Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“[INTERIOR: A strange room high in the clouds. We’re met by mildew and the smell of old books.]

[LIGHTS UP to reveal our hero. It’s CLICK CLACK HIMSELF — THE SENSATIONAL GOD OF STORYTELLING!]

[He sits at a desk with a large typewriter atop it, editing a script written by their wonderful partner — the Skywriter — Thespius Green!]

"It’s a good script." The grand God mutters to themself, "As Thespius’s works always are."

[But there’s something that twists in their gut, a strange and underlying sense of wrongness.]

[The script is good, yes, but it’s also a bit… restrained. The care that’s typically put into a project like this feels shoved almost to the wayside. Thespius is by no means shy about sharing his affection. The story it tells is… dark. Grim. The God of Mirth is no stranger to tragedy, sure, but this goes beyond even that.]

[Which worries our hero! More than a bit, in fact. If something dims his writing partner's spark, it’s something worrying indeed.] 

"It’s a good script." Click Clack repeats, softer. 

[And he’s sure he could make it a great script. Pour in the passion that was left behind along the way. It’s what a good editor is for, after all! Elevating the work — bringing it to its fullest potential.]”

“…But I’m worried.” Click Clack mutters, fingers tapping lightly against his typewriter’s keys.

It could be nothing. Every creative goes through slumps — often without even realizing that they’re slumping! This is something they know well. Even the Gods can hit a wall every now and again!

But it’s not as simple as a slump. It feels intentionally striped down — like all of the parts that make Thespius’s work so awe-inspiring have been carefully peeled away. OH PARTNER MINE is a passion project in every sense of the word, Click Clack simply can’t imagine a world in which anything could cause Thespius to hold back! It’s practically inconceivable. 

And it sends Click Clack from their seat, driving them to pace up and down the space they inhabit. More than this, it makes them quiet. A rare sight for the rambling God, really. He is the editor of the story of this world, after all! It’s easier to talk things out. Er — in the sense that it helps with the flow of the scene. He racks his brain, trying to come up with an answer for a question he didn’t know he’d have before now. This wasn’t an issue they’d ever even considered.

(If anything, they were often the one toning down the Skywriter’s affection.)

So… the editor decides it’s best that they take initiative! They march along the gap between domains until he finds himself upon a cloud. Thespius has a much less grounded domain than Click Clack’s own, the dissonance is always a bit jarring at first. But there’s not much time for him to dwell, not when there’s work to be done!

“[ENTER: Click Clack. The marvelous editor approaches his writing partner with some concern.] "Thespius?" Our hero calls up to the godly musician. "Do you happen to have a moment to spare for your proofreader’s ear?”

Thespius startles at his approach, evidently having not noticed him before. He wears a smile, but not one that quite reaches his eyes. Click Clack has never been particularly good at reading expressions, but he can tell this much at least. It does nothing to ease their worries, no matter how Thespius tries to seem casual. 

“Oh! Hey Clicky— Click Clack! Didn’t realize you were planning to stop by, my friend.”

‘…My friend?’

Now — now don’t get the wrong idea. Click Clack and Thespius surely are friends. But it’s always been a very… understood thing. It gives them pause, is all. Pause that they shake off quickly! There is a purpose for their visit, after all. They can’t go and get distracted by a silly thing like a word. Even if silly things like words are his entire job.

“[Our charming and beloved editor smiles back at his… friend.] "I know you tend to write from the heart! Which can make rough drafts, er, rough! But I had a bit of a clarifying question for you about this newest installment of OH PARTNER MINE!" The hero proclaims, holding the script aloft.”

Thespius, for his part, looks more than a bit nervous at this exultation. He doesn’t have the colour in his eyes for them to dart to the side, but Click Clack can tell that they would if he did.

“Yeah?” Thespius gets out, half-garbled. “Uh… how so? There an issue?”

“"Oh no, no." Click Clack assures with a wave of his hand, "Not an issue, not at all! Just an, uh… concern? About some of the contents?" [The brilliant god watches his writing partner’s e— ahem.”

Click Clack watches Thespius’s expression shift, nerves continuing to build. He’s not exactly the subtle type, even when it’s clear that he’s at least trying to be.

He clears his throat, hands wringing nervously behind him. “A concern? Go ahead and shoot, man. Lay it on me!”

“"Well… while I'm not against it, what with ‘kill your darlings’ and all, I wanted to question you about the choice to, ah, kill off Styella?" Click Clack says simply. [The curious editor waits patiently for a response.]”

“Oh!” Thespius responds. “Oh. Yeah, man, no problem! It's… romantic tension is good and all, but it's… well it's kinda overplayed, right? Times are changing, dude. Tragedy's the new cool.”

…Thespius is lying. He's not a very good liar. Click Clack can't imagine a reality where the God of Love and Mirth would think love was overdone — not to mention the fact that he's looking anywhere but at them. Something is on his mind, something has made him have this change of heart, but Click Clack just can't tell what. Which is frustrating, you see, because they're something of a problem solver. The type to iron out the issues before the wrinkles get worse! 

But they're running on a time limit. The sudden visit can only go on for so long before one or both of them are needed elsewhere. But while Click Clack is here, he can at least make an attempt to delay the inevitable. Give himself time to think. Give Thespius time to reassess — maybe he'll come to his senses about killing off one of the leads with so little fanfare. 

“"Right." Our gracious god hums, nodding thoughtfully. "In that case, might I suggest a tweak?"”

“Uh… sure.” Thespius responds, lacking enthusiasm. “Whatcha got for me, cool cat?”

“[Our hero fumbles for a pencil, flipping the script to its back and scrawling his thoughts down on the paper.] "Tragedy is all about foreshadowing." He tells the lovely loving god, "Half the battle is the fact that you can tell that something awful is going to happen."

[The editor underlines the word Anticipation.] "If you kill off Styella without any anticipation, the death will feel… hollow. Shocking for shock's sake." [Next to Anticipation, he draws an arrow to Tension.] "The anticipation should only grow as you approach the point of no return. Until it's so overwhelming it's palpable. And only then, as the thread is about to snap—"”

Click Clack tears the page in half, revealing the word Catastrophe underneath.

“"— does everything fall apart!" [They glance up to their dearest companion, making sure he's following along.] "So… so what I'm saying is that I'd like to give the tragedy room to breathe. If you're willing to take this episode back to the drawing board, that is."”

He has the decency to clap at Click Clack’s antics, if nothing else. But those nerves still pervade his every action — it’s odd! More than odd! Downright concerning. They’ve truly never seen Thespius act like this. And they want to push, they do, of course they do. He does. He wants answers. 

He’s just… he’s on a time limit. 

“Totally, dude! No sweat.” He says, looking very much like there is sweat. “I’ll give it so much tension people are losing their screws. An, uh. Episode or two.”

“"At least." The Storytelling God adds.”

“…At least.” Thespius echoes.

“[Our hero passes the rough edit of the original script to their partner, trying to seem casual.] "Good. Good! I will… leave you to that." They give him their best smile. "Feel free to pop by any time, Thespius! Your company is always welcome in the studio."”

“Yeah.”

Thespius holds the script in his calloused hands. He doesn’t look at Click Clack. They want to say something, they do, but… they’ve already committed to leaving, right? He shouldn’t overstay his welcome.

“I’ll do that, my dude!” He adds. “Uh… take care. Stay cool.”

“"I ask only the same of you." Responds the god.” 

…And then he leaves.

When Click Clack returns to Hobbyhoo Studio, he all but collapses into his chair. Why did he not search for answers? Is his cowardice really that strong? Thespius is someone he — someone he cares about deeply. His sudden change in behavior worries them. So why not confront him properly? Why make everything about the script?

…They won’t let themself dwell. Perhaps they should.

But still, they’ve bought themself time to work up the nerve to question him more actively. Isn’t that a good thing? Shouldn’t that bring them comfort? Surely there’s a reasonable explanation for this. There must be! 

“[The editor of this world’s story reflects on this course of events. He wonders if he should ask the other gods on high about this — if they’ve noticed anything strange as of late.] "The Rift will need to be closed soon." They say to themself. "King will be given the rite of ascension." [Perhaps someone more eloquent will be able to help sort things out.]”

It is not until later, when they hear of King’s letters and subsequent disappearance, that the story begins to fall into place. 

Oh, Thespie…

Just what was said to you?

Chapter Text

“[The Rift shines through the windows of Hobbyhoo Studio, casting a harsh light down upon the face of the God of Storytelling. He watches the scene unfold anxiously, feeling almost mocked by how the lighting reflects the situation he finds himself in.]

 "It grows ever closer to the day that the Rift must be closed once more." They mutter, fingertips hovering over the keys of their beloved typewriter. "…No god nor man has seen hide nor hair of King since those letters were sent."

[Was Thespius among the gods to have received a letter? Was that to blame for his shift in tone? Or was it just the natural progression of things?]

"I don’t know!" The god cries with frustration, throwing their hands in the air. "He hasn’t told me!"”

…In fact, Thespius hasn’t told Click Clack much of anything since he wrote that first strange script. All he’s done is hand his newest drafts over. It’s been some time since they’ve had a conversation beyond exchanging pleasantries. A simple hello and goodbye. He might get to hear his name if Click Clack is particularly lucky. 

Was he too harsh on his partner? On his friend? Did he push him away without his notice? They’ve fallen out of sync. Thespius is moving at a tempo that Click Clack can’t hope to keep up with. 

It makes him ache. 

It cuts the god to their very core in a way they cannot explain. They don’t have the words for it themself — they’re only very good at amplifying the writing of another. Another who… doesn’t seem to care for them much anymore.

At least the new resonance seems to be drawing people in. New people — different than who they’re used to seeing in Hobbyhoo. But people all the same! Bodies in the crowd! At least people are watching. They praise Oh Partner Mine! for its realism, for how it handles hurt. It’s… “more compelling” than the romance plot that drove the story before. 

“Tragedy’s the new cool.” Thespius had said. Click Clack is beginning to think that might hold more weight than he’d wanted to believe. OH PARTNER MINE! has become something of a phenomenon. The thought of bringing his writing partner praise and fame was once appealing — now it feels like something of a curse. He’d think maybe he was being selfish with that desire, wanting to keep Thespius close.

But…

It no longer feels like Thespius is having fun. The scripts, while good, while impactful, while interesting… they just don’t feel real. Stage shows are often built on suspension of disbelief, but in the eyes of an editor: it just feels lacking in substance. And that in tandem with the way he barely looks their way — it seems to Click Clack that the world’s stage has been blackboxed in. Like the show must go on is less of a saying and more of a mantra. 

They return their gaze to the script that Thespius had passed them earlier that day. 

“[CUT TO: 

INT. HOBBYHOO STUDIOS — MORNING]

[CAMERA at a wide, at level with CLICK CLACK’S desk. The desk is unoccupied and behind it is a door that was not visible in the previous scene.]

[Our brilliant and clever God of Teamwork mutters O.S. RIGHT, unintelligible.]

[SFX — footsteps, pacing]

(O.S.) "It’s not like I give him any strict deadlines…" The god mumbles, tone coloured by nerves. They step into frame, blocking the view of the door.

[SFX — knocking]

"AH!" Click Clack yelps, startled. 

"Oh, er, come in!" The… unshaken god calls out with a grandiose wave of their hand. "It’s always open for you, Thespius!"

[The door opens, CLICK CLACK continuing to block the view. THESPIUS GREEN, the God of Love and Mirth, steps into frame. A loosely bound stack of papers is pressed to his chest.]

"Thespius, my dear friend! This is the finished script for the newest episode, then?" The ever-confident god moves closer to his companion, concealing the wringing of his hands from CA— ahem.”

Click Clack tucks his hands behind his back, mask playing up a friendly grin. Thespius doesn’t so much as look at him as he nods. There’s a tension carried in his shoulders that Click Clack would like nothing more than to find a way to ease. 

“"Good, good. Leave it on my desk, then! I’m sure I don’t need to tell you of anyone in the Grove how this goes…" The heroic god trails off with a nervous — ah — charming laugh. "I’ll get the edit out in no time at all!"”

Thespius meanwhile walks over towards his desk, dropping the papers exactly where he always has. Though Click Clack can’t help but feel as though he lingers for longer than normal. It’s a bit silly of him, he’s sure, but a spark of hope lights in his chest.

“[The God of Teamwork saunters casually over to his desk, only faltering slightly when his companion… steps away.]” Click Clack pushes onwards, not allowing himself a moment to falter. “[He extends a sweeping gesture throughout his studio.]

"You know you can stay a while, right? You’re always welcome in my little domain."”

Thespius’s mouth twitches up into a small smile. Just as quickly as it appears, it sours. He nods once and turns away, ducking his head down. Quickly, he walks back towards the door, skirt billowing behind him as if buffeted by wind. It’d be beautiful were it not for the circumstances. 

Hand on the doorknob, he glances back for just a moment. “…Take care, Click Clack.”

And then he’s gone, the door vanishing behind him.

“[CUT BACK TO PRESENT: INT. HOBBYHOO STUDIO — NOON.]

[CLICK CLACK…” He trails off. “"Click Clack continues working on the edit in silence."”

In this scene, Styella and Byella sit together on the catwalk. They talk quietly about when times were simpler. Auditions, long before the two of them ever really had a chance to know each other. They say how glad they are to be friends, how despite all of the heartache: they still get to stay close to each other. Feldy calls Styella’s name, prompting her to startle.

And… to fall from the catwalk down to the wings below.

Byella screams, racing down and kneeling before the form of her dearest friend and partner. Styella is not yet dead, but she is worse for wear. She tries to push herself up, but in the end Byella has to take her in her arms. 

In this moment, Byella confesses her feelings for Styella. Her true feelings. While begging her not to die…

“BYELLA: Oh partner, mine! You can’t leave me now! Not when I still haven’t ever said it out loud!

STYELLA: Said what?

BYELLA: I love you, Styella! My dearest and truest friend — it’s always been you who I act for!

STYELLA: Oh, Byella…

STYELLA: I just don’t feel the same.”

Click Clack stares down at the page. The space behind his mask is damp from his breathing. His chest is tight from holding his breath.

…Having the characters remark on how glad they are to be together right before a death is a little ham-fisted, isn’t it? He strikes that  from the text. The entire conversation feels like a way to remind the audience that they still care about each other. That after all of the fights, the horror of the fire in the greenroom, how Byella has been forced to choose between her heart and her passion… they’re still friends.

But the script doesn’t need that. The shift in tone never took away how much they mean to each other. There was never any doubt about it. Or… at least no doubt about how much Styella means to Byella. The audience doesn’t need that reminder. The playwright certainly shouldn’t need it, either.

In place of conversation, Click Clack crafts a scene that starts and ends with Styella saying “I’m sorry.” The rest of the scene, before Fedly calls her name, is filled by silence. The actors are capable. They can give the silence meaning. When Styella falls, they add one more piece of direction. 

[BYELLA reaches out in an attempt to grab STYELLA and pull her back up, but she’s a moment too slow.]

It finally makes sense. 

Each time Click Clack pulled it back, that tension grew more and more in its intensity. Each time he told Thespius not yet, the band stretched just a little closer to its limit. Building and building and building until it had no choice at all but to snap back, to tear, to shatter. The sound of ripping paper plays in the back of his mind. Catastrophe.

He can’t delay Styella’s death any longer. This is the moment. There’s nowhere else to go but down. 

Click Clack cannot let this script see the light of day.

He hops from his chair, grabbing the page from his typewriter and holding it up in the red light of the Rift. This script can never be finished. They absolutely cannot let it be performed. They won’t let it be. It can’t be if Click Clack never finishes editing it. If they never send it off, it will never see the stage.

They pace the room, rereading the scene again and again. There’s no out. It would be pointless for Styella to fall and not die, there have been too many close calls already. She can’t not fall because there would be no reason for the conversation to take place on the catwalk otherwise — it would just feel out of place. If they weren’t on the catwalk, the silence wouldn’t be justified. Thespius has written them into a corner. All roads point to the end that’s already in sight. This is the scene where Styella is going to die.

It’s the scene where Byella’s love is turned to suffering. Made permanently painful and unrequited. 

But why? It wasn’t unrequited before — it was plain to see. Styella loved Byella in equal measure! Was the refusal of the confession just a lie? Or did Styella simply fall out of love with her while Click Clack wasn’t looking? Did the character’s feelings change while he was too focused on keeping her alive for just one more episode? Worse: was he the one who changed them? In prioritizing her survival, forcing Thespius to keep a doomed character on her feet, it was possible that he stripped away all of her love. 

Click Clack places the page on top of the rest of the script, scooping the stack up without regard for order or orientation. Stacks upon stacks of stories in various states of polish surround him. They stalk towards a pile at random, knocking character profiles and half-finished manuscripts alike to the side. The script lands firmly on top of a fictional atlas and they stare down at it in its unrefined state.

“I just don’t feel the same.”

They smother the page with the rest of the stack, turning away from it and rushing back to their desk. He sits down. He can still see the pile out of the corner of his eye. It almost seems to stare back at him, the deadline hanging over his head making him feel small. He buries his head in his hands, shielding themself from the sight of it. Eyes that are not there burn into the back of his neck — sending a shiver down their godly spine. 

This script will go unpublished. No matter how much he can feel the desperate pleads of the characters within. They are the God of Storytelling, after all. The characters want resolution. But they won’t —can’t— give that to them. Some stories are meant to be unfinished.

Days pass. Their own followers and followers of their writing partner alike come knocking, wondering why there’s been no news of the new episode. Click Clack stumbles through the same excuses each time. It’s a big episode, these things take time, he’s got other projects to focus on. 

Thespius himself comes by just once. Click Clack swears that he must know. He asks about progress and they answer the same way they would with anyone else. But they are just the screenwriter — the god is no actor. The mask he wears can only shield so much and his size is already an answer itself. He stands in front of the stack with the script, ignoring the calls of the characters and hoping with all of his divinity that Thespius can’t hear them too. Because they ring so loud in his ears and it must show on his face because his dearest friend doesn’t smile at him one time.

He leaves the God of Teamwork all alone without any fanfare. A simple solemn reminder that people want to see the new episode soon. Not a word about what he himself wants. It takes all of their willpower to not shred the script as soon as he’s gone. But he can’t do that to the characters within. They matter too much. 

That is when he orders to have his domain blocked off.

He watches the unease and impatience grow within Hobbyhoo from on high. The actors are aimless, the strangers complain about a hiatus, and the town is reduced from somewhere bright to somewhere solemn. The light of the Rift only grows. It expands ever so slowly until it reaches that fateful day that the gods are meant to come together. 

King is missing, the Cove is flooding, Milldread descends to madness, Buzzhuzz is lost to nostalgia. And his home? The town they share? Hobbyhoo mourns. 

All until a stranger wielding a familiar tool takes the stage.

“[Our h— the Storytelling God watches with interest as GODPOKE enters Hobbyhoo. MEGAPON at their side, our hero tries to find their light.] 

"This is a problem that can only be solved from the ground." The god remarks, realizing that their role has been reduced to supporting cast.

"Good luck, Godpoke."”