Archive of Our Own

The wind blew through the sky, sweeping between the leaves of the trees and making the branches sway in a way that made them look as though they were dancing. 

The warm, summer sun still managed to seep through the flowing canopy, casting spotted rays of light on the forest floor. It glittered against the morning dew still clinging to the grass, small shimmers that made the foliage sparkle like diamonds. 

Birds sang all around, varying tones of chirps blending together into an angel-like choir that carried through the tree trunks. Some other animals squeaked, some growled low sounds, some were completely silent, their presence adding to the beauty of nature without the need for sound. 

But despite the beauty, despite the buzz of life and energy of a thousand different things all correlating to make an angel-like symphony, Chance wasn’t paying attention to it. He couldn’t care less about the animals or the foliage. 

Not when the most beautiful creature alive was standing right in front of him. 

“I wish I knew what you looked like.”

A voice that sounded like the heavens. Like everything good and beautiful in the world. A soft sound that hurt Chance’s head with the way its smooth edges seeped into his brain and cemented there, making itself echo in his mind like a thousand mirrors that all glowed with the same reflection. It mimicked the ripple of water and the rise of smoke and the clink of glass and the ring of windchimes. Like the most breathtaking song that Chance has ever heard in his life, and it was for his ears and his ears alone. 

“I know you’re beautiful. My darling, handsome husband. I can feel it when I hold you.”

Chance swallowed, saliva sitting hot and heavy on their tongue. They sat on the grass on their knees, morning dew seeping through their pants and dampening the skin beneath. Even after having been partners for five years now, it was customary that Chance greets his god on his knees to show devotion and respect. “I can’t compare to how pretty you are, baby. Never,” he spoke softly. If he were speaking to anyone else, he would describe his voice as weak. So quiet, so trusting, so vulnerable. Like they were nothing more than a pet waiting to be commanded. 

But that’s what he was. A pet with an owner. A thing that lived for the sole purpose of serving their master. Doing as told and never disappointing. And they couldn’t be more happy. Especially when their owner was the most stunning creature in the whole universe. 

The creature before them smiled, lips curved up in a way that made the environment around him glow with ethereal majesty. “You’re so wonderful to me, Chance. My husband. My most loyal follower.”

With every syllable spoken, the clouds seemed to clear and the trees parted, as if the universe itself wanted to listen to what the creature had to say. Chance smiled, lips trembling. “Thank you, Elliot,” he said, quiet, like the volume of his voice could disturb the very air. 

Elliot stood, pleased, blank eyes staring down at his husband with adoration. He was standing several feet away from where Chance sat, the glow of his skin reflecting off the trees and casting the area in a golden glow. Red and yellow robes flowed like water around his limbs, ruffled fabric that pressed against his body when the wind tried to sweep it away. They matched the white and gold robes that Chance wore, just more regal.

Wings, two pairs of huge, stunning white wings that spanned for over double his height when unfurled, plus another smaller set that sprouted on his head where his ears would be if he was human. Bouncy curls that fell to his wide hips and shimmered as if they were woven with gold thread and the light of the sun itself. 

And his eyes. God, his eyes-

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited. Responsibilities have kept me busy, but that’s no excuse. I’ve been unfair to you, haven’t I?” he murmured, head tilting and the wings on his head furling inwards just slightly. He stepped forward, the grass quite literally physically parting whenever his feet made contact with the ground. He came to a stop just barely a foot in front of Chance, still kneeling, still waiting.

Looking up, Elliot looked massive. His humanoid form was already huge at over nine feet tall (probably closer to over ten, honestly) but he looked even larger with Chance on his knees before him.

Elliot bent down, carefully moving his hand from his side and holding it out as if coaxing to a timid animal. His elegant hand lifted gracefully through the air, as if a movement too quick or sharp would shatter the serenity of the forest. Chance’s breath caught in their throat as the pads of his fingers came to rest on the underside of their chin, ever so slightly tilting their head up. His hand was warm, heat emanating from his skin in comforting waves that rippled through the air as if his body was made of literal light. 

Being forced to stare directly into Elliot’s loving, gray eyes almost made Chance want to squirm. The pressure and love of his gaze burned through them, slicing through every secret and every vulnerability and every unjust thought they’ve ever harbored all in one glance. 

In his true form, his eyes were empty, bloody sockets. Indents in his form where eyes used to be, but not anymore. But in this form, his softer, more human form, he had beautiful fake eyes with gray, foggy irises. They were simple and unimpressive, not like the stunning glow of what a normal gods’ eyes should look like, but to Chance, they were the prettiest things in the whole universe. 

“I’ve missed you,” they choked out, trying not to focus on the way Elliot's fingers tightened just slightly around his jaw. Not forceful. Not possessive. Just confirming. Confirming that they were actually here. “I know, honey. I’ve missed you too. So much,” he cooed, soft and understanding. 

His thumb stroked the soft skin of Chance’s cheek, and they leaned into the feeling like they’d been deprived of it their entire life. “You’ve been so patient. So good. My perfect husband,” he praised them, smiling at them with that sweet face that made Chance feel like their insides were twisting up. 

Chance gazed into his eyes, pure pits with golden veins puncturing them. 

He found it nearly impossible to imagine a life without those beautiful gray eyes. He doesn’t know how he spent a whole twenty-two years of his life without them. Or was it twenty-three? It was… ten years ago when Chance was homeless. Before the church. Before Elliot.  

His money was gone. Depleted down to nothing more than a couple pennies in his pocket. 

His folks had trusted him with their casino, the casino they’d built from the ground up and poured their entire lives into. Chance, their only kin, would be their successor. On their deathbeds, they had given him not only the casino, but their entire fortune. 

Chance was always excited to inherit the casino. To make it bigger and brighter than ever before. But the pressure was so much more than he thought it would be. The loss of their parents and the crushing weight of an enterprise sitting on his weak shoulders. He crumbled. 

He tried searching for solutions to his problems at the bottoms of bottles. Gambled away their parents’ fortune in the very casino that they had entrusted him with. Debts rolled in, payments that Chance no longer had the funds to pay. They went bankrupt. No more parents. No more money. No more casino. Just them and cheap whiskey out on the street, begging for anything that pitying passersby’s would be willing to give them. 

After a while, they stopped seeing light. Stopped seeing joy. The only things that passed through their eyes was darkness and pain, portraits of regret painted with ugly colors. Every day was the same. He traveled, found spots to sleep that didn’t kick him out, bought food when he had the money. Time kept passing, but it left Chance behind, the world moving in front of them in slow, grayed out hues that blurred together like a staticky film that replayed the same scene on a twitchy, broken loop. 

The day they found themself at a church should have been no different than any other day. It was freezing outside and it was the only temporary shelter he could find. The sun shone through yellow and orange stained windows, casting the dozens of empty rows in a heavenly golden light. 

The pastor was a girl with white hair, gold and yellow robes covering every inch of her skin from the throat down. A kind individual who introduced herself as Mia. She spoke of a god who went by the name of Elliot Builder, and Chance barely managed to stifle a laugh at how normal his name sounded. Like, seriously? A god named Elliot? That sounded like the name of a pizza restaurant employee or something. 

He was close to just taking a nap instead of paying attention, religion was all about weirdos making up purposes to cope with their existential crisis’ anyway. Gods and all that were just bologna. Made up so that all the insecure fanatics of the world had something to believe in because they couldn’t believe in themselves. Really, the only reason that they chose to pay attention was because even though he knew it was stupid, it was still meaningful. He wasn’t a total disrespectful loser. 

So he listened. Listened to Mia speak with her soft, calming tone. About Elliot, the god of light and vision. 

It was years ago, in a time before humanity had a name. Mankind was created without vision. They struggled, suffered even, every passing day feeling like heavy weights that weighed heavier and heavier on their consciousness’ until it collapsed and killed them. People were unable to see the good in the world, blind to beauty and passion and forced to live in worlds of darkness and agony. 

Elliot, a god that represented light and goodness, saw the pain and decided to give his ability of sight to humans. The exact words were “He tore his eyes from their sockets, allowing mankind to feast on the gift and allow his sight to pierce their minds” but Chance liked the less gory option. Anyway, humanity’s response was joy. They could frolic and dance and admire one another for the first ever. Lovers could see the face of their partners. Families could envision each other. People, for the first time in their entire existence, felt alive. It was magical. 

The way Mia spoke made everything sound less like some stuffy story for older folks and more like a fairytale that Chance could imagine reading in a picture book. It was entertaining, almost enrapturing. And with no more money for gambling or alcohol, Chance had a lot of free time. 

So they came back. Because they were bored, and the stories of how Elliot sacrificed his vision for some stupid fumbling people were amusing. 

They came back and listened to the varying preachers speak their truths, read verses of their beliefs, paid attention while people rambled on about how Elliot “opened their eyes in their worst moments” and whatever. It felt silly. Pathetic, even. Elliot wasn’t even real. Just some fictional character that was probably made up by desperate old dudes a thousand years ago. 

But spending time with people was… nice. A relief, even. Chance had really underestimated just how much of a social recluse they’d become when the only public spots they frequented were gas stations for food and the fronts of stores to beg for scraps. Being a part of the church gave him a community he hadn’t realized he needed. They saw light again, for the first time since the funerals of their parents. The world sparkled with golden, irredentist hues that made them excited to wake up in the morning and experience the beauty of the world. 

He kept saying in his head, Elliot isn’t real. He’s just a pretty fairytale, but even with that knowledge in mind, it was nice falling into that illusion that he really was real. That somewhere up in the sky, someone was looking out for him. Ready and willing to provide unconditional care and protection no matter how pathetic or selfish or ratty Chance was. It was nice. Really nice. 

They were sober for the first time in years. They made connections, real human connections for the first time in their life. Mia even offered him a job at the Church, and suddenly, he could afford a house. A house that wasn’t plagued by darkness and pain and suffrage. It all felt like such a blessing. Such a gift. Too good to be true. 

Maybe Elliot really was real. Maybe he was looking out for them all along. 

Chance took the time out of their day to pray. It was awkward at first, like he was leaving a voicemail for a person he didn’t know very well. When they asked Mia for advice, she told them to follow their heart. Say what they truly felt and not try to mimic the same prayers that they all said at church gatherings. Make it personal. Make it real. Words only for his and Elliot’s ears. 

He tried. Emotions weren’t exactly his strong suit after sheltering his feelings away for years in order to survive. He sat on his knees at the foot of his clean bed, elbows on the mattress with his hands clasped before his face. Sitting there in the dim glow of their bedside lamp, everything just… spilled. 

He spoke of his parents. Of the streets. Of the church that found him when he had nothing. When he was nothing. He spoke of his gratitude. How appreciative he was to the church, to the community, to Mia.

And above all else, how thankful he was to him. To Elliot. 

It was cheesy, uncomfortably vulnerable. They said things that they swore they would never say aloud. Things that they refused to admit even to the people closest to them. 

But it didn’t matter how personal or how secretive his prayers were, right? It’s not like Elliot was real. Someone who didn’t exist couldn’t be listening to them pray.

“Chance?” the melodic ring of Elliot’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Chance opened his jaw to speak, feeling the way Elliot’s fingers pressed hard into his skin.

Elliot’s hand moved, shifting from their chin to the side of their jaw. His other hand cupped the other side, the tips of his fingers brushing against their hair while his thumbs pressed gently into their cheeks, like he was holding their head in his hands.

The expression that befell his features was soft, almost pleading, which was funny considering that he was an all-powerful deity that had the capability of turning Chance into a mindless puppet that would carry out every request he could ever imagine with the flick of his wrist. Chance smiled, lifting his hands so they rested atop Elliot’s, thumbs rubbing over his warm skin.

Elliot settled into a more relaxed position, wings folded comfortably behind him while he sat criss-cross on the grass. “May I hold you?” he asked, a funny question considering he was literally an all-powerful god. Imagine, a creature who could warp reality with just the flick of his wrist, asking a mortal who he owned for permission to hold them. It was like asking your pet dog for permission to pick them up. Despite the logic of it, it made Chance’s heart swell. The fact that this all-powerful god considered them dear enough to him to ask them for such simple things. “Yeah, of course, hun,” they nodded, knowing Elliot could feel the gesture as he still held their head. 

Elliot smiled again, and Chance swore the light that radiated from his body burned just slightly brighter. 

His hands moved, shivers rocking through Chance’s body as they slid down his neck. They moved slowly down his sides, taking their time on every small motion, every light touch. Palming at the shape of their shoulders, rubbing over the muscles on their arms, feeling, appreciating, remembering. Dedicating every single inch to memory for possibly the thousandth time. They stopped eventually, rubbing the edges of where his rib bones were before settling comfortably on his waist, feeling the skin beneath the robes before actually taking hold. He was careful not to wrinkle garments as he gently lifted him up from the grass, each tiny shift and movement filled with love and care.

Chance always failed to think with full rationality when Elliot handled him like this. As if his body was nothing heavier than a couple of grapes. With his strength, he could easily throw them across the forest with enough speed to break the sound barrier if he so pleased. But he chose not to. He chose to use the same care on them that you’d use to handle something precious like glass or porcelain. It was endearing. 

Elliot steadily set Chance down in his lap, arms wrapping comfortably around their torso as their weight settled on his legs. His body always radiated constant heat, like a crackling fire or a cooking furnace. The warmth somehow, even in hot weather, like now, was never unpleasant. Instead, it felt like a blanket. A soft feeling that pressed against Chance’s skin and made his insides feel light and feathery. “Are you comfortable?” he asked, and Chance was close enough to feel the vibrations of his voice echo from his chest. “You’re basically a living blanket, baby. I’m always comfortable against you.” 

The lack of formality made Elliot’s wings flutter, blush spreading through his cheeks. He loved it when his spouse spoke to him with such casual adoration. 

He loved being a god. He loved caring for his followers as if every one of them was his own family. Watching over them and nourishing them in every way he could. 

Day after day, prayers hum as distant white noise in his ears. Prayers from the thriving, prayers from the weak, prayers from the healthy, and prayers from the sick. They thanked him for all he did; for gifting them the ability of sight, hope, and joy. They asked him for things; happiness, fulfillment, and money (which he found quite funny because he wasn’t even a god of riches). Most prayers were thanking him for meals, church gatherings, and thanking him for the day. 

They were kind and he nurtured every one close to his heart. Every soft word spoken from a place of appreciation in its most vulnerable form. It filled him with more love than he could ever need- the love for his disciples, each his own children no matter their age or origin. 

But it was just as saddening as it was rewarding. 

Elliot found himself lingering in his churches many days, body indwelled with a force beyond human comprehension that made him float among the people like air. Unable to be seen or touched. Just there. Quietly listening. 

He listened to the children bustle and laugh as they situated in their seats. Sensed the physical closeness of couples who loved each other unconditionally, holding hands as they bowed their heads in prayer. 

He sat amongst them, sitting in the far corner of the church. Those rows that were always empty to the point where they had dust on them. 

Elliot Builder is considered to be amongst the original gods. The gods that have existed since the dawn of Roblox creation. In those days, he could see. 

He watched alongside the creators of Roblox as they coded worlds and people. Simple, bright, beautiful life born from their fingertips. 

But something went wrong. 

Robloxians came to the world with hearts that beat, blood that flowed, lungs that took in air, brains that could form their own thoughts without being puppeteered by the gods that created them. They skipped around as the gods watched them with amusement akin to watching puppies play. But, something went wrong. 

Their eyes were gone. Not defected, not blinded, just gone. 

The code got corrupted, leading to gaping holes in their head that flickered and pulsed with angry, tangled code. Elliot didn’t need to feel it to know that it was agonizing. The cries. The screams. The pain. Instead of walking around and laughing, the small creatures curled up into balls and cried from eyes that didn’t exist. 

The gods of higher rank than Elliot scrambled, trying to fix it, but the robloxians had become such intricate and complex creations that everything in their code had intertwined into a massive knot that was impossible to tear apart without causing further irreparable damage. Like hair so matted that it could only be removed with scissors.

Elliot didn’t know code very well, so he was completely helpless as he watched the beautiful creations crumble into joyless monsters, walking without goals, without feeling, without intent. Every sight of them made Elliot’s insides twist and curl with aching pity, his heart forced to shatter over and over again in a cycle that felt never ending. 

He watched from the skies, the creatures sitting facing nothing. It was only their sight that had been compromised, but it seemed that the pain of losing their vision had begun to affect more than just their sight. That sat slack-jawed, still like marble. Many were thin, having not eaten in weeks. A good sum of them had become unresponsive, seen first-hand when Elliot had tried offering food to them. Whatever he offered sat in their hands, soaking their skin in grease or juice before falling to the floor with a wet thud. 

The code ate aggressively at their face, glitching the space around the sockets where their eyes should have been. It flickered around still-functioning flesh, created holes that existed for brief moments that you could see their brains through, but above all else, it was just painful. 

The robloxians that weren’t unresponsive spent their days wandering and sobbing, reaching for each other aimlessly. They didn’t speak, Ellior didn’t know why, but he could guess it was out of agony. Instead, they just groaned, low noises that sounded more like choked crying.

The god of joy and light, reduced to watching the creations he held most dear, reduced to groaning, depressed, depraved beasts that were doomed to feel pain beyond belief from the day they were created till the day they expire. Elliot’s purpose is to spread happiness wherever he went, cleanse the souls of all who felt internal suffering in any form. 

He was failing at his very purpose for existing. 

Gods above him still floundered, still panicked, still tried. Tried to fix them, tried to undo whatever went wrong. Some gods just said they were better off just purging the world and starting over again with new creations that weren’t faulty. 

The thought filled Elliot with a kind of pain he couldn’t describe. 

In reality, it wasn’t that bad of an idea. These creatures were mortal. They would all die someday, and that meant that none of them held even an ounce of meaning. Gods on the other hand? Immortal. Timeless. Able to bend the world at their whims. They held the universe in the palm of their hands, able to fidget with it like a puppet toy as they saw fit. One human life translates to barely a fraction of a second for a god, so just a couple centuries of one suffering race is basically just a grain of sand in the eye of a god. 

But this wasn’t a grain of sand. This was a race of people. People that were living lives of agony and pain for nothing. They didn’t make a mistake or anger the gods. They just existed. And they were suffering for it. 

It was late one night when he entered the birthplace of robloxians, the home of the very code that the gods were working tirelessly to fix. Elliot had no business there as he wasn’t an active worker on the code, but his fellow gods trusted him enough to let him do as he pleased. 

He found the code. A massive room that stretched on for miles. He had only seen it a handful of times, but it never failed to amaze him. Beautiful flashes of blue numbers and prompts that floated amongst each other in coordinated harmony. Every individual piece held equal significance, every number holding the power to grant or take life. The eye section was easy to find- a larger area. Walls of angry red numbers and commands that fizzed and spasmed like shaken soda. It bled into the blue code, causing it to malfunction in equally panicked movements. 

Gods were powerful. Their bodies were houses of energy beyond any other. Their blood could cure any sickness, their voice could repent any evil. Gods were powerful, but they were only vessels to real power. 

Their bodies. 

So if the gods couldn’t solve whatever was wrong with the robloxian code, maybe the power flowing through the body of a god could be the solution. 

So maybe, just maybe-  

The scream that ripped from Elliot’s throat as his eyes were torn out of his skull by his own hands was one that echoed through the entire sky, echoing off the clouds and shaking the stars. 

The world blurred as he blindly pressed his heavenly ability of sight into the wall of code. Numbers jolted and shrieked as they ate his offerings, the wall roaring with something Elliot… couldn’t see. Not anymore. 

Gods rushed in at that point, marveling at what the code had become. There were sounds, and feelings, and Elliot felt every one of them as if they were amplified through a megaphone. 

Guest 1337, the god of peace, and Azure, the god of nature, had told him later that the wall had shifted from red and became golden brown, the same color as his eyes. 

And that was it. 

He fixed it. 

But the cost was great. About as great as costs could be for someone that couldn’t die. 

He would never see again. It didn’t matter how much magic the gods of higher position tried to endow him with, removing his eyes was his own decision. He couldn’t go back.

Elliot’s thoughts were broken as the row of seats creaked beside him, the sound of a body getting situated in the seat. Elliot sensed that they were new- he had developed the ability of recognizing people by the presence they carried as long as they were in close proximity, and this was not one that he recognized. A newcomer to the church then, delightful. 

He paid the new person no mind as Mia Builder began her sermon. Elliot wasn’t sure why, but he loved listening to her. She has been a devoted follower of his since childhood, and the presence she carried was a strong one that made Elliot feel assured and comfortable. He cherished her as both a follower and a person and held her to only his highest regard, even speaking to her in her dreams a few times. She was one of the few people alive that was truly deserving of hearing his wisdom. 

As she spoke, the person beside him began emanating feelings too loud to be ignored. 

He felt unease, discomfort, and above all, boredom. 

A twinge of anger flickered in Elliot’s mind before he stomped it out. Why would a person bother attending his church if they were to be bored? And they weren’t with anyone, so no one dragged them here. They came here on their own free will and now have the gall to feel bored?

He thoroughly suppressed his judgements, briefly reprimanding himself for making assumptions and allowing his god ego to grab hold of him so easily before shifting his attention to the person and sitting closer to them to further deepen his connection with them. 

The smell was immediate- thick, potent alcohol. Feelings of loneliness and desperation, like some kind of loss that developed into something heavier. Homeless, without a doubt. 

Elliot felt pity, but didn’t pay the person any more attention as Mia continued speaking. Religion always attracts people who have no other faith to turn towards. Having a god to believe in is often the only thing people have left to live for. This person is surely no different. 

Weeks passed, and Elliot kept feeling the presence of the person. Often annoyed, more often bored, but always respectful. It was odd, definitely not something Elliot’s never seen before, but something he saw very rarely. 

They were quiet, avoiding watchful eyes as they sat patiently and listened to the speakers. 

However, as months passed, they changed.

Those feelings of displacement and unsettlement faded slowly into comfort. Ease. Belonging. 

They felt more relaxed. Elliot even jumped one day when he heard them flipping through the pages of his own gospel. 

They talked. To people. 

Their voice was deeper than Elliot thought it would be. Smooth with charm but hoarse from screaming or crying or too much drinking. This easy tone wrapped in a thick, country drawl that made every word feel like the brush of a hand against your own. 

Elliot enjoyed listening to them as they spoke to other churchgoers. He learned their name was Chance and also that they were a massive liar. 

He said that he was a casual believer in Elliot and wanted a community to bond with over him. Completely false. In reality, they were homeless and were only here to have a place to be during the day that wasn’t outside. 

However, the odd thing about the lies was that Elliot sensed zero ill-intent within Chance. They were a homeless drunk who had no faith, yet somehow, Elliot could feel only good emanate from their heart. 

There was a lot of sadness within him. The kind born from loss and grief, but no violence. No anger at the world or greed for power. 

Instead, there was a hope, deep in him, a small flicker of something that wanted to be better. Wanted to work towards being better. It’s not every day you see something like that in a person like Chance. 

Elliot took further interest in them from that point onwards. 

He made a selfish decision and decided that Chance was too valuable and interesting of a person to risk losing and spoke to Mia in a dream. It wasn’t right of him to use his heavenly abilities to control someone's life, but he couldn’t bear to imagine Chance leaving the church for any reason. He didn’t know why, but he just couldn’t. 

He thought of something neutral. “Offer Chance DeCesare a job at the church and welcome him with open arms”, easy to accept and easy to reject. Elliot didn’t want to force him into staying by saying something scary like “You have been chosen for greatness by Elliot Builder himself, accept or die” like other gods did when they took a likeness to a mortal. 

Elliot was embarrassed to admit how excited he was when Mia told him that Chance had accepted the offer and began working.

In the following months, the sadness within them faded further into joy and belonging. Elliot felt the pleasure he emanated with contempt, a feeling so strongly sweet and genuine that he sometimes wished he could laze around for weeks on end just to keep feeling it.

Now he could feel it whenever he wanted. 

“I changed up my hair! Got bored of the cornrows and tried out twists. I like em’ personally. Especially with the beads I added. They’re gold, same shade as your hair.”

Elliot’s hands trailed the shapes of twists atop their head, starting at the base of their scalp and ending at the tips of their around their shoulders. Their hair was smooth and soft like rich velvet, occasionally broken by the cold clink of beads that felt like they had a swirl design on them. “These suit you. I like them,” Elliot hummed in approval, still playing with the twists and gently holding them between his fingers. “I imagine you look wonderful in gold. Especially with the blue you describe your eyes as and the warm undertone of your skin.”

Elliot could feel Chance’s smile even without seeing it. The sweet upturn of their lips that made wrinkles form beneath their eyes and their cheeks squish. His hands left their hair, moving to their face and carefully tracing the contours of their features. “You’re so pretty when you smile. I love it when you do that,” he said honestly, thumb running delicately over the soft skin of their lower lip. “You’re lucky then. I’m always smilin’ when I’m with you,” they responded, staying still as the god continued tracing their features. 

“And when you’re not with me?”

“I smile while thinkin’ bout’ ya.”

“…and when you’re not thinking about me?”

“That never happens.”

Elliot let out a small laugh, an angelic sound similar to music that swept through the trees like wind. His hands moved down from Chance’s face after one last sweep over his lips, the pads of his fingers trailing down the column of their throat. “So… how has your week been?” he asked quietly, sad as moments passed without the sound of his spouse’s deep, sweet voice filling his ears. 

Chance jumped just barely, as if he’d been daydreaming but got startled out of it. In reality, his mind had bluescreened the second Elliot’s warm hands began trailing down his throat and the sound of his voice shocked him into remembering how to breathe again. 

“Oh, it’s been pretty okay. Nothin’ super special,” they choked, voice breathless but aware. Elliot kept touching him similarly to when he was picking them up, but now was slower. Each touch had intent, each graze had meaning. It made Chance feel so utterly adored and special that it was almost silly. “Would you tell me about it?” Elliot looked down at them pleading puppy eyes without even meaning to, effectively derailing every coherent form of thought that had been passing through Chance’s head at that moment.

They agreed instantly, because why would they refuse?

Elliot’s large, glowing hands traced the muscle of their shoulders through their robes as they began speaking. They weren’t even processing the words that were coming out of their mouth, some bland story about the church or the thrilling tale of when they went out to get groceries last Tuesday. 

Words came out slow, drawn out, and Elliot listened to every single one as if it was the most important thing he’d ever listened to. 

The warmth of Elliot’s skin radiated through Chance’s clothes. It wasn’t like normal heat. More like a light that made their insides light up with safety and protection. It used to feel weird, like a power that his body couldn’t handle, but now it was a feeling that he craved like a drug. 

His hands trailed the dips in his shoulders where bones and muscles crossed, the harder skin at his biceps, the scars spotting his skin randomly. It wasn’t just love- it was worship. Soft touches with the hot intention to adore and praise. And Chance felt every bit of it. 

“You’ve been working out more,” Elliot said, an observation. “Oh, yeah. You noticed it?” Chance laughed a bit, proud that his efforts showed. “Of course I did. You feel healthy. Strong.”

Chance’s breath hitched as Elliot leaned down, blonde curls falling over his shoulders as his entire body hunched over the superiorly smaller human. 

His wings fluttered, stretching out from where they settled behind his back. They acted as another set of arms, curling around him like feathery walls that blocked out the trees and grass from Chance’s sight. The natural glow of the god’s increased, yellow light streaming from him and reflecting from the white and pale yellow of his wings. “My strong husband,” he said, words possessive and sweet all at once. 

Chance didn’t respond when Elliot’s hands moved again, trailing down their forearms and finding their hands, which he took in gentle hold. His hands were large enough to completely cover Chance’s. He could easily crush them and crunch every bone and muscle into nothing more than a soupey fleshy sludge if he so pleased. But he wouldn’t. He would never. Could never. 

“Yours. Forever n’ always, Elli,” Chance echoed, voice hitched as he craned his neck just to get a full view of the god. It felt good to say. Really good. Like saying something exponential about yourself that you were never able to say before or waking up from a vivid nightmare. Right and meaningful in every way that it had to be. 

The wings on Elliot’s head fluttered with an emotion Chance guessed was happiness. “I’m so grateful I have you,” he said in almost a whisper, the melodic undertone of his voice making Chance’s head spin. 

His arms pulled the ex-gamber into his chest with ease, their legs left to dangle half in the air and half still in his lap as he held them in a close embrace. 

Chance’s heart hammered against their ribs as their face was pressed into Elliot’s chest, body held up as if they weighed nothing more than a large doll. Warmth itched harder at their skin, bleeding through his muscles and finding purchase in the core of his body. 

They’d felt so empty for so long. Years of searching for happiness in the bottoms of cheap beer bottles. Years of looking for a purpose at the ends of bets. Years of dangerous, life-threatening adrenaline in the hopes of returning even a fraction of thrill to the dusty shell of their mind that was once full of genuine joy and excitement to be alive. Years of cold streets and cruel words that made him question if his life was one still worth living and if he was worthy of living it. 

Now here they were. Their body felt heavy enough for their legs to not shake when they stood. He slept on a soft mattress with blankets that didn’t have stains or tears. They had friends that didn’t want him only for money or status gain. 

And they had a husband. A husband that blessed them with a will to live. A husband that somehow manipulated their mind into actually wanting to wake up the next day. A husband that praised them for things they didn’t realize deserved praise and complimented them for things about them that they thought were ugly. 

A husband that made their heart feel warm again. That made them want to be alive again. 

“I love you,” their voice cracked as the words came out, small and feeble. Their arms wrapped around the god best they could, fisting the excess fabric on his robes as they held them with a grip that could never be broken if they had that choice. “I love you so much, Elliot,” they repeated, muffled as they pressed themself into the warmth of their spouse. 

Elliot smiled down at Chance. A mortal. A mortal that he never should have grown as close with as he has because he knows that they’ll die inevitably and a relationship with them isn't worth it. Chance will occupy time in nothing more than a fraction of Elliot’s lifetime. They’ll be dead in approximately seventy years or so, and Elliot will be dead when all of the stars burn out and the universe ceases to exist in a cosmic suicide. Elliot shouldn’t care for them as much as he does. 

But he couldn’t help it. 

Because Chance isn’t just a mortal. 

They are his. And Elliot is theirs. And Elliot doesn’t care about the grief he’ll be forced to endure when Chance’s years wear thin and he’ll ascend to meet heaven if it means that he and Chance got to love each other.

The glowing of his skin intensified, peeking through the feathers of his wings and casting the surrounding trees in patterns similar to light shining through stained glass. His grip on the robloxian didn’t tighten in any way, but closer. 

His avian-like body curled into the smaller creature, creating more physical contact between their bodies that almost imitated the spectacle of actually witnessing them with his own eyes. Holding them close as if they were the most precious thing in the world. 

Because they are. 

“I love you more than anything in this world, Chance.”

They sat together as the sun sat high in the sky, and still when it began dipping below the horizon. The warmth of Elliot’s body kept Chance’s body insulted as temperatures dived, not that they cared about the cold anyway when their husband was in their arms. 

When they had each other, nothing else was important. Nothing else mattered. 

Because nothing was more valuable than the feeling of warmth and pure devotion between them.