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Considering that strange dream, in which I still don't understand the if it's the memory ot delirium or both, so I'm willing to believe that she's hallucinating against the background of her fight with Mal.

Also how disgusting her thoughs in the “I don't care if he pushing me away, cheat on me, and all other things, if he wants to fuck me and I'll give it to him, then everything will be alright,” way, what the fuck, LB?!

Besides, are you really maiming each other on the eve of a battle in a civil war that your own General Starkova provoked? Stupid things!

They're that basic unhealthy couple who break up and get back together, cheat and then blame the partner, but never leave for good.

This idiot doesn't even understand what position he holds.

What the stupid bullshit it is, I fucking hate this book.

“Tell me what I am.” He pulled me against his body, his hand circling my wrist. When his fingers closed, a sharp jolt rocked through me, buckling my knees. The world tilted, and I gasped. Mal dropped my hand as if he’d been burned. He backed away from me, stunned. “What was that?”

Queen Alicent Hightower

Hi there! Twelfth day of my Seven Kingdom’s queens serie!

Today, Queen Alicent Hightower, second wife of Viserys I Targaryen and mother of Aegon the Usurper, Helaena, Aemmond One Eye and of Daeron the Daring.

Do I hate her? Yes. Do I still let her slay? Yes….

Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen

Hi there! Thirtheenth day of my Seven Kingdom’s Queen serie!

Today, the one and only, Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name, first Targaryen lady to ascend the Iron Throne. Wife to Laenor Velaryon, third wife of Daemon Targaryen and mother of Aegon III and Viserys II, and of all the Targaryens that will be born after the Dance. She’s also the only rider of Syrax.

Am I team Black? Yes.. Do I love this Queen? FOR SURE, SLAY MY QUEEN

Queen Aemma Arryn

Hi there! Today is the eleventh day of my Seven Kingdom’s queens serie!

Today, Queen Aemma Arryn, first wife of King Viserys I Targaryen and mother of Rhaenyra Targaryen.

She’s really too precious, I tried to draw her as a young girl (like in the books), with her sweet baby ‘Nyra. My headcanon is that she has brown hairs (like most Arryn do).

The wound is backstory. The structure they built on top , the habits, the walls, the jokes they make to change the subject, the way they leave before they can be left, that's character. So don't show me the wound. Show me the architecture.

1. I can't. I just fucking can't.

I literally want to strangle the characters so that they die and the books are over, it makes me so angry to watch them, and they haven't even done anything yet!

The Righteous Gang? Throw them out the window swearing, and leave to take a disinfecting shower.

2.

The question was how much. I thought back to the desire I’d felt looking up at the stars aboard the Volkvolny. Hunger for power had corrupted the Darkling. For all I knew, it might well have corrupted Morozova, too. Bringing the amplifiers together might unleash misery of a kind the world had never seen.

‘For all I knew’?! For WHAT you knew? Alina knows nothing about Ilya, not even from interested party, aka Baghra, yet. Not to mention she doesn't know a shit about the Darkling, only her own delusions + accusations of the same old abusive hag.

3. …can someone enlighten me why we still think he can't do it?

“The Darkling’s range is limited. When we disabled his ship, he wasn’t able to send the nichevo’ya to pursue us. That means he’ll have to enter Ravka with his monsters. The mountains to the east are impassable, and he can’t cross the Fold without you, so he’ll have to come at us from Fjerda or Shu Han. Either way, we’ll have plenty of warning.”

The last time the Darkling was there, he discovered the new way of defending and attacking, which is obviously effective against volcra. Yes, it costs him a lot, but he uses the nichevo'ya anyway, so why...?

4. I'd wish original, S&B Genya could hear that this entitled brat said~

“If my father left the capital, it would be as good as handing the country over to the Darkling now. Besides, I don’t know that he’s strong enough to travel.” I thought of Genya’s red kefta. “He hasn’t recovered?” “They’ve kept the worst of it from the gossips, but no, he hasn’t, and I doubt he will.” He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “Your friend is stunning. For a poisoner.” “She isn’t my friend,” I said, though the words sounded childish to my ears and felt like a betrayal. I blamed Genya for a lot of things, but not for what she’d done to the King. Nikolai seemed to have spies everywhere. I wondered if he knew what kind of a man his father really was. “And I doubt she used poison.”

…and this is after her ‘already butchered and gotten a hit in the head with something heavy’ S&S version committed the treason, disobeyed direct order and committed a personal betrayal for her sake.

The way and reason to betray your people, dear.

5. Death to every Lantsov, including the bastard. Death to the fake Sun Saint as well.

“When word of the massacre in Novokribirsk and the Darkling’s disappearance got out, all hell broke loose. A group of royal ministers and the palace guard forced their way into the Grand Palace and demanded to see the King. Do you know what they found? My mother cowering in her parlor, clutching that snuffly little dog. And the King of Ravka, Alexander the Third, alone in his bedchamber, barely breathing, lying in his own filth. I let that happen.” “You couldn’t have known what the Darkling was planning, Nikolai. No one did.” He didn’t seem to hear me. “The Grisha and oprichniki who held the palace on the Darkling’s orders were caught in the lower town, trying to escape. They were executed.”

For what, fuckers?! They just guarded the palace, the government was officially temporary taken over by the Apparat.

I'm so mad. And then the stupid fandom dare to open their mouths to claim the Darkling ‘turned against his people’ for executing traitors during the active war.

6. Nikolai: doesn't say anything except the basic ‘Don't be stupid, taking the position of the superior' things.

Alina:

“How am I supposed to remember all of this?” I asked in exasperation. “You don’t think too much about it, you just do it.” “Easy for you to say. You’ve been groomed for this since the day you were born.” “I was groomed for lawn tennis and champagne parties,” Nikolai said. “The rest came with practice.” “I don’t have time for practice!”

I wouldn't wish Alina on anyone. In any position. Not as a friend, lover, superior or subordinate. Nothing.

7. Alina's disgusting personality (~ number):

“You’ll do fine,” he said. “Just calm down.” I let out a squawk of frustration. I wanted to throttle him so badly my fingers itched. “Oh, and the easiest way to make someone furious is to tell her to calm down.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw my shoe at him.

8. Nikolai is the villain.

9. Did I mention I hate sitting in Alina's head? If you're so worried about anything Mal would think, let's just kill him. And everyone, but you will me happy, sounds great!

10. I hate him

“I’ve heard the whispers since I was a child. It’s not something I want repeated outside of this coach — and I’ll deny it if you do — but I couldn’t care less whether or not I have Lantsov blood. In fact, given all the royal inbreeding, being a bastard is probably a point in my favor.”

but it's a compliment to him and big fuck you to narration and the fandom.

11. 🙄

“It’s simply a question of finding the right incentive. Pauper or prince, every man can be bought.” More wisdom from the mouth of Nikolai Lantsov.

12.

I shifted uneasily in my seat. “You’re so sure of everything,” I said sourly. “Maybe I’ll decide I want the throne and smother you in your sleep.” Nikolai just grinned. “Finally,” he said, “you’re thinking like a politician.”

These stupid kids really about to take a positions of power? The world is doomed.

13. Just know that I hate every Alina's though, I'm tired of her bullshit.

14.

I did my best, though I didn’t have much to say. Even dressed in a glittering kefta and seated beside a prince, I was still a peasant from a no-name town. I didn’t belong with these people, and I didn’t really want to. Still, I gave a silent prayer of thanks that Ana Kuya had taught her orphans how to sit at table and which fork to use to eat snails.

There's nothing to like in Alina.

15.

Nikolai caught me at the doors to the terrace. “You should stay,” he said. “This is good practice for the monotony of court.” “Saints need their rest.” “Are you planning to sleep under a rosebush?” he asked, glancing down toward the garden. “I’ve been a good little dancing bear, Nikolai. I’ve done all my tricks, and now it’s time for me to say goodnight.” Nikolai sighed. “Maybe I just wish I could go with you. The Countess kept squeezing my knee under the table at dinner, and I hate playing cards.” “I thought you were the consummate politician.” “I told you I have trouble keeping still.” “Then you’ll just have to ask the Countess to dance,” I said with a grin, and slipped out into the night air.

I'm about to cry.

16.

Mal snorted. “No thank you. From what I could see, you looked positively miserable, and Nikolai didn’t look much happier. Besides,” he added with a glance at my kefta, “whatever would I have worn?” “Do you hate it?” “It’s lovely. A perfect addition to your trousseau.” Before I could even roll my eyes, he snagged hold of my hand. “I didn’t mean that,” he said. “You look beautiful. I’ve been wanting to say so since I first saw you tonight.”

Then why you didn't?

17.

I flushed. “Thanks. Using my power every day helps.” “You were beautiful back in Cofton with jurda pollen in your brows.”

His "villain era", my ass.

18.

His mouth tugged up at one corner as he plucked the golden sunburst from my hand. The rough brush of his fingers against my palm sent a shiver up my back. “For the captain of your personal guard?” he asked. I cleared my throat nervously. “I… I didn’t want uniforms. I didn’t want anything that looked like the Darkling’s oprichniki.”

19.

His tone was light, but when his lips met mine, there was nothing playful in his kiss. He tasted of heat and newly ripe pears from the Duke’s garden. I sensed hunger in the hard slant of his mouth, an unfamiliar edge to his need that sent restless sparks burning through me. I came up on my toes, circling my arms around his neck, feeling the length of my body melt into his. He had a soldier’s strength, and I felt it in the hard bands of his arms, the pressure of his fingers as his fist bunched in the silk at the small of my back and he drew me against him. There was something fierce and almost desperate in the way he held me, as if he could not have me close enough. My head was spinning. My thoughts had gone slow and liquid, but somewhere I heard footsteps. In the next moment, Tamar came charging up the path.

Sounds lame.

20.

Tamar shook her head. “They claim to be Grisha.” “Here?” Mal placed a hand on my arm. “Alina, wait inside, at least until we see what this is about.” I hesitated. Part of me bridled at being told to run off and hide my head, but I didn’t want to be stupid either. A shout rose from somewhere near the gates. “No,” I said, pulling from Mal’s grasp. “If they really are Grisha, you may need me.”

I can't point a finger at what exactly is wrong (everything), but it makes me hate Alina even more.

21. I have many, MANY thoughs about the whole conversation, and hopes, and the fact what the First Army did, and why Nikolai should be shot in the head, and Alina should has her neck in the hemp rope, but I'm tired.

“Get me in there,” I said. Tamar cast Mal a worried glance. I lifted my chin. If they were going to be my guards, they would have to follow my orders. “Now. I need to see what’s happening before things get out of hand.” Tamar signaled to Tolya, and the giant stepped in front of us, easily shouldering his way through the crowd to the gates. I’d always been small. Packed between Mal and the twins, with antsy soldiers jostling us from every side, it suddenly felt very hard to breathe. I pushed down my panic, peering past bodies and backs to where I could see Nikolai arguing with someone at the gate. “If we wanted to talk to the King’s lackey, we’d be at the doors to the Grand Palace,” said an impatient voice. “We came for the Sun Summoner.” “Show some respect, bloodletter,” barked a soldier I didn’t recognize. “You’re addressing a Prince of Ravka and an officer of the First Army.” This was not going well. I edged closer to the front of the crowd but halted when I saw the Corporalnik standing beyond the iron bars. “Fedyor?” His long face broke into a grin, and he bowed deeply. “Alina Starkov,” he said. “I could only hope the rumors were true.” I studied Fedyor warily. He was surrounded by a group of Grisha in dust-covered kefta, mostly Corporalki red, some in Etherealki blue, and a smattering of Materialki purple. “You know him?” Nikolai asked. “Yes,” I said. “He saved my life.” Fedyor had once put himself between me and a swarm of Fjerdan assassins. He bowed again. “It was my great honor.” Nikolai didn’t look impressed. “Can he be trusted?” “He’s a deserter,” said the soldier beside Nikolai. There was grumbling on both sides of the gate. Nikolai pointed to Tolya. “Move everyone back and make sure that none of those footmen get it in their heads to start shooting. I suspect they lack for excitement out here amid the fruit trees.” He turned back to the gate. “Fedyor, is it? Give us a moment.” He pulled me a short distance from the crowd and said quietly, “Well? Can he be trusted?” “I don’t know.” The last time I’d seen Fedyor had been at a party at the Grand Palace, just hours before I’d learned the Darkling’s plans and fled in the back of a wagon. I racked my brain, trying to recall what he’d told me then. “I think he was stationed at the southern border. He was a high-ranking Heartrender, but not one of the Darkling’s favorites.” “Nevsky is right,” he said, nodding toward the angry soldier. “Grisha or not, their first loyalty should have been to the King. They left their posts. Technically, they’re deserters.” “That doesn’t make them traitors.” “The real question is whether they’re spies.” “So what do we do with them?” “We could arrest them, have them questioned.” I toyed with my sleeve, thinking. “Talk to me,” Nikolai said. “Don’t we want the Grisha to come back?” I asked. “If we arrest everyone who returns, I won’t have much of an army to lead.” “Remember,” he said, “you’ll be eating with them, working with them, sleeping under the same roof.” “And they could all be working for the Darkling.” I looked over my shoulder at Fedyor waiting patiently at the gate. “What do you think?” “I don’t think these Grisha are any more or less trustworthy than the ones waiting at the Little Palace.” “That’s not encouraging.” “Once we’re behind the palace walls, all communication will be closely monitored. It’s hard to see how the Darkling can use his spies if he can’t reach them.” I resisted the urge to touch the scars forming on my shoulder. I took a breath. “All right,” I said. “Open the gates. I’ll speak to Fedyor and only him. The rest can camp outside the dacha tonight and join us on the way into Os Alta tomorrow.” “You’re sure?” “I doubt I’ll be sure of anything ever again, but my army needs soldiers.” “Very good,” Nikolai said with a short nod. “Just be careful who you trust.” I cast a pointed glance at him. “I will.”

22.

Fedyor had been serving near Sikursk on the southeastern border. When word of the destruction of Novokribirsk reached the outpost, the King’s soldiers had turned on the Grisha, pulling them from their beds in the middle of the night and mounting sham trials to determine their loyalty. Fedyor had helped to lead an escape. “We could have killed them all,” he said. “Instead, we took our wounded and fled.” Some Grisha hadn’t been so forgiving (bitch?!?!). There had been massacres at Chernast and Ulensk when the soldiers there had tried to attack members of the Second Army.

Good.

Meanwhile, Mal and I had been aboard the Verrhader, sailing west, safe from the chaos we’d helped to unleash.

23.

“A few weeks ago,” he said, “the stories started circulating that you’d returned to Ravka. You can expect more Grisha to seek you out.” “How many?” “There’s no way of knowing.” Like Nikolai, Fedyor believed some Grisha had gone into hiding, waiting for order to be restored. But he suspected that most of them had sought out the Darkling. “He’s strength,” said Fedyor. “He’s safety. That’s what they understand.” Or maybe they just think they’ve chosen the winning side, I thought bleakly.

What you think is indifferent.

But I knew it was more than that. I’d felt the pull of the Darkling’s power. Wasn’t that why the pilgrims flocked to a false Saint? Why the First Army still marched for an incompetent king? Sometimes, it was just easier to follow.

A competent war general who fights, eats, and sleeps side by side with them and has protected them for at least a hundred years, VS Alina's stupid ass and rapist leech. Very "comparable", Alina, LB.

24.

“I don’t know what kind of reception we can expect,” I warned him. “We’ll be ready, moi soverenyi,” he said, and bowed. I started at the title. In my mind, it still belonged to the Darkling.

Because it is, you fucking imposter.

“Fedyor…” I began as I walked him to the door. Then I hesitated. I couldn’t believe what I was about to say, but apparently Nikolai was getting through to me — for better or worse. “I realize you’ve been traveling, but tidy up a bit before tomorrow. It’s important that we make a good impression.” He didn’t even blink — just bowed again and replied, “Da, soverenyi,” before disappearing into the night. Great, I thought. One order down, a few thousand more to go.

Maybe the catch that it was the trilogy about darklina, so the first book kept things she ignoring now?

The heat had relented slightly. Behind the palace walls, everyone seemed in better spirits. I’d continued to insist that the Grisha mix their Orders, and at some point, I still wasn’t sure how, uncomfortable silence had given way to laughter and noisy conversation. There were still cliques and conflicts, but there was also something comfortable and boisterous in the hall that hadn’t been there before. I was glad — maybe even a little proud—to see Fabrikators and Etherealki drinking tea around one of the samovars, or Fedyor arguing a point with Pavel over breakfast, or Nadia’s little brother trying to chat up an older and decidedly disinterested Paja. But I felt as if I were watching them from a great distance.

Tho back then:

Genya led me to the same domed room where we had gathered the previous afternoon for the processional. It wasn’t nearly as crowded today, but there was still a lively buzz of conversation. In the corners, Grisha clustered around samovars and lounged on divans, warming themselves by elaborately tiled ovens. Others breakfasted at the four long tables arranged in a square at the room’s center.

For a moment, all my fear disappeared, eclipsed by the beauty that surrounded me. The tent’s inner walls were draped with cascades of bronze silk that caught the glimmering candlelight from chandeliers sparkling high above. The floors were covered in rich rugs and furs. Along the walls, shimmering silken partitions separated compartments where Grisha clustered in their vibrant kefta. Some stood talking, others lounged on cushions drinking tea. Two were bent over a game of chess. From somewhere, I heard the strings of a balalaika being plucked. ... The soldiers marched me down a long carpeted aisle at the end of which I could see a black pavilion on a raised dais. A ripple of curiosity spread through the tent as we passed. Grisha men and women stopped their conversations to gape at me; a few even rose to get a better look. By the time we reached the dais, the room was all but silent, and I felt sure that everyone must hear my heart hammering in my chest. In front of the black pavilion, a few richly attired ministers wearing the King’s double eagle and a group of Corporalki clustered around a long table spread with maps. At the head of the table was an ornately carved, high-backed chair of blackest ebony, and upon it lounged a figure in a black kefta, his chin resting on one pale hand. ...

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 3