Chapter Text
It’s said that once Click Clack, God of Storytelling, first emerged atop the Spire, neither they nor their fellow gods needed to lift a single finger to pull the Rift shut once more. The nascent deity, overflowing with raw divine energy, had merely opened the painted mouth upon their mask and described the Rift neatly closing itself back up, as if reading from a storybook. Before the Grove’s very eyes the cosmic tear in the sky had sealed itself as if it was never there to begin with.
It is said that in that moment…the world recognized the editor of its ethereal script, and began to whisper its story in their ear.
Shortly after the closing of the Rift, a great cacophony stirred in the Field southeast. From the middle of Hobbyhoo Studios, a midcentury skyscraper shot up nearly two thousand feet into the sky. Blocks of concrete, gallons of paint, and hundreds of tonnes of metal materialized and coalesced, shaking the earth but leaving the studio undamaged in its wake. The citizens of the Grove had an inkling of what it could be, though they’d never before heard of one with such an elaborate entrance beyond hushed myths of the Spire itself. Yet, when the first of many souls finally set foot within the tower, riding its lift to the penthouse, the God of Storytelling was there waiting…already typing tirelessly at his typewriter amidst the stacks upon stacks of books and filing cabinets that crowded his newly formed divine domain.
Over the next several decades the city of Hobbyhoo was built up around Click Clack’s tower, and even the region itself found a new name in the studio they had built. Though Thespius’s Field of Green remained alive and vibrant with music east of the city, as it always had been, Hobbyhoo at large would go on to be shared forever with his beloved partner.
It has been a topic of hot debate amongst historians as to why the God of Storytelling manifested Clicky Tower as the entrance to their domain, intentionally or otherwise. Some remain staunch in their belief that Click Clack is the most powerful god in the Grove’s pantheon, due to their potentially reality-bending abilities. Others insist that it’s merely the specificity inherent in editing reality that allowed them to manifest something so precise.
[Others, still, have pointed out that the realm of Thespius, their long-time partner in rhyme, resembles a vast expanse of sky above the clouds…indicating, perhaps, that the Storytelling God’s tower was created of a subconscious desire to reside nearer to the sky and thus, to their illustrious paramour.]
Click Clack’s fingers paused on his keys as he read back through his own addendum, and he couldn’t help breaking into a chuckle. This was hardly the first time he’d been requested to edit a mortal-drafted biography, even one about his own ascension…but, mere months prior, he’d have been hastily editing out or recontextualizing a sentence exactly like that one.
[Such a variety of speculation is hardly new to the editing god, particularly as it pertains to his and Thespius’s relationship. For a hundred years he’s exercised his supreme narrative control to quell those more salacious rumors, tweaking plays, biographies and even spoken speculation in the name of obfuscating the truth…]
Click Clack paused in their narration; through the rounded windows of their penthouse, beyond the dusty sunbeams streaming over stacks of old books, a delicate acoustic melody poured in from afar. The scent of gardenias and lavender filled the air, and the editor’s heart surged with anticipation as they spun to face the wall behind them.
[As if in reverence of the divine being wishing to enter, the walls sigh and part as if composed of naught but warm putty. Light pours into the dim penthouse office, backlighting the ineffable silhouette of Thespius Green…God of Love and Mirth.]
Thespius gave them a crooked smile. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.” He stepped into the god’s cluttered penthouse office, his ambient melodic presence diffusing into the dusty air.
[Click Clack turns and leans upon the backrest of his chair with a flirtatious simper upon his mask.] “It’s hardly a difficult task when there’s so little that needs embellishing!”
“Aw, c’mon, Clicky,” Thespius chuckled, “you’re gonna give me cavities.”
He approached Click Clack’s left shoulder. “What’s it today? Overheard something about ‘salacious rumors’…”
[Click Clack turns back to his beloved Georgia with a dismissive handwave.] “Oh, just another one of those divine biographies. They always seem to crop up in droves around the Rift years…” The god gestured to a teetering stack of manuscripts in the corner: most focused around the newly elected God of Eloquence, but several new editions espousing the histories of Cobigail, Thespius, and even the former God of Leadership were also buried somewhere within.
“Our people sure do like to write!” [Click Clack remarks, making a show of mopping their godly brow.]
“Hey, I’d write hundreds of books and plays if I knew there’d be such a good editor looking ‘em over later,” Thespius said with a wink, before leaning in and planting a soft kiss on Click Clack’s cheek. They straightened up in their chair with a gasp, warmth blooming from the inky depths of their divine being, and Thespius pulled away with a smile. “Heh…didn’t mean to surprise you.”
“Oh, no no, it’s no bother! Just a long day at the office,” [Click Clack insists, hand flying up to bashfully cup his mask’s painted cheek. The Storytelling God still isn’t completely used to such casual and frequent romantic attention from their divine darling.]
Thespius chuckled, plucking their chin delicately with his thumb. “Sorry, Clicky, I just can’t help myself. Every time I kiss you, it just sets me right, y’know? When my heart’s overflowing with love, dog, it’s gotta come out somehow.”
Click Clack couldn’t suppress a bashful giggle, but it quickly petered out as they shifted restlessly in their chair. [If it weren’t for the bottomless depths of the Storytelling God’s density and denial, Thespius’s heart would not have had to bear such an overwhelming weight for so long.]
A thick silence passed over the penthouse for a moment; Thespius’s concerned, quiet frown remained instantly recognizable even after a hundred years. With a huff, he scooped up Click Clack in his arms. “That’s it, Clicky; you’ve definitely been spending too much time at work today.”
“Wha- Hey!” [The smaller god protests with great melodrama, putting on a show of distress at their sudden kidnapping.] “How cruel of a love god, to separate a happy couple!”
“C’mon, dude, you know Georgia’s tired too,” Thespius insisted, managing to find a clear spot amidst the sea of books and cabinets that cluttered the office. “When’s the last time you cleaned out her uh…what’s it called, typebars?”
Click Clack remained incriminatingly silent. [They find it rather unfair that a divine machine requires regular service to begin with.]
“S’almost like your domain is trying to tell you something,” said Thespius facetiously, settling down on the floor. [The god of love finds a soft cushion to support his back as he relaxes, comparable to the puffy, ephemeral clouds of his own domain.] “Thanks, Clicky.”
Now reclining quite comfortably against the divinely summoned cushions behind him, Thespius set Click Clack upon his stomach, the overworked god having long given up pretending to squirm out of his grasp. The love god had handed his beloved Tony off to one of his other pairs of hands, which had now begun to float back over and strum out a folksy little chord progression.
Click Clack relaxed against Thespius’s soft jacket, suddenly quite aware of their exhaustion built up from the past few days spent tirelessly editing. “I suppose I have been taking a few too many manuscripts out of the hands of my mortal apprentices as of late.”
“Hmm…yeah,” Thespius murmured, running his fingers gently through their hair. “You don’t have to make up so much work for a couple months’ break, y’know?”
Click Clack sighed, leaning into his touch. “I know.” [The editing god has spent many weeks since the rift making up for so much lost time with his beloved Thespius…and certainly considers it time well spent.] “But, a God of Storytelling must keep up with his people! In a place such as Hobbyhoo, not an hour passes without a blank page hosting the boundless imagination of the Grove’s denizens.”
“Well, you’re prob’ly right about that,” Thespius conceded, before his brows knit together. “But that’s not all, is it?”
A pit formed in Click Clack’s throat as Thespius’s left eye cracked open with concern; the God of Love’s tendency to let things work themselves out rather than confront the root of the problem had held strong over the years, for better and for worse. But when it came to Click Clack’s well-being…
“I know you, Clicky. You take a lot of real pride in what you do, but…you always get extra busy when there’s something else going on.” Thespius’s melodious cadence took the edge off his words, but did little to hide the soft, anxious worry that always made the other god’s heart ache. “You’re not still…feeling bad about that letter, are you?”
“Wha-?” Click Clack scrambled up onto his knees, raising his hands defensively. “No, no, of course not! We’ve talked that old thing to death at this point, it’s…” [Click Clack pauses for a moment, recalling his resolution to keep his true feelings out of the oppressive clutches of subtext.] “Well, it’s…only part of it.”
He sank back onto his heels, hands running over the soft tweed beneath him; gradually, he felt his form dwindling in size. “That letter, that whole mess, it…it…”
“Hey, take it slow, baby.” Thespius’s hands found Click Clack’s, interweaving his fingers in theirs. “I’m here.”
In spite of the lack of physical necessity for such a gesture, Click Clack took a deep breath. One of Thespius’s hands rested on their chest, nearly eclipsing their entire torso. Past his calloused fingers they felt the familiar warmth of his heart, thrumming like a weary bassline as it met their own featherlight, hummingbird pulse. It was still difficult to grasp at their own words, their own spoken dialogue…but, with their racing mind a little quieter, they found the script of the universe as readable as ever.
[…The God of Storytelling has kept watch over and edited the world’s story for centuries, now. Though much has transpired in those hundreds of years, the task has remained a mere extension of the passion they’ve possessed since their mortal infancy. Editing is their job, yes, but they’ve never done it merely for the satisfaction of proofreading for errors or streamlining a plot sequence.]
Click Clack cast a glance over at one of the many stacks of scripts that populated his office: the dreams and machinations of his people imperfectly transcribed in ink. [Every script belies a story; not just the one within its pages, but the story of its author, of its creation, of its purpose and potential. The story of one mortal artist holds as much import and power as the cosmic script of the universe itself…and in a monumental stroke of fortune, Click Clack has found himself in the magnanimous position of being able to foster that infinite potential for generations worth of mortal minds. This divine honor, it’s…it’s what he’s always wanted, our god, the role he was born to play.]
The god paused pensively, painted eyebrows knit together as his fingers fumbled against each other over his chest. Tenderly, Thespius’s fingers pushed under Click Clack’s palms, and he took the god’s hand in his with a bittersweet smile. [Of course, if that’s true…one might wonder why our god was initially so painfully reluctant to accept that honor.]
“Hey, s’not like you’ve been the only one,” Thespius pointed out. “Ascension is a big deal.”
[The God of Love and Mirth speaks truth, as is his wont, but Click Clack’s doubt centuries past ran deeper than the tangible magnitude of the task ahead of him. For all his passion, his boundless drive to amplify the voices of his people and peers…Click Clack hasn’t always acted in their best interests.]
The god’s hand alighted on the smooth surface of their mask. […Clarence hasn’t.]
The penthouse around the two gods had fallen silent. Even the idle hum of a familiar melody that Thespius carried with him everywhere had quieted some time ago, chords left unresolved as if holding its breath.
[It’s rare, these days, that the God of Storytelling’s mortal name ever crosses his mind, much less leaves his mask’s painted lips. To many gods, those names and the people behind them grow to be distant strangers in the centuries following ascension. Click Clack, too, often finds it easy to think of his mortal self as merely someone he once knew very closely, and now hardly remembers.
[The life of the small, frail editor of yesteryear, brought to the Grove by a deep and powerful feeling he could not yet name, was one marked by uncertainty. Uncertainty in his feelings, in his identity, in his place in the world’s ever-unfurling narrative. So driven he was by a desire for stability, closure, assurance that he was right where he needed to be…that in his blind pursuit he stumbled all the harder. Let his denial stifle the voices of his people. Languished in the comforting stasis of being a mere brick in the wall with no influence of his own. Took the heart of his celestial paramour into his white-knuckled hands in confidence only to watch his so-called friends in high places tear it to shreds…
[But Click Clack, God of Storytelling, knows very well who they are! They take great pride in their divine work, and know they earn their place every time they lend an ear to a struggling artist or a pen to the first, second, or seventeenth draft of a nascent magnum opus. They’re bigger than the uncertainty that haunted their mortal life.]
Click Clack paused, words catching in their throat as their finger hooked on the ribbon of their mask. [And yet…doubt casts a long shadow. Sometimes, the God of Storytelling finds themself acting on impulse, tempted by good intentions. Recognizing that ancient slumbering uncertainty and racing to mask it in denial. Denial of their own feelings, of truths too daunting to face.]
The god immersed their hands in their soft, inky hair, finding and undoing the knot deep within. [Denying that under it all, across all those centuries…they haven’t changed in the slightest.]
Carefully, Click Clack removed their ivory mask, lowering their fair, wide-eyed facade with no small amount of hesitation. Beneath it was a face Thespius had only seen a handful of times since his fellow god’s ascension, but had grown quite accustomed to in years long past. Small, beady pale eyes, and a crooked wobbly smile that struggled to mask the anxiety behind it. Click Clack’s true cheeks were flushed a blotchy red, a stark contrast to the perfectly brushed-on blush of their mask. Certainly, it wasn’t exact, but unmistakable all the same: though much time had passed since Click Clack had shed their mortal form, the visage of Clarence Clerical remained untarnished behind the face they’d come to bear in their divinity.
The god’s gloved hands gripped the edge of their mask anxiously, warbling out a small dry chuckle. “I’m afraid that…despite my best efforts, over the better part of a hundred years…I’m still the same uncertain, impulsive pedant I’ve always been.”
They could feel themself shrinking in Thespius’s lap, heart beginning to kick up again in their chest. The letter, the posturing, the drive for notoriety in spite of knowing the pain of it…it was all too familiar. To Click Clack…and certainly to Thespius.
“Clicky, baby…”
Thespius’s thumb found Click Clack’s chin and tilted it up. The smaller god found themself blinded by his bright, shining gaze and wide, warm grin.
“That’s the best news I’ve ever heard.”
Click Clack blinked, almost dropping their mask. “I- What? But I - I hurt you, Thespius. All it took was one letter and I couldn’t even see how completely I was failing you -“
“You didn’t fail me, Clicky,” Thespius cut them off insistently, and they didn’t miss the heavy strain in the god’s voice. “You never have, baby, not even once, and I wish I could stop you from believing otherwise.”
He held his longtime partner close, their curled form dwarfed by his hands. “I’ve known a lot of folks in my time, dog. You’ve read about plenty of ‘em in some form or another, in my scripts…and every one of them has meant something to me. More than I did to them, in a lot of cases.”
Thespius’s glowing eyes cast downward for a moment, pensive. “And I still think of ‘em, fondly or otherwise…they’ve all made me who I am. But…” He refocused on Click Clack, cupping their face in his fingertips. “There’s only one guy I’ve been lucky enough to know, to share eternity with…who really helped me to appreciate, to love every part of that. Who Thespius Green really is.”
His smile spread back onto his face, and it shone with the light of every star in the sky. “And that guy…I love every part of him too. S’true, the more things change, the more they stay the same. But Clicky, baby…”
Thespius leaned forward and, for a moment, pressed his soft lips to Click Clack’s forehead before pulling back with a smile. “I started loving you a hundred years ago. And I never, ever stopped.”
Warmth flooded Click Clack’s body, from his fingertips to his fluttering chest. He knew his face, still exposed for Thespius to see, was beet-red, and not a single part of him cared. Within seconds he was spilling out of Thespius’s palms, growing back to size too fast for his divine lover to adjust.
The God of Love and Mirth chuckled. “Besides, I think you’ve changed plenty. Finally figured out why I kept trying to make Styella and Byella get to the point, at least…”
“Wh- Pshaw!” Click Clack sputtered, giving him an exaggerated pout. “That doesn’t even count, I had to be told by a third party!”
“Maybe, maybe…” Thespius laughed melodiously. Even at their expense, Click Clack could listen to him laugh forever. “I’ve sure got some learning to do from that whole ordeal myself.”
“Yes, yes, no use retreading all that again. Thank Mitter we’ve got ourselves a God of Eloquence now.” Click Clack tied their mask back into place…then huffed thoughtfully. “That all said…”
A smirk played at Thespius’s lips, surely already guessing their train of thought. “Yeah?”
“I suppose there’s no harm in going back over…just a bit of what we got into after the celebration.” The God of Storytelling planted their hands upon Thespius’s chest. “I think that kiss of yours was just a few inches too high, anyhow.”
“That so? Guess I’d better try again.” Thespius’s lips parted into a grin as he wrapped his arms around his partner, drawing them close to his ephemeral, beautiful beating heart. “You’ll tell me when I get it right, huh?”
[The Storytelling God laughs, giddy with love for their partner in rhyme.] “My darling chrysanthemum…that would imply you could ever get it wrong.”
[Thespius’s lips press upon our god’s mask like the intimate touch of an angel, his embrace a heaven fit for the god within it. While Click Clack has spent several lifetimes furthering their passion, proving their place in the pantheon tenfold…another passion entirely has been left to languish in obscurity, hidden in the name of some lingering mortal fear. Truth be told, it’s hard to even tell what it was, in this particular moment. As his fingers tangle in Thespius’s hair, the small of his back perfectly fitted for the Loving God’s calloused hands…Click Clack finds himself much too in love to think about anything so deceptively trivial. For several lifetimes before…and for many, many more to come.]