[smart-cupcake]

ace!Sarcean

“Sarcean never fucked you.”

Will sees how the words hit James, how his whole body flinches just slightly. 

“But I don’t even think he fucked anyone, ever.” He hadn’t meant to hurt James. It has been as much a revelation as it has been humbling to dip himself in Sarcean’s memories and sort truth from fiction. “But you know this. Anharion knows this. All those rumours, all that play-acting, the collar—” Will laughs—“all of it, for show.”

But James isn’t laughing. He’s dropping into a crouch and burying his head in his arms. 

Will has to strain to hear his next words.

“I like to believe that he loved me."

Around them the forest sits in the lull of late afternoon. James’s hair is dark in the shadow of the canopy. Will comes forward and crouches before him, runs a hand up the side of his arm, squeezes.

“He did,” Will says simply. He isn’t sure why he’s trying to justify Saracen’s love for Anharion. Perhaps it’s because he can taste the wholeness of it, a sweetness on his tongue, that steady affection, the way Sarcean’s heart would flutter, how he’d stumble through words in a meeting. Perhaps it’s because he’s finally coming to understand the distressing depth of James’s insecurities, and how they stain the golden love that Will can see so clearly. “He did love you. But he just never—”

“—wanted me.”

James looks up to meet Will’s gaze, his eyes wide and glistening with something between despair and uncertainty, and Will doesn’t like it. He never wants James to have to guess at how Will feels, never wants James to question the golden threads that bind them, not when it threatens to consume Will this very moment, a bright intensity that boils to the surface with such force that his throat closes up for what feels like a full minute.

“I thought it was him, James,” Will says after a while, enjoying the weightlessness of speaking a simple truth. “It was never him.” 

“You’re lying.”

“This whole time I’ve pushed you away because I thought it wasn't real.” 

“You're lying.” James repeats, louder, voice shaking, but the uncertainty cracks around his eyes. “Tell me you don't want me."

Will can’t help the laugh that spills from him, gathers James into his arms. He feels light for the first time in too long, floating. And sure—he could use his words, list off a hundred reasons as to why he isn’t lying. But he’s been lying to James for too long about too many things. In this moment, words are not his most effective servant.

He lays James down onto the soft grass.

[smart-cupcake]

hc as to how James got his healing powers.

Sarcean murdered a lot of people. Or at least, was responsible for their death. And as his power is related to control over death, he figured out a way to take the remaining life force energy of a dying person, for himself.

But he never did. Because he siphoned all of it, every drop, into Anharion. *blows kiss * 'another one for you, babe'

So in short, James doesn't have infinite healing powers, but it's safe to say he might need to die 3,728+ times before it starts to lose its lustre.

[smart-cupcake]

of all the things, it's always the crack ideas that tease themselves out in my mind more than any others. like this one: Anharion is born with such an intense fetish for collars and choking that as soon as anything is on his neck he melts in a pool of play-dough and starts babbling.

Which means. That the collar has no power over Anharion at all. None. Zilch. The only thing that is magical about it is that it cannot be removed. The rest: the obedience, the jelly-mind, the desire: Anharion does all that to himself.

The funny thing is that Sarcean discovered this whole thing by accident when, in one of their arguments that had dissolved into a physical fight, he seized Anharion by the neck and immediately was left with a blonde pool of goo at his feet giving him puppy-dog eyes and sort of...squeaking?

Neither of them really knew what to do, after that.

At one point, Sarcean made the collar in jest. Like 'lol, wouldn't it be funny if i gave him one he couldn't take off. He'd like that.' His mistake was jokingly telling Anharion that the collar also demanded total obedience, and Anharion, hearing this, slammed the collar upon himself took the obedience rule as his New Law.

To this day, Sarcean still doesn't know how to deal with it. Just kind of awkwardly fulfils the role play of Master that Anharion desires. it's a long game. Like, long as in: they've toppled kingdoms and built armies in this game. Sarcean is getting concerned.

[smart-cupcake]

Anharion: they keep teasing me because I’m naked in the throne room. Can I kill them?

Sarcean: yeah sure go for it

Anharion: Can I at least wear clothes while I— 

Sarcean: Absolutely not.

hc for this fic is that sarcean is constantly torn between being annoyed that people taunt anharion for being naked (sans collar and chain) but not wanting to cover him up because, reasons.

for all that Sarcean enjoys the open display of his yielded General—as much to spark awe and fear in his Commanders as to remind Anharion of his bondage—Sarcean does not care for sharing. Anharion is his alone to tease then take.