#leanderposting

if his shirt can go long enough that he doesn't notice that you aren't wearing anything underneath until oops! you dropped something, how clumsy of you, you pick it up, making sure to give Leander a good view of what's his, him dropping the glass in his hand and then you feel his arms wrap around you, huryying you to your room. what if others saw you like this?

if you wanted him to fuck you mercilessly all you had to do was ask, though maybe you like bleeding hickeys and bruises all over you while he bends you over a table in your room, a whore doesnt need comfort while being fucked silly anyways right?

he is trying to punish you, fuck you raw, make your fingers bleed by how tight you curl them into fists as he abuses your already sore hole again and again, but you're moaning for him to go faster, deeper, be more rough.

Scratching at the muscular hand clasped over their mouth, Hyacinth tried to scream for help, knowing none would come. Dragged down the cold damp stairs by the hair, they stumbled against the grip. Once they tried to bite the strong hand that almost strangled them, Hyacinth got thrown into the opposite wall of the cellar. Leander approached slowly while they heaved for air, coughing as they tried to scrape themself off the floor.

“All bark no bite. For someone with the gall to carve all those spells on my door, you go down easily, Hyacinth.” Leander clapped the dust off his gloves, watching as flakes of dust descended from the walls and onto the fallen priest. “Much too easily. I could humor your audacity again, I had for way too fucking long, but everyone’s patience runs out eventually.” He loomed over Hyacinth’s crumpled figure, his eyes glowing in the shadow of his frame over the orange lamp.

Hyacinth was almost certain they heard a crack or two when their back and shoulder hit the wall, but they were too disoriented to know for certain or feel much pain. At the moment of the collision, their vision snapped to white, and now was blurry while they tried to scoop themself back up.

While making pitiful attempts to return the air knocked out of their lungs, Hyacinth stared up at Leander with half-open eyes. They could only discern the green glow that his eyes emitted even in the darkness, his words only being half intelligible past the ringing in their ears. Hyacinth tried to say something in return, but could only wheeze and let out a choked cough while pushing themself up by the arm.

“You seem just so insistent on fucking up my every plan, squirming in the way like a pathetic goddamn animal. Look at yourself. One kick could end you. And that’d still be overkill.” Leander growled, his expression staying void of emotion despite the clear rage in his voice and how the leather of his gloves stretched over his clenched fists. Hyacinth managed to sit, and were now taking heavy breaths with their chest and shoulders moving in wide frantic motions to cover for their greedy need for air. “Come on. Get up, you little freak. There’s no more miracles left to keep your miserable ass alive.”

Hyacinth stumbled up while leaning their side on the wall. They stared into Leander’s eyes with horrified desperation, clinging onto hope with delusional determination. “You… Blas…phemer…” Hyacinth croaked, wobbling while they tried to stand on their own.

Leander only chuckled. “Best start praying now, priest.” With a firm step forward, he crushed Hyacinth into the wall with his forearm pressing into their chest with his elbow and fist pinning the priest’s arms in place and rendering them immobile. They gasped for air just before Leander’s other hand would clasp around their neck. It’d barely take him any effort to snap Hyacinth’s neck into two if he wanted to, but no, he wanted their death to be slow. He wanted the priest to try to plead to be forgiven for everything they’ve ever done to foil his plans and destroy his ambitions. He wanted to watch life drain from their eyes. But not even this detrimental and thoroughly hopeless situation dissuaded Hyacinth from fighting for their life.

As much as they could, Hyacinth thrashed against the much stronger arms. Tears streamed down their face, the priest was getting dizzy and their limbs felt like they were being stabbed with thousands of invisible needles, their vision blurred into static with colored shapes floating across it. Leander only scrutinized their suffering as if it were an entertaining display, like a spider watching a moth thrash in its net.

“Give up now, priest. Didn’t you yourself say you deserve a slow death? Why’re you struggling?” Leander questioned with venomous amusement. His eyes hadn’t shifted from staring into Hyacinth with an overwhelming power. Hyacinth stared up at the ceiling, tears soaking their face while they kept wriggling beneath Leander’s arms.

“Not by… a sinner’s… hand…” The priest croaked, digging their nails into Leander’s forearm, since that’s as high as their hands could reach. Hyacinth could barely feel their legs while flailing them around as much as possible. Despite not believing that they’ll be saved, Hyacinth tried to fight for their life. Just so the Gods won’t judge them for sinfully becoming willing to give up their life in their last moments.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. And wouldn’t a sinner deserve to die by fellow sinners? Isn’t that what you are? Do you think you’re suddenly better than me? Don’t flatter yourself. We’re cut from the same cloth.” Leander mocked, making Hyacinth’s back sear against the wall as he raised them off the ground by the neck. They cried out, eyes squeezing shut. A tremor broke out throughout Hyacinth’s body, limbs trembling as if they were outside in the middle of a blizzard. The static clouding Hyacinth’s eyesight broke out into stars and flickering specks of white.

“I’m… so… much… weaker” They wheezed, kicking their legs in the air while feverishly gasping against the crushing pressure over their neck.

Leander laughed biliously, otherwise not moving a muscle. “So? It is what it is. The world’s unfair. Woe is you. Are those your last words? Shitty choice.”

“No… chivalry… in killing… the weak… fraud…” Hyacinth prayed to the Gods that Leander’s ego was the right button to push to keep them alive. It was the only button of his that the priest knew, since it was precisely what put Hyacinth in danger with Leander specifically. Everything was going dark, Hyacinth’s whole body felt numb, as if their soul was beginning to depart from their body.

Leander’s expression twitched with anger, his eye gave a dangerous glint. Is this where he tightens his grip and Hyacinth dies to the crunch of their vertebrae?

Suddenly, Leander pulled his hands away and Hyacinth fell back to the moist floor. They coughed for breath violently, ragged breathing desperate to come back to normalcy as their body starved for air, hot blood rushing back to frozen limbs.

“You want this to be a fair game? You know what? Fine. Go ahead. Show me what you’ve got.” He stepped away and stared Hyacinth down with infuriated amusement while parting his arms almost as if to offer an embrace. The glow in his eyes flickered like a prideful flame. Hyacinth figured that by playing with his food Leander could delude himself into feeling charitable.

Hyacinth’s body shook in resemblance of a seizure, but they tried to fight the convulsions to get up. After a minute of silence and hungry breaths, the priest pulled themself with their side leaning against the damn wall. They still couldn’t look into the green eyes, feeling like Leander could devour their soul if they dared to challenge a glance.

“I’m waiting. I have no doubt that you have what it takes to even us out.” He smirked with a smug air around him. Leander’s wide frame stood in the sickly orange light of the lamp now, blocking the only way out of the cellar. Hyacinth had no choice but to try something that’d most likely end up a pathetic display.

Suddenly, the dimming light was snuffed out, undoubtedly by Leander’s magic. Only the two cold emeralds glowed in the dark aside from a few cracks in the ceiling. The air burned through Hyacinth’s lungs while they tried to calm down their raging heartbeat and come up with anything remotely rational as their head was beginning to get swarmed with darker thoughts. The priest could barely think in the first place, frozen in place with only the thoughts of somehow running out of the dark cellar. Hyacinth couldn’t fight Leander if they tried, completely hopeless against the much more muscular man who was also tremendously more versed in the battle-adapted magic than Hyacinth could hope to be.

Was this the end of it, then..? Was this a dead end? Did Hyacinth have no way out of this except maybe making an embarrassing display of themself before embracing death? Were they just buying time for their last prayers before they’d stand before the gods’ Divine Judgement..? On second thought, maybe this was a fitting end for Hyacinth after all, no matter how much they wanted to disagree with Leander. Maybe the priest didn’t deserve a chance to cure themself and absolve their sins as much as that would be possible. Perhaps it was finally time to come to terms with their inevitable death and succumb to the cruel serpent eyes of a blasphemer. For him killing someone so weak, especially an obstacle in his hubristic plans, was nothing. Maybe if Hyacinth gave up, death would come quicker than they deserved.

But then, in a moment of clarity, Hyacinth had a realization. Alas, there was one other option. Leander seemed to fail to notice the ritual knife that was well hidden in the barely visible pockets of Hyacinth’s thick robe. And he couldn’t possibly notice it now in the darkness. Their thoughts began to immediately go to the crude blade that was their ritual knife, and immediately Hyacinth went pale. No. They couldn’t deface the very knife that was forged for them, the knife that they consecrated in extensive rituals with their own blood, the knife that signified their connection with the divine through magic… Murder in itself was one of the greatest sins one could commit, but committing such with a sacred knife? The gods would send them straight to hell for such an insult upon them. If in the past Hyacinth was possessed by rage and never directly got blood on their hands or their knife, but it would all be different this time. This time, they’d be coming to the decision themself, there’d be no one else to blame. Hyacinth gulped, their knees wobbled in terror. A whole life could be used as an incredibly powerful catalyst to a spell, which would turn the killing into an offering to the gods. But would it not be just as insulting to present them with such a rotten soul for their past blessings?

They must’ve begun to space out due to indecisiveness, eyes welling with tears of horror, as Leander angrily sighed and stepped closer. “Well? I’m waiting. Don’t test my patience. Go on or tell me you were wasting my fucking time again.” His voice was firm, his patience was clearly running thin. Hyacinth gasped for air even though they were no longer choked, torn between the priestly urge for a deservedly slow death and the human instinct of self-preservation despite the weight of unabsolved sins on their shoulders. “Useless fucking bastard. All this time you were wasting my time and money, but I kept forgiving you. I was being kind of you and this is how you fucking repay me? Wasting your second chance to make your death less pitiful?” They remained still, breathing faster while contemplating. Hyacinth could die and end up paying for all their sins in hell for the rest of eternity. Or they could persist and live, only to carry such a heavy sin if not an entire insult to the very gods they’re worshiping until they die, and end up with even more sins weighing their soul down into the nether.

“Why’re you even here, huh? You killed someone with that curse of yours and made a run for it not to face the consequences? And what for? Just to stalk and beg the doctor for forgiveness instead of praying to your gods? I bet they’re disappointed in you. One shitty priest you are, Hyacinth.” Sarcasm kept pouring past Leander’s lips with pure venom dripping from his voice. Hyacinth's hands began to shake with anger. He now stood so close that Hyacinth could hear Leander’s breathing.

The glow in his eye flared in a hubristic certainty of their failure. Leander provoked them and, in doing so, felt invincible. He was always the one in power. He always prevailed. He always got what he wanted. He always walked out of the water dry. He was immune to consequence. Immune to guilt. Immune to satiation. Immune to divine punishment.

Hyacinth’s eyes darted up to his, an eldritch rage began to rise like a flood of fire in the yellow-red eyes. Leander further opened his arms while a near demonic grin twisted his lips, the expression for once reaching his eyes.

“О Пресвятые ангелы, О великие Боги, О Богоматерь, я надеюсь ВЫ сможете простить мой грех…”

“Saying your last prayers? Good. Let’s get this shit over with, you’ve taken up enough of my precious time with your nuisance of an existence—”

The thick high-quality fabric of Leander’s shirt bloomed with blood as it got pierced by the crude, almost dull ritual knife. It blindly squirmed through the muscular with a struggle, but Hyacinth barely felt the strain on their bony arms now. Leander’s eyes for once widened with shock, a pained cry ripping its way out of his throat.

“What— what the fuck are you doing—” Leander growled and swung an arm at Hyacinth in the dark, only for them to lunge just beneath the hit and rip the knife out of his stomach. Leander inhaled sharply, staring at Hyacinth’s silhouette with disbelief and shock, except this time their eyes mirrored the prior blankness of his instead of the typical fear. Just as he stepped back and gripped at the bleeding wound, Hyacinth swung from below and into his shoulder, the momentum easing the blade in just below his collarbone. Leander keeled over as Hyacinth wriggled the blade out, his breathing choked when he began to frantically cough for air. His glowing emerald eyes acted as beacons, not letting Hyacinth lose their target. Leander made clumsy attempts to knock Hyacinth off, but the darkness aided the priest in avoiding most of his attempts even in the narrow space. “What the fuck has gotten into you?” Leander mumbled in irritation laced with fear and stumbled back, only to trip over the stairs and fall over the cold stone. Hyacinth stood over him, silent. The priest’s grip on the knife whitened their knuckles while their face was tense in blank rage. Like the day their curse was revealed, an incomprehensibly deep fury took over their whole entire conscious being.

Just as the first hints of blood sprouted onto Leander’s lips, Hyacinth fell over him, stabbing the knife into his chest. He gripped their throat again. “You can’t kill me.” He croaked, and tightened his grip over the priest’s neck. Hyacinth coughed and heaved, struggling with pulling the knife out again. Once the metal parted room his skin, Leander made a hurt bloodied wheeze, and put all their effort into stabbing his arm instead.

“Молчать, богохульник.” Hyacinth mumbled against Leander’s scream, their voice devoid of its usual stutter and quietness. Blood spilled like a fountain from his pierced arm, spraying most of their face with the crimson that matched Hyacinth’s robe. Leander, blinded with pain, writhed and attempted to punch them again or kick his legs and get them off, now dizzied with blood loss, only for Hyacinth to take the weakened punches and not reduce their violent vigour at all, the pain not registering. They stabbed into Leander’s chest, the knife nestled somewhere below his collarbone.

Leander’s eyes became hazy, the absinthe greenness infusing with death like with dissolved sugar. The spark of the emeralds began to fade out in its entirety, the ubiquitous glow of the poisonous orbs was dying out. And Leander himself felt it too. “Please… we can… talk…” Leander coughed, only more blood dripping down his chin while he tied to collect himself. Hyacinth ignored his pleas and kept stomping out the fire by planting more and more stab wounds into Leander’s chest over and over, until they couldn’t feel their arms. By then the begging and foolish self-preservation attempts and any noise from the mage had long died out, but the light of the lamp slowly came to life again, only to reveal Leander’s lifeless body.

Hyacinth stood up at long last, their posture somewhat shaky from exhaustion. Their shoulders rose and fell with ferally deep breathing. Hyacinth’s knife, robes, arms and face were all soaked with Leander’s blood. The puddle of dark red flowed over the cellar's wooden floor from under the body. The soles of the priest’s wooden sandals became submerged into it too, and yet all Hyacinth could do was stare. Observe the lifeless mangled body of the blasphemer with his eyes glassy like tumbled gems, but never truly take it in. Their yellow-red eyes seemed dull, blank, dead like Leander’s despite the seething rage that was still somewhat searing their flesh from the inside.

Reaching into their robes, Hyacinth got out a small crude wooden tablet, and carved a sigil into it — a dianthus, a baptisia, a hyacinth and a lily within an 8-pointed star. The scratches in the wood were laced with the red, an offering to the Gods. After engraving the divine forgiveness and protection spell into the wood with reddened lines, the priest dipped the tablet into the blood, the lines of the engraving soon getting filled with the vital catalyst. After wiping off the excess blood, Hyacinth stuck the tablet back into their pocket along with the knife, and stepped over the limp corpse to get out of the basement. Hyacinth’s expression didn’t even twitch all the while like it was an unpainted mask, which depicted neither the outrageous tragedy of the murder nor the gleeful comedy of the weak winning against the strong despite all odds.

The priest took off their sandals after making their way up the stairs, now they were in the back room of the Wick. The party was still loud, Hyacinth could hear the music and laughter even louder now than before. Without a second thought, they slipped out of the tavern through the back door. The priest washed the blood off the soles of their shoes in a puddle and slid the sandals on again, deciding not to do anything about the soaked robes since blood stopped dripping off of them. Hyacinth quickly wiped their face, the feeling of dried blood cracking over their skin reminding them of its presence. The small alley in front of them split off, a distant turn to the left just before the alley’s dead end, and a nearer turn to the right. Hyacinth didn’t particularly care where to go, all they knew was that the stench of alcohol was making them sick, as was the smell of rust all over them, so they needed to leave.

[Head for the closer turn]