Hey, I’m Phoenix! I write sometimes, when the stars align. I constantly have a bunch of tiny versions of my blorbos bouncing around in my head, like the bluray logo. <3 I have a billion other writing blogs, but this one has kind of become my “everything” space.
Current WIP/Request list: HERE
I’m currently accepting requests!
I do headcanons, drabbles, and fics! Requesting what you’d like definitely helps me get stuff out faster. I am well into university though, so large hiatuses are unfortunately very, very normal for me.
Hi all! I know it’s been a while since I’ve popped in, but for those still hanging around, I’d like to ask if you can share my best friend’s gofundme. She’s recently moved back to our home state for financial reasons, and just like it is for every other trans gal in the USA right now, shit sucks. If you could donate or share this around, and help her stay afloat while she gets things in order, I’d love you forever. Thanks guys 🦇🧡🦇
Hello, I'm Olliana, a transgender woman who recently moved back to Califor… Olliana Abejero needs your support for Help Olliana Afford Essen
It’s like something out of a bad vampire book
__________________________________________
Or, in which you realize that Gareth has never actually gotten a hickey before. You decide to fix that for him
The spiritual successor to Livewire! Thank you all for your patience in getting this out. Gareth nation forever <3
Part 1
Warnings: Mutual Pining, Hickeys, borderline smut (no intercourse, but still, probably not safe to bring to grandma’s Sunday bookclub.) GN reader, mentioned in 1 (one) line to have breasts, but that’s it. Good part beneath the dark red divider.
Wordcount: 2.5k
The heat from outside hits you like a truck when you open the door, and Gareth is quick to worm his way through the gap the moment you swing it open. You cast a look out towards the street, sighing at the heat waves rising from the pavement. No way in hell you guys are going out today. You close the door, turning back towards Gareth, whose eagerly chucking his shoes into some random corner of the room. He moves towards the kitchen on autopilot, moving through your home with a familiarity that only best friends can have. He powerwalks towards the sink, turning it on and dipping his head down to drink straight from the spout — He knows damn well where the glasses are by now, and you know that he only drinks out of the sink to fuck with you — before pulling away to throw his head back in a groan. He turns off the tap, turning towards you with closed eyes and a shake of his hair. A single rivulet of water runs down his neck, disappearing temptingly past his collarbone.
“It gets hotter every year, I swear to fucking god.”
“Hello to you too,” you tease.
He grins, finally opening his eyes to meet your own. He pushes himself away from the sink, heading towards your room like second nature. You follow him down the narrow space, shooting him a grin when he looks back to make sure you’re following. “So, what were you up to?” He asks, flopping onto your bed. His hair bounces wildly at the movement, hand coming up soon after to push back the loose strands. His shirt rides a bit up his hips at the action, exposing a fraction of skin before it’s pulled back into place. You swallow, flopping down next to him and gesturing towards the TV when he stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles.
Gareth’s eyes follow you for a moment, lingering on you for perhaps a second too long to be considered completely platonic — it’s something he’s gotten into an awful habit of, really. He slowly pulls his eyes from you to look at the TV too, soaking in your voice as you explain the plot to him. Some sort of cheesy vampire movie he gathers, and one that you seem to particularly like.
“You know Carver’s cousin, what’s-his-name?” He asks, “He kind of looks like David.” He points towards the screen at one of the vampires onscreen, and…
You tilt your head a little, laughing softly. “You’re not wrong.” You look back at him, shooting him a grin. “Think he’s a vampire?”
“Dude, 100%. Did you see his girlfriend last Thursday?” He rolls his head towards you with a wicked grin, all too eager to tease one of the jocks that made your conjoined highschool experience a living hell. But the latter comment stumps you, and you rack your brain to figure out what the hell he’s talking about.
“What?”
“You know,” he gestures to his neck, spreading his fingers and waving at the skin exaggeratedly. When you don’t respond he simply gestures more, raising his brows. “Dude, she sits right next to you.”
And then it clicks. Two angry dark purple marks adorned the base of her neck stood out proudly against her skin, highlighted further by the bright pink top she had worn that day. It was kind of cute, the way she wore them so proudly -- she had seemed almost giddy at the prospect of flaunting them, not unlike you the first time you got a hickey.
You giggle, shaking your head before sticking your tongue out at him playfully. “Never would have taken you for such a prude, Gare.”
He leans back, crossing his arms defensively.
“I’m not a prude,” he sputters, “It’s just weird, I don’t know. I mean, it- it’s just so-” His eyes dart around the room, eager to be anywhere but your face, “It’s like something straight out of a bad vampire book.”
Oh.
Oh.
It’s no secret that Gareth wasn’t exactly the popular type in highschool -- you were there for that, after all -- but you didn’t think it was this bad. But now that you think of it, he’s never talked to you about any of his own endeavors despite your openness about your own, and… Jesus, how did you never catch on? You lean up, folding your leg under yourself to look at him better.
“Gareth, have you never gotten a hickey before?”
Gareth swears he can feel his heart stop at your words,and the air is so thick that you almost regret asking at all. His eyes whip over to meet yours, and for a brief moment he worries that you’re teasing — it’s not an unwelcome occurrence in your friendship, it’s something that he’d ordinarily take in stride, but right now he wishes the world would just swallow him whole. His Adam’s apple bobs temptingly at your words, and the tips of his ears flush when he notices your eyes flicker towards his throat. It’s a subtle movement, one that could easily be written off as a reflexive response to his own movements, but it's enough to send his heart hammering in his chest. That gaze is one that he’s never been on the receiving end of, despite his strongest desires, and it's so surreal that he can’t help but wonder if this is all a dream. Because he’s Gareth, and you’re you, and you could never want him like he wants you. He’s certainly imagined this look before, gotten off to it dozens of times, much to his own guilt. But he could never clearly imagine the way your eyes darken now, or the way your tongue darts between your lips subconsciously…
Christ, what he wouldn’t do to feel your tongue against the underside of his—
He swallows again, pushing down the heat that rises when your eyes track the movement once again. His perverted fucking brain must be imagining it, surely. He’s temporarily taken back to last weekend, when his overactive imagination had him shoving his hand down his damn pants in your bathroom. He shoves the thought away as quick as it came on, although the flush that rises to his cheeks at the memory doesn’t go away as fast.
“No,” he grumbles, “Is it such a big deal though?”
He leans his arm against the pillows, trying just a little too hard to be casual about the affair. He knows that he shouldn’t be embarrassed, that you’d never rag on him for such a thing, but there’s something uniquely embarrassing about admitting it to his crush of the past fucking decade.
You lean back against the pillows, shrugging. “Of course it doesn’t matter, Gare. You know I don’t care about that shit, and anybody who matters won’t, either.”
He nods stiffly, white knuckling the sheets just outside of your vision.
“But hey,” you murmur, “If this is totally out of line just tell me but… do you want to know what it's like?”
You thought he couldn’t get any redder, eyes going wide as his blush creeps from his ears to paint his cheeks. He swallows, mouth opening for the briefest of moments before snapping shut. He nods.
You’re going to kill him, he knows it. He’s on fire, flames stoked further by your touch as you run your hands along his chest. It’s meant to be soothing, he’s sure, but it only serves to melt his brain further. Your touch is painfully slow -- fond, even -- as you work your way up his shoulders, locking your hands over the broad muscle and pulling yourself closer to him. Its heartachingly sweet, like every wet dream he’s ever fucking had about you, and its all he can do to remind himself that you’re doing this as a friend and not a lover.
“Relax,” you murmur, “Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”
Your voice is uncharacteristically soft, velvet words vibrating against his chest when you speak. He’s ashamed to say it, but all he can do is nod, not trusting his own voice enough to respond. He wishes he could, wishes he could say something that would make you fall just as hard for him as he did for you, but the words die in his throat. But for you, it seems to be enough.
You smile, squeezing his shoulders one last time and rocking forward gently in his lap, drawing a shudder from him. And when your lips meet his neck, so tender and sweet, he can’t help but indulge in the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, you feel that same spark of adoration. You kiss along the column of his throat, and each time your lips connect with his skin he swears he’s moved about a half inch closer into an early grave. But damn, if there’s ever a way he wanted to go, this would be it. He grips the bed sheets firmly, fingers twisting in the cotton for a lifeline to keep him grounded.
You pause, humming against his throat as you pull your hands away from his shoulders. He almost whines at the loss, but then your hands are on top of his own, gently pulling them away from the sheets.
“You can touch me, Gare,” you say, pulling his hands to your thighs. “It’s part of the fun, you know?”
And, it was as if the wire that held together his control snapped, unraveling like frayed rope in your masterful hands. The warm plush of your thighs dent beneath his finger tips, and the sight is fucking addicting in and of itself, but then you’re whining, and fuck him, he’d half his life right here and now if he could hear that noise you made just one more time--
His hands dance along your thighs, and he relishes the way your breath hitches at his touch. He has half the mind to wonder if this is some cruel trick of the mind, but this is leagues better than anything his sick, sick brain could ever think of. One of your hands moves to cradle the back of his neck, thumb dragging tenderly across the sensitive skin before roughly pulling him back towards your waiting mouth, and the juxtaposition has his dick twitching in his pants.
Your kisses become shorter and messier against his throat, and it's not long before you’re tugging the collar of his shirt down to expose a bit more skin. He’s half sure that you can feel his heart pounding out of his chest, and it’s growing increasingly difficult to keep his hips against the bedspread.
Especially with the way he’s panting and whining beneath you, eyes blown out and lips red with the struggle of keeping himself quiet -- an endeavor he dropped long ago. You want to see him unravel entirely, want to make him fall apart in your hands, and you sigh needily as you try to stave off any other thoughts beyond wrecking him. It’s cute, how easy it is to get him worked up. You wonder if anyone has ever touched him like this before.
With lips parted and teeth scratching against soft skin you make your mark, sucking a dark mark into the tender area just past his inlet. And despite himself he moans, honest to god moans, at the feeling, and if that wasn’t mortifying enough his body acts on its own accord by rutting upwards into you like a fucking dog. But before he can even think of muttering out an apology you’re rolling your hips back down over the growing bulge in his pants. He chokes on the gasp that rips its way from his throat, and his grip on your thighs tighten. He’s too far gone to think about how they’ll bruise in the morning. Too far gone to realize just how excited that thought makes you.
Sparked with need, his hands finally find the confidence to move a bit farther. One arm hooks around the small of your back to tug you closer with the other pushing the bottom of your shirt upwards, achingly slow, as though he were afraid of going too far. His hands are warm and addicting against your waist, and you hum at the contact. Emboldened at the noise he pushes up a bit farther, the rough pads of his fingertips dragging teasingly along your ribs, charting every inch of skin and committing it to memory.
And he must be doing something right, because soon enough you’re rolling your hips against his own absentmindedly, not just in response to his own, and he’s biting his tongue to make sure that he doesn’t cum in his pants right then and there. He’s pretty sure he tastes blood when you whine against his collarbone and ask if you can go higher, and mark up his pretty— (Pretty, pretty, pretty the word rings in his head), neck.
“Fucking yes,” he groans, “anything you want.”
He means it literally. He’d let you take him apart piece by piece if you wanted to.
And who are you to deny such a generous offer?
Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes turn into what feels like hours. He whines when you tug at his hair, you whimper when he drags your hips to meet his own, and you both tell yourself that this is what friends do, and that there’s nothing more than this beneath the surface. In a rare moment of boldness he lets a single hand trail a bit higher, swiping his thumb across your chest, and for a moment he thinks he’s overstepped. But then you murmur out a soft “yes” against his flushed skin, and pull his hand to fully cup your breast.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, your name falling from his lips like liquid gold a moment later in a plea -- something you would happily play over and over again for the rest of your life.
You don’t know how long it’s been when you finally pull back, but the sight before you once you do really takes your breath away. He’s a sight for sore eyes, with his tousled hair and the myriad of dark marks along his neck. His breath rattles in his throat with the weight of his overstimulation, silver pick against his chest following dutifully along. It’s his breathing (and nothing more, you tell yourself) that draws your attention to his lips — bitten half to death in his earlier attempts to keep himself quiet, but nothing more.
Your tongue darts between your lips, breath shaky with the weight of all the words you want to say. It takes an embarrassing amount of effort to keep yourself from claiming his lips right then and there, so instead you tilt your head to the side in admiration, inadvertently exposing the skin to him. His eyes dart to your neck, swallowing at the movement, only to flicker back to meet your gaze.
No matter what you do, don't think about Gareth having a wet dream about you. Don't think about him waking up hard and slowly placing his hands inside his boxers because he just can't help it, flashes of you going through his mind as he chases his high. Don't think about him shamefully throwing his pajamas in the dirty laundry basket, wondering to himself why the fuck he did that. Don't think about him being so embarrassed and awkward afterwards he can barely look at you in the eyes, his face red to the tip of ears. Don't think about having to really annoy him into telling you what happened, just so then you can do it exactly like he described. Don't think about kissing him lazily, touching him so so softly, sweet little whimpers falling from his mouth as he stares at you like you hang the moon. Don't think about him holding it in as long as he can, waiting for you to let him come, because he just wants to be good for you so bad. Don't think about the sound he makes when he catches his release, thanking you for literally bringing his dream fantasies to reality.
punishing gareth by being TOO giving and overstimulating him until he cries. him situated in between your legs, head lolling back and forth against your shoulder as his body shudders and twitches. you’ve already made him cum 3 times but he was just begging to be touched half an hour ago, how could you stop when his begging was so pretty? ‘please mommy, please jus’ touch me,’ and ‘need you so bad,’ strewn in between whimpers.
his stomach sucks in and he draws a sharp intake of air through his teeth before his mouth falls open and he lets out a silent scream, heels digging into the mattress. and you finally release his throbbing, bright pink cock, squeezing towards the tip to milk him for all he’s worth before bringing your sticky fingers to your lips behind him. he watches you, head turned against your shoulder and sighs as you suck the substance from them- maintaining brutal eye contact that has him whining for more.
Hi everyone! I know its been a little while since I last posted (STEM majors never rest, haha), so here’s a sneak peak of Live Wire Part 2 to make up for my absence!
You’re going to kill him, he knows it. He’s on fire, the flames stoked by your touch as you run your hands along his chest. Your touch is painfully slow -- fond, even -- as you work your way up his shoulders, locking your hands over the broad muscle and pulling yourself closer to him. Its heartachingly sweet, like every wet dream he’s ever fucking had about you, and its all he can do to remind himself that you’re doing this as a friend and not a lover.
“Relax,” you murmur, “Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”
Your voice is uncharacteristically soft, velvet words vibrating against his chest when you speak. He’s ashamed to say it, but all he can do is nod, not trusting his own voice enough to respond. He wishes he could, wishes he could say something that would make you fall just as hard for him as he did for you, but the words die in his throat. But for you, it seems to be enough.
You smile, squeezing his shoulders one last time and rocking forward gently in his lap, drawing a shudder from him. And when your lips meet his neck, so tender and sweet that he can’t help but indulge in the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, you feel that same spark of adoration. You kiss along the column of his throat, and each time your lips connect with his skin he swears he’s moved a bit closer to God. He grips the bed sheets firmly, fingers twisting in the cotton for some sort of lifeline to keep him grounded.
You pause, humming against his throat as you pull your hands away from his shoulders. He almost whines at the loss, but then your hands are on top of his own, gently pulling them away from the sheets.
“You can touch me, you know,” you say, pulling his hands to your thighs. “It’s part of the fun, right?”
Request: Hey I was wondering if I could request a fluffy Gareth imagine, where the reader is Eddie’s sister the same grade as Gareth. And Eddie brings her to a hellfire meeting and you can create the ending :)
Summary: You’ve been helping Eddie write his campaigns since you were old enough to hold a pencil, but this time, you finally get to play at Hellfire. Your first boss fight is electric, sending sparks coursing through your veins, but not for the reasons you think.
Or in which you, Eddie’s sister, start falling for the cute boy next to you at Hellfire.
Pairing: Gareth x Reader (Reader is mentioned to be Eddie’s sister once or twice, but they/them pronouns are used throughout.)
Warnings: D&D typical violence, everybody being absolute nerds. D&D 1e shenanigans. Pure fluff beyond that! <3
Word Count: 4.2k
“I’m just saying, what if they don’t like me?” You stare at the door to your right, trying your best not to glance at Eddie while he’s setting up. Last time you looked at his DM screen he threw one of his d12’s at you, and you’re not looking to sport any more dice-shaped bruises.
You take a deep breath, pulling your eyes away from the door as you run yourself through your character sheet one more time. It’s not like you’re unfamiliar with DnD — quite the opposite, in fact. Hell, you’ve been helping Eddie write his campaigns since you were old enough to hold a pencil — setting stats; designing NPC’s; hell, you’d even playtest his dungeons just to make sure they were beatable. But that’s not the scary part — It’s the thought that maybe the rest of the club wouldn’t like you that scares the life out of you.
“Hey,” Eddie’s voice makes you jump out of your skin, and he shoots you a sympathetic look when your head whips towards him.
“Everybody in Hellfire, they’re just like us. You’re gonna love it, and they’re gonna love you: I promise. Plus…” He stands up and walks behind you, putting both on your shoulders and shaking you from side to side playfully. “You’re playing a half-elf cleric — you’re the only fucking healer in this party, they need you. And! Wait for it, wait for it…”
He pauses, tilting his head with a grin. He extends his hands outwards, waggling his fingers for dramatic effect. “You’re my little sister — sure, you might only be half as cool as me, but that means you’re still cooler than everyone else here.”
And with that he’s ruffling your hair and running back behind his DM screen before you can swat at him, although that doesn’t stop you from trying. He pops up from behind his screen once he reaches its safety, shooting you a pair of devil horns and an overexaggerated growl, and you can’t help but laugh and return the gesture. Yeah, if they’re anything like you guys, you’ll be fine. You lean back in your seat with a smile and a shake of your head, relaxing as much as you can into the plush chair.
The Most Self Indulgent Shit Yet: Gareth Emerson/Gn!Reader
Hi! so it’s currently 2:48 am in my timezone. I don’t know if the ending or not feels ‘rushed’, but I wanted to get this out already hghgvhj
-This is a Gareth/Reader fluff fanfic! It’s mainly plot, (slowburn I think?? but also not really). >I actually despise Jason so much it’s…it’s something. I took my anger out on him when I was working on this in the beginning if you couldn’t tell agh. I believe everything is gender neutral, no pronouns are used for the reader, and (Y/n) is used only a handful of times. I referred to the reader as ‘you, your, yours, etc’. (Also this is the first genuine Fanfic I’ve ever written, let me know what you think!!)
-One more note is that, Jim Hopper makes a very brief appearance. Yes I know in the canon timeline he’s in Russia, but y’know, I had to include the man himself.
| Hellfire gets concerned when one of their important members, Eddie’s younger sibling, doesn’t show up to lunch. Even though you were most definitely at school earlier that day.
Word Count: 3.9k
-Warnings: descriptions of blood, beating the hell out of Jason, Eddie is your older sibling, swearing, Jason lowkey a bitch like wtf is his deal, Gareth is ooc maybe?? he has like 10 minutes of screen time total though so who knows.
Welcome to my progress list! Here’s where I’ll be posting all of my WIP statuses, as well as all the requests I get. If you don’t see your request here with 24 hours, feel free to send it again. Thank you! <3
Key:
♠️ = Requested
♦️ = Not Requested
♥️ = In Progress
♣️ = Not Started
♠️ ♥️ You’re not a brat, but sometimes you like to push Gareth’s buttons, just to see his reaction. Or, in which you tease Gareth a little too much and get put back in your place.
Current Status: WIP, 2.7k wordcount. [ABANDONED AT CURRENT]
♠️ ♣️ Jason Carver has always, always been a thorn in the side of your ragtag friend group, and when he takes over the town meeting to slander your best friends, you realize you can’t bite your tongue anymore. Or, in which you stand up for your friends, and Gareth falls just a little bit more in love with you.
Current Status: Received, not started yet.
♠️ ♣️ Nat 20, Part 2.
Current Status: Received, not started yet.
♦️ ♣️ When Eddie admits he’s still a virgin, you offer to change that for him. Current Status: Outlined.
♦️ ♣️ Your ex-boyfriend from the basketball team won’t leave you alone, and what better way is there to get him to stop then by dating someone else? Or, in which you fake-date your bestfriend and childhood crush, Eddie.
Current Status: Outlined, some dialogue.
♠️ ♣️ Giving Gareth his first blowjob <3
Current Status: Received, not started yet.
Hey, please could I get an Gareth x Reader imagine where the reader stands up for Hellfire during the town meeting when Jason blabs on about how "DnD=Satanism" and the reader looks Jason dead in the eyes and says "Christ, you're an idiot" or smth. No worries if not but thanks for reading this ask anyway :)
Yes, for sure!!! As the (self-appointed) president of the Jason Carver Hate Club, this would be an honor <3
Request: Hey I was wondering if I could request a fluffy Gareth imagine, where the reader is Eddie’s sister the same grade as Gareth. And Eddie brings her to a hellfire meeting and you can create the ending :)
Summary: You've been helping Eddie write his campaigns since you were old enough to hold a pencil, but this time, you finally get to play at Hellfire. Your first boss fight is electric, sending sparks coursing through your veins, but not for the reasons you think.
Or in which you, Eddie's sister, start falling for the cute boy next to you at Hellfire.
Pairing: Gareth x Reader (Reader is mentioned to be Eddie’s sister once or twice, but they/them pronouns are used throughout.)
Warnings: D&D typical violence, everybody being absolute nerds. D&D 1e shenanigans. Pure fluff beyond that! <3
Word Count: 4.2k
“I’m just saying, what if they don’t like me?” You stare at the door to your right, trying your best not to glance at Eddie while he’s setting up. Last time you looked at his DM screen he threw one of his d12’s at you, and you’re not looking to sport any more dice-shaped bruises.
You take a deep breath, pulling your eyes away from the door as you run yourself through your character sheet one more time. It’s not like you’re unfamiliar with DnD — quite the opposite, in fact. Hell, you’ve been helping Eddie write his campaigns since you were old enough to hold a pencil — setting stats; designing NPC’s; hell, you’d even playtest his dungeons just to make sure they were beatable. But that’s not the scary part — It’s the thought that maybe the rest of the club wouldn’t like you that scares the life out of you.
“Hey,” Eddie’s voice makes you jump out of your skin, and he shoots you a sympathetic look when your head whips towards him.
“Everybody in Hellfire, they’re just like us. You’re gonna love it, and they’re gonna love you: I promise. Plus…” He stands up and walks behind you, putting both on your shoulders and shaking you from side to side playfully. “You’re playing a half-elf cleric — you’re the only fucking healer in this party, they need you. And! Wait for it, wait for it…”
He pauses, tilting his head with a grin. He extends his hands outwards, waggling his fingers for dramatic effect. “You’re my little sister — sure, you might only be half as cool as me, but that means you’re still cooler than everyone else here.”
And with that he’s ruffling your hair and running back behind his DM screen before you can swat at him, although that doesn’t stop you from trying. He pops up from behind his screen once he reaches its safety, shooting you a pair of devil horns and an overexaggerated growl, and you can’t help but laugh and return the gesture. Yeah, if they’re anything like you guys, you’ll be fine. You lean back in your seat with a smile and a shake of your head, relaxing as much as you can into the plush chair.
Everyone else trickles in soon after, taking their respective seats at the table. You learn their names quickly, committing them to memory. Conversation comes easy, much to your surprise. Each spot slowly fills, save for the one spot to your left.
“Dude, there’s no fucking way,” Mike laughs to your right, “Mrs. Corlette has been trying to pull The Lord of the Rings since my freshman year! How did you convince her to get the Silmarillion?”
“Your freshman year?” Eddie interjects, “Try my freshman year. Thought she was gonna burn down the whole damn library, with me in it, when I tried to check it out that year. That’s why I don’t go to the library anymore.”
You grin, “Uh huh, that’s totally why you don’t go there anymore. Anyways, it was easy! I just told her that Tolkein was Catholic.”
“Genius!” Dustin snaps his fingers from the other end of the table, prompting a laugh from Lucas. “Think you could convince her to get The Black Cauldron for us, too?”
Just as you’re about to respond the doors open once more, and a boy rushes in. His face is flushed, chest heaving and skull necklace bouncing against it haphazardly as he stumbles into the room. He rests his hands against his knees after he bursts through the door, trying to catch his breath. He must have ran all the way here, you muse.
“Gareth, how nice of you to join us,” Eddie says sarcastically.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he says, “Kaminsky kept us all over, wouldn’t shut up about that stupid Chem test.” He shakes his hair out, standing back up and running a hand through his hair. “Not my fault she makes her tests impossible,” he grumbles under his breath.
He’s strikingly pretty, with lightly curled brown hair and the faintest of freckles along his cheeks. You’re not given long to mull over his looks however, because soon enough he’s moving towards you and taking the seat next to you. He sets his stuff down, pulling out his character sheet and dice, and he spares you a brief glance as he gets comfortable. But then his head is whipping back towards you and man, you’ve never had someone do a double-take at you like that before. He flushes, straightening his posture and shoving a hand in his pocket. His free hand nervously cards through his hair as though trying to fix it, before he’s sending a jittery wave your way.
“Shit, hey, I’m Gareth.”
You laugh, introducing yourself with a little wave of your own. He tests your name on his tongue, repeating it to himself with a nod.
“Good to meet you. Haven’t seen you around much, what made you decide to join Hellfire?” He asks.
“Well-”
“Well,” Eddie interjects, “They’re my sister. My coconspirator, my partner in crime, the person who makes all of my most terrifying, team-wiping bosses. So I recommend keeping a distance, they do bite… without warning.”
Gareth leans in a bit closer to you, murmuring. “Christ, you have to deal with him at home too?”
You laugh, humming. “Yeah, the pain never ends.”
Eddie waves his hands, dispelling the conversation. “Now, is everyone ready? Or are we gonna keep doing our little first-day-of-kindergarten introductions?”
And just like that, the game is on.
“Welcome to Fyrebrande. The year is 763..”
He waves his hands, voice dropped to a hushed murmur as he speaks. In mere moments he’s commanded the room, drawing everyone into the tale of political intrigue that lies in the lands of Alfenas. Everyone leans forward, eager to hear the words that flow from his mouth. You learn of the turmoil the Halastaman Empire has enacted, of its imposed governments and religion. The room is dead quiet, save for his narration. You don’t know how much time has passed as he works his way through his introduction, too engrossed in the tale to care.
“Our story, however, begins much smaller: Here in the southern reaches of the Marrow Valley, beyond the entry gates of the Alten Crevasse, lies the small rural town of Fernvale. This town lacks the prominence of many of the surrounding cities. Yes, Fernvale is small, known only for its quality copper exports, and comfortable bars. Here in this cozy trade stop along the Amber Road, a handful of wandering destinies slowly begin to intersect…”
He turns to Dustin and Mike, tilting his head with a grin.
“The sun filters through the dusty window, creating a kaleidoscope of dirt that flickers through the air. It’s a hot and muggy day, and you can’t imagine the day getting any better. Dustin, if you’d like to describe your character.”
And despite your initial nervousness, the campaign is fun. Your prior campaigns with your friends are nothing compared to this; The first two hours of the campaign are spent adventuring through the small town along the Amber Road, with only one small fight against a Dretch wreaking havoc in the town square. The table cheers when the demon falls to the ground, decapitated brutally by Gareth’s character, but it's not long before the party is approached by a strange man, asking the lot of you to travel to a place known as The Spire: Bard, as the man introduces himself, says that there’s a nobleman who would be very interested in the party’s fighting prowess, after having watched your previous battle with the demon. After a period of discussion you all decide to follow him to The Spire, which leads you to where you are now.
Perhaps you should have expected the nobleman’s betrayal: That first battle was far, far too easy for Eddie to put out. Spells are cast and blows struck as the seven of you fight back against the lumbering half-orc that rules over The Spire, but to no avail. He doesn’t seem to slow down, and unfortunately, Eddie seems to be rolling high today.
“All right, that finishes Sylas’s go. Lupin, you're up, with Tevas on deck at the top of the next round,” Eddie says, leaning back in his chair.
Dustin puts his head in his hands, having just missed a crucial attack that might have drawn the half-orc away from Jeff’s character Pauldrayn, who’s now backed into a corner.
“And he's backed right there?” Mike asks, gesturing to Jeff’s minifigure. “I’m just gonna close the distance in between him and I'll get right behind him. And so I’ll reach to my side, and I pull out my Moon-Touched Longsword, and it kind of like, glints in the light when I draw it out. I wanna make a big, upward strike at his back.”
“Go for it.”
Mike rolls, only to huff when the dice come to a stop. “Well… that’s not great. 11?”
“Whiff!” Eddie laughs. “You take a large arc with your sword, and right as you’re about to make contact he thrusts his arm out, catching you by the wrist and pulling back his lips to expose his gnarled fangs. He growls, tightening his grip on your wrist before shoving your hand away, like he was insulted at your pathetic,” he lifts his voice mockingly, “little attempt to hurt him. Gareth, you’re up.”
“Jesus Christ,” Gareth says, shaking his head, “Alright, I want to make a diagonal straight at the bookshelf over here,” he gestures. “And I take a leap and haul myself up there, and when I’m hanging from the shelf I want to slash down on his weapon and try to disarm him.”
Eddie hums, gesturing at him to roll. You notice that whenever Gareth rolls high he bursts into a grin — it’s a very uniquely pretty smile, one that you certainly wouldn’t mind more often. Your eyes rake across his concentrated face, falling to his smile yet again: His lips are pretty, perfectly pink and plush, and- oh. Oh. You swallow, leaning back in your chair a bit at the thought. Best to deal with that later, when you’re not in the midst of a battle.
He laughs quietly at his numbers, looking up at Eddie. “That's a 22 to hit,” he says.
Your brother clasps his hands together before extending his arms to the side. “22 hits!”
“Yes! So that is eight plus…” his eyes dart back and forth between his latest roll and his character sheet, “...14 damage, and he has to make a strength save.”
“Got it,” Eddie hums, rolling behind his screen, “That is going to be a 15.”
“Fucking shit- yeah, he still holds on to his weapon.”
The party groans, the joy from Gareth’s initial hit forgotten, with some players swearing and leaning back in their chairs.
Gareth speaks up once again,“I’d like to wave to him from above and just say sorry.” He mimes the action, simpering a little as though he himself were caught in the act of attacking the lumbering man-beast. It’s a cute little flourish, one that certainly speaks to his character, and you can’t help but laugh at the gesture. He turns towards you when you do, the tips of his ears just barely flushed, and his smile seems to grow a fraction wider. It leaves your heart quivering in your chest, and you have to avert your eyes before the feeling consumes you whole. And yet, your smile never falters. That is, until the half-orc makes his next move.
Eddie rises from his throne with a wicked grin, voice rising in tandem with every moment.
“He growls, but not at the pain, and when he cracks his neck his eyes meet with yours, dearest Tevas. He roars at you, turning to face you fully, and he's going to go ahead and do a cane sweep on you.” He rolls his die, hissing with delight at what he sees. “Ooh! It’s going to be a 24 to hit.”
Gareth groans: “Yeah, yeah that probably hits.” He sighs, looking at his sheet: “Yeah no, that hits.”
“This is with one hand, so it does a little less damage. But oh! He rolled pretty well. 4 points of bludgeoning damage. And I need you to make a strength saving throw.”
“Like that’ll go well,” he sighs, rolling. “12, even.”
“12?” Eddie laughs, “Fail! He takes the cane and, whack!” He mimes the action, voice like a gunshot in the small room. “He bats your legs out from under you up on top of the bookcase. You hear a crack in where your kneecap is, and as you begin to lose your balance, you feel a hand reach up and grab your chest and throw you onto the ground… where he is.”
The table explodes into cries, Dustin grabbing Mike’s sleeve and shaking it vigorously.
“Oh, fuck!”
“No, no, no, no!”
It’s a cacophony of fear, with everyone’s protests overlapping each other. Hell, you can hardly make out your own voice in the fray, swallowed by the voices of the other players. Eddie picks up Gareth’s figurine, dragging it from the top of the bookshelf and laying it down on the tile beneath the half-orc’s feet before pointing at Gareth. His hair falls in front of his face eerily as he takes on a malicious, wicked smile.
“You are on the ground at the feet of Pauldrayn and The Lord of Rot. At which point, he takes both hands on his cane and is going to take a strike—”
“Shit!”
“No!”
“—with advantage on you because you are prone. And that’s going to be… a 23 to hit.”
He runs his hands through his hair, rolling his head back against the chair. He slowly brings the heels of his palms up to his eyes and sighs. “Yeah, that hits.”
“He steps on your stomach, dealing 6 points of bludgeoning damage as his cane hits you right in the sternum. You feel the air get knocked out of your chest as you're on the ground. He's going to pick it back up, look back at you Pauldrayn, and with that, he's going to go ahead and use his bonus action. He's going to use Second Wind.”
“There’s no way!” You cry, “He's a fucking fighter!”
“Damn it!” Dustin yells from across the table, putting his hands on his forehead.
Gareth shakes his head in your peripheral vision, eyes wide and disbelieving. You’ve never had a party get stomped this hard on the first boss battle, and it’s wreaking havoc on your nerves. You cast a glance over at Gareth, who’s worrying his lip between his teeth. There’s a good chance that he could die here, and he knows it.
“You see him begin to get himself fired up yet again, panting and snarling. The blood that’s dripping from between his shoulder blades falls to the ground, and when he shakes his head some flies from his lips, but he doesn’t seem to care, and the damage and the windedness of the last few rounds of combat begins to fade a little bit.”
“We’re fucked, aren’t we?” Gareth murmurs, “It’s the first session, and we’re fucked.”
“No, there’s no way,” Dustin mumbles, “He wouldn’t do this to us, right?”
Eddie’s voice cuts through the murmuring of the table, and everyone’s on the edge of their seat at his next words. “He's now going to Action Surge—”
The next few moments are a blur as you rake your eyes across your character sheet, eyes darting between your own and Gareth’s. Eddie chooses to attack Jeff’s character, much to your relief. Had he attacked Gareth, he surely would have died. Scratch that, you know he would have. He only has 2 hitpoints left, and with the way Eddie’s been rolling tonight, you can’t imagine him living through the blow. You’re not sure how much health this boss has left, but if you can’t get Gareth off the ground, he won’t last another round of combat. You look at the board, plotting your next move. You’re still at full health… you can take a few blows.
“Your turn, kid,” Eddie’s voice cuts through your stupor, and you huff. You know what you need to do.
“Alright, I’m gonna want to make my way over to Tevas, so I want to move about… 20 feet. And I’m going to kneel down with my hands out, and I’m keeping my eyes on the Lord of Rot. I drop my hands down, just sort of slap them on his Tevas’s shoulders, and cast level one Cure Light Wounds for...” You roll your d8, holding your breath as the die falls from your hands. It bounces once, twice, and… you got an eight. You look up from the table with a smirk, locking eyes with Eddie. “8 hitpoints, total.”
Gareth grins at this, slinging his arm around your shoulder and punching the air with his free one. “Thank you! How the hell did we go so long without a healer?” He turns his head to you, beaming: “Could you imagine if I died during our first session?” His eyes twinkle playfully, and when you’re this close you can almost feel the way his voice rumbles in his chest.
Your brother rolls his eyes at the interaction, scoffing and turning towards you fully. “The Lord of Rot turns on his heel, making eye contact with you, and the rumble that makes its way out of his chest is enough to shake the picture frames that decorate the wall.”
“Oh no,” Dustin says, “You’ve really pissed him off now.”
You laugh, giddy with the excitement of battle. “And I’d like to move back my final 10 feet, and cast spiritual weapon, which I launch straight at his throat.”
“Go ahead,” Eddie leans his hands forward on the desk, waiting for your next move. It’s so self-assured, so cocky, that you can’t help but pray to the dice gods for a good roll. There’s few things you delight in more than wiping that cocky look off his face, after all. You close your eyes, steadying your nerves.
“You’ve got this,” Grant yells from across the table, “He’s almost done for, he has to be.”
The d20 falls from your hands, and the world moves in slow motion as it plummets towards the table.
You can hardly believe your eyes when it lands… the first natural 20 of the campaign.
Cheers erupt from the table, Gareth pulling you closer and shaking you a little in his excitement. And… the rest is history. Weakened by your critical hit, it only takes one more round of combat to kill off the boss. True to form, he did try to attack Gareth one more time, but thanks to your healing he was able to tank the hit. You yourself took a good beating, a sort of payback for healing the object of his rage; and yet, you lived. Bruised and bloody, your party walks out of The Spire: A little worse for wear, but alive nonetheless.
“And that’s where we’re gonna call it, my loyal adventurers,” Eddie says, rising from his throne. Ever the dramatic one, he places his arm around his stomach, bowing. “Fyrebrand will welcome you all once more with open arms next Thursday!”
“That was an open-armed welcome?” Jeff jokes, “We almost lost Gareth, first session!”
“Seriously,” Gareth scoffs, packing up his stuff, “I hope you all know that I’m sticking with our healer for the rest of the campaign.” He turns to you, and you quickly realize that he never took his arm off of your shoulder. Not that you’re complaining, of course.
“Not kidding, I’m not above bribing you. I’ll buy you fast food, sweets, whatever you want for the rest of the semester for heals.”
“Not fair!” Mike yells, “You can’t steal our cleric, they’re the only one we’ve got!”
“Watch me,” he laughs.
You hum, as though contemplating the offer, before leaning your head on his shoulder. “I accept donuts as payment for my services. Fries, too.”
He flushes when you lean into his hold, laughing nervously; but, he doesn’t let go. He drums his fingers against your bicep, smiling.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he rambles, “It’s a deal.”
“Alright,” Eddie says, “Everybody out!”
Gareth reluctantly disentangles himself from you, and you find yourself missing his presence immediately. But the warmth stays, nestled in your chest with the thrumming of your heart. And when he waves to you (almost shyly, you remark), when he leaves, that warmth turns into an inferno. You don’t believe in love at first sight, but there’s something about him that leaves you longing for more.
You spend the next few minutes helping Eddie tuck away his stuff, chatting back and forth about the campaign. It’s only once he starts taking down his screen that he throws his keys at you, ushering you out of the room.
“I know you man, I’m not letting you peek at my notes. Come on, go start up the van, it’s cold out there. And pick a good tape, no more Alice Cooper!”
You stick your tongue out at him, twirling his keys around your fingers. “Fine, but if you’re not out in 10 I’m leaving you,” you tease.
You walk out of the drama room and into the chilly night air with a pep in your step, and for a moment you debate on whether or not to sprint to Eddie’s van to escape the night air. But just as you turn towards the car, you notice that there’s someone already there: Gareth.
He sits on the hood, leaning back on his hands and looking up towards the full moon. The pale moonlight lights up his face with an ethereal glow, and he looks so tranquil that you almost feel bad disturbing him… almost. You step forward, spinning Eddie’s keys around loud enough to make them jingle — not much of a feat, considering how many charms he puts on the damn keyring — which draws Gareth’s attention. He smiles at the sight of you, waving you over.
“Fancy seeing you out here,” you hum, hopping up next to him on the hood. “What’s up?”
His voice is quiet when he speaks, as though the moment would shatter if he spoke too loud. “Just a nice night, ‘s all. And you know, uh, God, I didn’t really think this through,” he stammers, laughing nervously.
After a moment of indecision you steel your nerves, moving your hand a bit closer to his. His head whips towards you at the subtle movement, relaxing a fraction before pressing his little finger against yours. It's a ghost of a presence, but it’s enough to send a spark of electricity coursing through your veins. And maybe, just maybe, he can feel it too because just like that he’s smiling at you again. He licks his lips quickly before speaking again, voice a bit more steady this time.
“I was just thinking… maybe I could start that whole bribing process a bit early. Tomorrow after school?” His eyes flicker over your face, gauging your reaction. “I know a place that does really good fries, you know.”
“Yeah,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to obey you, “That sounds perfect.”
“Yeah?” He laughs softly, “Yeah, okay, cool.” He casts a wayward glance at the drama room door, debating internally with himself before hopping off the hood. He stands between your legs for a moment, leaning forward and reaching for your hands and interlocking them.
Despite the cold night air his hands are strikingly warm, and you live for the way he gingerly drags his thumbs over the sides of your hand. You squeeze his hands, and the two of you smile in unison with each other.
“See you tomorrow, okay?”
You grin, “Yeah, see you then Gare.” You squeeze his hands one last time, before playfully pushing him away with the tip of your shoe. “Go on, you should get out of here before Eddie comes out and kicks your ass.”
He laughs and swipes at the offending shoe, catching you by the ankle and worming his way back inbetween your legs. “I could take him,” he grins, “Any day of the week.”
He drums out a rhythm against the skin there before dropping it, leaning forward half-way in your lap and looking up at you. His eyes glow a brilliant blue in the moonlight, and man, you didn’t think you had a thing for blue eyes but when he’s giving you such a sweet look, you understand why people write such extravagant poetry about eyes like his.
“Mhmm, I bet,” you tease, “He keeps my bat in the back though, so I wouldn’t try your luck.”
“Damn,” he says, snapping his fingers, “Totally unfair.”
He pulls away, albeit reluctantly, and heads over to his car with a wide smile. “Don’t forget, tomorrow after school!” He calls, pointing at you playfully.
“Tomorrow!” You repeat.
When he finally pulls out of the parking lot, you spare a glance up at the sky, grin never leaving your face. The stars twinkle back at you fondly, and you’re struck with a sudden wave of adoration for the world around you. The moon seems to glow a bit brighter tonight, the stars a bit bigger, and the empty cosmos of space seems just a bit less lonely.
If it isn't the 3rd time for me to list up some headcanons? Hope you all know how much I appreciate the likes, it really helps me with motivation <3 now, let's gooooooo
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Our boy Gareth, as I said before, is a very cuddly guy. He is touching you constantly, and he's very needy as well. You could be of to work or something and he would just call you on your work number - kind of what Dustin did to Steve! But then begs for you to try and get home earlier, because he wants cuddles NOW. You obviously can't do that every time, but you try, for the sake of the poor boy.
In which ways does he prefers physical contact with you then?? He really enjoys getting head scratches, especially if you have longer nails, my god. You could just be chilling at his place and then all of a sudden his wavy hair is in your face. He probably loves laying his head on you. Just anywhere really. Lap, shoulder, calves. If you have enough room, he lays on your stomach as well.
Gareth is a very talkative guy, but only you seem to have the ability to make him shut up. I feel like if he's not really listening to what Eddie says during a Hellfire meeting (probably because you made him lose focus, you gorgeous human being <3), he would let you tell him everything that is going on later on.
Let's you borrow his clothes anytime, even if he planned on wearing it, because he thinks you look absolutely adorable in every single clothing item. He'll probably want to do a catwalk with you having his clothes on at some point as well - "Yes, that's it sweetie, now do a spin. You look absolutely stunning" and yes, obviously in the "high fashion model manager voice".
He's a goofy guy, if you haven't noticed. And unfortunately he's "your mom"-kind of goofy. Some might see it as a good kind of goofy though. But he's a very big fan of making people laugh, it makes him feel seen. (honestly same boo) I could imagine him coming up with a really good joke, and then gets really excited to tell you. And if you burst out laughing, he's so proud and laughs along with you.
I feel like either he would be super into PDA (aka public display of affection, a bitch had to google it because I'm stupid) or totally against it. And honestly it could also depend on how he feels. Because sometimes he just want to tell everyone, in such obvious ways, that you're his. Or I'd feel he's like wanting to keep his tough side really out and proud. So at school for example, you are really onto him and maybe standing really close to him, just to irritate him. Because he's really needy, as we clearly stated previously. So later on, he might be really pissed at you for trying to challenge his outer image.
Really random, but I feel like he is afraid of heights. If you love amusement parks or just roller-coasters in general, he would just say something like "honey you're so brave, but I just get a feeling that this is not enough for me" and then continue to say this to every single roller-coaster.
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So that's it for this time! I must say that you all really make my day's worth it. And sometimes seeing about 100 new notifications every single time I open this app, it really helps me with motivation and it's fricking insane!! <3 now I do know I have promised you more than only headcanons, don't you worry. It is on is way, but only as fast as a snail. I'm currently not at home, and there is always something happening, so there isn't a lot of free time to write for all of you amazing people.
I hope y'all are having an absolutely amazing day <3 see you soon, hopefully :)
