Chapter One: My Past Life Was Gay and Full of Fanfiction
Before Elioth became a god wrapped in silks and stardust, he was just a guy named Elian.
A soft-spoken twenty-something with a mild obsession for reality-warping powers, fictional characters who called their lovers "darling," and an unhealthy number of bookmarked fanfics with tags like "Bottom Male Lead," "Daddy Issues," and "Canon Divergence."
Elian lived in a tiny studio apartment in a very boring city with gray skies and low expectations. His job? Soul-crushing. Office work. Filing paperwork that no one read. Coffee that tasted like despair. Coworkers who didn't even know his name.
He didn't mind, though. Not really. Because the moment he got home, kicked off his cheap shoes, and slipped into his oversized hoodie, he escaped.
Fanfiction. Games. Dreaming.
That was his thing.
And of all the fandoms in the world, the one that held his heart hostage? Marvel.
More specifically, Wanda Maximoff.
"Queen. Sorceress. Mother. The divine chaotic MILF of magic," Elian would say every time she appeared on screen.
He adored her. No, worshiped her.
There was something deeply comforting about watching a woman bend reality because she was too emotionally unstable to use therapy. Elian related. He didn't have her powers, but he wanted them.
So bad.
Every night, he'd imagine it.
"Just give me telekinesis. Just a little. I won't even destroy a city. Probably," he'd whisper
into the void of his dark room.
But the void never answered.
Until one night, it did.
It was raining outside. The lights in his apartment flickered. Elian was curled under a blanket, watching the new Agatha series and sipping expired almond milk. His phone buzzed, a Genshin fan edit of Wanderer and Childe showing up on his timeline. He sighed dreamily.
"I swear to gay God, if I had Wanda's powers, I'd summon an entire pastel cottage just to vibe in," he muttered.
Then, half-jokingly, he whispered:
"God, I wish I could create shit out of nowhere like Wanda's creepy magical kids."
Everything went black.
No warning. No dramatic explosion. No pain.
Just a blink.
And then? Nothingness.
But in that void, something watched him.
Something listened.
And something said: "Very well."
Elian's last thought before being pulled apart atom by atom wasn't fear. It was:
"Wait—do I look cute? I hope I reincarnate with a tiny waist."
Then light.
Then silence.
Then Elioth.