#she and ivan are the best things in ilya's life

[senseiwu]

every time sofia sees ilya with a new injury she wants to cry

but she also cries becasue thank god he’s still alive

‘one day,’ she promises him. ‘one day we’ll be so far away they can’t reach you.’

[underthepillowfort]

Episode 6: the heart is an arrow

- it demands aim to land true

- amirite?

- this better be a kanej episode

-oh nope it starts of with aleks’ interrogation

- ivan lie detector kun

- bye i guess

- now this IS small science

- yes i mean the sunlight and magnification glass scene

- inej letting her go🥺😭🥰

- not the time fedyor

- OH HERE IT IS TITATNIC STARRING HELNIK

- nice heartrendering nina

- racist racist all over this town this world 😭 look at them

- no

- no just no

- no no no no

- zoya x darkling isn’t the way to go show runner no

- lemme just fling myself off a cliff

- oh thank goodness they don’t do it

- ok so zoya is still zoya but more ...? Idk the show gave her more racist remarks and she got taken advantage of in more than one way. It explain the dislike she has toward alina more but I can’t say i like it fam

- but boy thinking back i’m glad nothing happened btw her and mal

- but that’s conflicting because now zoya was thrown instead to the darkling

- i’m leaving this now, don’t want to think too much into this any more or i’m gonna be mad

- finally some dialogue in foreign (made up) language

- this has major jon snow ygritte vibe

- better not to compare them lol

- alinaaaa i cryyyyy, you don’t deserve this nobody deserves this

- MAL!

- helnik romantic camping in a whale hut? No? Ok.

- hahahahahahha alina throwing the water bottle at him is peak best friend behavior

- aw the iconic malina hug, they really r pushing the malina as heart of the show, it’s working

- but darklina is the soul of the show tho right? *don’t kill me*

- kaz is giving it all for inej okok the heart is an arrow

- i have been waiting for this scene since i read the book like the first thing i tried to find is a picture of alina showing her small light sun summoning to mal

- i might cry this is so accurate to what i thought it would be like

- ok enough sweet helnik when will Matthias be the soc Matthias where it’s enemies -> lovers -> enemies -> lovers again? quick hellgate i need you

- jesper is having the time of his life with ivan

- yes pull it out inej

- DARKLING VS KAZ OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG THIS IS IT

- wack him once and run boy *bonk*

- “MISTER BREKKER”

- oh no he didn’t even wack the guy with his cane , i was rooting for you we were all rooting for you

- jokes i know how this is going to end

- kaz’s gone kaitou kid’s style

- the stag yes time to go get him

- mal being connected to ilya’s herd as his true descendant okay, follow the sound i guess

- thinking of archie calling ben ‘uncle’ and ben calling him ‘nephew’ on ig

- playful helnik

- i know he be thinking that she’s all the flowers blooming all at once stem from here for sure

- Kaz’s pained expression nnnnnnnnnnnnnn hngggggggggggg of him not being to touch hnggggggggggkhsfjfslhjahdhdkjdwhff

- hahahahaha david

- i rmb ben hold up hid finger in one interview to speak too hahahahahaha

- my man keep the fold running his skin be clear and lives for centuries

- next stop permaforst showdown

- this ep is a 3/5 for me

Next: Episode 7: the unsea

Note: the david throwing shadow and bone book at jesper tho

[winter-ass]

`’ Concept: Russian Fairytales ’`

Indeed, Barnes and Romanoff do have some strange habits. Like baking a dozen of pancakes on first week of March[1] or doing cross gestures with their hands with saying weird stuff that sounds as if they want to curse every single person in a mile around to the seventh generation (actually they do want to do that). They were searching for ice holes all around the New York although the Winter Soldier was supposed to hate cold[2]. They drank vodka, shouted something.

It seems to be normal for Natasha to do all that shit. Clint that knows all her demons is calm so there mustn’t be any problems. James maybe just wanted to try everything new in the world after getting rid of Hydra. Tony doesn’t worry at all because the only the he only want to be certain in is that the world is not going to fall apart in neatest future. Come on, Tony has a huge tower that looks like a dildo and a team of superheroes with strong PTSD — he is the last person that is supposed to be confused. Bruce, firstly, is just too considerate to ask anything and secondly, he doesn’t care about anything that happens upstairs. Thor didn’t use to be with the Avengers too often because he preferred asgardian realities or the space crew named Guardians of Galaxy. Literally no one was interested in Romanoff and Barnes, singing creepy songs in a few languages at once.

Steve had pretty enough chaotic and random things thrown right up to his face. Starting with talking ceiling JARVIS (it is the artificial intellect but still) ending with a bunch of aliens falling out of nowhere. But the one thing he didn’t expect to happen is that his best friend will go on with Natalia Romanoff well. She got a shell in her stomach from the Winter Soldier but... He didn’t expect.

“What is the secret meaning of Колобок?”[3], James says while sitting on the floor and kicking the expensive Stark’s carpet. Natasha on the couch kicks James’ ass. He doesn’t give a fuck.

“Allegory for humans’ life, Jimmy. Why дед and бабка wanted to return him home? Because that’s a sign of parental overprotection to their children. Заяц means socialization, волк — working, медведь...and then he suddenly meets the woman, лиса, who makes him fall in love and eats him”.

“Sounds a bit viciously, don’t you think so?”

“Absolutely not. That’s life”.

“Now I understand why Russians are so pessimistic. They are taught since childhood that happiness doesn’t exist”.

“Oh I beg you. Have you seen yourself in arrival to the Union?, scoffs Nat, “Looked like Царевна Несмеяна”.[4]

“You’re a Баба-Яга. These braids”.[5]

“Don’t you dare remind me of these awful shitty things”.

“Won’t you permit me to make them for you? Even if I’m Добрыня Никитич?” James looked sadly.[6]

“Your puppy eyes work only for Алёша Попович”[7] the Widow nodded at Steve.

“He has much more of Иван Дурак”[8], answers Bucky. Steve glances in a question.

“Are you two trying to discuss me secretly?”

The legendary assassins giggled together. That was creepy.

“Of course no, свет очей моих.”[9]

“Bucky”.

“Guess I have to learn Russian”, Steve grumbles.

“And you must pass the dedication on folk fairytales!”

————————————

[1] — Масленица (Maslenitsa) is a holiday that is celebrated in February-March. The point of it is to say goodbye to winter and greet the spring. Traditional pancakes are delicious, trust me.

[2] — Крещение is when people dive in ice cold water. A religious Christian tradition.

[3] — Колобок (pic 1) it’s like a round piece of pastry.The fairy tale's plot describes Kolobok's repetitive meetings with various animals (rabbit, wolf, and bear) who intend to eat it, but Kolobok cunningly escapes. With each animal Kolobok sings a song in which he explains, "I got away from Grandmother, I got away from Grandfather, and I will certainly get away from you." The fox manages to catch and eat Kolobok through distracting him by praising his singing.

[4] — Несмеяна (pic 2). She is The Princess Who Never Smiled or The Unsmiling Tsarevna is a Russian folk fairy tale collected by Alexander Afanasyev in Narodnye russkie skazki.

[5] — Баба-Яга (pic 3). Baba Yaga is a supernatural being who appears as a deformed or ferocious-looking old woman. In Russian folklore, Baba Yaga flies around in a mortar, wields a pestle, and dwells deep in the forest in a hut usually described as standing on chicken legs.

[6] —Добрыня Никитич (pic 4). Dobrynya Nikitich is one of the most popular bogatyrs from the Rus' folklore. Albeit fictional, this character is based on a real warlord Dobrynya, who led the armies of Svyatoslav the Great and tutored his son Vladimir the Great. Many byliny center on Dobrynya completing tasks set him by prince Vladimir.

[7] — Алёша Попович (pic 4). Alyosha Popovich, is a folk hero in the Rus' folklore, a bogatyr. He is the youngest of the three main bogatyrs, the other two being Dobrynya Nikitich and Ilya Muromets. All three are represented together in Viktor Vasnetsov's famous painting Bogatyrs.

[8] — Иван Дурак (pic 5). Ivan the Fool or Ivan the Ninny is a lucky fool stock character who appears in Russian folklore, a very simple-minded, but, nevertheless, lucky young man. Ivan is described as a likeable fair-haired and blue-eyed youth. The approximate setting of Ivan The Fool's adventures is the 15th or 16th century Russia.

[9] — «свет очей моих» is how in Russia the wife used to call her husband. That’s was like really long time ago.

[ruleandruinrpg]

ILYA TSAROV

TWENTY-FIVE ❈ HUMAN LIEUTENANT

His arrival was heralded and anointed as much as any prince, the culmination of a gilded ancestry, a born blessing. ‘Artist,’ his mother mused, tousling his flaxen hair, and she was hopeful. She dreamed of a manor of color, fingers dripping with paint, an imagination to match hers. ‘Merchant,’ his father boasted, convinced his son would follow in his grandfather’s legacy and grow their kingdom of gold and silver far beyond Ravka. Ilya had been blessed with art and wealth and a family loved throughout the land for their generosity and all the time to indulge in all the depravities everyone else condemned as wasteful - by all accounts, his upbringing and his aristocratic beauty suggested the future of a hedonist, a poet, a soft lover. But where there ought to have been honey and ambrosia, there was only the sharp fangs of a budding hunter, the savagery of a killer. He did not hide what others thought to repress, and if his portrait, wickedness and all, had the virtue of being softened within the frames of his family’s status and philanthropy, Ilya didn’t notice or care. He was a viper born into the skin of a saint with the mind of a devil, burdened with bloodthirst through no fault of anyone’s but his own nature. 

And if that bloodthirst translated into the most zealous ambition, he was lauded all the more. The hardworking son of philanthropists, inheriting all their patriotism and fervor, the darling of Ravka despite whose bed he filled in the night or the glory he dreamed of by way of carnage. It was a bit twisted, how much he was loved, but he’d never asked for anyone’s adoration, the warmth of it dissipating the instant it made contact with whatever he could claim his heart was made of. Perhaps the cold, hard metal of steel. Or the black fog that remained after a battle, copper-thick and reeking of death. But Ilya rarely considered matters of the heart, unless it benefited him, and even then he didn’t so much as consider as he did calculate. For as expeditious as he was, he was also no idiot - to go as far as he wanted, there was only so much hard work could do and so very far he could go with the right favors. 

It was a charmed life Ilya lived - lieutenant by day, sinner by night, either idolized or envied or disdained and never anything in between, and it was exactly how he liked it. But as all bright stars that burned too hotly, self-implosion was inescapable, even if it looked like a brilliantly orchestrated display of light and splendor to everyone else. He loathed to remember that night without a bottle in hand, the burning in his throat allaying the burning of wounds long since healed, and he thought of how deep the darkness had gone and how thick the stench of blood ran. His soldiers dropped left and right, and still he fought on, every bit the warrior he fashioned himself into, spurred on and emboldened by all the things for which everyone cursed the war. He was pestilence, he was a scourge, and he would die as all curses and terrors do - bathed in blood. Glory awaited men who died as legends, it awaited in death. But it never came. Strong arms dragged him back from death’s precipice, kicking and snapping, and out of danger’s way and into retreat. His own men who were too weak to march into the void with him forced him into cowardice, all so they could live another day. Every night he dreamed of their deaths, and for each aching look a powdered, crusty noble shot him as he walked the halls, as if he was creature to pity. Poor boy, they must simper. Tunnel vision - happens to the best of them, and he’s green. Can’t fault him for losing himself in the thick of the battle. His men did what they had to. Poor boy.

Is beauty terror? Or is terror that panicked cry of war upon distant shores; the slap of bodies against the cliffs, blood-red and sea-spray and a quick silver dagger between the ribs? And glory? Does it taste of kvas and jurda and the cradle of a woman’s thighs – or is it found in a thousand conquests, the Ravkan flag flying over scenes of desolate victory as the songbirds wail?  He was proud to a fault, decorated hero of a battle upon a hill, a sea, a tundra as white as bleached bone. He was cold and manipulative and would sooner bleed out on his horse than succumb to obscurity. Fame. They used to shout his name, and like a golden-haired harbinger of death, he would look towards them and smile so thinly that it could cut. Fortune. Lieutenant by day, prince of vices by night – wasted; stumbling from one stone parapet to the next, indulgent. Glory. Yet he was blessed. He was blessed with the propensity for violent ingenuity, he was blessed with a mind like a diamond, a body made to command and rear up and crush, that cool ruthless hand. Alas. Loss. He returned home in pieces; red-smeared and black-weak. He returned home a legend, and legends never die; do they? But he would not be their martyr, left to drink and whore and wallow in darkness after his time in the sun. There were wars yet to be won. He craved a dead-wet form of horror, he wanted to see the fear in their eyes and the blood on their necks. He returned home in pieces; but he would lead battles again, someday. They used to shout his name; but now they whisper it. For what is terror, if not a restless longing for the monstrous sin of human nature? Nothing.

CONNECTIONS

KONSTANTIN MIRONOV: What was once a lofty, unreachable goal had been made tangible - this was Ilya’s way. He had no heroes nor idols, but Konstantin, in all his cold disdain and acerbity, was the only man to come close. Perhaps it’s because the man possesses a position and title Ilya coveted and continues to covet and has the mind and greed not to roll over in his grief - but he was also a means to an end. He’d slipped into the General’s bed one evening, still a bright soldier boy, cooed saccharine nothings and was promptly ridiculed mercilessly. But for whatever reason Ilya doesn’t claim to know, Konstantin still humored him - then and now - and if it’s arrogant of Ilya to assume to think there’s something about him that sings of a man Konstantin once was and possibly even envies, then who is he to deny his nature?

TATIANA LANTSOV: Darling Tatiana, whose beauty and fire could make an entire palace take pause - she was at once the key to every door he had yet to open and an incorrigible menace, determined to tame that which was feral and selfish. She imagines they’re meant to be, soulmates, and perhaps if Ilya was patient enough and capable of loving anyone else but himself, the two of them could have been fire-wild and fearsome together. But as it is, her demanding, fickle nature either repulses him or tempts him, depending on his mood, and he is wont to never forget how much value her influence could bring him, should he decide to make use of it. For now, he humors her, flirts when he’s feeling careless or greedy, and never promises her more than anything he’s capable  of.

FYODOR DRUGOV: The concerns of The Darkling and his followers rarely ever cross Ilya’s mind, but he can’t deny there’s a kindred soul in Fyodor, a match in his own hedonistic excess and love of chaos. That they are ultimately serving two masters (as little as Ivan would want him to believe it) doesn’t particularly concern Ilya, and for all his faults and wickedness, one could never accuse him of drawing boundaries or obeying them. Grisha or not, as long as they fear not the consequences their indulgence and lust for blood would bring, nor how black it’d mar their soul, then he can raise a kvas to their name. 

ILYA IS PORTRAYED BY JEREMY DUFOUR & IS OPEN.

[bubblecomicsarehere]

Bubble Comics: Second Wind

At the end of December, Bubble announced about retitling of their comics. First of all it’s going to change the format of stories. The life of most of the main characters changed and now they need to move forward. 

Today Bleeding Cool presented summaries and exclusive covers for the new issues by Mateus Santolouco.

Allies

Genre: Spy drama Writer: Natalia Devova Artist: Alina Erofeeva Colorist: Victoria Vinogradova First issue cover: Yulia Shevtsova Variant cover: Mateus Santolouco and Marcelo Costa Nika Chaikina was the best in her field: a master thief that became a secret agent, she has completed many successful missions around the world and saved the planet from the forces of evil multiple times. But in the end the evil won. Nika had lost everything she fought for… She will never get her old life back but she must move forward. Now she has to gain back her strength, overcome the pain, defeat her inner demons – and begin the new war. Because the evil keeps growing: a powerful corporation wants to control all the people with superpowers and establish the new world order. After surviving a personal tragedy Nika can help people that gained superpowers to cope with changes in their lives – and avenge herself. But first she needs to put together a team. She is going to need allies…

Demonslayer

Genre: Action horror Writer: Alex Hatchett Artist: Anastasia Kim Colorist: Lada Akishina First issue cover: Natalia Zaidova Variant cover: Mateus Santolouco and Marcelo Costa Hell came to Earth! Vicious Antichrist has united all the legions of Hell under his banner, and now our world faces great danger! But the mankind is under the protection of Demonslayer – perhaps the greatest hero in its history. After taking on a mission of saving the planet, Demonslayer gathered a team of like-minded individuals that help him fight forces of evil! Little imp from Hell called Sneak, the shaman Black Hound, the witch Queen of the Rot, the homeless girl Yana and the living nightmare Balor that lives inside her mind – this magical squad doesn’t look like your typical heroes but they are the last hope of the Earth in the face of the demon invasion!

Igor Grom

Genre: Detective thriller Writer: Alexey Zamskiy Artist: Natalia Zaidova Colorist: Maria Vasilieva First issue cover: Ilya Kuvshinov Variant cover: Mateus Santolouco and Marcelo Costa Major Igor Grom was the best policeman of Saint Petersburg… until the war on crime didn’t break him completely. Grom had lost a woman he loved, his friends and colleagues – and, worst of all, he lost himself… But Igor isn’t giving up. He pulls himself together and gets back to what he joined the police for – helping people and saving Saint Petersburg. And even after falling to the very bottom he is going to open his city from new, unpredictable sides and see right into its dark soul. Maybe that’s where he will find the answers he’s looking for.

Realmwalkers

Genre: Fantasy adventure Writers: Roman Kotkov and Evgeniy Fedotov Artist: Anna Rud Colorist: Anastasia Troitskaya First issue cover: Ivan Elyasov Variant cover: Mateus Santolouco and Marcelo Costa We’ve got two kinds of news: a fantastic one and an even more fantastic one. First of all, our Earth is just a part of the Collar of Worlds that consists of many parallel worlds. And, second of all, the gods that you read about in myths and legends actually exist. And any world that they visit will be destroyed in an apocalypse! But don’t worry: there are heroes that will not let that happen. The universe is protected by the Realmwalkers – the mighty warrior of the ancient lineage Andrey Radov and his wife Kseniya that can control plants and their friend – the former Ivan Tsarevich who transformed into the Grey Wolf. Whenever one of the Earths gets a divine intervention, our trio immediately races to help! And their coordinators in this journey are the deathless ruler of Eden Koschei and Vasilisa the Wisest that observe the Collar from the edge of the Universe. Each new world is unlike the previous, each new monster is more dangerous – but the Realmwalkers are no weaklings either. They have magical abilities and incredible weapons – but the most important thing they have is themselves. Together this team can defeat any enemy and save all the worlds from annihilation… if they don’t get tired of each other first…

Here’s how the four variant covers slot together… and Mateus Santolouco at New York Comic Con!

(Source: bleedingcool.com)

[ruleandruinrpg]

ILYA TSAROV

TWENTY-FIVE ❈ HUMAN LIEUTENANT

His arrival was heralded and anointed as much as any prince, the culmination of a gilded ancestry, a born blessing. ‘Artist,’ his mother mused, tousling his flaxen hair, and she was hopeful. She dreamed of a manor of color, fingers dripping with paint, an imagination to match hers. ‘Merchant,’ his father boasted, convinced his son would follow in his grandfather’s legacy and grow their kingdom of gold and silver far beyond Ravka. Ilya had been blessed with art and wealth and a family loved throughout the land for their generosity and all the time to indulge in all the depravities everyone else condemned as wasteful - by all accounts, his upbringing and his aristocratic beauty suggested the future of a hedonist, a poet, a soft lover. But where there ought to have been honey and ambrosia, there was only the sharp fangs of a budding hunter, the savagery of a killer. He did not hide what others thought to repress, and if his portrait, wickedness and all, had the virtue of being softened within the frames of his family’s status and philanthropy, Ilya didn’t notice or care. He was a viper born into the skin of a saint with the mind of a devil, burdened with bloodthirst through no fault of anyone’s but his own nature. 

And if that bloodthirst translated into the most zealous ambition, he was lauded all the more. The hardworking son of philanthropists, inheriting all their patriotism and fervor, the darling of Ravka despite whose bed he filled in the night or the glory he dreamed of by way of carnage. It was a bit twisted, how much he was loved, but he’d never asked for anyone’s adoration, the warmth of it dissipating the instant it made contact with whatever he could claim his heart was made of. Perhaps the cold, hard metal of steel. Or the black fog that remained after a battle, copper-thick and reeking of death. But Ilya rarely considered matters of the heart, unless it benefited him, and even then he didn’t so much as consider as he did calculate. For as expeditious as he was, he was also no idiot - to go as far as he wanted, there was only so much hard work could do and so very far he could go with the right favors. 

It was a charmed life Ilya lived - lieutenant by day, sinner by night, either idolized or envied or disdained and never anything in between, and it was exactly how he liked it. But as all bright stars that burned too hotly, self-implosion was inescapable, even if it looked like a brilliantly orchestrated display of light and splendor to everyone else. He loathed to remember that night without a bottle in hand, the burning in his throat allaying the burning of wounds long since healed, and he thought of how deep the darkness had gone and how thick the stench of blood ran. His soldiers dropped left and right, and still he fought on, every bit the warrior he fashioned himself into, spurred on and emboldened by all the things for which everyone cursed the war. He was pestilence, he was a scourge, and he would die as all curses and terrors do - bathed in blood. Glory awaited men who died as legends, it awaited in death. But it never came. Strong arms dragged him back from death’s precipice, kicking and snapping, and out of danger’s way and into retreat. His own men who were too weak to march into the void with him forced him into cowardice, all so they could live another day. Every night he dreamed of their deaths, and for each aching look a powdered, crusty noble shot him as he walked the halls, as if he was creature to pity. Poor boy, they must simper. Tunnel vision - happens to the best of them, and he’s green. Can’t fault him for losing himself in the thick of the battle. His men did what they had to. Poor boy.

Is beauty terror? Or is terror that panicked cry of war upon distant shores; the slap of bodies against the cliffs, blood-red and sea-spray and a quick silver dagger between the ribs? And glory? Does it taste of kvas and jurda and the cradle of a woman’s thighs – or is it found in a thousand conquests, the Ravkan flag flying over scenes of desolate victory as the songbirds wail?  He was proud to a fault, decorated hero of a battle upon a hill, a sea, a tundra as white as bleached bone. He was cold and manipulative and would sooner bleed out on his horse than succumb to obscurity. Fame. They used to shout his name, and like a golden-haired harbinger of death, he would look towards them and smile so thinly that it could cut. Fortune. Lieutenant by day, prince of vices by night – wasted; stumbling from one stone parapet to the next, indulgent. Glory. Yet he was blessed. He was blessed with the propensity for violent ingenuity, he was blessed with a mind like a diamond, a body made to command and rear up and crush, that cool ruthless hand. Alas. Loss. He returned home in pieces; red-smeared and black-weak. He returned home a legend, and legends never die; do they? But he would not be their martyr, left to drink and whore and wallow in darkness after his time in the sun. There were wars yet to be won. He craved a dead-wet form of horror, he wanted to see the fear in their eyes and the blood on their necks. He returned home in pieces; but he would lead battles again, someday. They used to shout his name; but now they whisper it. For what is terror, if not a restless longing for the monstrous sin of human nature? Nothing.

CONNECTIONS

KONSTANTIN MIRONOV: What was once a lofty, unreachable goal had been made tangible - this was Ilya’s way. He had no heroes nor idols, but Konstantin, in all his cold disdain and acerbity, was the only man to come close. Perhaps it’s because the man possesses a position and title Ilya coveted and continues to covet and has the mind and greed not to roll over in his grief - but he was also a means to an end. He’d slipped into the General’s bed one evening, still a bright soldier boy, cooed saccharine nothings and was promptly ridiculed mercilessly. But for whatever reason Ilya doesn’t claim to know, Konstantin still humored him - then and now - and if it’s arrogant of Ilya to assume to think there’s something about him that sings of a man Konstantin once was and possibly even envies, then who is he to deny his nature?

TATIANA LANTSOV: Darling Tatiana, whose beauty and fire could make an entire palace take pause - she was at once the key to every door he had yet to open and an incorrigible menace, determined to tame that which was feral and selfish. She imagines they’re meant to be, soulmates, and perhaps if Ilya was patient enough and capable of loving anyone else but himself, the two of them could have been fire-wild and fearsome together. But as it is, her demanding, fickle nature either repulses him or tempts him, depending on his mood, and he is wont to never forget how much value her influence could bring him, should he decide to make use of it. For now, he humors her, flirts when he’s feeling careless or greedy, and never promises her more than anything he’s capable  of.

FYODOR DRUGOV: The concerns of The Darkling and his followers rarely ever cross Ilya’s mind, but he can’t deny there’s a kindred soul in Fyodor, a match in his own hedonistic excess and love of chaos. That they are ultimately serving two masters (as little as Ivan would want him to believe it) doesn’t particularly concern Ilya, and for all his faults and wickedness, one could never accuse him of drawing boundaries or obeying them. Grisha or not, as long as they fear not the consequences their indulgence and lust for blood would bring, nor how black it’d mar their soul, then he can raise a kvas to their name. 

ILYA IS PORTRAYED BY JEREMY DUFOUR & IS OPEN.