic persecution, oppression, and extermination. Without him, their survival as a group would likely not have been possible. His entire existence was a shield against annihilation. Yet he also relied on methods that were firm and relentless. This duality is precisely what defines him as morally grey: he is both savior and leader, both guardian and ruler, both a man shaped by suffering and a figure who carried immense responsibility.

To deny this complexity and insist that Aleksander is simply a villain is to ignore the essence of his role in the narrative. But it is easier for some people to flatten him into a caricature than to grapple with the discomfort of a character who resists simple classification. Complexity requires empathy, critical thought, and the ability to hold contradictions in mind. Not everyone is willing to make that effort.

But the hatred directed toward him goes beyond simplification. When someone writes that they want three hundred pages of him being tortured, they are no longer analyzing a story. They are indulging in violent fantasy. This reveals what I would call sadistic satisfaction, the psychological enjoyment of imagining another’s suffering. This matters, even if the target is a fictional character. Because it shows how some people respond to discomfort. Aleksander unsettles them. He is too powerful, too ambiguous, too resistant to easy labels. Rather than sit with that tension, they resolve it by destroying him in their imagination — not once, not briefly, but endlessly. They envision prolonged, humiliating suffering and then declare that even this would not be sufficient.

This is not criticism. This is cruelty. And cruelty, even when disguised as “just fandom,” is never harmless.

Why I think young people react this way?

Much of this extreme hostility comes from younger fans. There are psychological reasons for that.

Discomfort with ambiguity – Many younger people are raised on stories that divide the world neatly into heroes and villains. A character like Aleksander Morozova aka The Darkling, who cannot be neatly categorized, destabilizes that worldview. Sadistic fantasies become a way of pushing him back into the “villain box.”

Projection – Aleksander embodies traits that make people uneasy: power, control, charisma, and determination. Instead of reflecting on why those traits evoke discomfort, they project their hostility onto him. He becomes a safe vessel for hatred.

Illusion of power – Heis immensely powerful within the story. Fantasizing about his humiliation and torture provides a false sense of power over him. For someone who feels powerless in life, this reversal of roles can be intoxicating.

Group bonding through cruelty (found family...) – Online fandoms often create micro-communities built not around love for something but around shared hate. Within those groups, people compete to express more extreme disgust, more creative violence, and more vicious mockery. Saying you want three hundred pages of torture is not just about Aleksander Morozova — it is also a signal to the group: “Look how much I despise him. I belong here, please, like me!”

Normalization of exaggerated speech – internet culture thrives on hyperbole. Everything is the best or the worst, every opinion is exaggerated for effect. But when exaggeration becomes “I want endless torture,” the line between ironic exaggeration and genuine sadism is blurred.

The danger is not limited to fictional discussions. If someone finds joy in endlessly humiliating a fictional character, what prevents them from carrying the same mindset into the real world? Hatred is a habit. It is not easily contained. If a person learns to resolve discomfort through cruelty, they are more likely to apply the same strategy outside of fiction. If they are aggressive toward supporters of Aleksander online, what does that suggest about their tolerance for difference in the real world? If they cannot handle complexity in a books or a TV show, how will they handle the complexity of actual human beings?The truth is that many young people are already being radicalized online. They are drawn into communities where hatred is normalized, where cruelty becomes entertainment, where the destruction of “the enemy” is the central goal. When I see comments wishing endless torture upon Aleksander, I see the same pattern on a smaller scale. Today it is a fictional character. Tomorrow it could be a classmate, a co-worker in adult life, or anyone who represents something they dislike.

So why Aleksander in particular?

Aleksander is an especially effective lightning rod for this kind of sadistic aggression because he embodies qualities that both attract and repel. He is powerful, charismatic, and morally ambiguous. He inspires fascination and discomfort at the same time. For some, this duality is irresistible, they feel drawn to him, but also feel the need to punish him for what he represents. This ambivalence often produces the strongest reactions. A bland villain would not inspire three hundred pages of torture fantasies. A one-dimensional hero would not inspire denial of moral grey-ness. Aleksander provokes these reactions precisely because he is complex, layered, and emotionally challenging. The sadism of his opponents is a twisted acknowledgment of his power as a character.

Why this should not be ignored?

It would be easy to dismiss all of this as “just fandom”. But to do so is to ignore how people rehearse their moral instincts through fiction. If cruelty, sadism, and aggressive exclusion are normalized in the fictional sphere, they do not simply vanish when the book is closed. They shape how people think, how they argue, how they treat others. What I see in these comments is not harmless exaggeration but a symptom of something larger: the erosion of empathy, the glorification of cruelty, and the refusal to tolerate difference. That is really dangerous. It is dangerous in fandom, and it is dangerous in life. What troubles me most is how easily people can be taught to hate when it becomes a collective exercise. It often begins with words: exaggerations, ridicule, fantasies of suffering. Then it grows into a culture where cruelty is normal and where the target is stripped of humanity, reduced to nothing more than an object of blame. In the past, entire groups of people were pushed into this role — neighbours turned into enemies, individuals recast as threats simply for existing. Once the process of dehumanisation had taken root, cruelty was no longer questioned. If anyone knows the history of Europe in the 1930s and 1940s even a little, they know what I'm talking about.

Aleksander deserves to be discussed as the morally grey, tragic, and compelling character that he is. Those who deny this complexity and call for his endless suffering reveal far more about themselves than about him. They reveal a pattern of thought that thrives on cruelty, fears ambiguity, and seeks control through destruction. And I will say it plainly: such patterns are not confined to fiction. They are seeds of something that, left unchecked, can grow into real-world aggression and radicalization. That is why I find these voices not just unpleasant but deeply concerning.