#vetrecini family shenanigans

[whumpingwithaquestionableauthor]

Undeserved Reputation

Cw: complicated/unhealthy family dynamics, gaslighting, argument, using financial situations as leverage, seriously suspecting a family member of murder ,referenced death of a family member, whumper pov, gendered slur, references to torture, death threats

I have to be honest, this is a different type of content than I’m used to, but the writer’s block is on my ass as of late so I’m switching this up with a bit of insight into Katara and Jvar’s relationship. (Also, this piece originated as more if a personal vent, so I apologized if it’s a bit less polished or different than my normal content) As always, feel free to request something on the BTHB, green is requested and the X is completed. (I’ve had this particular prompt requested for a long time with Jvar and wasn’t sure how to use it until now)

Jvar and Amidala (his sister) are both in their late forties, Katara and Antonious are both fifteen, this is about ten years into the captivity

Read this first for context

Even though his sister was still talking, Jvar barely glanced up from the desk in his study. It had been finely made by any assessment, comprised of only the most quality mahogany and touched by only the most skilled hands. Yet it still seemed lacking somehow, not in glamor or quality, but in the character of his real office, the one down in the basement. Without the occasional bloodstain or claw mark, this desk held no reminders of when the poor animals needed to be taught a lesson. What a shame.

“I don’t know what you seek to accomplish, Jvar, but I know you may not have it.” Jvar elected not to look up from the letter in his hands. Let Amidala snarl and hold her nose up as if she were the Emperor, it certainly wouldn’t win her much attention, not from him. “You may have your talons in the mind of everyone else in this whole country for all I care, but you will not have my daughter."

Jvar rubbed his temple, face scrunched as if fighting off a headache. "Again you go on with the preaching. Lively Mor beyond, be glad I have patience before you forget yourself." He dropped the quill and parchment onto the desk, finally raising his eyes and standing. "Just who do you think you are?"

Were it not for the children waiting just outside the door, he could have gotten away with something much more foul. Instead, he merely hide grinding teeth behind his pursed lips. Perhaps if he spoke to Amidala like the lifeless bitch downstairs she would finally learn her place beneath his mighty heel.

Amidala leaned forward, brow furrowed. "And who do you think you are? Do you truly think that one offer to sponsor my daughter will make me forget what you've done?"

Jvar gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles curled and tense. "And just what do you think I've done?" If only this had happened downstairs, in the shelter of his basement, where the woman who had once been his sister could be among her kind. There he'd have the real power to strike her for her insolence, to teach her who in this family wore the crown.

"I have been nothing but kind to you! Not once have I cursed you, not once have I turned my back on you, yet you stand here and try to deride me all the same!" Jvar clenched his jaw, swallowing the impulse to reach across the desk and smack her across the mouth. If she were the blue haired brat she'd have been on her knees, wailing and bleeding by now. Were she his whore, he may have chosen to tie a noose around her neck and leave her dangling until his whim wished otherwise. That would teach her to bite her tongue before she lost it.

Jvar stepped back from his desk, hands clenched to keep the wrathful sea at bay. It was not yet time, not now with his son and niece waiting in the parlor, but make no mistake, his time would come. His time had always come, with his coronation, with his war, and soon, on the day he finished his project and took his rightful place beside Mor. Beside a God.

Whatever fool first penned down heavy is the head that wears the crown had obviously never tasted the power.

"You know-" Amidala opened her mouth to speak again, but a curtain of red had already draped over Jvar's eyes. How could this woman have come from the same house as him? Side by side they'd grown up and yet she still insisted to act like a fool!

"No! Quiet! I am the Grand Emperor of Itreyan and I will not take such disrespect in my own home!" He reveled in the way Amidala stepped back, suddenly remembering exactly who she spoke to. "I have a son, you have a daughter, and they should have been raised like brother and sister! They should be close, we should be close! You're supposed to be my sister!"

Jvar waited for her to finally shrink back, to bow her head and ask for forgiveness. At least that much he was owed.

"You're no brother of mine!" Her shout was enough to make him flinch, just a single step backwards. What was she thinking? In simply a moment he could call his guards and have her arrested as if she struck him, yet she continued? Had she fallen sick with madness? "You are a monster who stands only for his own gain! And you know what?"

This time it was his turn to sputter, floundering on a word that couldn't quite cross his tongue. Did she hear herself?

Her next words nearly knocked him on his ass. "I know you killed Tiberius. Your own father." Jvar narrowed his eyes, lips curling back into a snarl most unbecoming of a king.

She had no proof of such an allegation, he'd made sure of it. Amidala couldn't do anything but sit here and bark, she had no teeth. She couldn't, not if she'd sat on it for over a decade.

But what if she did? What if, after all he'd built for himself, after he'd killed Tiberius, after he'd won the war and built the prison, what if she had proof? What if she knew of what lurked beneath the floorboards in this very home?

What if it all snapped along the sharp edge of her traitorous tongue?

Jvar wiped his palms on the folds of his robes, the linen desperately soaking up the sweat. "Step father," he choked out, already envisioning his own sister in a prison cell, awaiting her execution. Sure, she had the Vetrecini name, but even that would not keep her from the rope if he willed it so. "He married our father. He is not our father."

"So you don't deny it?" Her eyes bored through his skull without their usual warmth, as if only she looked long enough, she’d find a shred of remorse. “You admit you murdered him, then."

He raised a hand up, index finger pointed out at her like it were a knife to be brandished.  The veins bulged out from the skin, blood already tinting his face a deeper, reddish tone. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” Tiberius had merely been weak, a sheep who had no place in the world Jvar needed to make, a world run by lions. He never would have stood for Cressedia, for the prison, for Mor. He had to go, he had to die, Jvar had not had a choice. “In my own home, after everything! After our childhood, after everything I have done for you!”

Jvar’s hand flew before he willed it so, his palm colliding with her jaw. Her head jerked sideways with the strike, a patch of red blooming on her skin. 

Amidala gasped. “After everything you’ve done for me? What have you done for me, Jvar?” She leaned over the opposite edge of his desk, her face so close he could smell the warmth of her breath. He’d never found her a fair face in her youth, not with the pale splotches dotting her skin or the way the skin of her neck rolled up under her jaw. "What good have you done Itreyan? Your son? Your niece? Your stepfather? What good have you done for anyone but yourself?”

She froze, tears blooming on her lashes, threatening to fall. Slowly, as if any action at all were exhausting, she cupped her jaw, nursing the bruise sure to form. “You...you struck me.”

He had not meant to slap her, but that did not mean he was not entitled to do so. It would be her word against his, and he was the Emperor. Who was she to defy him?

“I did.” He nodded, finally smiling a bit. He’d shut her up alright. “I have given my son and my wife nothing but the best I could, do not accuse me of letting them want for anything ever again. You’re the one who chose to come here on a brazen quest to ruin your own brother, Amidala. If you really thought I could have slain Tiberius, you wouldn’t have taken the holdings his inheritance gave you and used them to go fuck off to the countryside and pretend you’re worth anything without me!”

He spat at her. “Now get out of my house.”

Even if she accused him of killing Tiberius, it would be her word against his, and what was her word worth anyway? He had Drezzaro, the new Inquisitor of the courts. He had assassins. What did she have besides a foolish banner to take up and die for?

"Or what, Jvar, you'll get rid of me?" Amidala raised her head again, glaring even harder than before, if that were possible.  She reached for a flintlock pistol he had lying on the table, cradling it in her hands for a moment, then checked it was not loaded. Still locking eyes with him, Amidala pressed the edge of it to the bottom of her jaw. "This is awfully convenient. When you get rid of me you can tell them I was holding the gun, my finger slipped on the trigger. You'd beg on all your honor and weep like a widow for the tragedy, your poor poor sister made a poor poor mistake " 

Jvar snarled. How dare she do this? In his home of all places!" You have a lot of nerve, sister." He had much better ways of disposing of her than that, should the need arise. He made sure to lower his voice as he warned her further. “Especially considering how far you’ve pushed me. Every lion knows how to bite.”

Jvar tore the gun from her hands, stepping around the madwoman to the door of his office. He stepped into the parlor with the same airy grace of a ballroom, careful to smile.

��Katara, I have lovely news for you. Should you accept, I shall allow you to stay here, at the manor, and train with the finest warriors I know. I will gladly finance your equipment, armor, weaponry and all. Consider it a gift.” He offered the young lady a wider smile, one with teeth this time. 

His niece turned her head around to face him, straining her neck to get a good look. She sat opposite of Antonius, his own son with whom she’d spent the time conversing. If the smile on his face was any sign, they’d gotten along well, as they should. Cousins were a special treasure to have in youth, one Amidala had been cruel to rob the children of with her antics.

“You mean it?” Her eyes shone, the emerald green sparkling as she grinned. It was adorable, really, the way her entire face seemed to light up at the prospect. “I...thank you, uncle, thank you so much. Thank you.”

Antonius swept her into a hug, grinning just as wildly. “I told you he would, he has our backs.” Something about seeing the pair so well acquainted already made Jvar’s heart swell. Reading and writing poems alone in a house without any other children his age could only keep Antonius occupied for so long, and the last thing anyone wanted was for the young man to grow lonely.

Jvar chuckled. “It’s nothing for my favorite niece.” He’d had no other siblings, nor did Mariana have any.

He could hear footsteps behind him, likely Amidala trying to insert herself yet again into a place she did not belong, throwing up far too little resistance far too late to mean anything. “Are you not happy, sister?”

Amidala did not answer, instead rushing to her daughter’s side and taking the young woman by the wrist. “We’re going. Now.”

“No!” Jvar could only continue grinning as she tore away from her mother without much struggle, her arms toned with the strength of a training warrior. She’d already surpassed the older woman’s height too. “He said he’d sponsor me, he said-”

“We’re going!” She reached for her daughter again, only for Katara to pull away perfectly. This was the price of her insolence, and Jvar only watched as their shouts grew louder.

If Katara truly had the strength of combat she’d have the will to win the spat. In the meantime, as the pair argued, Jvar just watched, head held high as any king should.

In the end, Amidala would leave Vetrecini manor alone.

[whumpingwithaquestionableauthor]

Wedding Day

Set six years before the start of captivity. Jvar is 32, Mariana is 33

Cw: parental death, murder, an entitled whumper, minor fantasy racism, pregnancy, referenced death in childbirth

Entire story here

I decided to write out the beginning of Jvar's fuckening

Jvar waited at the altar, dressed in his finest, the cloth of his toga a deep purple, with golden cuffs on his ears. He smiled faintly, ever the picture of a strapping young emperor. His birth father, as well as his step father, the grand Inquisitor Tiberius Pilot, stood behind him.

Sure, every member of the triumvirate and their advisors were here, somewhere in the rows of seats, but that didn't mean this was a somber, political affair. Tiberius was just a man after all, lines worn into his face by age, even as he smiled. Especially as he smiled.

Jvar gave him a small glance, and the man beamed, nodding. For tonight, Grand Inquisitor Pilot was not there, only a father on his son's wedding day. Jvar's stomach churned, foot tapping on the floor. The grand Inquisitor was nothing more than an obstacle, someone too old and stubborn to do what needed to be done.

But Tiberius? Even as a youth grieving his mother's passing, Jvar had still been welcomed into the arms of one of the country's most powerful like a stray puppy. Maybe he'd found something there, some comfort in being passed cookies under the table at parties and laughing when the wrappings of Tiberius' turban intentionally swayed sideward.

Jvar shook his head softly, muttering to himself. "Enough." His bride was already walking down the isle to him. He'd made a choice, he made a plan. No amount of boyish memories would change that. Tiberius was the enemy, he'd never go for what the kingdom needed, what the family need. So he needed to die.

Clothed in a long, flowing down of cobalt blue, Mariana slowly walked forward. Her hair, lightened to a cool ashy brown and braided upon her head resembled the crown soon to weigh heavy on her brow. This was the woman he was to marry, the one who would stand at Jvar's side officially, advise him, and remain his companion.

Maybe she was attractive enough, it didn't mean much, not when he preffered men and she'd been chosen for her mind. Pretty bodies taken for trophies and lovers did not make an imperial spouse. As was custom, the scholarly woman before him was to be his work partner, not his bed partner. Well, some may have consummated the marriage, taking comfort in intimacy and romance.

But politics came first. Power came first.

Affairs would fulfill the rest.

Mariana stepped up to the altar, resting both palms on the wood. The golden band on her finger caught the light, the metal wrapped in intricate patterns. "Ready?" She asked, only tensing his nerves more. If anything went wrong tonight…

Tiberius was merciful, right?

Jvar swallowed, gripping the altar as hard as he could. "Yes. I am ready." He glanced over his shoulder, Tiberius and his birth father both nodding encouragingly. Ironic, Tiberius was kind enough to egg on his own murder. With a smile, he spoke. "Lets recite our vows"

Ever a gracious man, he gave his betrothed the chance to go first.

"I pledge, under the watchful eye of Mor her liveliness, to uphold this bond. I will unite, hand in hand, with the emporer for community and country " Her eyes settled on Jvar's, the usual Grey color stormier somehow. She was no witch, not a drop of magic lied in her blood, not even a gift as small as the one that gave Jvar his speckled, opal toned eyes. Still, his wife needed no magic to tear up the room, the blade of her wit was more than enough.

"And I pledge, under the watchful eye of Mor her liveliness, to uphold this bond. For the sake of community and country I will take your hand." He did that, gripping their palms together and raising his arms. There, their grip was held up like a salute.

"Hand in hand we shall reign." They both whispered. Giddy excitement flooded his chest, giving Jvar just a moment to bathe in the instruments and food and talking. Then, Tiberius launched himself forward, pulling the newly wed couple into a hug. His arms cradled them, holding strong as if he were a bear.

Tiberius had strong arms for a man of such weak will, too pure to even strike his own servants. His rank was such a waste. Love didn't keep a country stable or win a war.

"I…I will rejoin you in a moment, excuse me." With a quick shake of his hand, Jvar settled his sweaty palms on the fabric of his toga and walked off, out of the main hall, away from the already bustling reception, and away towards the lavatories.

He walked with his head high, even as his eyes kept sinking to the floor. Mariana had left a marked bottle of poisoned wine in the bathroom. All he needed to do was take it, serve it, and wash his hands. No blood, no witnesses, no trail. Mariana's plan would go off without a hitch.

He grit his teeth, conjuring memories of every lofty speech the man had given. Every parable, every mind numbing lecture about how rulers served, how the people came before personal gain. Rulers ruled. Not everyone was born equal after all, this was a world of lions and sheep.

And when a lion got hungry, it didn't fucking apogize for feasting.

Even when Tiberius had made Jvar apologize, he'd spat it out like dirt. His strides grew faster, more forceful in the hallway. Lions didn't apologize. Lions took what they wanted. When a servant misplaced a belt, the lion whipped them with it. The lion didn't apologize for that.

The lion feasted.

Jvar tore open the door to the restroom, smacking chest first into a servant girl holding a mug of ale in one hand and cutlery in the other. The mug tipped over, spilling all over the fine, brand new fabric of Jvar's clothing.

"Watch where you're fucking going!" He roared, slapping the woman in a neat fronthand backhand. She yelped, clutching her cheek as he went in again, brow bone weighing heavy on Jvar's face.

How dare she? "You've ruined my clothing on my wedding night, you ignorant little-"

A firm, thick hand grasped Jvar's arm mid air. "Enough." The man, Tiberius, because it was always Tiberius in times like this, sighed. "My son, this is a happy night, how about we calm ourselves?"

Those kindest to the lowest of the world were the weakest.

How dare Tiberius rule? How dare he? If he were to make a world, a new world, one where he ate and drank at the table of a god, Jvar could not let this stand. He grabbed a table knife from the woman's hand as he shoved her over. He whipped around blind, nothing in his vision, only fire in his blood.

Over and over and over, Jvar repeated the strike, punching that feeble, weak man through the stomach with the blade. "You're a sheep, a stupid, stupid sheep. I'm a lion, Tiberius, you're not. You're weak." His angry roar fell to a whisper when Tiberius keeled over, knife stuck in his torn up gut.

"Son…" Whatever the man wanted to put into hoarse words, he didn't live long enough to finish. Jvar stepped back, chest heaving with the weight of his breath and the pounding of his heart.

Tiberius was dead. The sheep, the father, the inquisitor. And he was dead, eyes forever open.

Jvar looked over to the woman who Had started this all. She too had been felled, skull banged on the stone of the floor hard enough that she lay motionless, eyes open. The lids over her eyes didn't fold like his own, instead narrowing to a thin point in one sweeping line.

So she was of Cressedian blood, not even one of his own. That was even better then, it'd be easier to pin this on their country. Without a second thought, jvar dipped his hands in the nearest basin of water, ignoring the pinkish stain he left behind as he ran back to the reception.

"Tiberius!" he screamed, panting, real tears pricking up in his eyes. His father laid dead on the lavatory floor, head on the same ground that stored chamberpots. "An assassin, the servant! He's… I tried to fight her… Get the healer!"

And just like that, the atmosphere bended again, looking at Jvar not with reverence but with sorrow. The pain of loss was tangible, just as the knife in his hand had been.

Tiberius Pilot was dead.

Jvar let a wail tear loose from his throat, nearly following over to his knees.

On the recommendation of the Marble Church, Tiberius' body was left shrouded in his tomb for nine months before a ceremony was held for him. A sheep buried as lion.

Jvar's birth father spoke first, every word coming from his mouth true with sorrow. He held the same face he had for Jvar's mother, eyes wet with tears, brow furrowed in an attempt to stay composed. She'd been a lion, even if her death had been in vain.

Every time Tiberius had bent down and helped those below him, she had stayed strong to her morals. She had insisted she needed no healers to give birth. She had continued even as she bled out in her bed, wailing long into the night.

His second sibling, a brother meant to be named Romulus, hadn't survived either.

Jvar took to the stand with measured grace, looking out onto the crowd. Even with the weight of his stepfather'w tomb pressing on his back behind him, he tilited his chin high.

"Tiberius Pilot was my father. My mentor. My fellow imperial. My friend." Jvar swallowed, throat bobbing. He had been weak, but he would still be missed. "He was beloved by his people. He is still beloved by his people."

Jvar set his jaw, the phantom weight of the knife heavy in his hand.

Son

What had Tiberius meant to say? Did it matter now? Dead men didn't speak.

"We know this was an assassination by a Cressedian." Jvar growled out, letting shocked gasps ripple through the crowd in waves. "And I will not let this stand! Tiberius may have been elderly and benevolent, but his nation was not weak! His people, my people, are not weak!"

Jvar gripped the podium he stood upon with increasing fervor, the ceremonial crown on his head remaining steadfast. "Tiberius was meant to die at his time, in his bed, surrounded by his family. That was taken from him, he was dishonored by the terrorists from Cressedia! And it will not stand! I will find who did this! I will make the Khans across the sea, the Cressedians, I will make them bring me justice! "A dark glint passed over his eyes. " Or I will raze Cressedia to the ground in my stepfather's name! "

It was going to come to war. Where better to get the souls, blood, and expendable his God required.