poll complete. y'all decided that.....
a nice sexy beating. 👍🏽
King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 2
Obi-Wan watches the sith rise from the water, sliding onto dry land like some kind of amphibious snake. Like a naga, but horned and clawed and radiating darkness in the force. His tail gives him extra height, letting the-
Letting the-
The zabrak? The dragonfish? The monster…?
Letting him loom, swaying slightly, the gills along his ribs fluttering in rhythm.
"Jediiii," he-
Him? They? It?
Force, what had the sith become?
Darth Maul croons to him with false concern, cloying and mad. "Have you not heard the dragonfish ditty?"
Obi-Wan ignores the nonsensical question. "You've won, sith. Well done. Now I've an appointment to keep this afternoon, so I'm afraid I really must be going..."
The man laughs like the sizzle of a frying pan, swaying his way closer. "Going? Going? Oh no, no, Kenobi~ you are going nowhere. Ever."
Well then. If that's how it's going to be.
Obi-Wan leaps at the creature, force fueled and bloody determined, with his fist aimed for that sharp jaw of his. The jedi's punch connects, speed and desperation lending it strength. The impact throws Maul back and away.
The sith screams, enraged, and coils in on himself before returning the spring attack with interest. Obi-Wan is dodging, rolling, trying to score another hit-
-and then he is hitting a wall, ears ringing, falling to the floor, sight spinning.
Clawed hands grab the lapel of his tunics, drawing him up and in until he is suspended before the dragonfish sith. Obi-Wan hangs there, blood dripping down the side of his face.
"Ohhhh, Kenobi," Maul hisses, "You provoke me. Yessss. To meet your end sooner rather than later, to escape my revenge."
Obi-Wan reaches up to grab the man's forearms, feet kicking as he tries to gain purchase on the slick black scales that have replaced his thighs. "Suicidal? I think not. I cut you in half once, Darth, and I'll find a way to do it again."
There's that horrible, sizzling laughter again.
A long black tongue slides from Maul's mouth, laving up the side of his face, smearing the blood. "I would like to see you try, jedi scum. Your blade is gone, your breathing tool is gone, and now you are powerless before me!"
Obi-Wan responds by kicking him in the face.
The cold grip on his tunic releases, and he drops like a tooka to land on his feet. The jedi braces, winding up another left hook-
A tail lashes at his head, wacks him, and even with strong assistance in the force he goes stumbling aside. That lithe, muscular tail whips toward him again from the other direction, and he takes it to the shoulder. The wall catches his fall. He impacts it with a slap of wet cloth and a sound of pain as his ribs creak.
Next thing Obi-Wan knows, there's a hand wound into his hair, wrenching his head back, and he's spread limbed chest-first against the stone. The sith is glued to his back, long tail separating Obi-Wan's legs, curling about and trapping them in place. He shoves backward against that heavy weight, force assisted, but it doesn't gain him enough space to act.
He reaches back to elbow the sith in the face, but he is caught, the limb pinned under the other man's arm where it's got his head. Obi-Wan's other arm is snatched as well, pinned at the wrist, leaving him with so very little range of motion.
He wrenches against the hold again, and again, but Maul has him well and truly helpless.
"Let me go!" he demands, but the sith only pulls on his hair, exposing the jedi's throat to the possibility of those jagged fangs.
"Mmno," the creature says, gleeful. "This is your tomb, Kenobi. However long I decide to make you suffer, this is where you will die."
He struggles anyway, through pain and the nausea of a mild concussion, through fear and mounting exhaustion. He fights, he fights, but it is not enough.
Heavy coils of dragonfish press to his back, sliding past in a slow and rhythmic writhe. The sith giggles, as if delighted with his new toy.
Eventually it isn't worth the energy to keep trying. Obi-Wan goes limp into the hold, panting and cold.
Chapter 1:
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Continued from [x] with @fightingthetides
Since Ravein did not move from his place after she had waved to him, Nunnally assumed he was not interested to interact with her. As sad as it did make her, she was sure she would accept his decision and wouldn't invade his personal space. Nunnally didn't look in his direction anymore; instead she sat on the bench, her arms hugging her legs, she looked at the park and people passing by. Trying to imagine who they were. A funny thought suddenly hit her that they also might be looking at them. At Nunnally and Ravein. But none of them would have an idea of who they were. The former assassin and the mafia princess. They did not look for who they were. These names that life had given to them seemed like a title of a book (definitely a romantic novel). Or perhaps a movie. But not the reality. Right? Reality was not that ridiculous. But it was a reality and nothing could ever be done about it.
Deep in her thoughts, she didn't notice when her phone started to buzz when the message arrived. It only took another buzz (and another message; a lucky coincidence) to make Nunnally look at her phone. Her lips turned into a bright smile when she read the message from Ravein. But again she did not look in his direction. Her gaze locked at the screen she was trying to figure out if she knew the address. And if she’d be able to get there in about 25 minutes that were left. She knew – more or less – the area, but the actual address did not tell her much. She did not want to actually google it…it would leave some traces in her phone. Nunnally started to be really cautious about Ravein. Perhaps even paranoid? She could not tell, but in his situation, it’s better to overreact. At least that was what she agreed with herself and decided to follow as her personal rule. There was no-one who knew about her and Ravein (perhaps apart from Roberto), but he was not here and he did not know what she she was doing and how she was behaving. She was on her own.
When finally she looked at the bench, where Ravein had been sitting just a few moments ago, there was already no-one there. He probably went to their meeting place. The girl considered switching off her phone, but that probably was not the best idea. Perhaps he’d send her new directions? Change the meeting place? Paranoid! She was becoming paranoid. A bit perhaps but that was good paranoid? Right? She stood up and started to walk slowly out of the park. In the opposite direction than she expected Ravein to walk away. (“Nunnally stop it”) – she scolded herself internally – (“But I am just worried about a friend.”) – she replied to herself. As no matter the whole situation, the tensions and the misunderstanding, Nunnally considered Raven a friend. And someone she should protect.
It was not such a long walk. Ravein seemed to choose a place that Nunnally was able to get in time. Even if she was slow and her sense of directions was not the best. She got there just before the suggested time. She was not really sure what to do. The place looked abandoned. The door to the shop (but was it a shop) was locked. She probably should not wait there for too long as that would draw an unwanted attention to her. Even if there seemed to be no-one around. Neither she wanted to call his name or to look for him too intensively. She knelt to tie her shoe laces. She was just on time. If he was there, he’d probably approach her. Or perhaps she’d get another text. She just needed to be patient.
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“Sit.” the woman instructed, pointing to two chairs. Folklore sat in one and waited while the woman opened drawers and cupboards behind him, pulling out various things and shuffling them around, before she sat with him at the table. He pushed his glasses back up against his nose, and began tapping his foot. What has he gotten himself into.
“You’re alone,” the woman said.
“My girlfriend broke up with me.”
“Not for always.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your future is made of choices. I can help you make them.” She waved her hand around the glass ball on the table, and Amy’s face appeared, full of laughter.
“How did you–” Lorey began to ask but Amy’s face vanished, replaced by two children who enveloped Amy in a hug.
“Look how happy she is,” the lady commented on the scene before them.
“Are you suggesting I can't give her that?”
“Or maybe that you can.”
“Those are our children?” Lorey’s eye widened and he leaned forward in his chair. He knew Amy wanted a family, and he’d imagined them having one together one day, with children just like the ones he saw in front of him
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