#is this garbage

@highlordofkrypton since i’ve been flopping and resisting punishment, i offer tamsand ficlets to pay for my crimes 🤲. this is a badly put together interpretation of rhys giving tamlin the illyrian knives.

Nightfall was near and the glistening water mirrored the hues of the sky, pinks and oranges scattered across the surface like dancing mirages. A little bit of every color dropping into the pool of Starlight and turning it into something too divine for the eyes to see.

It seemed so out of place sometimes, this body that held the very stars and the sky in its waters basking in the height of Spring. But whenever Rhys caught the reflection of the starlight in Tamlin’s eyes, the way it shimmered infinitely brighter through him, he understood. Understood exactly why it belonged here and nowhere else. Why Tamlin favored it and why he, inadvertently, did too.

Nobody appreciated this place quite like how Tamlin did.

The pool of Starlight was special just for what it was but…time had made it even more so. Memories Rhys and Tamlin built surrounded every corner of it, elusively marking it as theirs. This was their spot, the place they mindlessly went to whenever they needed a place to sneak off. Grounds to practice or talk or simply get away. Most of the time that was all they really needed; to be away from those they called family. It only felt right they’d come here for Tamlin’s birthday.

Tamlin was awfully humble about it. Like almost concerningly so. Being bashful was one thing—he was about most personal matters—but not wanting to acknowledge it altogether was a whole other thing. Rhys had dropped the topic fast after noting Tamlin’s reservations but not before having to stuff his gift into oblivion (his bag).

There was a moment in time where buying a gift sounded like a perfectly good and reasonable idea—Rhys wasn’t crazy. He might not remember now what his train of thought was, but he could swear it made sense back then. It was just a simple but meaningful present to commemorate their friendship (what). Alright, perhaps it was a small token of his appreciation (what). Shit, okay, maybe it was as simple as Rhys wanting to make Tamlin smile (he had officially lost his mind). But the gift was there, stuffed neatly in his bag and soaking up the early heat of spring, and so was the urge to give it to Tamlin.

And just as Rhys failed to fight the impulse to buy Tamlin a present, he failed the temptation of handing it to him with the stars looking down on them.

He rummaged through his small bag and pulled out the gift wrapped in leather. Tamlin didn’t seem to notice any of it, too distracted by the view ahead of them. Rhys couldn’t blame him. The darker the sky bled, the more hypnotizing the water became, a pure reflection of the night sky and its infinite stars. And there it was again, that twinkle in Tamlin’s eyes that could compete with the glittering water. A light so distinct yet muted at the edges, soft with silent adoration. For a fracture of a moment, Rhys lost himself in the sight of something so simple yet so precious.

He nudged Tamlin with his shoulder to get his attention, present in hand. “Happy birthday.” He tried to say as casually as possible, lazy smirk plastered on his lips, as if his stomach wasn’t alight with nerves and he hadn’t wiped his palms over his pants for the fifth time this minute.

It took Tamlin a few seconds to register what was happening, his rounded gaze flickering profusely from Rhys to the leather wrap he held. Rhys bit his tongue as he waited for Tamlin to say something.

“What’s this?” Tamlin nodded towards the gift, a flustered grin creeping onto his face.

Rhys shrugged and nudged the gift towards Tamlin, trying with all his might to act like this wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t. Didn’t have to be, anyways. Friends did this sort of thing all the time—Rhys sure has with Azriel and Cassian a handful of times over the centuries—maybe not under the stars with the most idyllic view in front of them but it’s not unheard of. But no matter what lies Rhys told himself, this was inexplicably different—it felt different. Like a much bigger deal. Like the gift was saying things he couldn’t, words he couldn’t annunciate, feeling he wouldn’t utter.

“Just a little something. Since you’re getting old and all.”

Tamlin narrowed his eyes at him, giving him a look that failed to be stern with his cheeks flushing red. Rhys was a few decades older but he didn’t point that out. Instead, he accepted the gift from Rhys’ hands and smiled as he smoothed his palms over the leather. He gazed up at Rhys through his lashes and Rhys—Rhys couldn’t handle that particular look. That shy, all-encompassing look that Tamlin wasn’t even aware he was making and what it did to Rhys, how quickly and ferociously it melted through his insides. He felt his face warm which only prompted Tamlin to wholly fix his attention on him, as if his reaction was more interesting than the gift waiting to be unwrapped in his lap.

“I didn’t take you as the sentimental type,” Tamlin remarked, a little teasing.

Yeah, Rhys didn’t consider himself the sentimental type either but things change. Time and people influence a person more than they can ever anticipate.

He leaned back, pressing his palms into the grass. “Special occasion,” he said flatly, letting the words speak for themselves. It was a little more than he usually let himself say, a little bolder, more honest.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

It came out quickly. Too quickly, like it was instinctual, rehearsed. Rhys didn’t need to consider it for even a moment and it visibly surprised Tamlin. Hearing such resounding certainty from someone who lied and played mind games for fun. And there was a lick of vulnerability to it, wasn’t there? I wanted to; it’s so close to another phrase that would irrevocably change everything between them.

“Thank you, Rhys.” Tamlin was fully smiling now and it awakened all sorts of flutters in Rhys’ chest, a feeling unfamiliar but not unwanted. No, not at all.

Tamlin continued rubbing at the leather pouch, his expression delicate under the moonlight. With winter gone, the freckles along the bridge of his nose were popping up again and his skin was richer, brazening the color of his cheeks. It made him look younger, funnily enough, like a wild boy who spent too much time in the sun.

“Are you not gonna open it,” Rhys asked, impatient. He couldn’t handle watching Tamlin just touch and rub the leather roll for another second.

“Oh. We usually open gifts in private.”

“What, afraid you’re going to hate the gift but not be able to act like you don’t?” Rhys teased but it backfired instantly because his stomach genuinely flipped at the prospect of Tamlin hating his gift. Fuck, when did he start caring so much about sappy shit like this?

Tamlin scowled at him and it was full of anything but contempt. “I know how to lie,” he grumbled, nearly pouting. Rhys had to actively suppress his growing smile, both at the unbelievability of that statement and the determination between Tamlin’s brows.

“Uh huh,” he mocked, relishing in the color that hit Tamlin’s cheeks harder. “Come on, just open it. If you don’t like it, it’s fine. I can take it back it’s no big deal.”

That was a lie and Rhys could sell it well unlike Tamlin. He’d rather never go home again than go back with that rejected gift still in his bag. The humiliation of that alone would kill him, and his brothers wouldn’t necessarily help in making him feel better. Cassian would never let him live it down and Azriel would call him some variation of pathetic if not all of them. And there was the small part of Rhys that would be…hurt? Let down? He wasn’t sure yet—he didn’t want to consider it.

One final glare from Tamlin and then he was untying the two straps that held the leather roll together. Inside it were an array of knives neatly placed in little pockets—Illyrian knives. They ranged in sizes and curves, thickness and shapes, all sleek with black handles engraved with Tamlin’s initials. A small detail that was close to Rhys’ heart. Was it over the top and utterly dramatic? Yes, but he wanted these knives to feel like Tamlin’s. Not some borrowed weaponry from Rhys but his by right.

At first glance, the knives might look no more ordinary, maybe even cheap, but their worth and history was priceless. They bear meanings that not just anybody was deserving of honoring. Holding one of these blades between your fingers came with a burden; to be good, honest, and true to oneself. Tamlin knew that.

And he knew just as well that gifting them to someone meant something that could never be put into words. A non-Illyrian carrying Illyrian knives…its meaning was unhidden.

Tamlin was silent for awhile, like the true weight and significance of the knives was too heavy. Was it too much? Does it feel like some grande proposal because that wasn’t—

“Rhys…,” Tamlin breathed—so, so softly the whole night seemed to quiet just to hear him. Rhys felt his voice shudder down his spine, and he had to dig his fingers deeper into the grass to keep himself together. “I can’t possibly have this.”

“I want you to.” Again, Rhys answered too hastily. Too confidently, as if he’d never been surer of anything else. And again, he was so close, so much closer this time, to saying something else entirely. Just one word away.

Tamlin cocked his head and shot Rhys a look of disbelief. He slipped one of the knives out of its pocket and brought it to the light where it shone in all its silver glory. It fit perfectly into Tamlin’s grasp, like it was made to be in his hands.

“It’s beautiful.”

spencer doesnt get enough vitamins, so sometimes when derek makes him breakfast, he sneaks protein powder into his coffee or vitamin d supplements into his cereal. and the little fucker ravages any food he gets so he doesn’t notice.

character descriptions (?) ew

Taehyung is grunge ass kid don’t call him an e-boy because he will stab you with his least favorite knife. Has two face piercings; nose ring, lip ring and wants more. Always wears black. Prefers baggy clothes but occasionally will dress like he’s in the reboot for interview with a vampire. Comes from a poorer family grew up in “urban” area (ahem). Is mixed and gets a lot of shit for it. Never enough of the other side to be whole. Grew up with absentee parents so he often was out getting himself into trouble. Fell in love with music and art—they became his coping mechanism for when pieces of his childhood were taken from him too early on.  Has a terrible weakness for soft pretty boys.

Yoongi is a pretty femboy with the flare for creepy cute. Often gets ask if he’s a sugar babie and yes, he is but that’s on the DL. Can be found at emo night every night. Hooks up with mostly older guys but has a taste for trouble. Yoongi loves body piercings and tattoos; nips pierced, belly button pierced, tongue pierced and will get more piercings. Tattoos; “bite me” is written on his hip. Comes from a broken family and now lives with his older brother after his stepdad kicked him out for being himself. Got into playing the piano at a young age and it’s the only thing he’s thankful for that his parents gave him. “I didn’t ask to be alive.” Diagnosed with depression and anxiety when he was a senior in high school. Likes to make boys cry but will cry if you use your big voice/yell at him.

They in community college art class. Together they create a work of art of broken pieces and shattered dreams.