#Lamb chomped that ghoul

[thelampisaflashlight]

Lost Little Lamb

[Omega finds a curious little ghoul in the dark under unfortunate circumstances. Implied non-consensual body modification and death.] Below the cut.

The first thing that hits him is the smell.

Mildew, rust, and the unmistakable scent of rot.

It takes a minute or two for his eyes to catch up with his nose, and when they do, he can't help but close them, unable to stop the puff of air that escapes his lips like a pained hiss.

Omega tries not to let it get to him; He's a beast from Hell, he's seen worse, but that doesn't make this -any of this- good, or fine, or okay in the slightest.

It's...

"Satanas..."

There had been an anonymous tip about a small sect of the church that was attempting to "make" ghouls.

Not summon.

Make.

"How many do you think there are?" someone asks from further in the darkness, "I count seven."

"Do we... do we count-"

"See to the ones moving around first, check for breathing... leave the rest until later. Prioritize the injured."

Omega scans the room before him, trying to get his bearings, but being a ghoul means he can see... see so much more than the human clergy along with him.

It's a curse to be able to see the scale of the horrors that have taken place here, but his keen eyesight also has its advantages, and he will use it to his advantage to search this manmade pit top to bottom.

"I'll..." he breathes, steeling himself, "I'll get a better lay of the land."

The basement is massive.

Longer than it is wide, but still the fact that the space seems to keep going and going is...

It makes his stomach twist with unease.

When he finally reaches the end of it all, Omega has to set himself against the wall, running his hands over his face as he tries to understand what has happened here.

He can't.

He cannot imagine the sick and twisted minds of the people who did this, and frankly he doesn't want to, but it's his job.

He has to figure out what happened, and...

Crunch.

Omega pushes himself from the wall at the sound of movement, thinks to call out for whoever -whatever- is shifting in the darkness to show its self, but that's when he sees it...

...sees them.

Crawling around through the mess on the floor, pale hands caked in dirt, long white hair obscuring their face, is the smallest, skinniest little ghoul he's ever seen.

When he shifts involuntarily, the ghoul turns to him slowly.

A single coal black eye shining dully in the faint overhead light filtering through a crack in the ceiling above.

They look him up and down, tail curling around their frail body protectively as they move to sit up, kneeling there before Omega looking so...

Omega crouches down to be on eye level with the ghoul, inspecting their face and trying to match it to any of the missing persons he'd seen in the file he was handed earlier, but, whether through a flaw of his own memory or an oversight by the investigators, he doesn't remember anyone like them.

"Hello." he whispers, he doesn't have to, but he can't quite seem to force himself to speak any louder, "Hi, I'm Omega. I'm here to help... You... do you have a name?"

The ghoul scratches lightly at the dirt floor, and for a moment Omega thinks they might start writing something, but instead, they just knead the soil.

Digging blunted nails into the dry earth as they stare.

The anxious motion makes Omega's heart squeeze.

"Do you want to go around to the front with me?" he asks, "There are people there that can give you a little check-up, make sure you're okay?"

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

"Can you..." Omega clenches and unclenches his hands for a moment before taking his finger and drawing a line from his ear to his chin, hoping the ghoul might understand the gesture.

They squint at him for a moment, then repeat the gesture, shaking their head.

"Okay... okay, so you can hear me then. Can you talk?" he tries, and the ghoul nods, but...

They crook their middle and index fingers and hit their fists on top of each other.

Hard? Maybe...

"It's difficult?"

They nod.

Omega looks at their legs.

"Can you stand?"

In the end, Omega has to carry them to the exit.

They can stand, but they keep moving down to crawl or to skulk on all fours, and it all looks very painful and dirty given the state of the floor, so with a bit of convincing and very little physical effort on Omega's part, he manages to scoop up them up.

The whole way back, Omega can feel the ghoul's every heartbeat against his own chest, and the subtle fill of their lungs as they breathe.

They seem so small tucked into his arms.

Omega finds himself rubbing soothing circles into their back, shushing them softly when they fidget a bit before getting comfortable.

He holds them the whole way to the van, only letting go when one of the other ghouls gives a nervous chirrup from the backseat, prompting the smaller ghoul to climb out of his arms and slip over the seats to comfort them.

They don't say anything as they curl up against the frightened ghoul, rubbing their face against them, and giving a loud, gravelly thrum from their chest.

The others seem to take the small ghoul's return as a cue to relax.

"Is there anyone else?" Omega asks, "Is there anyone else down there?"

"No." replies one of the larger ghouls watching over the rest of the group, their eyes never leaving their companions, "It's just us left."

"Okay..." he nods, "Do you have names?"

"I don't... I don't know." they reply, looking down, "I'm... I'm the newest from... from what I can tell."

"And the others?" he questions, "Do you know who's been here the longest?"

"I do..." They say, "...But I don't know for how long."

"That's fine, who..."

They point at the little ghoul, who is now sleeping with their head in the other ghoul's lap.

"They were here before everyone else."

Omega breathes.

"...and how many years was the second longest here for?"

"Six."

.

.

.

It takes three years.

Three whole years.

For Omega to sort through everything from the basement incident.

But even after all that time, he still cannot seem to find anything about the little ghoul he found in the very back of the basement.

Lamb.

"I can't find anything about them anywhere in these documents, nothing matches." Omega groans, "It's like they appeared out of thin air.

"Perhaps, and mind you this is just a theory..." Brother Elijah hums thoughtfully, looking through a series of test results, blood work for the ghouls formerly quarantined in the lower den, now occupied by the Ghost Project band ghouls, "...the reason we cannot find anything about them is because they were actually summoned, unlike the rest, and used as the sort of... originator... of the ghouls the sect created."

"What?"

The human slides the papers to Omega.

"The method the sect was using to 'convert' those people was through blood transfusions." he splays the papers across the surface of the table, pointing at a red circle he's drawn on each of the results, "This here."

Omega frowns.

"Everyone else has a trace amount of this... unknown element." the man continues, "Except for Lamb."

"Then how-"

Brother Elijah places yet another paper on top of the pile.

"Lamb has nearly forty times the amount of the rest of them. It's as prevalent in their bloodstream as iron." he says, "In fact, they have such a surplus of it, it seems to be leeching from their pores. That's what makes their skin glow."

"So you think they used Lamb as their patient zero?" Omega asks, "...Even if that's the case, where did Lamb come from to begin with?"

"We still don't know." Brother Elijah admits, leaning back in his chair, "And until Lamb remembers, which..."

Omega rubs his temples.

"...Is unlikely."

"I could... I could try entering their mind again." Omega scratches his chin, "But..."

Brother Elijah pats his arm.

"No need to push yourself, my friend."

"I just... I don't know what happens if we can't find anything." he frets, "What happens to them?"

"That will be for them to decide, but, in the meantime, is it really so bad for them to stay here?"

"...You and I both know things are happening behind the curtains, Eli." Omega sighs, "I worry for what it could me for the future, for the project and..."

"Terzo?" the other smiles sadly, "I'm sure he'll be quite alright. Even if the rumors are true and Sister Imperator wishes for him to be replaced, I doubt she would bring him any harm... stepping down might do him some good, and just think of how much more time you would get to spend together once he retires."

Omega chuckles, "I guess you're right... Still though-"

A knock at the door.

"Brother Elijah, Mister Omega? There's been an incident involving one of the new summons..."

"Enter." Brother Elijah calls.

A sister of sin with long red hair steps inside, looking rather fidgety.

"What's happened?"

"Well..." she purses her lips, glancing at Omega, "You see, um, the new water ghoul summon, Rain? He, uh... He's hurt."

"How severely?" Omega asks, already pushing his seat back.

"Oh, y-you see, he's fine, but..."

"But?"

"The reason I came to report this to you directly is because L-Lamb was involved." she laughs nervously, "They, uh..."

"What's wrong? What happened to them?" he frets, heading for the door.

"...They bit Rain's ass."

"WHAT."

[quajzen]

How do I make a good dungeon?

Tip 1: Have a cool idea for what's threatening in there. Something really fuckin disgusting and weird. I'll show examples along the way.

This dungeon (not a spoiler because the adventure begins with the monster approaching you) has a giant creature the size of a school bus or so. It is very blind but can crush, chomp, or smush you in a hearbeat. But's it's also so fucking dumb and big in the tiny dungeon. It's a lot of fun to play around because it can be outsmarted. This is also the least weird thing in there (there are also hallucinogenic mushrooms, and ghouls playing a wargame, and a priestess turned sentient crab).

Tip 2: Have player-bait. Things that players will find cool and want to fuck with. There's a Questing Beast youtube video where he casually mentions a room with two doors, one big and one small. Sticking something in one door has it pop out the other door at the proportional size. Think of the hijinks that can ensue from that.

Tip 3: Come up with some hostile NPC's. Not attack on sight, but ones with a motivation that will interact with the party. A basic example is the dungeon-dwelling quest giver, but this dungeon:

has a trapped, narcissistic princess. She seeks to slay the undead king that entrapped her and, upon any release, is to order the ones doing the releasing to kill the king, or else she blasts them with magic.

Tip 4: Set up things so they can easily go off the rails. Any good dungeon should have the potential to just get out of hand. I ran Barrow of the Elf King:

And the players set fire to the dungeon and had to make a daring escape against a giant spider matron and the Elf King while rescuing a lost goblin child. No good story every ends as expected!

I think this could have been summed up as "have interactive nodes that range from challenging to antagonistic, but also muck up the party's plans." But writing is all out was fun!

[jedifarmerr]

Wasteland (Fallout AU)

Frankie x F!Reader (Post-Apocalyptic AU)

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: Little over 2k

Warnings: Tiny amounts of angst, guns, violence, ghouls/description of the ghouls, death, panic attacks, blood, & post-nuclear discussions. (Let me know if I missed anything)

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3: I’m in Ruins

It didn’t even take a day for your plan to unravel. Not even a couple hours, which had to be some kind of record. World’s fastest fuck up. 

Frankie had given you exactly ten minutes to pack, so of course - you took twenty. 

The backpack from under your bed was dusty and smelled senile, but it worked. You packed it with pictures, a few sets of satin pajamas, a ragged plush pig along with Nora’s well-loved lamb. 

Benny had been assigned to babysit you. At least, it wasn’t Frankie. Benny was actually good company, even if he spent most of the time snooping. It didn’t feel intrusive, though. He eyed the pictures on your walls, thumbed over travel souvenirs and notes on your desk with genuine curiosity instead of any suspicion. 

Unlike Will, who periodically peeked his head in without saying a word. 

“Brothers,” Benny had explained, and you can definitely see the resemblance. Those striking blue eyes, straight teeth, the classic jock phenotype. Good genes. 

Honestly, all these men were insanely good-looking. Well, minus the kidnapper part. Oh God. Is this how Stockholm Syndrome starts? 

—-

It definitely felt like August, even if it didn’t look like it. Your suit was already drenched in sweat, and you hadn’t even gotten out of the neighborhood yet. For some odd reason, they had insisted on taking this cluttered back road that used to be considered a more scenic route.

You squeezed through another pile up of cars. 

“You do realize the other way is faster, right?” you reminded them, again - a little louder this time. 

“We know,” Frankie droned from behind you, right on your heels. 

You looked over your shoulder and flashed him a smile, “Just checking.” 

His perpetual scowl somehow deepened. He didn’t say anything else, just grunted. 

The asphalt was cracked like dry clay. You jumped over another pothole, coming out onto the open main road. You scanned the landscape but without any color, it was borderline unrecognizable. 

There was no life. The park was overrun by monster weeds that were the color of wheat. You didn’t hear any birds, just a rusty whine from the swings that swayed in a poltergeist breeze. 

It was so strange. You could vividly recall driving on this road with Nora what seemed like mere days ago. 

It was gone. She was gone. She’d been gone a long time. 

Quickly, you swallowed down the salty taste in the back of your throat. You wouldn’t cry in front of them. Even if it sucked being the only one in this warped timeline. 

In the front, Will and Santi led the way, staying a few steps ahead. They whispered to one another while pointing to bare clusters in the treeline. 

Benny walked alongside you. He hummed a tune you didn’t recognize, the tin canteen at his side swishing to the beat. This was usually Frankie’s spot, but he’d taken up the rear.

You dug out a ration bar from the side pocket of your bag. You peeled open the wrapper and examined the tan patty. Was this even edible? 

You figure you’d eaten ten of these already, so what was one more? You chomped down on the bar, and nearly broke a tooth. These things were hard as a rock. 

“So, where are you taking me?” You ripped off another bite and looked expectantly at Benny with full cheeks. 

“Back to our home,” he beamed, clearly fond of the place. 

“And that’s… where exactly?” 

He took a drink of water before answering. “Close to Lynn - Salem.” 

You slightly choked. 

“And we’re walking there? Like the whole way?” 

Benny nodded, and there was an annoyed scoff from the grump behind you. You ignored it. 

“How long’s that gonna take?” 

“Two weeks, or so.” 

You took a distressed bite out of the bar, and slowly chewed. There was no way you could keep up with these guys. They were in peak shape, while your legs were already starting to cramp. Shockingly, two centuries on ice wasn’t ideal for muscle retention. 

Benny must’ve noticed your concern because he lightly chuckled. “You’ll be fine. We’ll stop at night to sleep and then for meals and stuff.” 

“Oh, so for like the basic shit?” 

Benny smiled at that, appearing to enjoy your sarcasm. He playfully nudged your shoulder. “Once we get to Dia - Boston, you’ll get a few days to rest up there.”

Boston seemed like forever away. You stuffed the empty wrapper in your bag and groaned. 

“Complaining won’t make it go any faster,” Frankie suggested.

God - he was annoying. You whirled around and walked backwards. “True, but then again, what kind of kidnappee would I be if I didn’t complain?” 

“I didn’t know there was a how-to on that.” 

“More like guidelines on how to make their life a living hell.” 

Frankie’s jaw ticked. He rubbed at his temple as if fending off a migraine. “I’m not doing this with you. We’re doing you a favor-”

You barked out a laugh. This guy had a real God complex. 

“A favor? Is that what you call this?” You stormed over to him, nearly nose to nose. His nostrils flared and you could feel his furious breath on your skin. You poked at his chest. “This isn’t a fucking favor-”

Will shushed you before you could lay into Frankie any further. You were about to rage on Will, but then he said, “Do you hear that?” His voice was a bare whisper. He didn’t move an inch. 

When you carefully listened, you could hear it - moan? A groan? Coming from the brush or perhaps the thorny bushes, somewhere along the roadside. 

It didn’t sound like an animal, and the hair on your neck tightened. 

Santi whipped out his gun. “Ghouls.” 

Ghouls? Like Night of the Living Dead? Haunted Mansion? Those kinds of ghouls? 

“We gotta get her outta here,” Santi whispered - hissed. 

“And take her where?” Frankie loaded his gun. 

He was right, there was nowhere to run. The noise just grew louder. Louder with every passing second. It sounded like you were completely surrounded. 

Frankie called out a mix of words, some type of code that made everyone scurry into position. 

Except you. 

You didn’t move an inch. You couldn’t look away from the spidery shadows that crept up from the dead foliage. 

A hand wrapped around your arm and you almost screamed when your back collided into a firm chest. You peered up and Frankie’s eyes seared into you. He cradled your waist with one hand, tugging you flush against him. 

His fingers dug into the nylon and he gave a single command - stay. 

For once, you didn’t argue. You obeyed him without question as the ghouls began to rise up like an army of undead. Gangly bodies - skin gray as ash. There were so many. Too many. 

“Steady!”

Your heart rammed against your ribs. Your skin buzzed. 

The creatures threw their heads back with a shriek that could shake even the deepest, darkest depths of hell.

“Hold onto me,” Frankie murmured against your hair before letting go of your waist. He pulled out a second gun from his waistband. 

Just as he commanded, you held onto him. As you tightly clutched his shirt for safety, you turned to see the ghouls darting forward. 

Fire! 

In your ears, a volley of shots rang like a pocketful of firecrackers. 

Frankie didn’t even flinch. He was like a machine. Every shot was deadly - precise. Every bullet hit a weak spot - the chest or throat, but mainly right between the eyes. Bullseye. The ghouls flopped to the ground, convulsing like fish out of water. 

Their shots appeared to awaken more ghouls. It was a never-ending cycle. One down - another rising to take its place. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted one lugging towards Frankie. You warned him, but too late. Its claws slashed his forearm. You could hear the skin slice. Frankie shuddered in pain, arm giving way. The gun dropped out of his hand, just out of reach. 

Blood spewed from his arm like a geyser, but it didn’t slow him down. He didn’t stop, not even for a second. He jabbed his elbow into the ghoul’s sternum instead, causing it to stumble back. It snarled, sniffed, and you swore it could smell fear when its soulless gaze locked on you. 

It pounced. 

You cowered into Frankie and he blocked the attack with his bloody arm. He gritted his teeth, holding the ghoul back as it gnashed its teeth at you. You could see Frankie’s arm shaking, threatening to fold, and you acted on instinct. You kicked the ghoul in the leg, the toe of your boot causing something to crack. 

It buckled over, squealing, and Frankie got off a concussive shot. The mahogany blood spewed across your boots as it collapsed. Frankie grasped the lone gun in both hands, enveloping you like a shield. Safe. 

The wound on his arm continued to ooze, but it didn’t seem to faze him. He flaked off the rest of the pack with the equal veracity. He didn’t stop fighting until the final one hit the ground.

All clear. 

He hissed, quickly drawing away from you. He pressed his palm into the gash and Benny pulled out a first-aid kit from his pack. 

In front of you, the battlefield was overwhelmed with withered bodies. Curious, cautious, you went over to the one that injured Frankie and tried to kill you. 

You gagged at the smell - a human cadaver left out in the sun too long. You thought it kinda looked like one too as you examined its face. A wide-open mouth, lips stained by what appeared to be old, dry blood. It didn’t have a nose, but a cavern where one used to be - or should’ve been. Instead, the hole festered like an infected blister. 

The ghoul was thin, practically bones with shreds of flesh. It couldn’t have weighed anything more than 100 pounds. Your stomach twisted into a knot when scanning its body. It was wearing clothes. 

“Are these - are they people?” 

The rip of gauze scratched like a record. For a long moment, they let the question mold in the rancid air. 

“They were,” Santi responded, his voice barely audible over the hissing wind. 

You stepped back, then felt something snap under your shoe. Another ghoul - in a collared shirt with a halfway legible name on the breast pocket. It was the uniform from Walden Drugstore, just down the street. 

You backed away, but the smell just grew stronger. More sour. You felt a harsh ripple of nausea, and it made you dizzy. Your feet skidded on loose rocks- your ass hit the pavement. Next to your hand was a decapitated ghoul. It was startling. It disturbed you. Squealing, you crawled backwards to the rusted guardrails to get as far away from the unsettling bodies. 

You could hear yourself hyperventilating when Santi crouched beside you.

They aren’t human anymore. They aren’t human. 

He repeated it over and over again, as if that would help. 

“What happened?” Your voice was as shaky as your legs. “Why are they?” 

Santi went silent for a moment. He thoughtfully scratched at his overgrown stubble, then sighed. 

“People that were within a certain radius of the blast that didn’t make it to shelter, well - they didn’t die on impact and instead-” He gestured to the ghouls. “The radiation deteriorated their brains, making them lose their cognitive functioning. They’re not - they’re not the same anymore.” 

“Did you find any by-” You pointed down the street and Santi solemnly nodded. 

“That’s why we went this way,” Santi explained, “We thought we had them all, but sometimes they just come out-”

You shook your head, and he stopped. His jaw clamped shut, and he appeared to know that you didn’t want to hear anymore. Not right now. This was too much. 

“Can I just have a minute? Alone?” 

“Of course.” Santi reassuringly squeezed your shoulder, then walked away. 

You curled yourself into a tight ball and wished away the memories. It didn’t work. Just like the last few nights, they flooded your mind in horrendous detail. Those people - their faces - you could still hear their screams. 

Please, don’t let me die. Save me. Save me. Save me. 

They didn’t even know. They didn’t even know they would meet a fate worse than death. 

You bit down on your quivering bottom lip until the taste of iron spilled into your gums and mouth. It tasted like guilt.

taglist: @littlemisspascal @seasonschange-butpeopledont @pascalisthepunkest @heythere-mel @mando-amando @justatiredpotato

[omoghouls]

How about Rain going down to Era 1 ghouls (because I love their interactions) and Rain becomes small, and starts lightly nibbling on his or someone else's tail!?! Just poor unsuspecting Era 1 ghouls talking and chatting and then CHOMP (but like, small chomp)

Y e s s   aaaaaaaa omg ;o; 💓💗💕💖💖💖💖💖💖🌼🌼🌼🌼Perhaps when he is feeling smaller his mind instinctively goes to when he was first starting teething. So, he feels the need to chew and nibble on everything! Now, normally he has his teething toys or other toys that he can put in his mouth and suckle on, but, this was somewhat of an unprompted small time so he doesnt really have his regular things ;0; (a v small drabble aaa-)--The elder ghoul chuckled lightly as he watched the young bassist seated on the floor, playing with the small scraps of paper, scraping his claws through it, chirping as the paper shredded. How simple it was to entertain such a young kit.

Eventually Rain grew bored of the paper. He scooped the shredded pieces, placing it into a neat pile on the coffee table, he looked around curiously. The older ghouls were still conversating on heavens knew. When Rain was there they all spoke in the ancient dialect, it caused the water ghoul to feel smaller as he was unable to fully comprehend them. 

Rain crawled closer to the feet of the elder drummer, purring when he felt the soft tail patting at his waist when he felt the presence of the bassist on his feet. The water ghoul watched curiously as the tail swayed gently by his face. He soon let his tail sway in the same pattern, pausing when the drummer's tail brushed against his face, he grasped for the appendage, giggling when the soft tuffs of fur tickled his nose.

"Oh yes, Papa had mentioned there were to be some changes to the mas-yip!" Erred yelped in surprise, causing his brothers to look at him curiously, their eyes trailing down, stopping when they reached the ground.

There was the younger ghoul, gently knawing and nipping at the tail of the older ghoul.

The elder smiled as he leaned down to come face to face with Rain.

"My, is that a fun treat you have found, lamb?"Rain let the tail drop from his mouth and giggled with a small nod, raising his arms as he was lifted onto the other's lap. 

The drummer looked to Rain, humming as he used his tail to boop his nose.

"Such a silly one you are, little one. Tails are not for chewing, they help keep our balance so we do not fall on our tooshies," he explained as he watched the water ghoul nodding in understandment, latching onto his thumb. 

The air ghoul looked to the others, "Perhaps we should find some toys that are meant for kits that are teething, hm?" He mentioned as he watched the smaller ghoul curling onto the lap of the other, rhythmically sucking up thumb as he eyes fluttered closes.

"Perhaps later." The elder hummed as he brushed the stray hairs away from the now sleeping ghoul. 

Although, teething toys did seem like the savior to saving their tails from becoming prey.