No, I erred. I have no desire to be a Duke, on principle alone if nothing else. You'll have to stick with my being a hero and put away your dreams of being fucked by me at both ends.
And if you are going to deliberately cheat, I will not ask you another hypothetical.
I'll never put that dream away, thank you very much. But fine. Even if the logic in your scenario makes no utter sense, given the sole creature that I'd choose—
I'd seduce the Duke, take his (or her) copious wealth, and away with it in the night to marry the aforementioned Blue Wraith.
That is a proper answer— and the correct one too, now that I think of it. Though so long as you are in the neighborhood, you can kill the Duke and we can steal their estate too.
Drizzt won't do that with you.
[He has 0 idea what Drizzt Do'Urden will or will not do in any given hypothetical.]
Tell me another of his exploits tonight.
[But then:]
A slow death via poison, so you have time enough to finish some task even as you writhe in agony, or a swift, albeit useless one via sword?
[And for the record: no, Drizzt undeniably wouldn't. Sometimes the sort of love you dreamed of as a young, daft little creature can only pale beside the real thing when it comes.
Particularly when it's wiling to assassinate a Duke.
Romantic.]
Ah ah ah. Not so fast, my pretty little love. You don't get to avoid playing your own hand: it's your turn to answer now. Marry the handsome, wealthy enviable vampiric aristocrat
At least give me a new question. What sport is there in a question you already know the answer to?
[A deliberate pause, and then:]
Though I suppose I could learn to live with the aristocrat, so long as he rid himself of the habit of patronizing his lover whenever he wished to score a cheap point.
[And of course the answer is Astarion. Of course it's always him. No matter the world, no matter the circumstances, high-born or low, rich or poor, monstrous or mortal— always, always, Leto will choose him.
But where's the fun in that?
That said: he does feel a tiny bit bad for not saying so when Astarion's own answers had been so fiercely devout. Perhaps, too, for the tease about patronizing, for he does enjoy it (and his heart has not forgotten their fight, Astarion's hurt over Leto's rejection of his form of doting; he never wants to imply that he does not cherish and crave each indulgence Astarion revels in giving him).
But on the other hand, they neither of them are so thin-skinned. And he can mollify his vampire later, whispering assurances of love and devotion between hungry kisses.]
Try again, my handsome aristocrat. And count yourself lucky I bite my tongue when it comes to your age in return.
[He absolutely cannot think about Astarion fucking him at both ends, because that way lies ruin. His ruin, specifically, and his ruin of his pants to begin with.
And yet:]
Interesting you bring that up. I have a surprise for you when next I see you.
[But then, without pause:]
The Black Divine. If only for the look on every magister's face when they see an elf in a seat of power above them all. I will not deny Corypheus' power is a tempting thing, if only to bring down Tevinter.
But the Black Divine (or the True Divine, as you would be forced to call me; the Black Divine is a mocking name, and frowned upon in Tevinter) can do that as well, preferably with a minimal of slaughter and death. It would be more difficult, admittedly, and I do not doubt I would have my fair share of trouble— though I think immediately dissolving the magisterium would force all those mages to rush to save their own fortunes and meager power instead of allying against me.
For a time, anyway. I suspect such a position would only end in assassination. But it would be a useful role for how long it lasted.
And I will not be forced to become a corrupted amalgam of red lyrium and a darkspawn, which is a plus.
[There's a slight pause, as if made by someone who knows damn well where they're heading and is debating if it's sensible to stoke both their fires. On the other hand: he can't really resist. Besides: he misses Astarion, and there's nothing wrong with indulging in a bit of fantasy while they're apart.]
I meant forced by the country at large, but I would not let them do that to you. If you are to be on your knees, Astarion— and you would be, in this scenario— it will be at my order and no one else's.
You would have to be discreet. No Divine is allowed any kind of attachment; we would be an illicit thing. And I know full well how much you enjoy being seen . . . do you think you could be good? Quiet as anything while you tended to me? Or would I need to fit you with a gag, just to be sure?
The scandal alone is enough to have me panting in your ear. I'd be hard pressed to stay silent from the first moment I heard the Magisterium wracked with dismay over your decrees, let alone sprawled between your open thighs on that grand, grim throne.
Or the other way round, if his Grace felt so inclined.
[Gods, he might need to tuck himself away in an alley if this sort of game keeps up.]
What I'm saying is if the worlds ever turn on their heads and bring such a fantasy to fruition: do make it a pretty gag, won't you?
For you, I would ensure it was as pretty as you wished— made of steel, naturally, so you couldn't bite your way through it, but adorned with all the diamonds you wish. Tevinter is nothing if not hedonistic, and I suspect I could spoil you far better in such a position of corruptible power. Just so long as it was adorned with my personal seal, so there would not be a person alive who did not know you belonged only to me— and that I would bring all the wrath at my fingertips down upon them if they dared think of touching you.
[There's a thoughtful little pause as he contemplates the vast world of religious-themed kink, and then adds in a swift scrawl:]
I could mount you across an altar, too. Sebastian once told me he used to fantasize about that before he grew devout, and I can understand the appeal. Though I would not actually try it, I think. Not in Thedas, where I doubt the Maker approves of such things, and certainly not here, where the gods are endlessly roaming about, apparently.
[But then:]
The same question at you, though. Would you rather lead the devout or Corypheus' armies? And to what end?
Or if you prefer a new question: a week spent having to spend significant quantities of time with my pack of friends— and acting as a friend, not simply pouting the entire time— or a month working at that sex shop, having to endure every pitiful noble's timid questions and packs of giggling teenage heiresses that try unsuccessfully with you?
[It takes a long while for him to write back after that. Don't ask why.]
Corypheus.
Heresy flatters me in a way that religion— even the ruling aspects of it— never could. I've seen too much divinity in my time: I'd rather become god than ply another one's script.
Besides, all that means is that when I inevitably storm your tower, I'll push you on your back across that altar to complete my ursurpation, and rut you until you're a pliant, well-behaved, whimpering mess.
One with a new god to serve, I think.
[An elf can (wet) dream, after all.]
Sex shop. Your rowdy packmates know more than enough about me as it stands, whereas deftly skirting the affections of a fleet of lovedrunk nobles is just another day ending in [err, well:] -day.
[No, really, look up the days of the week in DnD. Ridiculous.]
[Oh, there's no pause on Leto's end: begins writing the moment those flirtatious words appear. Perhaps he'd otherwise be content to merely shiver in private and bring up the scenario later so they could indulge it properly— but one with a new god to serve, I think, is simply too hot to ignore.]
God you might be, Astarion, but you know how stubborn I am. I suspect you'd have to mount me again and again, splayed on that altar or pinned over it, until I began to contemplate worshiping you.
Or seduce me. Me me ravenous for your touch, your voice, your tongue, your cock— until I forgot anything save you. Devout and addled enough to sit in your lap and impale myself atop your cock for hours on end just for the chance that you might deign to lay a hand on
[Scrawls the vampire that was just effectively palming at himself only minutes prior to this moment, warring with himself to keep from abandoning his efforts to write— which would consequently be abandoning his mate along with it (hence: not making that particular decision).]
I am already married no matter what hypothetical you propose, as you so vehemently demonstrated before. And there is nothing I would rather do less than fuck someone who isn't you.
[Give him a moment, please, he's melting. In fact he's currently wrestling with a pang of— what is it, guilt? Remorse? He isn't certain what to call it, but whatever it is, it's there inside his chest.
Consequence of playing roughly with the love of his unlife, he supposes.]
proposition: Permission to change my third option to my Tevene Merchant contact for my missions from Rift Watch?
If there was anyone in Thedas that I loathed beyond Corypheus' brood or those who spoke poorly to you, it was that utterly miserable wretch.
That depends entirely on which category you intend to place him.
[He lets that sit there for a time, but it feels . . . wrong. Not false, not really, but it isn't long before he adds:]
You have never told me why. Trust that I can well imagine why any Tevene contact would be vile and worthy of death, but I would hear more, if you wished to tell me.
[Somewhere Astarion is making a faint noise of gentle, (warm) amusement.]
Above the table, he was your typical highly influential merchant with a weakness for elves. Unbelievably selective about who he'd choose to mingle with at even the finest of soirées.
Behind closed doors, ah, now that was when you'd see the worst of his proclivities. The temper, the resentment, the cruelty.
[A beat— ]
You know. He always did remind me just a bit of Cazador, come to think of it.
A foul and yet typical Tevinter citizen, then. Gain the slightest bit of power and relish crushing those you can beneath your heel just to feel some form of control.
Reminded you of Cazador in his whim for enacted sadism? Or in that he liked to play games?
me looking up the old mission details after 3 years, my god
Truly? Are they all so starved for power? Or ambition?
[Contrarianism isn't his goal in picking at that point— only curiosity.]
Cazador could only dream of being so efficient as Abram Vanda had been. I'm not certain pleasure had a thing to do with his sadistic streak.
Understand as the favored slave of an oh-so-famed Altus it was never turned on me, but what I'd witnessed whilst entertaining? It'd be right at home in the palace I once called home, I can tell you that, my love.
[Abram Vanda, and ink goes thicker around the lines of those two words, Leto's pen heavy as he traces them.]
I will not pretend not to be relieved to hear that. I care little for the wellbeing of what slaves he holds, so long as it was not turned on you.
But I have a better idea of what you mean. And if ever we return to Thedas, I would not say no to the two of us paying him a visit, if you were so inclined. His name is not unknown to me, though I knew nothing of him beyond hearing him listed among the likely buyers of incoming slaves. I suppose that answers why.
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[But no, no: he lightly crosses that out, the written version of holding up a hand in silent, grinning truce.]
You are a taken thing, though. So slot me into each position and pick an answer.
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Oh so you're hypothetical twins in this scenario? If so I'm tempted to say I'll take the heroic Blue Wraith and the highborn Duke Fenris.
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And if you are going to deliberately cheat, I will not ask you another hypothetical.
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I'd seduce the Duke, take his (or her) copious wealth, and away with it in the night to marry the aforementioned Blue Wraith.
Or Drizzt, if my first choice doesn't apply.
Hypothetically.
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Drizzt won't do that with you.
[He has 0 idea what Drizzt Do'Urden will or will not do in any given hypothetical.]
Tell me another of his exploits tonight.
[But then:]
A slow death via poison, so you have time enough to finish some task even as you writhe in agony, or a swift, albeit useless one via sword?
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[And for the record: no, Drizzt undeniably wouldn't. Sometimes the sort of love you dreamed of as a young, daft little creature can only pale beside the real thing when it comes.
Particularly when it's wiling to assassinate a Duke.
Romantic.]
Ah ah ah. Not so fast, my pretty little love. You don't get to avoid playing your own hand: it's your turn to answer now. Marry the handsome, wealthy enviable vampiric aristocrat
or a famous, dashing hero.
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[A deliberate pause, and then:]
Though I suppose I could learn to live with the aristocrat, so long as he rid himself of the habit of patronizing his lover whenever he wished to score a cheap point.
[And of course the answer is Astarion. Of course it's always him. No matter the world, no matter the circumstances, high-born or low, rich or poor, monstrous or mortal— always, always, Leto will choose him.
But where's the fun in that?
That said: he does feel a tiny bit bad for not saying so when Astarion's own answers had been so fiercely devout. Perhaps, too, for the tease about patronizing, for he does enjoy it (and his heart has not forgotten their fight, Astarion's hurt over Leto's rejection of his form of doting; he never wants to imply that he does not cherish and crave each indulgence Astarion revels in giving him).
But on the other hand, they neither of them are so thin-skinned. And he can mollify his vampire later, whispering assurances of love and devotion between hungry kisses.]
Try again, my handsome aristocrat. And count yourself lucky I bite my tongue when it comes to your age in return.
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Besides, I was the aristocrat and the hero. Unlike someone, I've not given up on the alternate reality in which I fuck you at both ends.
[More to the point, in fair play:]
Quick death. I've had enough torture in my time, and I've never loved a long goodbye.
Take Corypheus' place and continue his campaign in favor of yourself, or become the new Black Divine?
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And yet:]
Interesting you bring that up. I have a surprise for you when next I see you.
[But then, without pause:]
The Black Divine. If only for the look on every magister's face when they see an elf in a seat of power above them all. I will not deny Corypheus' power is a tempting thing, if only to bring down Tevinter.
But the Black Divine (or the True Divine, as you would be forced to call me; the Black Divine is a mocking name, and frowned upon in Tevinter) can do that as well, preferably with a minimal of slaughter and death. It would be more difficult, admittedly, and I do not doubt I would have my fair share of trouble— though I think immediately dissolving the magisterium would force all those mages to rush to save their own fortunes and meager power instead of allying against me.
For a time, anyway. I suspect such a position would only end in assassination. But it would be a useful role for how long it lasted.
And I will not be forced to become a corrupted amalgam of red lyrium and a darkspawn, which is a plus.
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Pardon?
[Care to run that by him again? Tell him what that surprise is? Give him a hint?? Maybe?? Please???
But no. No, fine, he knows he'll never get an answer until it's well and truly time for the grand reveal.]
Forced to call you? Perhaps on my knees in service at your side?
Oh now that would be a thrilling treat. Your own personal sharp-toothed consort, capable of keeping even the finest assassins in check~
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I meant forced by the country at large, but I would not let them do that to you. If you are to be on your knees, Astarion— and you would be, in this scenario— it will be at my order and no one else's.
You would have to be discreet. No Divine is allowed any kind of attachment; we would be an illicit thing. And I know full well how much you enjoy being seen . . . do you think you could be good? Quiet as anything while you tended to me? Or would I need to fit you with a gag, just to be sure?
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Or the other way round, if his Grace felt so inclined.
[Gods, he might need to tuck himself away in an alley if this sort of game keeps up.]
What I'm saying is if the worlds ever turn on their heads and bring such a fantasy to fruition: do make it a pretty gag, won't you?
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[There's a thoughtful little pause as he contemplates the vast world of religious-themed kink, and then adds in a swift scrawl:]
I could mount you across an altar, too. Sebastian once told me he used to fantasize about that before he grew devout, and I can understand the appeal. Though I would not actually try it, I think. Not in Thedas, where I doubt the Maker approves of such things, and certainly not here, where the gods are endlessly roaming about, apparently.
[But then:]
The same question at you, though. Would you rather lead the devout or Corypheus' armies? And to what end?
Or if you prefer a new question: a week spent having to spend significant quantities of time with my pack of friends— and acting as a friend, not simply pouting the entire time— or a month working at that sex shop, having to endure every pitiful noble's timid questions and packs of giggling teenage heiresses that try unsuccessfully with you?
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[It takes a long while for him to write back after that. Don't ask why.]
Corypheus.
Heresy flatters me in a way that religion— even the ruling aspects of it— never could. I've seen too much divinity in my time: I'd rather become god than ply another one's script.
Besides, all that means is that when I inevitably storm your tower, I'll push you on your back across that altar to complete my ursurpation, and rut you until you're a pliant, well-behaved, whimpering mess.
One with a new god to serve, I think.
[An elf can (wet) dream, after all.]
Sex shop. Your rowdy packmates know more than enough about me as it stands, whereas deftly skirting the affections of a fleet of lovedrunk nobles is just another day ending in [err, well:] -day.
[No, really, look up the days of the week in DnD. Ridiculous.]
Fuck, marry, kill: Danarius, Cazador, Meredith.
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God you might be, Astarion, but you know how stubborn I am. I suspect you'd have to mount me again and again, splayed on that altar or pinned over it, until I began to contemplate worshiping you.
Or seduce me. Me me ravenous for your touch, your voice, your tongue, your cock— until I forgot anything save you. Devout and addled enough to sit in your lap and impale myself atop your cock for hours on end just for the chance that you might deign to lay a hand on
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Bah.
[He says that out loud too.]
Kill all. Cazador, Danarius, Meredith. In that order.
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[Scrawls the vampire that was just effectively palming at himself only minutes prior to this moment, warring with himself to keep from abandoning his efforts to write— which would consequently be abandoning his mate along with it (hence: not making that particular decision).]
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kill cazador - i need not explain that
fuck danarius, as i have done it before and can endure it again
marry meredith and kill her before her insanity kills me
and then kill danarius
the same question. cazador, danarius, and one of the ones we despised from riftwatch - take your pick.
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Consequence of playing roughly with the love of his unlife, he supposes.]
proposition: Permission to change my third option to my Tevene Merchant contact for my missions from Rift Watch?
If there was anyone in Thedas that I loathed beyond Corypheus' brood or those who spoke poorly to you, it was that utterly miserable wretch.
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[He lets that sit there for a time, but it feels . . . wrong. Not false, not really, but it isn't long before he adds:]
You have never told me why. Trust that I can well imagine why any Tevene contact would be vile and worthy of death, but I would hear more, if you wished to tell me.
I don't know much about that time in your life.
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Above the table, he was your typical highly influential merchant with a weakness for elves. Unbelievably selective about who he'd choose to mingle with at even the finest of soirées.
Behind closed doors, ah, now that was when you'd see the worst of his proclivities. The temper, the resentment, the cruelty.
[A beat— ]
You know. He always did remind me just a bit of Cazador, come to think of it.
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Reminded you of Cazador in his whim for enacted sadism? Or in that he liked to play games?
me looking up the old mission details after 3 years, my god
[Contrarianism isn't his goal in picking at that point— only curiosity.]
Cazador could only dream of being so efficient as Abram Vanda had been. I'm not certain pleasure had a thing to do with his sadistic streak.
Understand as the favored slave of an oh-so-famed Altus it was never turned on me, but what I'd witnessed whilst entertaining? It'd be right at home in the palace I once called home, I can tell you that, my love.
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I will not pretend not to be relieved to hear that. I care little for the wellbeing of what slaves he holds, so long as it was not turned on you.
But I have a better idea of what you mean. And if ever we return to Thedas, I would not say no to the two of us paying him a visit, if you were so inclined. His name is not unknown to me, though I knew nothing of him beyond hearing him listed among the likely buyers of incoming slaves. I suppose that answers why.
What kind of entertaining were you forced to do?
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voice;
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