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]

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?

some riccardo and amadeo hehe

Riccardo & Amadeo

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

VAMPTEMBER DAY 7: FREE DAY It’s time for Albinus and Riccardo to give Amadeo a makeover before Marius wakes up!😊  Here, Albinus brushes Amadeo’s hair clean as Riccardo presents him with a lovely blue doublet. 

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”

''Marius and pupils'' (Print process) (Amadeo on the left, Marius, Albinus on the right corner, and Riccardo in the background behind the Master)

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.

I’m planning out a character study type thing from Riccardo’s perspective about his complicated feelings regarding Amadeo during his first few days staying at the palazzo and I’ve been hella exhausted these last couple days but I’ll find a way to bring this into the world cuz I have super specific ideas that I literally need to be real or I will die

To quote my sibling, "Oh, they have such colour palettes"

Amadeo, Riccardo, and Bianca, with anachronistic sunglasses

The Renaissance is actually one of the eras of history where I'm more interested by the mens fashion than the womens. I love those lil split-colour tight pants they're so stupid.

riccardo is the bf who talks and amadeo is the bf who listens

everyone has to like this because i went a little overboard with the historical accuracy on this one tbh. researching specific garments, dye colors that would be achievable in italy in 1500, the types of glasses and wine vessels….. time consuming as shit but idc im really happy with this

- Then as now -

(A Marius/Armand- little tale)

Venice ~ late 1400s -

It had not been long, but already he could understand and say little sentences. That language was as beautiful as it was difficult, so far from the cold and precise sound of his native tongue, so melodious and deliciously warm. Amadeo listened to the songs rising from the canals, his 'ear strained, trying to tame those words sung and cheerfully released in Venetian evenings. Leaning against the window, his chin resting on his forearms, his eyes closed, a dreamy smile on his lips. He listened and waited, waited for his Master. Everything he had learned during the day, he knew that the Master, would listen and then test his intellect. Amadeo loved those moments, he was proud that he could whisper a thousand words, stirred still by his uncertainty, but the Master would still understand him, smile and encourage.

And Amadeo loved the calmness of those strong but long and graceful fingers, they were big hands those of the Master, but they had the delicacy and coldness of snowflakes falling on Amadeo's face. He remembered the coldness of the snow, remembered that he 'd loved it. But then something in him called him toward the darkness and Amadeo was afraid, and that fear in him increased since that darkness was like the sirens' song. Only when the Master was with him, Amadeo was not afraid of that darkness, he knew in his heart, that the Master would never let him walk that path.

Not alone.

A voice rose over the others in the canals below. Someone was merrily conversing. Amadeo peeled himself away from the window; he had learned that the Master particularly loved Latin, so he was committed to learning it. Amadeo, however, would have liked to learn words quite different from those that were explained by the teacher. His uncertainty each time stopped him; he would have liked to ask Riccardo or Albino, but he looked away. There was only one person he could ask, but that would cancel the surprise Amadeo wanted to give the Master. Disconsolate, Amadeo began to search for a way to learn those words. His labors proved in vain, until cruelly, one day, Vincenzo found him furiously turning the pages of Latin books in a corner of the library. Vincenzo did not seem thrilled at the sight of that chaos, but the burning eyes of that peculiar boy, who had recently arrived there, were perhaps the most troubling thing for him. Vincenzo, however, knew how to deal with boys like Amadeo, and he also knew that it was important to be there for them when Master was absent so that he could help them with whatever they needed. Master had told Vincenzo to help himself with gestures to make himself understood by Amadeo, who still did not know their language well. Vincenzo spent a long time, sitting with his back against the wall next to Amadeo, overwhelmed with books. Vincenzo noticed the specificity of Amadeo's choice and was stunned. The boys for the most part hated Latin, but they applied themselves to it because it was important to the Master and to their future. Throughout that time Vincenzo somehow managed to deduce what Amadeo was looking for. But he was unable to help him. Amadeo so decided to go by assonance and try to extrapolate the sound of the words and convey them in letters to form the words he wanted. He spent days looking for the right sound, the right assonance in the words. One evening in the coolness of the evening, coming in through the window, his hands cold, and his legs sore from sitting too long with them crossed, Amadeo, intent, in his rehearsals to pronounce those words, did not notice the red shadow behind him. He continued to shake his head in fits and starts, his auburn curls changing color in the candlelight, something caught his eye, that scent so good that he had only known for a short time but seemed to have loved forever.

When Amadeo looked up he was mirrored in the blue of the northern sky, but the Master's eyes, they were not cold, they were intense, and the golden eyelashes that turned white in that gentle light, gently and lovingly enveloped that blue. Only at that moment did Amadeo realize that he had been so concentrated in his attempts, that all his effort, now, seemed in vain.No surprise, now, the Master knew. As if he read the uncertainty and sadness in Amadeo's eyes, the Master sat down on the floor beside him and wrapped him in his red velvet cloak. Amadeo seemed to forget everything else, and snuggled close to the Master. Then the Master's warm voice enveloped him, clear and limpid, seemed to touch his heart directly and speak directly to his mind. Amadeo rested his chin on the Master's chest, his eyes never leaving the Master's, as with him, he learned to say all those things he wanted to say to him in that language the Master held so dear. But two words only, in the end were the ones Amadeo really wanted to say to the Master. For they were in his heart and belonged to the Master alone. And Amadeo spent that and so many other nights saying them to the Master, making him smile, between kisses, loving every moment of that happiness that was theirs alone.

-Many, many centuries later ~ Lioncourt Castle in the mountains of Auvergne.

Time is a relative thing, they say, it passes and sometimes it doesn't touch you while sometimes it destroys you. It passes as you feel it, sometimes it crystallizes in your heart, other times you wish you could reach out and pull it by the cloak so that it would retrace its steps. But not even immortals have this power. They challenge him, they stop counting him and look at him no longer as an enemy but as a comrade. Yet that companion does not stop and wait for them either, does not turn back, does not slow down, is not shrewd or flexible. What he does is flow, and in this, both mortals and immortals can only decide how to stand by him. Fear, sorrow, regret or resentment have had their time. It is strange to look at the sky drowning yourself in memories, being aware that the one you love walks in the world, in those moments only that can be enough for your heart.

You take refuge, silent and dedicated, in memories, and wait. One day, one moment the next, but that time you seek never comes and you become bitter. Until what you've always loved, the joy, the love, and the torment, and the remorse, the passion, and the pain, to which you can only give a name, that name, because in that name is everything you feel and have never felt again, you lost it. You were robbed, and in the end between eyes filled with tears of blood you saw that the real thief was not time, but a boy with auburn hair, a vacant gaze and a cruel smile. And you hated him, and not even those memories, so cherished, could give you even the shadow of the warmth of his presence....That name on your lips...He is no longer there...Lost you think forever...

Remembering with difficulty, all this, Armand, imposed himself that pain, to be sure by feeling it, that indeed, he who bore that name had returned, that he was there. He was no longer afraid, now of that pain, for in a few steps he could erase it. And with a look fill himself with a joy that had not belonged to him at all for a long time. So leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and eyes shining, wrapped in the red velvet of the sumptuous blanket in which he had wrapped himself, Armand remained staring at the elegant figure seated at the desk. Blond hair that gathered the firelight turning white in places and fiercely golden in others. Blue eyes attentive and focused on following the movements of the pen on the paper. Red and gold, and the clear memory of that night so many centuries before, struck him and made him smile. Armand approached the desk, placed his sure hand on Marius', who had already stopped writing, aware of Armand's desire for closeness. When their eyes met and said each word of love that had always resonated in their souls, Armand leaned over, brushing Marius' face with delicate lips, and the words that his Marius, his Master, had taught him so long ago returned to him as all the love he had always imprisoned within him, for him and him alone:

"Amor meus."

-END

Ok so hear me out. Amadeo/marius. While amadeos still human. He gets knocked up. Terrified at first its harlechs, but its not. Maybe its... riccardos? Because his master surely couldnt put a child in him... but plot twist, it IS mariuss. And idk where i was going wigb this. But much to think about

ACTUALLY if you're looking for mortal!amadeo knocked up by marius, do I have the fic for you!!!!!

check out the velvet of cold flesh series by the lovely and talented @lovevamp on ao3 and leave her some love in the comments!!! ♥️

I made a little Amadeo and Lestat out of fabric.

Thought I would share their cuteness. I'm on the middle of making Louis and then I will make a Riccardo.

(If I made a Daniel what period clothing should he wear?)

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