#her gifting ifrit a matching one is a HUGE gesture for her i tell you

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Look look i'm finally writting my ghoul OC !!! She's very important to me, so if anyone cares, here she is ! Meet Clicks !

Clicks yawns, certain by the concerned look the sister passing her by sends her that her jaw, as flexible as a snake's, looks dislocated. It's been a long day, all six of her eyes heavy-lidded as she trudges toward the ghouls' wing, rubbing her buzzed hair absent-mindedly. Assigning her to roof maintenance is logical, given Clicks' taste for high perches and the pair of huge leathery wings carrying her effortlessly through the air. Much less risky than sending a human up there, fragile lifeline easily severed by one nasty fall.

And really, Clicks likes her job. She likes the burn of pleasant exhaustion after a day of effort, she likes crouching on the very edge of roofs to watch people going about their lives beneath, she likes feeling the wind wrap around her, a playful companion to her lonely work. She doesn't mind being alone, either. She doesn't. Her job is great, and it's okay that she hasn't talked once today. It's okay that her back aches from having to keep her heavy wings unglamored, a safety net if she were to slip. It's okay that she snatched something to eat from the kitchens, too late to share a meal with any other ghoul. It's okay.

It's okay, until Clicks rounds a corner without paying attention and walks straight into Omega.

He makes a little huffing sound, startled, but immediately grabs her elbow to stabilize her. He doesn't flinch at the sound her rattlesnake tail makes as it instinctively shakes in warning, nor at the serie of threatening tongue clicks she makes, the very sames that gave her her name. Instead, he frowns, alarmed by her violent reaction, eyes searching her face.

"Easy, Clicks. Easy, it's just me. Are you okay ?"

She is, now that the adrenaline rush from the surprise is coming down, and she opens her mouth to say so, but Omega's hand is still on her elbow. Thumb tracing absent-minded circles over the runes inked in grey skin. It's like Clicks' mind zeroed in on the sensation, achingly aware of it. She wants him to stop. She never wants him to pull away. Shit.

"Clicks."

Another hand reaches for her, cups the back of her head, drags her into a firm embrace, and it's like a damn broke. He smells like something fizzy and magical, like quintessence, like hope. Clicks sags into Omega after half a second of stiffness, clinging to him like he's the only thing keeping her together. Omega always had this power, since the moment he took the time to wrap a fluffy blanket around the shoulders of an air and earth hybrid ghoulette that wasn't meant for music and greatness, just another creature summoned to help with trivial tasks.

But Omega is there for all of the new ghouls, knows even the most avoidant ones by name, always keeps an eye out for the loners who hover at the outskirts of the pack, never daring to bond any further with the darling band ghouls, the crown jewels of the ministry. Clicks is one of those recluse, always staying distant with said band ghouls, but she admitedly has two exceptions. One of them is currently rocking her back and forth, shushing her softly. The second, well. She's not sure she wants to know what Alpha's up to that late.

Omega runs his hand along Clicks back- and immediately hisses when he reaches the painful knot she spent hours ignoring, just under her right shoulderblade.

"Shit, Clicks, that has to hurt."

She sighs in agreement, nuzzling her face in his shoulder, his scent surrounding her. Safe. She is safe.

"Can you...quintessence it the fuck away ?"

Clicks feels Omega's soft chuckle more than she hears it as he carefully brushes against the sore spot in her back, assessing the damages.

"Mmh, I can. Let's get you to your room, yeah ?"

The rest of the walk back is much nicer, despite Clicks' still exacerbated feelings and the pain radiating from her back. The occasional light knocking of her shoulder against Omega's - or rather, the quint's bulky arm, tall fucker- is comforting, as is the tail loosely wrapped around her waist. In her solitary routine, Clicks forgot how soothing this quiet kind of company could be.

Omega slows to a stop as they pass the cracked open door of the common room. There's a vaguely familiar ghoul lounging on the couch, throwing a ball as high as they can and catching it back before it can smash against their face. Omega's eyes fly from them to Clicks, a thoughtful crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"A fire ghoul might help with your back. It would make the whole ordeal more comfortable, less artificial for your body. I would call for Alpha but he is...busy. Would you mind me asking someone else ?"

Clicks shuffles a bit. It's not that she doesn't like people, it's just that she's bad at meeting new ones, awkward in a way that makes her want to crawl out of her own skin when she thinks back on every social interactions she had. She comes off either as cold, or weird, and either way, it's often just too embarrassing to be worth it. But above all, she trusts Omega. So, she nods tentatively, the quint turing toward the ghoul on the couch.

"Ifrit !"

The ghoul in question jolts, yanked out of his thoughts by the call. The ball he was playing with hits him on the forehead, which he only reacts to with a startled shake of head and a frankly adorable nose scrunch. He smiles, open and easy, once he catches sight of Omega, who gestures for him to join him.

"On me."

Ifrit is quick to saunter over to them, peering curiously at Clicks with a questioning trill. Omega smoothes a hand on the nape of his neck, gently knocking their horns together.

"Ifrit, this is Clicks-"

"Hey, I know you," Ifrit interrupts, tail starting to wag as he tilts his head toward Clicks, "you're the ghoulette who's always up on the rooftops, right ?"

Clicks blinks slowly, one pair of eyes at a time, taken aback. After a too long pause, she takes the hand Ifrit is offering, and shakes it as firmly as she can.

"...yeah, that's me. You're, ah. An ex guitarist, right ?"

Ifrit chuckles easily, shaking black strands of hair away from his face.

"Well, technically still a guitarist, just, not touring with the band anymore. So, what can I do...?"

The fire ghoul turns back toward Omega with a question in his eyes. The quint hums.

"Clicks' back is giving her shit, I'm guessing because of the weight of her wings. I need you to help loosening the muscles before I go in with quintessence, or else it might be a bit brutal. Think you can do that ?"

Ifrit nods enthusiastically, like there's nothing else he'd rather do than help some ghoulette he just met with her everyday aches. She feels a bit like they're overreacting ; the pain is annoying, but it isn't that bad, right ? She can still somewhat work, and it only hurts real bad when she moves. But they're leading her to her room, hellbent (ha !) on fixing it for her. Clicks feels strangely warm, trotting between the two big ghouls in the long hallways so typical of the Ministry's buildings. Must be the natural heat Ifrit's oozing. Surely.

Apparently having an endless social battery, the fire ghoul leans toward Clicks, that curious glint still there in his eyes.

"So, you got wings ? Like an air ghoul ?"

It feels a bit weird, this almost stranger displaying genuine interest in such a detail, but there doesn't seem to be any ill intentions behind it, so Clicks decides to indulge him.

"Yeah. But, not feathery. More like a bat, I guess ? They're pretty huge, so I keep them glamored when I don't work."

She hesitates, before returning a question of her own.

"...is it normal for you to be glowing ?"

Ifrit blinks, taken aback, before looking at the wide expense of his chest, barely covered by his filmsy tank top, blushing when he takes in the soft orange light swirling under his skin.

"...oh," he sighs, bashfull, "...yeah. I mean, kinda. It gets that way when i'm excited."

Clicks tilts her head, amused. Cute.

"It's also a mating thing," Omega chimes in with a mischievious smile, "supposed to attract partners."

"Mega-" Ifrit whines, now deeply embarrassed, the tip of his ears flushing, "don't listen to him, that's not all it's for, it doesn't mean-"

Clicks really can't help her chuckle and, after a short consideration, bumps shoulders with him.

"I know, I know. Mostly an emotional thing, got it. I just asked because Alpha doesn't do that."

Ifrit perks up as Clicks, having finally reached her room, unlocks the door and flicks only the string lights on.

"You know the old- wow."

Ifrit cuts himself off as he takes in the inside of Clicks' bedroom. The shelves full of strange trinkets, the many curious potted plants stuffed everywhere they fit, the display where are lined so may different kind of ritual knives.

"A true magpie, isn't she ?" Omega rumbles fondly, closing the door behind them and encouraging Clicks to lay on her bed, clustered with blankets, pillows and at least seven different crow plushies. She curls on top of the bedding, surveying with one pair of eyes Ifrit's awed observation of the room, while the other two close in contentement at finally being home.

"...your room is so cool," Ifrit huffs in near disblief. He's careful not to touch anything without Clicks' permission, which she is grateful for. She is very specific about her belongings and who gets to go anywhere near them. "How did you even get all those knives ?"

Clicks grins, curved fangs catching the low light.

"Sticky fingers and quick retreat."

Ifrit's laughter bounces off the walls as he politely lingers at the foot of her bed, only sitting next to her when she gestures for him to. He nods toward her plushies as she lays on her front, trying for a stretch that gets cut short by the flaring in her back.

"I like them. Got a thing for crows ?"

Omega, who sank into an armchair Clicks snagged years ago from Primo's overly clustered office, chuckles as he rolls his sleeves.

"You have no idea. She befriended so many of them she's got a flock following her while she works."

Clicks huffs, kicking a few pillows off the bed to free some space and let Ifrit settle more comfortably.

"They're amazing, is all. Do you know how smart they are ?"

Omega nods with that fond smile that feels like home.

"I do, and I would love to hear you rant about them, but I would rather we start with your back. We can do it through your shirt if you're more comfortable with it, but ideally-"

"It's fine," she cuts him off, wiggling until she can get the tshirt - at least two sizes too big with holes on the back for her wings- off and on the floor. She crosses her tattooed arms and rests her head on them, peering at Ifrit. She's not really shy about it ; a body's a body, and it's not like ghouls have any problems with casual nudity, but her vessel has known violence, both in the pit and on earth, and wears its marks.

Instead of focusing on the lacerations forever imprinted on her lower back, or the telling jaw imprint just below where he'll have to work, Ifrit's eyes fly to the intricate motives following the curve of Clicks' spine, a mix of prayers in many obscur languages, symbols, and ritual markings, all aimed toward one thing : protection. Ifrit wistles lowly as he starts feeling for the knot under Clicks' shoulderblade.

"Nice ink. Alpha did it for you ?"

Clicks nods vaguely, groaning in relief when Ifrit's palms heat up, working against tense muscles. They're callused, like any guitar player, but incredibly gentle as they prod at painful spots.

"Must've taken so much hours. Hurt much ?"

A right chatterbox, this ghoul, but Clicks finds she doesn't mind, hopelessly endeared by his eagerness.

"Sure did, but the pain was alright I guess. My first sleeve was the worst, mostly 'cause i wasn't used to the sensation yet."

She also had felt especially nervous about letting Alpha stab her repeatedly with a needle, which in all honesty was probably just her survival instinct kicking in, reasonably so. Now though, after hours under the fire ghoul's needle, she has no further apprehension than what any person about to be subjected to various graphically detailed rants about either Pebble's or Secondo's sexual prowess while ink is pushed under their skin has any right to be.

Ifrit hums, hands swift and efficient under Omega's watchful's gaze. They chat idly for a little while, Clicks feeling herself relax more and more. She can still feel that knot pulling at her muscles, but she doesn't feel like an elastic about to snap anymore, so that's nice.

When Omega gets up with a grunt, apparently satisfied by Ifrit's work, and gently shoos him away to take his place, the fire ghoul sinks to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the discarted pillows right by the bed, absent midedly picking up one of the crow plushies, smoothing its wings out. His head goes to rest on the mattress, right by Clicks', eyes crinckled in the corners. She finds she's glad he's staying, and sloppily drapes her tail around his shoulders with a chuff.

Omega warns her he's about to start by rubbing a small circle above still tensed muscles, silently urging her to brace herself. The sensation of quintessence slowly invading her body, seeping into her muscles and manually forcing the knots to come loose is strange, even if it does elicit a relieved groan from Clicks. She's glad Omega had the forethought of asking Ifrit for help, or else she might've tensed up and ruin the process. As it is, she only squirms slightly, before sighing as finally, finally, her back stops being just an agglomeration of radiating pains. She kicks off her purr, the two other ghouls joining her quickly.

Omega's hand carefully brushes her neck, thumb gentle against what he can reach of the thick scar running jaggedly across her throat, edge just peaking on the side in her position. It's an absent-minded gesture, a guilt-ridden one that despite Clicks reassurances, he never shook off. A "butchered work" Omega had once called that scar, with its uneven width and the hundreds of tiny bolts-like stretch mark around it, where the skin was haphazardly pulled taunt by quintessence in an effort to close the wound as quickly as possible.

No matter how many times Clicks assured him that he did his best, that if he hadn't reacted in less than a heartbeat when she appeared on the altar, throat cut open, choking with her own blood, she would have been as dead as she was left for in the pit, mere moments before being summoned, Omega still pets her scar without realizing it. Like his careful touch could somehow erase the mark of the most terrifying experience in Clicks' life.

Truthfully, she has a complicated relationship with this scar. On one hand, everytime her eyes catch sight of it in the mirror, Clicks is taken back to the screams of agony of her pack, to the searing pain, to the horror of feeling her strenght leave her at the same alarming pace as her blood, to the torture of seeing the light fade from beloved eyes without being able to do anything. To losing all the important people in her life, her pack of outcast, her chosen family, all at once. To the panic, the scrambling to try and move, breath, live.

But it is also the proof she survived. And if sometimes she hates that she did while her packmates' remains lay somewhere in the pit, she also learnt a long time ago never to apologize for her resilience. She knows without a doubt that her departed loved ones would be proud of her, for not letting a pack of blood thirsty demons destroy her, nor the grief they caused. Clicks is here, alive, and the scar cutting through her throat is a reminder that she won't go down without one hell of a fight.

Lost in her thoughts, she startles when Ifrit nudges her elbow, Omega getting off the bed to slide down next to him, the both of them sitting by Clicks' bed, features soft and open in the low light. Ifrit is still petting the plushie.

"Better ?" Omega asks as Clicks carefully rolls her shoulders and, pleased to find neither tightness nor pain, arches into a long, satisfying stretch.

"Fuuuuck, yes. Don't know how I can thank you."

Omega chuckles, eyes full of the same protective affection she always find there, extending an arm to scratch the base of her horns.

"You can thank me by stretching your wings before putting them to work and not being overzealous, or else we'll have done all that in vain."

Clicks huffs good-naturedly, narrowing all her eyes at him.

"Are you trying to guilt trip me into taking care of myself ?"

"Is it working ?"

Clicks shoves him lazily. The bastard doesn't move an inch. She turns to Ifrit then, surprised to find fondness already squeezing at her heart when he let her grab his jaw, even leaning into it.

"Seriously. You barely know me, you didn't had to-"

"I'm happy to, anytime you need."

Urgh, he's so eagerly honest about it, too. Clicks watches his thick eyelashes flutter, eyes big and almost doe-like as he looks up at her, and she sighs internally. She definitely has a type.

They stay, for a little while, chatting idly until their yawns and droopy eyes can't be ignored any more. Omega kisses Clicks' forehead before leaving, not without making her promise to come find him if her back flares up again. Ifrit, after squeezing her arm in goodbye, lingers in the doorway, looking back at Clicks somehow hopefully.

"So...I'll see you around ?"

Clicks can feel her eyes crinckle in the corners when she nods in answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, you'll definitely see me."

The fire ghoul perks up, tail wagging - and promptly knocking against the doorframe.

"And, Ifrit ?" Clicks adds, chuckling lightly, "can I get my plushie back ?"

Ifrit looks down, red-faced, at the little crow still craddled in his arms.

"Oh, of course, sorry."

He lays it by Clicks head, earning a chuff and a wave as he closes the door behind him. Clicks' chest feels more full and warm than it had been for a long while when she finds herself alone again.

(Two days later, Ifrit finds a brand new crow plushie with red little devil horns on its head waiting for him on his pillow, while Omega is greeted by a book he'd been meaning to get for a while layed on his desk.)