
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5682190.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Ghost_(Swedish_Band)
  Character:
      Papa_Emeritus_III, Fire_Ghoul_(Ghost), Aether_Ghoul_(Ghost), Air_Ghoul_
      (Ghost), Earth_Ghoul_(Ghost), Water_Ghoul_(Ghost), Alpha_(Ghost), Omega_
      (Ghost), How_do_I_even_tag_these_characters_omg, i_don't_know_help_me,
      Papa_Emeritus
  Additional Tags:
      Slow_Burn, Dubious_Consent, Dubious_Morality, Satanism, Kidnapping,
      Implied/Referenced_Child_Abuse, Sadism, BDSM, Alternate_Universe,
      Brainwashing, Non-Consensual_Drug_Use, Corporal_Punishment, Stockholm
      Syndrome, Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-10 Updated: 2016-04-01 Chapters: 3/? Words: 7626
****** Scalpturio Dens Et Clavus ******
by namelessghostwriter
Summary
     In a world where Papa Emeritus III rules supreme and his Nameless
     Ghouls are his loyal soldiers it's time for him to claim a new
     recruit, the last puzzle piece to his clergy.
Notes
     I'm not entirely sure of the direction this is going to take in later
     chapters (God, this is so much more of a slow burn than I thought
     it'd be) but it's safe to say that there's going to be some non-con
     or dub-con at best, so if you're not comfortable with that I don't
     recommend you reading this.
     Descriptions of the physical appearance of the ghouls will be made
     from my imagination, any similarities to the real men behind the
     masks will be purely coincidental and unintentional.
     There will be no OC/Ghoul or OC/Papa which seems to be what most
     Ghost fics are centered around. This will be Ghoul/Ghoul and Papa/
     Ghoul.
     This is the first fic I've ever written and English is a second
     language so please be patient with me.
***** River *****
Metallic horned masks that make them appear more like statues than men,
soulless gargoyles without mouths. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
They wear attire that appears to be a mix between a gentleman's suit tailored
to perfection, complete with clean, white spats, and the clerical clothing
priests wear. Most people who have the rare pleasure of encountering the ghouls
don't have time to ponder their appearances or even say a last, desperate
prayer before they're on the floor in a river of their own blood.
River. A nickname that was given to him when he was seven years old and fell
into a river whilst on a field-trip. At first it was used to tease him, every
day in the cafeteria he'd get a 'be careful not to drown in that water,
River'whilst he was drinking or an equally unfunny remark about being afraid of
water if he chose to drink milk instead.
Somehow the name stuck around for this long and now it's used in a much more
affectionate way, even by people who didn't know him back when it happened. At
this point he's just grateful that they didn't decide to call him something
worse. God knows they could have, kids that age are ruthless. He's even caught
himself introducing himself as River even though he used to tell his friends
that he hates it when they do that.
Right now, soaked to the bone by the pouring rain, it feels every bit like that
day ten years ago when he was fished out from the river by his classmates.
They’re all gathered outside in a perfect straight line just like they had
practiced doing during fire drills. They were ushered outside by their
nervously shrieking English teacher Mrs. Andersson and not the fire alarm
whilst the younger children watched with big eyes and open mouths.
Hushed, excited speculations about what on earth the teachers were up to this
time could be heard even though they were told to stay quiet. Others shuffled
forward slowly in the line, complaining about having to go outside during a
rainstorm.
Until someone mentioned Papa Emeritus III. As a jest most likely, but as soon
as the name was uttered it was as if a spell fell upon all of them. The panic
was instantaneous and their educators turned into peacekeepers just as fast,
barking out orders for them to stay in the line, hoisting up the students whose
legs seemed to have stopped working.
They step outside the school's main entrance and the cold rain hits them like a
thousand needles, there was no time to get their jackets so the icy drops rolls
down the nape of their necks to their backs. Alphabetical order, lockstep, they
all find their assigned place with practiced precision. The screaming and
crying has stopped, but somehow the silence is more unnerving.
Parents used to all but throw their children at Papa Emeritus and his Ghouls,
hoping that they could have a life that was at least slightly better than their
own. Hoping for no more than a prestigious title and three warm meals a day. Or
maybe just one less mouth to feed. Even if it meant that they would never see
them again.
But that was before the reign of Papa Emeritus the second, before all of the
atrocities his Nameless Ghouls committed in his name came to light. They say
that Papa Emeritus the third is even worse, more of a tyrant and a sadist. A
beast dressed as a gentleman, River's father used to say. The chance of their
offspring being one of Papa Emeritus' chosen few turned from a blessing to an
awful curse.
River and his friends used to play Ghouls and kids.They made their own masks
with plaster, painted them black and wore them whilst chasing their friends who
got to play the kids. If you got caught you had the choice of dying or becoming
a Ghoul. Naturally, they all chose to become Ghouls. When the teachers caught
on they were forbidden from playing the game at school. They couldn't
understand why, as no reason was given to them, so they continued in secret,
pretending that the teachers were sisters of sin trying to report them to Papa.
River hasn't thought about the game for years. They grew tired of it eventually
and stopped playing it, never to mention it again. His room still has black
spots from where their small fingers, sticky with thick paint had graced
outside the edges of their Ghoul masks. His mother was furiouswhen she noticed.
No amount of elbow grease and lemon pledge could remove the stains. The stains
are still there even though he lost the mask ages ago.
Today he remembers and understands why they were banned from playing it.
Ironically, the same people who forbade them from playing it then are now the
people forcing them to experience the real thing. River supposes that he should
feel some kind of hatred towards them but he can't find it in his heart. He's
heard the stories of what happens to adults who refuse to cooperate. They're
seen as traitors of the state that cannot be trusted and therefore must be
dealt with. They're removed from the school immediately and are never seen
again. One can guess what their fate is. A quick death is probably the best
they can hope for once the Nameless Ghouls gets a hold of them. The kids get
taken away no matter if they assist or not so why would they put their lives on
the line?
When the two black Rolls Royce Phantoms roll up to the field they know for
certain. They all know.
Most of the students are looking down at their feet, their shoulders tense and
arms wrapped around themselves, desperately trying to appear smaller. Clinging
to some small hope that it makes the chance of them being chosen smaller as
well. Some of them are crying but by now the sobs have turned into the soft
hiccups that come when sobbing is too painful.
The teachers are standing under black umbrellas, staring at everything but the
limousine and the students standing in a neat line. Even though they're
shielded from the rain they all have the same droopy, pale expression River
imagines one gets after almost drowning.
The headmistress must have waited outside of the limousines for 10 minutes
before the doors open and Nameless Ghouls with glistening metallic horned masks
step outside. Three of them step out of the first car and one from the second,
carrying an umbrella, but it's obvious that it isn't for himself, as he hasn't
opened it yet. He lets the rain drench him just like the other Ghouls.
River is captivated by how smoothly they move, like every shift of limbs is
carefully calculated so there is no superfluous movement at all. They carry
their heads high and shoulders back in a dignified, proud way River has never
seen in any adult in this small town do. Everyone around here walks around with
their heads down low and eventually with backs crooked by time and arduous
labor. It gives them an air of honesty and hard work, like they would work all
of their limbs to the bone without a single complaint even though they can
barely feed themselves.
The Ghouls look dangerous,the complete polar opposite of the simple and
unassuming people River is used to. Like they could slit your throat and gut
you without flinching at the blood splattering into their eyes. The masks don't
even play into it, they could be wearing paper bags on their heads and still
appear just as menacing. Four of them are here and River squints, trying to
make out who's who. They have stitched markings on their lapels, but it's too
far away to make any sense of.
River's eyes wander over all the Ghouls, lingering on one that's standing a few
feet from the others, hands locked behind his back and head tilted up towards
the sky. Right when River decides it's about time to avert his gaze the Ghoul
turns around and they make eye contact, sending shivers down River's spine.
It's as if a gun is pointed at him, not a cold gaze. Normally when River makes
eye contact with someone he likes to see how long he can hold it until they
look away in discomfort. He's made a game of it and he always wins.
This time he's the first to look away after what was probably seconds but felt
like minutes. When he turns towards the limousine the final door has opened and
out saunters the one and only Papa Emeritus III. The headmistress all but falls
to her knees only to be ignored by Papa who waves his hand and mutters
something. He's young, or at least younger than River imagined. He's seen
pictures of the first Papa who almost looked like he was melting and he's seen
pictures of the second Papa, who while appearing younger than his predecessor,
still looked every bit his age.
Papa is wearing sunglasses, and his outfit, that resembles something a 16th
century king would wear on his day off makes them seem even more out of place
than the clouds and rain. The Ghoul that River locked eyes with walks up to
Papa, tilts his head and says something to which Papa nods, and the Ghoul backs
away to stand alongside his brothers again. As Papa begins to move across the
field the headmistress scrabbles to her feet trying to keep up. The Ghoul with
the umbrella walks next to Papa, shielding him from the rain while letting
himself get soaked. River can tell who the Ghouls learned their mannerisms
from.
After looking up and down the row of children a few times he begins pointing
them out like lambs to the slaughter. The ones who are selected get directed to
go inside again by the less than gentle hands of everyone around them. They're
all slow and shaking, walking like their destination is the electric chair.
It's a miracle that their legs even carry them.
River counts them silently, but after five he's hit with a wave of nausea and
dizziness like nothing he's ever felt before. His vision blurs and the only
thing he can hear is his pulse thudding like a hammer in his ears. He's brought
back to reality by someone shaking him violently, it sounds like their voice is
coming from under water until they grasp his face and look into his eyes.
"River? Rive-" It's Mrs. Andersson, his English teacher. "Oh, that you respond
to but not your real name?" She says, smiling sentimentally. He's known her
almost as long as he's had the stupid nickname.
He mutters a sorry, shaking his head to try and clear the fog. He twists
around, shies away from her touch and tries to see what's going on behind Mrs.
Andersson but she stops him, grabbing his upper arms.
"You need to go inside now.You got selected."
River opens his mouth, but nothing comes out so he closes it again. Breathing
seems just as impossible as speaking, his lungs protesting like they're filled
with sand. He hesitates, shifting his weight from feet to feet.
"Now," She hisses, sounding on the verge of manic. "Before the Ghouls decide to
assist you."
River nods, attempts to swallow the lump in his throat and steps out of the
line to begin the same walk the students before him made.
He's the last one to enter the room outside of the headmistress' office where
he's given a towel and is then promply pushed to sit down on the only
uncomfortable, small chair that isn't taken yet. The door closes behind him and
a Ghoul with brown eyes stands in front of it, arms crossed. His mere presence
is enough to dissuade anyone who considered making a run for it.
Shaking his leg frantically and humming as loud as he can in his head he tries
to ignore the sound of the girl to the left of him vomiting into a plastic bag
and the boy to the right of him making choking noises.
He refrains from counting how many of them there are in there, doesn't want to
know the odds. But he can't help looking at them when they pass him to enter
the office. William, who tackled him so hard into a wall in gym that he got a
concussion a few years ago. Johan, who was one of his friends that pulled him
out of the river. Felicia, who has the best grade in his math class. One or two
faces he can't place.
And then it's his turn. Before he can open the door he's stopped by the Ghoul
who previously blocked the exit.
"Listen," He says, grabbing River by the arm, making him flinch at the
contact."You'll address him by his proper title. Answer all of his question
sincerely, he'll know if you lie." He says with an accent River can't place.
For a few seconds River just stares at him, so startled by the fact that a
Nameless Ghoul touched him that he has no idea what to do. Luckily the Ghoul
makes the decision for him, ushering him into the office. The moment he sets
his foot down over the threshold a strange sense of calm courses through him,
like the panic got to a level his body can't even process so it decided to shut
all the systems down. The door slams shut behind him.
The room has been stripped of all furniture except a bookshelf and an old
armchair. In the middle stands Papa, still wearing his sunglasses. River
doesn't know if it's good or bad that he can't look into his eyes. Doesn't know
if he would have the courage to.
Papa looks River from head to toe without a hint of subtlety. He doesn't need
to see his eyes to know that he was just thoroughly examined.
"Have a seat," he commands, his accent sounding like a strange mix of Italian
and Transylvanian. River obeys, feeling even smaller now, tilting his head up
to look at Papa. "So tell me, child," Papa says slowly, motioning with his
right hand. "Do you believe in God?"
River doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't that.
He begins to think about what Papa would want him to answer, what the other
kids probably answered, what answer would make sure that Papa won't want to
steal him away--
Then he remembers what the Ghoul told him.
"No," he blurts out before he can stop himself. Papa's face remains neutral,
not giving River a clue of whether he did good or not.
"You might want to... Take a bit more time to consider your next answer," Papa
remarks and River can feel the tips of his ears turn red. He swears there was a
hint of playfulness in the older man's voice. "Do you believe in the Devil?"
River does as he's told again and takes his time. He looks out the small window
to his right that's overlooking the field. The children are all sitting down
now, huddled in a circle. The teachers are comforting them, trying to shield as
many as they can from the rain. Comforting the children who weren't chosen. Who
aren't being scrutinized by Papa Emeritus III. A devastating sense of injustice
and helplessness courses through River.
Two more limousines have arrived, one white and another black one. He imagines
that the sisters of sin are waiting in the white one. None of this feels real.
His body feels soft and numb like in a dream, like he could sink through the
chair and wake up in his own bed.
Would it be so terrible if Papa ended up choosing him? What does he have here
anyway? The cold empty space his mother left behind and a father who ignores
him on his best days and uses him as a punching bag on his worst.
"Does he believe in me?" He answers, still looking out the window, fear and
adrenaline making him reckless instead of careful.
The corners of Papa's mouth twitch.
"Why him? We have smart boys - obedient boys - who will listen to you-- Yes, of
course. I did not mean to be insubordinate. Him and the two girls, then."
 
 
***** Omega *****
Chapter Notes
     Blood and violence in this chapter! If that's too much for you then
     please don't read. Comments would be very much appreciated!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The Ghoul stands over him, warm hands grabbing his wrists to put on leather
handcuffs, tightening them just enough to cut off his circulation. River allows
it. Black spots swim in his vision, a nice addition to the rest of the room
that appears to be swimming too.
The Nameless Ghoul grabs River none too gently by the arm and pulls him up from
the chair like a rag-doll, letting go only to grab him again when his knees
buckle seconds later. He's hyperventilating now and his chest contracts
painfully on every short breath. Everything is silent. Too fucking silent, all
he can hear is his own body losing it.
"You're alright. Nice, deep breaths," The Ghoul says, his tone almost
sympathetic. A hand cards through his hair and then presses his head against
the Ghoul's chest. His other hand grabs Rivers neck, grounding him and
controlling him at the same time.
River's so close that he can hear his heartbeat that must be a hundred times
slower than his own. "Can you feel me breathing? Focus on that." 
It's the hardest thing River's ever done, following the slow rise and fall of
the bigger man's rib cage. The Ghoul seizes the opportunity while River's
distracted and attaches another chain to the middle of the chain that connects
River's cuffs, wrapping the other end of it tightly around his own right hand.
"That's it, you've got it."
The situation is ridiculous. He's being comforted by a fucking Nameless Ghoul.
A ruthless killing machine employed by Papa Emeritus III, their pope and
leader. That realization alone is enough to calm down Rivers breathing. And
just like that the moment is gone and the Ghoul he's heard so many stories
about is back. The grip on his head and neck is released.
"We're just going to take a nice, slow walk to the cars," The Ghoul says,
leaning down to whisper in his ear, "I'll cuff your ankles too if I have to."
The sentence is definitely a threat, but the Ghoul sounds so casual when he
says it that it doesn't even unsettle River.
"Oh, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you like that," River answers, hoping to
sound as relaxed as the Ghoul but the words out weak and unsteady.
"You and I are going to get along just fine then," The Ghoul approves and
begins to walk, River in tow, leashed like a dog. It's not raining anymore when
they step outside but the dark clouds remain. River inhales the fresh air,
filling his lungs to a painful degree before exhaling. That and not falling
over is all he can do at the moment.
He can see the girls that were selected to become sisters of sin now. They're
standing by the white limousine, one with her head bowed, the other one
clutching a sister of sin like she's the only thing keeping her alive and
upright. He recognizes both of them immediately. Both of the girls took English
with River, Sanna with her short, curly brown hair and Lydia, with long,
angelic blonde hair. God, seeing Lydia standing there was like a gut punch. 
Two years ago his father had come home reeking like cheap beer and stale
tobacco for the third time that week, only that night he’d been drunk enough to
leave bruises where clothes couldn’t cover. Most of the people at school had
the decency to avert their gazes once he caught them staring at his black eye
and split lip.
But not Lydia. She met his eyes with a shy smile and kept looking at him for
the rest of their class. He decided to confront her by the lockers but before
he launch into the angry rant he'd thought out word for word she pulled down
sleeve of her shirt to reveal a blossoming bruises that wrapped around heir
entire upper arm.
They didn't spend much time together at school, both had their own group of
friends and there wasn't much overlap between them. After school, when everyone
else had gone home to their families, that's when River and Lydia found one
another.
They didn’t talk about their parents, didn’t talk about hands that slapped and
punched instead of comforted and stroked. But they made a deal, that if it ever
got bad - really, really bad - they they would run away together. No questions
asked.
He kept a packed bag under his bed just in case Lydia would show up at on his
doorstep and tell him that it’s time.
Seeing her standing there made River feel strangely conflicted- devastated that
she got chosen but selfishly relieved knowing that he might see her again after
his new life starts.
Lydia stands there in silence whilst a sister of sin consoles Sanna, wiping
away tears from her cheeks with her thumbs. The sister places a gentle kiss on
her forehead and Sanna smiles gratefully, allows herself to be directed into
the white car.
"No! Not my daughter! God, please--"
River starts and stumbles at the sudden scream, only a few meters away from the
limousines now. Everyone turns towards the sound.
Sanna. Sanna Nyqwist, that's her name. Of course. Her father is a history
teacher at the school. Or is, currently, screaming like a madman while running
towards Papa Emeritus III and entourage. A last desperate act to save his child
who seems to have already come to terms with her fate. He slips in the mud that
the rain created and struggles to rise again. As if he didn't appear pitiful
enough already.
"Earth," Papa commands without bothering to turn around to look at the man. He
waves a disinterested hand, annoyed that he even has to say the words. "Take
care of it."
Earth bows lazily, not committing to the movement completely. A forced act
rather than one of pure devotion. Moving without effort, as if he's just
following the wind he catches Mr. Nyqwist from behind before he can reach the
car, careful not to soil his own clothing with mud. He twists the teacher
around so that he's facing the field with children and not the limousines. A
rapid sweep with a knife against the man's throat and just like that it's over.
A choking, gurgling noise can be heard as blood sprays and then he's laying
face-down in the mud. River lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding as
several hysterical screams echo in the cold air. Earth bends down, wipes the
blood on his knife on Mr. Nyqwists shirt as if the warm, red liquid disgusts
him but not enough for him to discard the knife altogether.
"So," Earth spins the knife in his palm, twisting the handle between his
fingers. "Shall we?" he asks tilting his head, looking for Papa's approval.
"Yes," Papa casts a glance at the corpse and his lips curl in disgust.  "We're
done here."
That's all the confirmation the Ghoul chained to River needs before shoving him
into the limousine with unnecessary force. He might as well be moving a rag-
doll at this point. The Ghoul takes his seat next to him, chain still tightly
wrapped around his hand and the door slams shut next to him. 
It's the nicest car he's ever seen, never mind been inside of. He can smell the
leather seats and there's a black privacy screen in between the back seat and
front seat so River can't make out who's driving. If he'd been here under
another circumstance he'd probably be excited.
They spend the next few minutes in silence, the Ghoul resting his masked cheek
on his hand and looking out the window. The longer the silence draws on the
louder the noise in River's head gets, the sound of throats being cut and blood
spraying and-- He needs a distraction, even if it means frightening act of
speaking to a Nameless Ghoul.
"He - the Ghoul that," River takes a deep breath, shakes his head to try to
remove the images of Mr. Nyqwist bleeding out on the ground in front of a
hundred kids. "Papa called the Ghoul 'Earth'."
"Mm," The Ghoul hums in a disinterested fashion and continues to stare out the
window.
"What does he call you?" River pries, not even sure why he's asking anymore.
"He calls me Air." The Ghoul answers, turning his head around and meeting
River's eyes. He's all out of things to ask and he loses the Ghoul's attention
just as quickly as he got it. They fall back into silence, both looking out the
tinted windows to watch the landscape rush by.
"We're here," Air notes suddenly, and that's the last thing River hears before
an elbow is rammed into his head and everything explodes into black.
-----~~~~-----
He wakes up with a skull-splitting headache that makes it hard to focus on
anything except for the pain. He's in a bed in an unfamiliar room.
“Where- What…?” River asks, his voice rough from not being used. His mouth
feels like sandpaper. On the edge of the bed sits a sister of sin in full nun
regalia, folding clothes. She's pretty. Full lips with a plum lipstick, big
green tinted hazel eyes and high cheekbones. She doesn't look older than 20 but
River grew up listening to rumors about how servants of the Papas don't age at
all so her real age could be anyone's guess. He clears his throat and tries to
speak again. “How did I get here? Where am I?”
“You’re in castle Bathorii. This is the room where you will be staying from now
on.” She replies calmly, getting up to put away the clothes in the wardrobe.
As River struggles to sit up he notices his own lack of clothing. He's been
stripped to his underwear. Come to think about it, he's not even wearing his
own underwear anymore. "Did you... Did you undress me?"
"No. The Nameless Ghouls did."
River doesn't know if he's relieved to hear that or not. "Oh."
"They are your brothers now. You have no secrets."
Brothers. The Nameless Ghouls. The words alone should make River's head spin
but instead he just feels a cold emptiness on the inside that grows by the
second. He's freezing.
She walks over to the desk and brings a small silver tray back with her with a
few cups on it. "Does your head hurt?"
"Yes."
"Drink this," She tells him, handing him a small cup with a blue, thick liquid
inside.
He has no reason not to trust her. Has no reason to trust her either, really.
But why would they poison him after going into all this trouble just to
transport him here? If they wanted him dead he would have been dead a long time
ago, laying in the mud with the other corpse. With that thought in his head he
slams back the surprisingly tasteless, slimy fluid.
It isn't unpleasant but it certainly isn't pleasant either.
“I took some measurements while you were out. I hope you don’t mind." Does he
mind? Not really, what little dignity he he once had has left his body already.
"These should fit you perfectly," She motions to a pile of neatly folded
clothes on the armchair next to River's bed "But if they don’t we will make
adjustments tomorrow. You’re expected to clean yourself thoroughly in the
shower" She glances at his hair, “Comb your hair. And then get dressed in the
clothes laid out for you. The Ghouls will collect you when it’s time for the
ritual.”
River pulls up the duvet to cover his chest a bit more. “What happens if I
refuse?” He asks, half joking, half serious.
“I’m not entirely sure as it has not happened before,” She hesitates,
scrunching her nose “But I imagine the Ghouls would undress you again and then
hose you down in the shower before dragging to to the ritual. They wouldn’t be
gentle. You need to pick your battles. It will certainly save you a lot of pain
and humiliation."
"How do I know how to pick my battles?" He regrets the question right after it
leaves his mouth, knowing how stupid and naïve it probably made him sound.

"Ask yourself if you're going to change the end result by being dragged kicking
and screaming instead of walking on your own volition." She answers, sounding
even more monotonous than before. She's by the door, tray in hand before River
can think of anything to say to that. "Go prepare yourself now." She orders
before the heavy door falls shut behind her. He's grateful that she isn't going
to babysit him but still loathes being told what to do.
He shuffles out of bed, plants his feet on the dark, soft crimson carpet that
covers the floor after hesitating for a few seconds. Now that his headache has
subsided significantly and the sister of sin has left he can inspect the room
more closely.
There are no windows in the room, the only light source is the chandelier
hanging from the ceiling and the yellow light from the candles strewn about the
place. The room is spacious but not cluttered by furniture or decorations.
Impersonal. Several oak bookshelves covers the entirety of one of the walls,
filled to the brim with old, leather bound books.
River has never seen that many books in one room before, especially ones as
beautifully handcrafted as these. River can barely resist the urge to stroke
his fingers along the backs of them.
There are two doors and after gathering all the courage he has he tries the
handle on the one of them that the sister of sin left through only to find that
it's locked, which is probably a good thing. He won't get any stupid ideas of
escaping that way. Behind the second, unlocked door is a small bathroom. The
stone grey stone castle walls are a stark contrast to the much more modern
sink, bathtub and shower.
He turns on the shower, fiddles around with the many knobs for a while before
getting the water to a temperature that isn’t ice cold or boiling. On a marble
shelf on the wall are glass containers with unmarked beauty products and soaps.
On the side of them there is a big containing a sweet smelling oil that River
can’t even imagine what to do with.
River ends up settling for just using the lye soap liberally all over his body
and another soap bar that smells like vanilla on his hair. He tries not to
think about how he's washing away the last traces of his past life. Taking
extra time to make sure to rinse it all out of his hair before turning all the
knobs again and stepping out of the bathtub.
He grabs one big, fluffy towel from the rack and pats himself dry, feeling
unbearably cold now, much cold than before he got into the shower.
He combs his hair like he was instructed to, towel hanging low on his hipbones
but it’s close to pointless since it's going to be a wild mess again anyway
when it’s dry. He avoids looking at himself in the mirror. He won't like what
he'll see, hasn't in years. He doesn't need to look at himself to know that he
has dull, blue eyes, untamed dark hair and a jawline just like his father.
The clothes that were laid out for him are from what River can remember
identical to the clothes of the Nameless Ghouls he saw earlier this day. All
black, tailored to perfection with a few eye catching symbols sown into the
fabric. The only difference is that he has not been given a mask or something
that covers his throat. There's no need to adjust the clothes, the sister of
sin had been very good at making sure that this clothes fit River just right
all over his body. Even the shoes and the white spats that go with them. The
clothing don't do anything to help with how cold he is despite how covered up
he is now.
Now left with nothing to do except wait a sudden compulsion hits him, and
before he can stop himself he's at the locked door again - only it's not locked
anymore. When he tries the handle the door opens with a click, revealing all
four Nameless Ghouls just on the other side of the threshold. Without saying a
word they step aside to allow River to take his first steps outside his room.
Then he starts to walk, not paying much attention to his surroundings at all.
His headache subsided a long time ago but it's hard to concentrate on anything
besides the ice spreading inside of him and that he wants to, needs to go
somewhere.
The Ghouls don't lead him or tell him where to go. They don't need to. He knows
the way already, his feet seem to move on their own as if they have walked this
path a hundred times before. The Ghouls follow close behind in silence, if
River stopped suddenly at least one of them would bump into his back. It
doesn't feel threatening, as long as he behaves they're here to protect and not
to hurt. He won't misbehave, has no desire to even though he's spend his entire
life testing boundaries and doing the opposite of what he's told.
He walks like he's following a silent siren song, helpless but to go where it
wants him to even if it leads to his death. He passes countless doors in a long
hallway, getting increasingly frustrated when he can't seem find the right door
until disembodied voices fill his head and he knows he's finally there. Where
he was always meant to end up. Papa is there, standing behind a church pulpit,
wearing his traditional black pallium and chasuble, golden and white Mitre on
his head. River averts his gaze submissively. He's even more intimidating now
and River is not worthy.
Two sisters of sin are standing in the middle of a room lit up by black candles
on the floor, one of them holding a chalice and the other a tray with a single
hostia. The sister he met earlier is not one of them. Red wax has been dripped
on the floor in the shape of a pentagram that River steps over to stand in the
middle. The ghouls take their place in a small circle around River, only a few
meters away from him as the sisters approach him and place the hostia wafer on
his tongue after he willingly opens his mouth. The chalice is lifted to his
mouth and something tasting like an odd mix of blood and hard alcohol fill his
mouth. His throat rebels and he has to force himself to swallow the coppery,
burning liquid.
The disembodied voices get louder, chanting in a language River has never heard
before. River holds out his left hand and Air, now by his side grabs it to hold
it steady as he slides a knife horizontally across River's palm. The blood is
comforting in a strange way, the heat and pain a welcome distraction from the
chill inside of River. Then he slices an equally deep cut into his own thumb
and presses it against River's open, bleeding wound. Air passes the knife and
all the other Ghouls do the same before stepping back.
The voices stop abruptly when Papa moves from the pulpit, walking like he has
all the time in the world. And he does, everything stops for him. He has his
own knife, doesn't share with his Ghouls. It's impossible to avoid eye contact
now that Papa is standing right in front of him and he gets his first good look
at the mismatching deep green eye and white eye. Papa is smiling and it's the
most beautiful thing River has ever seen. He's spellbound, doesn't even notice
Papa sliding the knife across his own palm vertically. River shakes
uncontrollably even though he tries his hardest to stand still as Papa clasps
their hands together.
"Ego ero vobis in patrem, et matrem tuam ducentia sole. Aeris, Aqua, Tellus,
Alpha. Congredior Omega." Papa speaks, his voice like honey
Omega. That is his name. Hasn't it always been? He doesn't know anymore. He
cannot remember what it was before. His knees give out the second Papa releases
him and Omega screams, screams until he cannot anymore, lungs aching and throat
raw.
The ghouls gather around him one final time to lay Omega down on the cold floor
gently in the center of the pentagram, all of them giving him a stroke on the
shoulder before leaving with the sisters of sin.
His body feels cold and numb, incomplete. The coldness scratches at the inside
of his ribs, howls like the wind in a storm so loud that his ears ring. If he
could move his hands they would be clawing at his chest to try to find any sort
of relief. He opens his eyes, can barely discern Papa in his blurry vision.
Papa straddles him, heavy weight settling on Omega's hips. Ungloved hands cup
his face, Mitre abandoned now, thumbs stroking his cheekbones and trailing down
to press on Omega’s lips.
He’s warm, so warm and Omega aches for the touch and heat. He wants nothing
else. Never will.
“My Quintessence, my Aether,” Papa growls, “Beautiful Omega.”
His hand grasp Omegas throat under his chin possessively, squeezing down just
hard enough to cut off his breathing. Papa leans down, presses their lips
together harshly in something that's more like an attack than a kiss.
"You’re mine."
Chapter End Notes
     If you're someone who don't speak latin (I sure don't) and won't
     learn it just for fanfiction, here's a translation of what Papa said
     (roughly)
     "I shall be your father and mother, your guiding sun. Air, Water,
     Earth, Alpha. Meet Omega. "
     I'd also like to thank the people who left kudos on the last chapter.
     It's nice to know that I'm not wasting my time entirely posting this
     on here.
***** Papa *****
Chapter Notes
     Rough, drugged sex in this chapter! If you don't want to see that,
     don't read this, please.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Cheeks flushed, lungs burning and his entire body is shaking. Papa's hand does
not let go, does not let up even the sligthest.
Omega is delirious, terrified and aroused. This vicious touch should make a
fight or flight response appear in any sane human being but it doesn't. He is
entirely under Papa's control and the older man is making sure that he knows
it, that he could just as easily kill him as he could kiss him.
Omega stares up with glassy, unfocused eyes at the man straddling him. Had his
arms cooperated with his brain he would be grabbing the silky embroidered
material of Papa's robes or touching his lips with his fingers. Anything to
distract him from the unfathomable, dizzying eyes that are fixated on his own.
The lack of oxygen heightens every sensation, makes his skin tingle and mind
even fuzzier. The colors of the room have faded, the yellow light from the
candles have become a blurry grey.
Papa releases his hold in order to undress Omega just as the younger man thinks
he is going to pass out, the angry red that started at the corners of his eyes
now taking up most of his vision. The hands leave burning prints in their wake
that almost makes it feel like they never left his throat at all. He sucks in
grateful but shallow breaths whilst Papa makes quick work of the sash around
his waist before moving on to the cassock, the fabric protesting and tearing at
the harsh treatment.
"So pretty for me. Such a good boy, hm?" Papa says appreciatively, taking in
the exposed, pale skin in front of him, his voice low and gravelly. The almost
sweet praise deepens the blush in Omega's cheeks but the look Papa gives him is
far from innocent.
Feather light kisses press against his jawline but it's not enough.It does
nothing to sate the beasts clawing inside his chest. Omega attempts to lean
into the touch and he's rewarded with a harsh bite against the edge of his jaw.
Omega chokes out a whimper at the sudden pain but before he can process what
happened Papa is kissing him, all sharp teeth and teasing tongue. He tastes
like the blood and red wine that the sisters poured into him, only stronger and
with a venomous sting to it. It feels like drinking poison and Omega wants
more, wants everything Papa can give him. He is left with swollen, spit slick
lips that are stained with black and white corpse paint after Papa gives them a
final nip and moves away.
A warm tongue touches the skin of his throat and teeth scrape against Omega's
pulse point as nails rake down his chest, leaving raised, red welts in their
wake. Hands settle on his belt, one toying with the metal tongue and the other
moving down to lightly press against Omega's groin. He bucks like a wild thing
at the touch despite not being aware of his own hardness before. He has to bite
his cheek to keep from letting out another undignified whimper.
And then Papa -- Then he --
He does nothing. He sits back, grabs Omega's left wrist in a punishing grip.
"How much do you want this, Omega? Will you beg for me?"
Omega could cry out of frustration, feels his eyes water as he struggles to
find his voice again. He looks up at Papa through dark, wet eyelashes and sucks
in a wheezing breath. Expectant eyes meet his own and if he had any resistance
left in him it just left. He's not going to cry, he's going to do whatever Papa
wants him to do.
"Please," He pleads shakily, not even sure what he's asking for. "Please, Papa.
Please, father, please, please, I need, I need-" He trails off.
"What do you need, child?" Papa asks, voice soft with all the patience in the
world. Leaning in to hover his lips just above Omega's, mouths just inches
apart. He can feel Papa's erection pressing into his thigh, can feel his warm
breath on his lips.
"You." The word comes out just as weak and broken as he feels.
"To think they told me you are disobedient," Papa lets go of his wrist and
finally resumes removing Omega's belt. He manhandles the younger man without
pausing to consider that it might hurt him, flipping him over to his stomach
before pulling down his pants and black boxer briefs. "I'm curious to see..."
Two slick fingers press into him, hard, rough and full of promise. "If you can
ride my cock as pretty as you can beg." Papa says, sweetness and faux
gentleness dropped in mere seconds.
Omega moans, unsure of whether it's because of Papa's words or the sensation of
his fingers making him ache in places he didn't know he had before. A hand
grabs a fistful of Omega's hair, pulls his head back uncomfortably, the other
one still inside of him, stretching him. "Do you want me to hurt you?"
"Yes." Omega answers, spilling the truth. He can't do anything else as he tries
to grind against the floor to get any sort of relief.
"I'm going to to bury my cock in you and fuck you until you can't tell the
difference between the pain and pleasure anymore. Bruise you so that everyone
knows who you belong to. Not that I have to," Papa removes his fingers and lets
go of Omega's hair, snaking one arm around his throat instead. "Because when
you leave this room with my come still inside of you and all over your thighs
all of my men are going to smell me all over you." Papa growls, voice
impossibly dark into Omega's ear and then he sits back, pulling the younger man
with him by the neck so that he's in his lap now, hot and hard erection pressed
against his lower back. Papa's other arm wraps around his waist, lifting him up
slightly and he finally gives Omega what he's begged for.
He doesn't waste any time teasing, it's hard, fast and painful right from the
start as he fills Omega completely with his cock. Omega can't help but let out
a howl when Papa is fully seated. It doesn't matter if it's a cry of pain or
pleasure, all that matters now is how incredibly tight Omega is around Papa's
erection, how amazing those small spasms and convulsions feel.
"Listen to you. So needy and desperate. You're a perfect little slut." Papa
murmurs into Omega's ear, tightening the arm around his neck to cut off his air
as he thrusts so hard that Omega thinks he's going to tear open by the force.
Omega's brought to orgasm untouched with just a few burning thrusts against his
sweet spot, screaming breathlessly. If it weren't for the arms holding him
upright he would have fallen forward bonelessly while Papa continues to push
inside of him. Omega clenches down on Papa's cock, it's the only thing he can
do besides embracing the warm darkness that's starting to envelop him.
Papa buries himself deep inside Omega one last time, letting out filthy curses
as he fills him with his seed. He bites down on the cut in Omega's palm and
that's the last thing Omega feels before he passes out aching and exhausted.
===============================================================================
 
"Fuck!" Water hisses. "You're lucky I wasn't holding the needle yet, Omega. It
would have gone straight through your palm. And probably into your eye in the
process too."
 
Chapter End Notes
     This was supposed to be longer but I've been sitting on this for too
     long. Thank you so, so much for your comments and kudos! You guys are
     the best.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
