so have you ever been caught in a sea of despair?

Ric was in a weird mood that day. He had been rented by one of the villagers – something he still disliked on principle, though he was slowly getting used to it – but the man had quickly left him alone due to some sudden appointment. "Do whatever you want," the guy had said, annoyed, glaring at his phone as it buzzed with incoming messages. "Just don’t get into trouble. I’ve already paid enough for you, and I’m not spending another cent to bail you out of jail." The kresnik had merely nodded, tapping the metal leg of the chair he was sitting on in a superstitious gesture, because honestly, jail was the last place he wanted to end up, no matter how that might affect the wallet of the man who’d paid for him.

He wandered aimlessly, enjoying those unexpected moments of freedom before inevitably having to return to the Undercroft – escaping was unthinkable for someone like him, especially now that, maybe, he had found a reason to stay. He couldn’t tell if he was hoping to run into Cyril by chance or if seeing him was the last thing he wanted right now. The shifter had a way of bringing something out in him that he’d never felt before, and yet the thought of having to explain why he wasn’t down in the castle’s dungeons made him deeply uncomfortable. The giant wasn’t stupid, and the kresnik knew perfectly well that Cyril could easily guess the reason behind his temporary freedom – but still… Ric couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed. Lost in thought, he couldn’t hold back a smile when, the moment he stepped into a bar, a stranger greeted him with enthusiasm.

“Sure, mate, why not. But seriously, I don’t have any money, so I won’t be able to pay you back. For now, at least,” he said sheepishly, approaching the little guy with silver hair with a small grin on his face. “But I can still watch you party and celebrate with you, if you want. What are we celebrating?” he asked, dropping into the seat next to the scruffy guy in one smooth motion. “I’m Ric, by the way, and… Happy whatever-this-is!” he added at the end, mumbling the last words awkwardly. Apparently, you could take the slave out of the Undercroft, but you couldn’t take the weird social anxiety out of the slave.

#finn1

His face scrunched into an almost pained expression at Ric's words. He wasn't good, he wasn't good because of what he had done and what he had actively been looking for before the kresnik stopped him. Yet somehow, in some way, he saw good in him. There was something inside him that was stirred, an instinct really, like a sixth sense he hadn't known he had except it was just to protect the man standing in front of him. To protect, and cherish, and hold. His hands shifted as he leaned closer, like he was telepathic and could hear the urge to pull him closer, resting on his lower back to keep him there. Still loose, but firm enough to state his want for him to remain. "I don't want you to see me any other way," If he could protect that image of him in the other's head, a good man, he'd risk his life doing so.

There a soft laugh that broke the seriousness in his face, corners of his lips tugging up into a small smile. "I do remember, how could I forget?" He breathed, unable to stop from gazing so affectionately at that blush that coated pale cheeks. He could see a shift in him, those green eyes just like how they were at the ball, and somehow those instincts got stronger, his urge to carry him off somewhere safe and keep him there only heightened. "You like my voice?" It seemed to be the only thing he really processed besides reached for the phone in his back pocket to submit a rental through the app. He'd be making it for as long as he could reasonably afford. Ric was worth it.

His thumb stopped, hovering above the app icon when the kresnik so easily said he was going to kiss him. He blinked, mouth went dry, brain short circuited. "Ric-" His voice was sharp, stiff, but he wasn't stopping him. In fact, he had quickly decided Ric was simply moving too slow and lifted his free hand to gently shift through his hair, pulling him forward so their lips finally connected. Instantly, Cyril felt.. belonging in those soft lips, in the way they moved so shyly against his own. His heat could only manage a delicate kiss for so long before his head was tilting to deepen it, breath quickening just to pull away. "Let me, uh..," He glanced to his phone that had been forgotten, made a few taps, and shoved it roughly back into his pocket. When his attention turned back to the kresnik, he smiled, wrapped an arm around his waist and dipped down to hook the other under his knees. He hauled him up with ease, not a hint of struggle as he bridal-carried him out of the Undercroft. "Is this okay?" He asked softly, squeezing the kresnik closer to him as if he couldn't stand even a centimeter of space between them.

#cyril2 #july heat week 2025 #dude this is your fault why????#also slightly hozier inspired somehow

Ric offered Cyril a small but sincere smile when the other told him he didn’t want to be seen as anything but good. Part of him wanted to protest—wanted to say that what he thought didn’t matter, that the only thing he cared about was Cyril seeing himself as the good man Ric was sure he truly was. But he knew that line of reasoning wouldn’t lead anywhere right now. Cyril seemed too overwhelmed by his emotions and hormones to be truly rational about it, and Ric didn’t know him well enough yet to offer logical arguments. All he could do was trust his instincts and do his best to show him, through his actions, what he already knew deep in his heart. Somehow, he was certain that this was his purpose in that moment: to protect Cyril and adore him, just like a sunflower adores the morning sun. When he felt Cyril’s large hands resting on his back and pulling him closer, Ric didn’t recoil.Gently, he moved his hands from Cyril’s shoulders and slowly, loosely wrapped his arms around his neck in a soft embrace that mirrored the other’s. He didn’t know the rules of this game. He wasn’t sure if he was making a fool of himself, but despite the flush that colored his cheeks and ears, he didn’t back away. All he could feel in that moment was the wild pounding of his heart against his ribcage and the sensation of Cyril’s body against his own. “It’s funny how I talk and talk and talk, trying to convince you that you’re a good person, and you only seem to hear the compliments,” he teased, letting out a tender laugh. “Like at the ball—you only focused on the part where I said you were handsome.” He whispered the words with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Well, yes. I like your voice. And your face. And... everything else,” he mumbled, unable to hold his gaze toward the end.

When Cyril kissed him, it felt like the entire world stopped. At first, the kiss was slow—just like Ric had imagined it would be—and then it grew in passion and intensity. Ric’s eyes widened and he let out a small noise, tensing for just a second before responding with equal fervor. He tried to memorize the movement of Cyril’s lips and tongue, committing them to memory, compensating for his lack of experience with the curious energy and genuine enthusiasm of a young man experiencing these emotions for the very first time. When Cyril pulled away and pocketed his phone, then scooped Ric up like a princess, Ric’s already-flushed face turned a deep shade of crimson. “I can walk by myself, you know,” he said, trying to keep his composure despite the embarrassment. Instinctively, though, he tightened his arms around Cyril’s neck and rested his cheek against his toned shoulder. Then an idea struck him, and a mischievous little smile appeared on his lips. “Is this okay?” he asked, playfully mimicking Cyril’s voice as he nuzzled his nose against the delicate skin of his exposed neck. “And this?” he added, pressing a soft kiss to his jugular.

As a celestial being, Ric was supposed to serve a higher power—one infinitely older and more glorious than the vampires who had imprisoned him—and he wasn’t entirely sure that this divine force wasn’t judging him for his lustful behavior. But the kresnik felt certain that the emotions surging through him couldn’t be wrong, not in that moment. Ric was ready for Cyril. He knew it in his soul. And even if God Himself condemned him for those thoughts and actions, Ric would accept the consequences. He was ready to make the other’s body his temple, and Cyril’s voice his most sacred prayer.

“Take me wherever you want, Cyril—just hurry. I only hope… you won’t think I’m a disappointment at the end of the day.” He spoke softly, uncertain but sweet as always, trying to mentally prepare himself for what lay ahead.

Ric's reassurance did little to soothe the gnawing paranoia that the kind man in front of him would see him as anything but dirty and terrible from now on. He didn't want that, he wanted far from that if he really thought about it. He didn't really know Ric, had been in his presence for such little time during the ball, yet he felt himself holding his opinion of him in high regard anyway, like he wanted his approval and attention for a reason he couldn't fathom. He wasn't given time, even if really he had been given plenty, to form an answer before the kresnik was stepping closer and touching him and the shifter could do nothing but let out a pained noise, like some wounded animal.

"Ric-" He cut himself off from telling him not to when his mind was already too overcome with everything about him. Still, his hands came out to push him away, to put space between them for Ric's sake, but his body had a mind of its own. Instead large hands were settling on his waist, squeezing gently like he couldn't believe the feeling of him beneath his palms. His nostrils flared, and this time his words just confirmed his paranoia, shaking his head quickly to reject that idea. "I wasn't- I couldn't," He rasped, voice strained from the sheer restraint he was using not to throw him over his shoulder and take him away, "I don't want to.. force anyone," His words dripped with honesty, traced with the guilt he felt for even being there. If his first noise of pain didn't sound bad enough, the one he let out when Ric simply offered himself to him like that was ten times more pathetic. "No," He was quick, couldn't even imagine putting him in a place like that, even if every nerve ending in his body was screaming for him to do exactly that.

He was stern, but that faded swiftly when the kresnik dared to talk bad about himself. "Stop," Now his voice was softer, matching that tone he had during the ball, a sliver of his usual self slipping from underneath the mask of heat. His hands shifted, pulling the kresnik flush against him then, letting out a shaky breath at the warmth in his body that only heightened at the feeling of being pressed chest to chest. "I don't want to ever hear you talk about yourself like that again," It wasn't a question, a statement, a strong one coming from a man who had the self worth of a paperclip. His eyes flicked down to his lips then back up, swallowing thickly, "You deserve so much better than this," He was quiet, so only Ric would hear, no nosey ears prying into their conversation within the occupied Undercroft, "I can't give you what I could- normally. Let me make it up to you after this week," He wasn't saying no anymore, "I can.. take you home? With me? Private..." And still, even through his struggle to contain his heat and the kresnik testing his limits just by looking at him, his grip remained gentle, loose enough that Ric could pull away if he truly wanted to.

#cyril2 #july heat week 2025

Once, during one of his secret escapes to the edges of the barrier that sealed his coven off from the rest of the world, Ric had asked Amara—his mother’s guardian—how he was supposed to know who he was meant to help. She looked at him for a moment, then smiled. She told him he should always do his best to help anyone, but that when the right person came along—the one who truly needed him—he’d know. “I don’t even know how to explain it in words,” she had said. “It’s a feeling so powerful and instinctive, it’s impossible to ignore. It’s like gravity: you can’t see it, but you know it’s there because you feel its pull.”

Fifteen years had passed since that moment, but finally, Ric was beginning to understand. He didn’t know how or why, but in Cyril’s wide, desperate eyes—in his hesitant, yet pleading touch—Ric felt something ancient. Something more ancient than time and more unstoppable than his father’s demonic magic. “I know you don’t want to,” he whispered, “because you’re good. Unequivocally, irrevocably, undeniably good. And I need you to hear that, okay? What you’re feeling—this heat—it’s not something broken or wrong. It’s part of you. And that means it’s something good.” His chest shifted slightly as he leaned closer, closing the space between them. Maybe Amara hadn’t been exaggerating after all. Maybe celestials really were subject to some kind of heavenly gravity—drawn into orbit around those who truly needed them. A strange, intrusive thought crossed his mind: it wouldn’t feel that tragic, he realized, if his body suddenly combusted into a small star—if he could burn just long enough to give Cyril light, warmth, and safety. What else could he possibly wish for in life that would mean more than that? “And I’ll stop talking bad about myself,” he added, voice soft but firm, “when you stop acting like a scared little kitten that just got thrown into a river. Don’t you remember our deal? If you want to do something with me—just do it. Assume I’m on board, and if I’m not, I’ll tell you. And apparently, this time you even get to take your clothes off.” He chuckled, face flushed scarlet from ears to cheeks. But in his voice, and in those wide green eyes, there was no trace of fear or hesitation anymore. Even his smile had lost the shadow that had clung to him for so long, carved by the trauma and sorrow his father had left behind.

It was strange. When he first met Cyril, Ric had felt like a clumsy child standing before a powerful, unshakable man. He never would’ve believed that he could ever be a source of support for him. But now? Now he knew: Cyril was stronger—no doubt—but Ric was strong just enough to be the one to fall back on when the world went dark. “Cyril,” he said gently, “I like your voice, I really do, but I need you to stop talking now. You don’t need to fix anything. You don’t owe me promises or explanations. If you want to take me somewhere… well, you might need to sign some forms, I have no idea how that works, but I won’t be the one stopping you.” He gave those broad, tense shoulders a small encouraging squeeze, smile tugging at his lips.

“In fact, you know what? If you’re okay with it… I think I’m going to kiss you now.” He could hardly believe he’d said it. It was as if whatever was happening had completely overridden his usual shyness. Maybe kresniks went into heat too, and no one had ever noticed. All he knew for sure was that he needed Cyril to feel wanted, appreciated, desired—the way he deserved. Not feared, not shunned, not ashamed like he probably thought he was “If you don’t want this,” he whispered, “please stop me.” The silence that followed was broken only by the thunder of Ric’s heart. He closed his eyes and, with deliberate slowness, brought his lips closer and closer to Cyril’s.

Cyril felt guilty and shameful, so much so that it almost seemed to drown out the gnawing heat at the bottom of his spine for one bearable moment. Their eyes met, and the shifter swore he could just hear the thoughts of how terrible he was, how everything Ric had thought about him was a lie and he just wanted to shout it wasn't true. He knew it looked wrong, to be here where anyone without a collar was usually looking for a quick fuck- and, yes, technically Cyril was, but he had no plans to use, abuse, or abandon like nothing afterwards.

Unfortunately, he didn't know how to explain that, or how to form the words to do so currently with the thin layer of sweat forming over tanned skin with the close proximity of the kresnik. He really tried to laugh and smile at Ric's joke, but the smile was crooked and the laugh was a little too bland. He could see it in his smile, hear it in his voice, he was already thinking the worst and the shifter was not in a place to be able to reasonably defend himself.

"N-No," He admitted, voice gruff and stiff, eyes darkened and trained on him unlike the avoidant gaze he had during the ball. He took in a deep breath, eyes closing for a moment with a small face scrunch as he prayed not to ruin whatever image Ric had of him. He didn't think he'd be able to forgive himself to running the slave off. "It's- my heat," He confessed shamefully, cheeks burning red instantly like a switch was flicked, "Can't, uh.. think or do anything, I just..," Nostrils flared, eyes re-opened to dilated pupils. "I'm not- Ric, i'm not.. I just need help."

#cyril2 #july heat week 2025 #this sucks ass #but you get a realistic gif of Ric #yeah it still sucks sorry

Any trace of anger or doubt vanished from Ric’s eyes the moment his green gaze locked onto Cyril’s dark one. In them, he saw pain and frustration—or maybe it was fear? He couldn’t be sure, but somehow, even without his powers, he could almost feel the anguish the shifter was going through. Guilt gripped his chest like a vice, and the half-celestial cursed himself for how quickly he had jumped to the worst possible conclusion. He’d only spent a few fleeting moments with Cyril during the Bridgerton Ball, but somehow, Ric had truly felt a connection between them. If he had destroyed that over assumptions about something he didn’t really understand—he’d never known anyone who went into heat, after all—he’d never forgive himself. He was a kindness celestial, and abandoning a gentle soul like Cyril’s in a state like this would be the worst kind of failure.

“Hey, hey, hey, stop it. It’s okay. Everything will be okay, I promise,” he said quickly, but with a steadiness and certainty that still felt unfamiliar to him. Cyril had a strange talent for bringing out Ric’s more resolute side. For a brief moment, Ric thought bitterly that if his father had realized all it took was a tall, dark shapeshifter to make him act like a man, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up locked away in the castle. Without hesitation, he placed his hands on Cyril’s shoulders and stepped even closer. Cyril was definitely more muscular than he was, but not much taller—just a couple of inches. Ric could feel the heat of his breath on his lips and had to blink a few times to keep his focus. “We can find a solution, just… I don’t want you to do something you might regret later. If you need help, choose someone who wants to give it to you. Do not take someone just because you can afford them. Please, Cyril,” he whispered urgently, locking eyes with him and silently praying his words would reach the kind man he’d met before. He was still in there, somewhere, even if buried under a frenzy of need. “If it’s alright with you… I could help you,” he muttered, his cheeks flushing red in an instant. But the determination in his gaze held. “I know I’m nothing to go crazy over. I’m not that great looking, I’m inexperienced, and you could do much better than me. But if you’re willing to settle… then you have my consent. For whatever you need.” He finished with what he tried to make an encouraging smile, though a trace of sadness still slipped through. Because even if most people would’ve done anything to sleep with Cyril, this wasn’t the way Ric had imagined it. Because yes, he had thought about it—he couldn’t lie to himself. He had hoped their first time would be made of starlit skies, longing glances, and endless, breathless kisses. Not driven by the urgency of a heat so intense it was painful for that gentle giant he was learning to cherish. But all in all, Ric was still lucky: if Cyril accepted, he would at least get the rare privilege of choosing who to give his body to—something most slaves never had. He just had to grow up, let go of his silly, childish dreams of romance, and face the truth: real life wasn’t made of sweet fantasies. But perhaps, with Cyril he could let go of some ideals, and still end up living something new. Something real. And maybe—just maybe—something just as beautiful.

@theguardianofembrace

It seemed the shifter was either masochistic, or he just didn't learn his lesson the first time. He was hot, fevered, and he knew he wouldn't survive the week alone. So, he ended up back in the Undercroft. He hadn't been down since his first week in Krovs town, had avoided it at all costs because he knew he couldn't handle it, yet here he was. It was worse now, with flashbacks and bad thoughts mixing in with the ones of absolute filth that his heat brought on.

This time he at least made it past the checkpoint, had stepped two feet into the actual slave's common area, and then he froze again. He froze and he stood there seemingly suffering and almost dumbfounded before a familiar scent was hitting his nose. His head whipped towards him, his pupils dilated, and his guilt for his thoughts immediately doubled with the pure soul of Ric standing in front of him. His cheeks heated in shame, mouth opening to greet him but he couldn't sound out the words with the way his tongue suddenly felt too heavy in his mouth.

"Ric-" He tried to greet him but he was cut off by how dry his throat suddenly was. He cleared his throat, tried to rally up some saliva, but he found it was futile. "Hi- Hey, you- uh, how are you?" His fingers twitched by his sides with the urge to reach out and pull him close, but with sheer self-restraint he folded his hands together behind his back, taking a step back to put distance between them.

#cyril2 #july heat week 2025 #judgmental much ric #it's in the bio #I'm so sorry little Cyril he'll be better

Since neither witches nor celestials were affected by heat week, Ric was one of the lucky few who could hope to maintain some semblance of normalcy during those days. He had awaited their arrival with a certain apprehension, well aware that things could spiral quickly, with half of Krovs’ population gripped by frustration, anger, and arousal. But he’d already come up with a mental plan: be invisible and exude the same charisma as a fork. If he didn’t talk, didn’t look at anyone, didn’t provoke anyone, maybe he could get through that damned week without too much trouble. But complications clearly didn’t agree with the kresnik, and he realized that the moment his gaze landed on Cyril’s broad frame as the shifter stepped into the Undercroft.

As soon as Cyril turned toward him, Ric’s emerald eyes met the shifter’s dark ones, his lips parting slightly in an expression not unlike a deer caught in headlights. Because yes, he had thought about the taller man often over the past month. About his expression—stern, yet kind; he scars on his face that maybe mirrored wounds even deeper; his voice, warm and beautiful like the words it carried. He had tried not to think of him too much, telling himself they had only spent a few minutes together at the ball, and that it probably meant nothing to Cyril. But now that they were face to face, part of him wanted to smile like a child on his birthday.

And yet, another part of the kresnik wished he’d never seen Cyril in that place, at that moment—probably looking to rent a slave and use them to satisfy his desires before discarding them like a used tissue. I thought you were different, he thought, still frozen in place, a tight sensation of disappointment knotting in his solar plexus. But maybe you’re just like all the others. Just better at hiding it.

He immediately chastised himself for thinking that way. He didn’t know why Cyril was in the Undercroft, or what his real intentions were. He should’ve been more understanding—and he wanted to be—but somehow he found himself unable to let his guard down like he had during their first encounter. “Hey, Cyril. Everything’s great—I just got back from a rugby match and now I’m headed to a work conference. Very busy life.” he greeted him with an hesitant smile, trying to break the tension between them with a joke so stupid it made him want to sink into the ground. “And you? How are you? Everything okay? Do you need help with something?” he finally asked, his voice trembling slightly, praying with everything he had that Cyril’s answer wouldn’t ruin one of the only happy memories he had from his life as a slave.

wingsofduty

@krovscastlestarters

It was vaguely surprising when the newest slave was plopped right into the Undercroft with little negative reaction to his situation. Truly, he held his head high. Sure, he was enslaved now, but only because he had stopped someone else from getting the same fate. He'd accept it, which was more easy than he thought when he realized the collar locked around his neck negated all those overwhelming powers the heavens had granted him with. He felt human, something he hadn't felt in almost fifty years. It was.. relieving.

When he had been alive the first time, he was quite social, what some would call an 'extrovert', but after half a century of muted inner torment? He didn't really know where to begin now. He was stuck wandering, even now, two months after he had been released from the imprisonment of being dead, he was still relentlessly pacing as if his steps would summon something he wanted. He hadn't been paying attention to the things going on around him, though it was quite possible his fellow slaves would get dizzy from his constant circling. He couldn't help himself, it came naturally. He was only stopped by a voice calling out to him, feet stilling and brows raising as blue eyes shifted to the stranger.

"'Sup?" He questioned, not seeming annoyed or bothered, simply.. there, listening, "Was I botherin' you? My bad, man."

Ric still missed his powers, but he was learning to live without them. Without his empathic magic and his aura-reading abilities, he felt like he’d lost a sense. But over the past few months, it was as if something else inside him had sharpened. He paid more attention to the expressions of those around him, to the language of their bodies—and although he was still far from being able to size someone up at first glance, he was starting to realize he was becoming a pretty decent observer. That day, he had taken a few minutes to quietly watch the newcomer. There was something about the gruff man he’d never seen before that pulled him in like the opposite pole of a magnet. It wasn’t necessarily lust, but something about him drew Ric in, made him subtly gravitate toward him. It had happened before, ever since he’d arrived in Krovs—like the first time he’d spoken with Adrasia, or whenever he interacted with someone who shared even a fraction of his heavenly heritage. And with Briar, to be honest—who, despite not being celestial, was as innocent as one of those chubby little angels in the art history books his mother kept hidden in a trunk beneath her clothes. His sixth sense wasn’t always spot on, but it hadn’t failed him yet.

“Hey, wait a second!” he called out at one point, no longer able to watch the man wander the Undercroft like a lost soul. Overcoming his shyness, he jogged a few steps to catch up, his lean body moving with a grace that felt almost unnatural for someone so tall and unassuming. “What? Bothering me? Absolutely not! I just wanted to say hi!” He smiled sheepishly, reaching out a hand toward him. “I’m Ric and… I’m really sorry you’re here. But I’m so glad to meet you.” And although his words might’ve sounded like empty politeness, his tone made it clear that he truly meant them. “I know this place is… horrible, trust me. So if there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

Some of the people he’d met in the castle had taught him that, even in the darkest moments, a simple act of kindness could go a long way in fighting off even the bleakest thoughts. Maybe Ric was wrong. Maybe the man in front of him was a villain who wanted nothing to do with him. But if there was even the slightest chance he needed help—no matter how small—wasn’t it worth trying?

#cash1

kresnikxkaden

Kaden raised a brow as his gaze followed Enrico next to him. Maybe the kid didn't understand social cues well enough. There were worse kinds of company he supposed he could be stuck with. Kaden sipped his drink, still staring out at the crowd, observing. Old habit probably.

"Because I ain't anyone who can help you in your circumstances, kid." He glanced back at the hand in his peripherals and turned slightly towards Ric to shake it. "Kaden," he introduced himself. There wasn't any reason to be outright rude to the kid. "You learn to develop a taste for alcohol. If you don't like it, don't drink it." The elder kresnik cocked his head more towards Ric to properly look at him instead of the crowd now. "Are you even old enough to drink?"

#kaden1 #krovs bridgerton ball 2025

Enrico was naive, inexperienced, maybe a little petulant—but he wasn’t stupid. He could see it clearly in the other’s expression: Kaden would’ve preferred not to be disturbed. Still, that fragment of divine light Amara had gifted him pushed him not to give up. Kaden hadn’t told him to leave, after all, and maybe a little company would help him feel better.

“At these parties, do people only talk to those they want something from?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly despite his attempt to sound confident. “Although, I did ask you for a favor at first. Let’s pretend that didn’t happen and start over, shall we? It’s so lovely to meet you, Kaden, what a wonderful coincidence to run into you here, at this beautiful party we’re all attending entirely of our own free will.” He chuckled, trying to make a joke of it, though he still felt vaguely intimidated by the older man’s piercing light eyes.

“And hey, I’m definitely old enough to drink. Although… I’d actually like a juice, but I’m too scared to order one.” He admitted this while sitting down next to Kaden, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “And why are you drinking alone tonight? Do you just like the taste of that junk, or is there something else?” he asked at last, making sure to offer Kaden the perfect way out in case he didn’t want to talk about his problems.

"Seriously, I don't understand how they expect you to be able to enjoy yourself," He mused back, his brows shooting up a second later at the slave's words. "Someone like me?" He repeated, but it wasn't taunting nor teasing, it was genuine curiosity and amusement, even with the way his shoulders straightened so he stood a bit more confidently. He pushed back the warmth of a vague blush coating his cheeks, but that didn't stop his eyes from shifting to note the color shifting cover the slave's cheeks as well. He bit the inside of his lower lip, looking away for a moment to avoid freaking himself out with how much he enjoyed just.. looking at him. Most people here were attractive, but Cyril found himself pulled towards the genuineness he held so high, it made him more alluring.

"I would share the gratitude but unfortunately I can't bring myself to be glad for anyone becoming collared," He gave him a smile, saddened, hidden understanding underneath. He huffed a laugh when told to stop suggesting stripping, though the mention of dancing made his face twist a bit in uncertainty. "I don't know about that," He knew how to dance, quite well in fact. It had been one of the many things his old master had trained into him. He just didn't want to, couldn't anticipate being able to without suffering through memories. "I'd certainly enjoy accompanying you outside, though. Only if that's what you'd like to do, of course. I won't force you to spend your rare night of make-shift freedom with me."

“You know, Cyril, somehow, I doubt that you and I having fun tonight is anywhere near the top of their priority list.” he muttered through his teeth, a forcedly bright smile on his face and a hint of amusement in his voice. He shot him a conspiratorial glance for just a moment before lowering his eyes to the floor when the taller man – damn him – asked what he had meant by ‘someone like you.’ Ric thought that if a chasm opened beneath his feet and swallowed him straight into the center of the earth, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. And yet, his heart did a little somersault when he noticed Cyril had slightly straightened his shoulders. Ric found it strangely adorable.“Yes, well, you know… Tall, mysterious, handsome…” he mumbled, his voice almost dying on the last word. And still, he couldn’t help but smile a little, even though he wasn’t sure why. The kresnik had always been uncomfortable around people he found attractive, and Cyril was no exception. But there was something else about him, something that stirred in the Italian a feeling that managed to override his awkwardness—a sense of familiarity and kinship he couldn’t quite place.

“Oh, thank you, but don’t worry about me. It’s not a tragedy. It’s not like I was doing much better as a free man. And maybe… someone like me is exactly where they’re supposed to be, in a place like this. There’s just too much suffering within these walls, and maybe it’s my duty to try and take some of that away. I don’t know if I’ll be able to, but I have to at least try,” he said, his voice calm and gentle. His cheeks were still slightly flushed, but talking about the mission he had given himself made his eyes shine.His father saw him as an abomination, but he was still, in part, a kindness-driven celestial. The desire to help others was rooted in him just as deeply as his magic.He laughed openly when Cyril asked if he really wanted to spend his time with him.

“Gods, please do not worry about my time. I’m genuinely happy to spend it with you, if you want the same!” he exclaimed, amused, fixing his emerald gaze on Cyril’s face. There was something sad and subdued in his expression, something that, strangely, emboldened Ric. He had the distinct urge to hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay. “You know, I’m starting to notice a pattern in this conversation. If you worry too much about what I want, and I worry too much about what you want, I don’t think we’ll make it to the garden before dawn. So how about we make a deal?” he said, gently but with a firmness he hadn’t possessed until just a few moments before. “If you want to do something with me, just do it and assume I’ll be more than okay with it, and I’ll do the same. If boundaries are crossed, we’ll let each other know and we’ll fix it immediately. What do you think? Just… please keep your clothes on.” He laughed, extending his hand toward Cyril and leaving it suspended between them. However, the angle of his arm made his intentions clear: he didn’t want to shake the shifter’s hand—he wanted to hold it. “So, would you like to come to the gardens with me, Cyril?”

Ric had been given specific instructions for the evening. He was supposed to be charming and on his best behavior to dazzle the guests, in the hopes of finding someone willing to get him out of the Undercroft. The kresnik was quite confused by this—he always tried to behave as best he could, yet he was fairly certain that not many people found him charming. To make matters worse, the suit the castle staff had picked out for him was at least a couple of sizes too small, in his opinion, and the shirt was so itchy it was absorbing at least fifty percent of his attention.

Either way, he had resigned himself to the fact that this was his life now. And even though part of him wanted to protest that he wasn’t some object to be packaged and sold to whoever wanted him, a louder part of him forced him to stay quiet and cooperate as much as he could. It was hard for him to break the rules, considering the suffocating upbringing he had received, even if he believed the rules were stupid and morally wrong. So, in that sea of vampires and penguin-dressed slaves, he decided to put on a brave face, plaster on a forced smile, and try to imitate the others in the hopes of making it through the night without too much trouble.

In that spirit, he grabbed a glass from one of the many trays carried around by waiters and awkwardly wandered through the ballroom. The moment he took a sip, his face twisted in disgust. “Ammazza, che schifo!” he muttered, struggling to swallow the sweet-ish yet bitter drink. He wasn’t even sure what it was, this was the first time he had tasted alcohol. All he knew was that everyone else in the room was sipping something similar, and he couldn’t understand how they managed it. He needed to get rid of the stuff immediately.

He started looking around for a place to ditch the glass without getting caught, when he noticed a man a short distance away, staring at him. Ric immediately lowered his gaze and blushed, mortified by his clumsy display. His instinct told him to run for it, but instead, he approached the dark-blond stranger.

“Could you forget what you just saw, please?” he asked in his usual soft tone, tentatively lifting his green eyes to meet the man's. “And while you're at it, could you pretend to be talking to me? Maybe even act like you’re fascinated by me? I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do tonight, and I don’t think the people who organized this party would be too happy if I didn’t at least entertain one guest, like they told me to.” He added the last part all in one breath. He was fairly sure the man wasn’t a vampire. Ric had gotten to know most of the castle’s usual residents over the past couple of months, after all, and he didn't think the man was one of them. And hey, it was worth a try, right?

@kresnikxkaden

kresnikxkaden

"I have no idea what you're talkin' about," Kaden said in a way that was hard to tell if he was playing along with Ric or genuinely clueless. Sometimes that poker face played hard with the kresnik who was especially grumpy this evening. He didn't want to be here dressed as he was in the first place. He'd rather be in his cruiser with Ares at his side patrolling through town because he liked working. And with the former chief of police enslaved by De Luca the station was essentially down to him and sometimes his dog as the sole officers serving and protecting Krovs Town. That was enough of a challenge to accomplish when his own master demanded his time and attention too. There wasn't enough alcohol...

He swallowed down the last of his whiskey and properly looked over the kid before him while he crunched on a ice cube. Seemed young, definitely clueless and maybe a little ditzy, and that collar around Ric's neck underneath the fancy getup told him everything else. "You're barkin' up the wrong tree there, kiddo, I'm not someone's attention you should be seekin'," he said gruffly. "There's no expectations from you at this event except to behave yourself and stay out of trouble."

#kaden1 #krovs bridgerton ball 2025

The man he had approached definitely didn’t have a friendly or relaxed face. Ric had met people before who seemed to have a permanent angry scowl etched into their features—like when he first met Kell. Back then, his first impression had turned out to be wrong, and Kell hadn’t actually been in a bad mood. This time, though, something told him the situation was a bit different. “Oh, okay, that works for me!” he said with a small grin, sitting down next to the blonde man. He was pretty sure the other guy would let him know if he wanted to be left alone. Until proven otherwise, Ric saw him as someone who was just going through a rough time. and that meant he deserved a little kindness.

“Why do you think I shouldn’t try to get your attention? You seem a lot more put-together than most of the people in here. I’d much rather talk to you than any of the big shots.” he said, lowering his gaze to the elegant bar counter, vaguely embarrassed. He still shuddered if he thought about his encounters with Roland and Raphael.

“And trouble seems to find me even when I try to stay out of it lately, but I’ll try to follow your advice,. he chuckled, then reached out his hand with a bright gleam in his emerald-green eyes and a big goofy smile on his face. “I’m Ric, by the way. Can I ask how you manage to knock that stuff back without puking your soul out? The one I tried tasted absolutely awful!” he exclaimed, shuddering at the memory of that strange yellow, fizzy drink. He wasn’t sure if his approach would distract the blonde man from his problems or just irritate him even more, but sometimes all it took to realize that hope wasn’t lost was a kind word.

kresnikxkaden

#kaden1 #krovs bridgerton ball 2025

The man he had approached definitely didn’t have a friendly or relaxed face. Ric had met people before who seemed to have a permanent angry scowl etched into their features, like when he first met Kell. Back then, his first impression had turned out to be wrong, and Kell hadn’t actually been in a bad mood. This time, though, something told him the situation was a bit different. “Oh, okay, that works for me!” he said with a small grin, sitting down next to the blonde man. He was pretty sure the other guy would let him know if he wanted to be left alone. Until proven otherwise, Ric saw him as someone who was just going through a rough time, and that meant he deserved a little kindness.

“Why do you think I shouldn’t try to get your attention? You seem a lot more put-together than most of the people in here. I’d much rather talk to you than any of the big shots,” he said, lowering his gaze to the elegant bar counter, vaguely embarrassed. He still shuddered, if he thought about his encounters with Roland and Raphael. “And trouble seems to find me even when I try to stay out of it lately, but I’ll try to follow your advice.” he chuckled, then reached out his hand with a bright gleam in his emerald-green eyes and a big goofy smile on his face. “I’m Ric, by the way. Can I ask how you manage to knock that stuff back without puking your soul out? The one I tried tasted absolutely awful!” he exclaimed, shuddering at the memory of that strange yellow, fizzy drink. He wasn’t sure if his approach would distract the blonde man from his problems or just irritate him even more, but sometimes all it took to realize that hope wasn’t lost was a kind word.

Cyril's brows furrowed slightly before his face was softening into an amused smile, looking the other over with a small shake of his head. "Yeah, uh, that doesn't really look that comfortable," He replied, shifting his head back a bit to look at the costume that seemed to have one too many layers. "I'd offer to give you my shirt instead but I fear i'd be sniffed out. They're like wild dogs it seems," The lynx, being a feline, found that extra amusing, obvious in the way his smile widened and he chuckled under his breath. "I'm Cyril. It is nice to meet you as well," He seemed sweet, and the shapeshifter could see that innocence of a soul not yet crushed by the weight of the world in his eyes. He felt jealous of it, at the same time he felt a fierce urge to protect it, to make sure it didn't fade. At the question, putting him on the spot to come up with a reason that he didn't have.

"Uh.. well, uh- well.. I guess I just wanted an excuse to be social," He paused far too much for it to seem honest, but it was. He was desperate for conversations, interactions, meaningful conversations that he could think about later instead of the usual thoughts that constantly plagued him. "Kind of regretting it, these pants make me want to cut them off and burn them."

Ric couldn’t help but respond to the giant’s joke with a friendly smile. “It’s really not. I think if I tried to eat anything, the buttons on this shirt would fly off and kill someone.” He chuckled, nervously smoothing down his jacket with his palms. “But taking your shirt off? Terrible idea. Someone like you would drown in a sea of drool, with all the creeps hanging around this place.” he added with a scoff—only to immediately realize what he had just said. Someone like you. His ears lit up with a creeping blush as he silently begged every god he knew that the man—Cyril, that was his name—hadn’t picked up on the implication. Dammit, what was happening to him? He’d spent thirty years hiding that part of himself without much effort, and yet lately, it kept surfacing no matter how hard he tried to keep it buried. That place’s nefarious influence was clearly getting to him too. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from looking at Cyril with quiet intensity when the older man admitted he was trying to be more social. “Perfectly understandable. I’m trying to make friends too, now that I live here. For what it’s worth… I’m glad you’re here. Really.” he added, his voice a little uncertain, but undeniably sincere.

Not even the unhealthy shade of purple his face had turned could dim the bright sparkle in his green eyes. Because somehow—even with a collar around his neck—he could sense a certain sadness in Cyril’s words, something that might have mirrored his own. And his celestial nature—the same one that would’ve had him stop breathing if it meant helping someone else—took over in spite of his usual social awkwardness. He’d do whatever it took to pull a smile from that man, who, on the surface at least, seemed to have a kind soul. “But really, you should stop suggesting stripping down.” He grinned. “Would you like to dance? I have absolutely no idea how to do it, but I can… sway my body vaguely to the rhythm of the music.” He joked, shaking his head with amusement and staring at the floor. “Or maybe you’d rather step outside for a bit of fresh air? I swear, this collar is choking me.”

Cyril didn't expect to be approached by so many people, nor did he anticipate doing the approaching. It seemed tonight was full of both, and when another slave had found their way to him and was speaking up, this time he was a bit more relaxed and didn't so much like he was being held hostage. Unfortunately for both of them, with the music and talking and all the other noises of the party moving on around them he did not hear what he said.

"I'm sorry- what?" He shifted closer, leaning down slightly from his full 6'4" height so he could try and focus on just his voice. He did catch the thing about bears however and huffed a laugh, shaking his head, "Kinda' feels like we are stuck with a hundred bears already just, in the ballroom." He motioned out towards the mixed crowd of dancing vampires and slaves and the few stray villagers. Really, most he had met so far were kind, spare the outlying few who seemed to want to just get under his skin. He definitely wanted to keep an open mind, he wanted to be normal, to blend in and be able to conversate normally without feeling like he was being pricked apart by everyone's stares. So, he wasn't turning away conversations yet, even after that terrifying interaction with the Irish councilman.

Ric couldn’t help but smile when the man leaned down toward him to hear his words better. He should’ve felt embarrassed about the way he’d mumbled, maybe, but the man still hadn’t triggered his fight-or-flight response, unlike so many others seemed to do so easily. Ric had been pretty good at reading auras before he was collared, but he’d quickly learned that his instincts were usually enough to guide him, if he trusted them. In the case of the taller man—although only by a couple of inches—those instincts weren’t exactly screaming at him to run. The way the guy leaned toward him felt friendly, and honestly, a little goofy… but in an endearing way.

“Are you kidding, right?” he joked, tilting his head slightly toward the guy, offering a tight, forced smile. “I’d pick real bears over this kind of stuff a thousand times. Bears are pretty chill, if you don’t provoke them or get too close to their cubs. And more importantly, they don’t make you dress up in ridiculous outfits for their fetishes. Word of a guy who grew up in the woods,” he added, voice lower now, but more confident than before. He gave his new acquaintance a big grin, oddly comforted by the awkwardness they both seemed to share. “I’m Ric, by the way. Nice to meet you. Can I ask why you’re here, if you don’t have to be?” he asked quietly, his tone not confrontational, just clearly curious. The man wasn’t wearing a collar, after all, and since he actually seemed like a decent person, Ric was almost about to suggest he run for it, if he still could.

#kaden1 #krovs bridgerton ball 2025 #ammazza #che schifo = jeez #that's disgusting #with a little roman dialect flare because I say so

@kresnikxkaden

Ric had been dreading this party from the moment he first heard about it. He’d grown up in a rural witch commune—parties, for him, usually meant bonfires during the major sabbaths, not costume balls where he’d be forced to dress like some dandy up for auction to the highest bidder. He’d hoped to spend the evening tucked away in a corner, chatting quietly with Briar or Adrasia, but luck clearly wasn’t on his side. The seelie had slipped off almost immediately after sneaking a glass of alcohol—Ric was definitely going to sulk at him for at least half an hour once he found him again, after making sure he was okay—and he still hadn’t managed to spot the comforting presence of the celestial in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

He did his best to shrink into himself and avoid bumping into anyone, but it was hard, squeezed as he was into a tight-fitting black and silver suit. He could barely breathe in the damn thing, let alone move with any kind of grace. Still, he had to admit: most of the guests looked like modern-day Adonises, decked out in their extravagant Victorian outfits. For a brief moment, Ric found himself feeling vaguely jealous, wondering if anyone would ever look at him the way they looked at each other. It was a foolish thought, especially in a place where people were already treated like objects without needing to be further fetishized—but he couldn’t help thinking life might be simpler if he could just relax a little, come out of his shell the way the other slaves here seemed able to.

He was still lost in that train of thought when he noticed something interesting: a man who looked just as miserable as he felt. That seemed like a good place to start—at least they had that much in common. “Gods, what I’d give to wear a loose shirt like yours,” he said with an awkward little smile, perhaps a bit too quietly for the stranger to actually hear him. “Is it just me, or would you rather be in the woods with a hundred bears than stuck in this ballroom?”

He relaxed a bit when it became clear the man wasn’t going to punch him just for speaking. Probably. As he looked into those intense dark eyes, Ric tried to imagine what Briar would do in this situation. He always seemed so much better at handling moments like this.

@bloodsoakedwhiskers

#Krovs Bridgerton Ball 2025 #enricobalestra #outfit #inspirations #krovscastletask

Ric’s Outfit, Bridgerton Ball 2025

thebloodofbriar

He gave him a smile, undertones of sadness behind it as he sighed, "I can only hope," He spoke, pained honesty. He didn't know is Inez cared, it had been so long already, he was just try to convince himself that his fiancé just didn't know where he was. He huffed a soft laugh at his words, nodding in agreement, "Yeah- you and me both, but unfortunately I gotta' do what I gotta' do," He wouldn't let himself get upset, wouldn't do anything to ruin the comfortable energy settling between them.

He grinned as his shoulder was pushed, just for it to falter as he spoke of fighting, "What? Ric, you got like, in a fist fight with someone? What happened? Are you okay? I'll give them an earful if I have to." Briar certainly couldn't fight for him, the seelie was pretty sure he didn't even know how to throw a punch, but he sure seemed to know how to talk. His smile returned at the mention of cats, even in the context, and instinctively his fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach for his phone, just to pause and let out a quiet breath. Couldn't show him pictures of his cat that was the exact description of that, but again, he wouldn't let himself linger. "He sounds fun, like a nice guy," He responded, "I'm sure he misses you greatly."

He bit back the urge to ask him what was wrong when he looked away, could see it written across his face, but he wouldn't pry. He didn't want to dissuade him from continuing a friendship. "Oh jeez, where do I even begin? I was a proud cat dad, I actually have- had a fat cat with a permanently grumpy face. Life was so simple. I gardened, cooked, cuddled with my cats and fiancé. Really couldn't have asked for more," And now it was all gone, he was struggling to grasp that fact, "I had some friends too but they didn't come around much. Inez and them didn't really get along."

Ric stared at Briar for a few seconds, not even needing to use his powers to sense the veil of sadness hanging over the fae. He nodded gently when Briar said he’d had to do his best just to keep his head down, then smiled softly and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, lose that sad expression, Bri. Being someone as kind and nice as you is a gift. Staying that way despite everything life throws at you? That’s a monumental achievement. I’m sure there are plenty of people who appreciate you for who you are, both back home and here. I know I do.” He said it sincerely, looking into Briar’s eyes with his own emerald green ones, hoping to convey the honesty behind his words. Ric could be incredibly shy and closed-off, but when the moment clicked, he transformed completely—so much so that he wouldn’t hesitate to dive into heartfelt speeches that would have made the manly men from his old coven shudder. He threw his head back with bubbling laughter as Briar got all flustered about the scuffle. “Oh, nothing to worry about, really. I kinda had it coming.” he said with a mischievous grin. “Let’s just say... I tried to step in and calm down an argument, and I got myself a black eye for the trouble.” Then, for just a moment, his tone shifted. “But the one who saved the day was Manny. He’s... a remarkable guy.”

He added that last part almost shyly, unable to hide how affected he was by the guard—even as his cheeks flushed pink. Ric knew talking about this kind of thing with Briar was safe, that the seelie wouldn’t judge him, and yet the discomfort was still there. It stung to realize that internalized homophobiawas a ghost of his old life, something he was still desperately trying to shake off.

“And yeah, Uranus is the best. I think he’d like you, you know? He’d roll his eyes every time you said something and always give you that grumpy face, but deep down, he’s a big cuddly bear. God, I hope he’s doing okay.” He said, all in one breath, unable to hold back a smile.

The feelings he had for the man whom he was raised with hit him like a freight train. He wanted to talk about it with Briar, to know what he thought—if it was something acceptable or if he’d just think Ric was a creepy weirdo. Maybe he would… later. For now, Briar was already talking about his own life, and Ric pulled his gaze away from his friend’s for a moment, staring off into space as he listened intently.

“You know, I think I would’ve liked having a cat. But in my coven, all animals not sacred to the Greek gods were forbidden. As Neptune, I got to have a horse,” he said with a grin, thinking back to the black stallion his father sometimes let him ride. Not that he could ever go far, but he liked the idea of galloping through the woods, wind in his hair. All traces of that cheer faded, though, when Briar mentioned his fiancé—Inez. A heavy, cold sensation gripped Ric’s chest instinctively. Maybe it was unfair, judging someone he’d never met. But from the little Briar had said about him, Ric had formed the impression that Inez wasn’t all that different from his own father: charming and brilliant on the surface, but with something darker lurking in his heart.

“Oh? And why’s that? Was he shy?” he asked, trying to mask the unease in his voice, though his wide-open eyes gave him away. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Briar’s side of the story. Ric was sure Briar loved Inez, but he wasn’t so sure about Inez’s intentions. “Sorry, if this stuff makes you sad, I don’t want to push you. We can totally talk about something else if you prefer!” he added quickly, afraid he’d crossed a line that might upset him.

#briar1

lorenzoxdelucareyes

It hadn't been Enzo's intention to make the slave nervous, but he could understand why Enrico might've been just a little bit intimidated by his presence. He was a guard, after all, which usually meant that he was only approaching slaves if they were in trouble. That was not the case with the Kresnik though, the Siren purely drawn to that angelic face of his.

When Enrico held a hand out to shake, Enzo gave a soft little smirk, taking the other's hand and giving it a just a small shake before bringing the other's knuckles to his lips, pressing a light kiss to them as he kept his eyes on the Kresnik. "I have lots of things in mind, chico bonito," he chuckled, lowering the hand still holding Enrico's before letting go. "But don't worry, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do. How about we start with something simple.. like food?" Lorenzo suggested, raising his eyebrow ever so slightly before moving to brush past the slave, gesturing for him to follow him out of the undercroft. "I promise to be nice.. unless you don't want me to be," he murmured with a smirk, taking a couple of steps backwards so he could keep looking at Enrico as he spoke. "Completely up to you."