#amadeo/riccardo

[apoptoses]

written for #VCKinkWeek day 7: aftercare It’s early. Outside the palazzo the sky is grey, shot with pink threads that announce the coming dawn.

Amadeo can see it through the crack in the drapes that surround the bed. His master’s bed. His bed, which feels like home to him at night but becomes a prison at sunrise every morning. He rubs his cheek against the pillow and tries to close his eyes. But the goldwork cherubs that adorn the velvet scrape at his skin. With the blood flowing in him like this, it’s as though he can feel every single metal wrapped thread that presses into his cheek. It makes it impossible to sleep.

And the loneliness that sits in his stomach like a stone doesn’t help either. Or-

Amadeo shifts around restlessly. He rubs his thighs together and clenches his fingers in the sheets. It’s so very difficult to keep from reaching down between his legs.

Not because it’s wrong. He’d shed that particular worry ages ago now (or what seems like ages- months, years, time has no meaning here in the magical city of Venice). Simply because it’s not the same when he’s alone. It’s not at all satisfying, because the thing he wants his master will not give him and he can’t give it to himself. Being fucked with the ivory rod he knows is locked in the cask that sits upon his master’s desk is nothing like having a living being inside him.

When Amadeo turns onto his stomach his cock drags against the sheets. His hiss at the friction is swallowed by the pillow.

He could get up, find a book. Wallow in his master’s bath. Call for wine and attempt to drink himself to sleep. Go down the hall and-

No, he shouldn’t. Disturbing others because he’s a greedy thing, pumped full of his master’s magical blood, it would be wrong of him. He already lords over this house like a little prince. He can’t go about ordering the other boys to satisfy his urges too. He can’t rouse them and plead for them to take care of him because his master cannot.

But perhaps there’s only one boy he need bother.

[AO3]

[aunteat]

Armand/Riccardo The Vampire Chronicle Short

“Riccardo, if you do not come in here at this instant, then I will be forced to drink the rest of this bottle alone and likely be ill on Master’s fine sheets.”

“Amadeo!” 

“And what will the good Master say when he sees that his eldest boy has allowed me to fall into such a state?

[agathah]

some riccardo and amadeo hehe

[verimuru]

Riccardo & Amadeo

[anepotter]

Yes, we love you | Riccardo & Amadeo / Armand | fanart by @anepotter

"Yes, we love you," said Riccardo, pushing back his black hair and winking at me, his skin so smooth and dark compared to the others. His eyes were fiercely black. He clutched my hand and I saw his long thin fingers.

- The Vampire Armand

[hedonistbyheart]

The vampire Armand with the manifest ghost of his best friend that he murdered in desperation. It’s fine. Don’t ask.

[devourcr]

my favorite ( and honestly devastating ) headcanons with armand being 27 when he dies is that he would have taken on more teacher role within the household.

he would have seen boys that were there when he arrived, that came after him, grow, learn, and move on to universities. they go from being his brothers and his peers, to his younger siblings, more like children to him as he gets older. and i think it would very much be a choice to have a mentor role within the household.

also, i'm absolutely addicted to the idea that riccardo might have done similarly. even if he'd left for university first, if he came back to be a teacher himself. bc those two running shit during the day is such a fucking good image.

but all the more tragic at the end, because he'd feel all the more protective of those kids.

[apoptoses]

Thoughtful ask incoming!!! It's me DA, shaking and crying and throwing up in anticipation for your big WIP. I don't think my brain can even fully grasp the 40k words thing, it's like trying to measure the universe yk. But I *am* ready to embark in what is probably bound to be one of the all time great VC fanfiction expeditions (and when I say fanfiction I mean, I'll immediately process every word as canon, such is your understanding and dissection of the characters). And YES please drop the excerpts, we're so hungry 🥺

Dungeon anon! I love that I sent up the bat signal in my tags and here you are ♥

Oh man, it was hard to pick what to share because this thing is 40% angst, 40% smut, and 20% loving moments to rot your teeth out with. We're taking that reunion in Prince Lestat and expanding it out so that Armand and Daniel can finally put all of their cards on the table and figure out how they work together in the modern day. And it all happens in the form of a road trip of all things.

But lately my favorite topic is Armand's past as Amadeo and what experiences he had that were left out of TVA (for being too racy or too dear to his heart? who can say! I think about both a lot).

(also this is the biggest section I can give you without giving anything away about what is going on between the two of them, so)

Here is a secret little story he tells Daniel:

Armand glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. A blank shell of a thing stared back, waiting to be cracked open to see what new image of himself would come through.

He drifted through his past. Inside he was like a book that had survived the flood, the ink of his memories blurred and runny with time but still legible if he squinted hard enough. Back and back and back Armand went, to old Venice with its sun warmed plaster and the tang of the sea in the air. That very first chapter in the memories of his life.

“Daniel. Would you like to hear a story?” Armand asked.

Daniel’s phone let out a click as he pressed the button on its side. The screen went black. “Sure.”

Armand took a deep breath. Set the cruise control so he would no longer have to think about the gas pedal and let himself become once more a young and mortal boy.

Amadeo and Riccardo, awash in the carnation pink blaze of the late afternoon sun. The rough hewn edge of the dock dug into the back of Amadeo’s thigh through his thin woolen hose. From his fingers a half drunk bottle of wine dangled, heavy and precarious above the lapping waters of the canal. At home they’d been reading the Romance of the Rose. An old French poem of courtly love. Lips buzzing with wine and boyish melancholy, Amadeo confessed he’d never experienced such a thing himself. Probably he never would.

What sort of thing, Riccardo asked him.

The pleasures of a first kiss. He’d been kissed before, of course. Rough and unwanted things stolen from his lips. And Master kissed him, yes. But that was a rich and heedy experience, charged with all the fear and arousal that came with doing such a thing with someone much older and more experienced than him. Amadeo had never known the innocence of a kiss with one his own age, one he’d chosen all by himself. He had no such sweet and romantic memories to carry through his life.

The tide was coming in as the sun set. The water rose toward their feet. If Riccardo stretched out his toes he could have dipped his expensive leather slippers straight into the sea.

You could kiss me if you like, Riccardo said. I’m not so much older than you. A year, perhaps. 

Amadeo looked at him. At his dark hair curling around his ears, his cheeks flushed ruddy and red from the wine and the heat of the day. Sometimes when Master painted the god Mars he came out looking rather like Riccardo, with his proud nose and shell pink lips.

Are you certain you’d want to kiss a boy like me, Amadeo asked and brought the bottle of wine to his mouth. Cheap stuff, the kind that burned the throat as it went down and left his chest on fire. Are you really sure, Riccardo?

Riccardo laughed. Of course. Amadeo was the handsomest boy in all of Venice, everyone knew that. Anyone would be lucky to kiss him.

Alright then.

Amadeo screwed up his courage. Never before had he been nervous to kiss anyone but there he was, heart fluttering in his chest. He licked his lips. Angled his head carefully and leaned in, waiting for Riccardo to meet him halfway.

Their mouths met. The bottle of wine slipped from his fingers and sank to the bottom of the sea.

The feeling of it was so sweet Amadeo forgot to breathe. It was a perfectly chaste thing. Riccardo didn’t even part his lips. Didn’t demand anything more than what Amadeo had to give and that was perhaps the most thrilling thing about it. That the warm press of someone’s mouth against his could be enough to steal his breath away and set his heart beating as rapid and desperate as the hummingbird’s wings. 

The water lapped at the pillars supporting the docks. Somewhere a gondolier called out for passengers. Amadeo broke away and then, changing his mind, darted back in for another quick taste of the wine on his best friend’s lips.

Riccardo laughed and stood. Sucked his lower lip in between his teeth, as if to savor the taste of Amadeo on his skin, and held out a hand. Come. Master will be home soon and we should not be late.

The road before Armand was black and slick as the Venetian canals at night. Daniel was silent at his side.

[armandposting]

i don't WANT to see it because it wpuld hurt me forever but I also do sort of hope we eventually get flashbacks to armand as amadeo and how that all ended. because I don't think people who have only seen him on the show will be ready for how he was as a human child. he DID defend himself and have defiance and tried to defend so many others as well and all it does is just get his life absolutely fucking wrecked. augh.

like the passivity that defines him now only really shows up as a function of what the children of darkness do to him and marius and his brothers. as amadeo he's absolutely being groomed by marius and always under that power but he also gets into screaming matches with him until marius beats him bloody. he's afraid of marius at times but rarely enough that he just does what hes told without a fight if he doesn't want to. which is also how his relationship was with his dad before he was ever kidnapped. he wanted things! he made decisions in defiance of others with power over him! even after being enslaved this is true. its just that he gets power taken from him over time and over time until it culminates in the cult shit and then he's fucked. because what the children of darkness do is show him that it doesn't matter that you're a vampire, it doesn't matter how strong you are, it won't save anyone you love and it won't save you. and in fact the harder you fight the more your own evil nature is going to do the work to destroy those you love without us even having to help. because the last straw isn't anything that's done to him. it's when the children of darkness feed him his best friend when he's starving. they put him in the position to do the final awful thing so that it's no longer their fault. it's his now. can't come back from that one!

[lesbians4armand]

thought about amadeo and riccardo a little too hard while drinking i want to kms

[ladyvampir3]

The vampire Armand

“Three nights later, screaming and cursing, I tore the reeking corpse of Riccardo limb from limb so I could hurl the pieces out of the cell. I could not endure it! I flung the bloated trunk at the bars again and again and fell down, sobbing, unable to drive my fist or foot into it to break its bulk. I crawled into the farthest corner to get away from it”

[johnnydeppangelforever]

[stormlit]

it is not necessarily that she doesn't recognise him, nor even that she believes him a vision, a ghost. one loses much, when entering the blood, but memory is not one of those things—and even if she did not remember before, she remembers the assault, the loss. his may be a face seared into her memory, but that is where it was supposed to remain; bianca cannot quite fathom him being here, in front of her.

he stares. and she stares back.

a glimmer of hope and relief warms in her chest.

❝ riccardo? ❞ how is he here? well, that is a question there is a clear answer to, and yet...for a moment all she can do is stare. and then she moves, a hand touching his shoulder like she needs proof he is solid, before bianca leans up to kiss his cheeks in greeting. she thinks her own cheeks might be wet with tears. ❝ i thought you dead. when—? ❞

@stormlit | sc.

she's a ghost.

that's what this has to be, he thinks at first. that he's somehow found some pocket of the world where spirits show themselves to people, and she's the one he's seeing. at least it isn't one of the kids; for a moment, he thinks about just accepting it, moving on.

but— she doesn't look like a ghost. not what he would imagine one looks like, anyway. he pries, a little, stretches a thought out like a curious hand; doesn't feel like one, either.

riccardo stares. maybe she's a lookalike; but she doesn't feel like a human, either. how— imprecise horror engulfs him, for a second, like flame. ❝ ... bianca? ❞

[devourcr]

the reason my ages in armand's backstory are sometimes different than canon is because i operate under the idea that armand should have been in his mid-twenties ( obviously the show helps so much with this ).

yeah, i know ar changed it. but it always felt to me like it was done bc of the idea that 17≈25 in history. it doesn't, but a lot of authors upheld it, ar & grrm being the two that i think of the most.

honestly, i think about how both amadeo & bianca read to me as in their 20s. especially when you compare how she writes about sybelle at 25.

[apoptoses]

what if drinking cocktails at the hotel danieli bar and reading anne's journals about her own stay at the danieli in 1996 was the actual high point of my life and it's all downhill from here