Tumgik
luckyfluf · 2 years
Text
Please tell me I'm not the only one who now thinks "Chasing Twisters" by Delta Rae is an Imodna song? PLEASE. I NEED TO KNOW I'M NOT ALONE-
35 notes · View notes
luckyfluf · 2 years
Text
"Speechless" from the Live-action Aladdin is giving Yasha Nydoorin vibes. HELP. (Scene Dump)
youtube
I want to preface this by saying I'm sorry if this is weird. I just had this song stuck in my head and decided to give it a listen. And HOLY SHIT- this is a Yasha song. .
Let me break down what I envisioned while listening to this song.
This entire scene is that takes place for the duration of the song is a dream. Yasha dreams about the day Zuala died. But instead of running, she fights.
Like.... In this dream, she goes back. She's back in that moment before she runs. She tries to fight, but the tribe's warriors are strong. Yasha is bleeding from their blows, on her knees.
Then a miracle happens.
Thunder sounds in the distance.
Yasha rages. Her wings unfurl and she swings her sword again. Eventually the tribe backs off... Yasha turns. She had done what she had wanted, but what her eyes lay on is the body of Zuala. Still dead. Still taken from her. A thought that isn't entirely her own comes to her. It takes a moment to realize it isn't her own voice speaking in her head, but the Storm Lord's.
"The mightiest warrior can't change the past. You fought well... But at what cost?..."
Yasha drops her sword and goes over to Zuala's body. It's weird. Even after the years she'd spent away from the tribe, scrubbing that memory... She can still remember her wife's face. She closes her eyes.
A jolts awake. It was all a dream.
A little more detail about which lyrics correlate to what:
I think the fight sequence would actually go on for longer. Yasha starts to struggle during the lines:
"Written in stone
Every rule, every word
Centuries old and unbending
Stay in your place
Better seen and not heard
But now that story is ending."
She starts unable to dodge blows, and is starting to look frustrated.
Then of course the bridge. The bridge is where the cool stuff happens:
"Try to lock me in this cage
I won't just lay me down and die
I will take these broken wings
And watch me burn across the sky"
She's knelt on the ground, holding the hilt of her sword, battered and bleeding, gashes in random intervals around her body. She goes into a rage, her wings skeletal because this is technically set in the past ("broken wings", she's a fallen Aasimar) and her eyes almost electric in intensity. She let's out a gutteral yell, almost a scream, a war cry, and continued to fight. They don't exactly stand a chance with the Storm Lord on her side.
Yeah. This scene LITERALLY came to me randomly as I was listening to the song. I hope you enjoyed my RAMBLINGS-
0 notes
luckyfluf · 2 years
Text
“may I have this dance?” | A BeauYasha Short Story
“I’m telling you now,” Yasha said, “I don’t dance.” 
Beau raised an eyebrow, seeming to take this comment humorously. “You don’t dance?” she echoed, “Weren’t you part of a circus?” 
“Yes,” Yasha responded, crossing her arms, “As the help. The muscle. I never had an act, Beau.” At the moment, even though Beau wasn’t looking at her, she could practically feel Yasha’s eyes narrowing on her.
“Alright, alright! Sorry I asked.” Beau had to stifle the laugh bubbling in her voice. 
The group was currently at a party, which Beau found to be a rare occurrence. But, it wasn’t as if they were here by choice. The Cobalt Soul had picked up some suspicious activity coming from the nearby area, and had sent Beau to investigate. One thing led to another, and now they were here. It wasn’t particularly unwelcome, not to Beau anyway. Yasha, on the other hand, seemed to be uncomfortable. 
“Hey, lighten up, will you?” Beau asked her. “This is a party, after all. Don’t be so tense.” 
Yasha looked at Beau, and seemed to exhale a held breath, “I don’t like these… events. They seem too crowded.” 
Beau understood where Yasha was coming from. She was a wanderer by nature. She wasn’t used to big crowds of people and it made her uneasy. Beau understood that. But, it still didn’t quite excuse the fact that Yasha was currently sticking out like a sore thumb, behavior-wise. Beau offered her a smile. “I know, but still. It’ll seem weird if you’re hunched up in a corner like that.” she pointed out. 
Yasha closed her eyes, her arms seeming to wrap around herself a bit tighter. “Yeah. So?”
Beau rolled her eyes. “Where did this stubbornness come from? It’s loud and crowded, I get that, Yasha, I really do. But… It’s not the end of the world.”
Yasha heaved another sigh. “This place just makes me feel weird.”
“You’re not one for social events. I know that. Hell, I’m sure every one of the Nein knows that at this point.” Now Beau was the one crossing her arms. “But… I don’t like seeing you uncomfortable. And it’s really not as bad as you make it out to be. Anyone can be awkward out in public.” When Yasha didn’t respond, Beau looked into the crowd beyond them, where she spotted Fjord and Jester dancing. Or attempting to dance, by the looks of it. Fjord didn’t seem to know exactly what he was doing, but they both seemed to be enjoying themselves.
It was then when Beau got an idea. Was it a good idea? Hell if she knew. But, it was an idea nonetheless. Beau nudged Yasha lightly, causing the brooding barbarian to blink. “See? They seem to be having a good time.” she said, indicating both Fjord and Jester. “Why don’t we join them?”
This caused Yasha to blink some more. “What? Join them?” 
“You said you never danced before, right? Well, this is your chance.”
“I said I don’t dance, not that I’ve never danced before.” Yasha corrected.
“Eh, same difference. Come on.” Beau didn’t wait for Yasha to object as she took her by the arm and dragged her to the dance floor. As they made their way there, though, she could practically feel Yasha tense, as if she were bracing herself for something. Beau turned to her, her smile easy-going, as well as a bit amused. “Relax. It’s just a dance, Yasha. We’re not fighting for our lives here.” she chuckled. 
Yasha looked at Beau. “I know...” she said, “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Beau asked, still having a light bit of laughter to her tone, “Because you seem as though you’re getting ready to punch something. And that’s usually my department.” she joked. 
Yasha seemed to relax just a bit at this, as if responding to Beau’s words audibly wasn’t nearly enough. “I… I wasn’t.” 
Beau stifled another chuckle, her amused smile still intact. “Alright. If you say so.” She decided to switch the topic to… more immediate matters. “So, you do know how to dance, right?” she asked.
“I do, but… It’s been a while.” Yasha answered. Her eyes narrowed again, but this time in curiosity. “Do you?”
“Me?” Beau asked, half-scoffing, “No, not really. But, it can’t be that hard.”
Now Yasha looked amused. “You asked for my hand in a dance and you don’t even know how to?” she asked.
Beau smiled, but it was a little more sheepish than it was previously. “Why? Does that bother you?”
“No.” Yasha responded, “But it does surprise me. It’s… A bit amusing, honestly.”
“Oh, so you think it’s funny?” Beau asked, raising an eyebrow.
“In the most simplest sense of the word, yes. Yes I do.” 
Beau rolled her eyes for the second time that night, but she was still smiling. “Alright. So… If you’re the expert here, what do we do first?”
Yasha sighed. “The first thing you need to focus on is the hand placement.” she said.
“What’s wrong with what I’m doing now?” Beau asked.
“Well, for one, I am a bit taller than you.” Yasha explained, “And you having both hands on my shoulders might be a bit awkward.” she said. “Especially if I am supposed to be the one leading.” 
Beau blinked, “Oh…” She took her hands away momentarily, but Yasha gently grasped them. “Then… Uh… Where am I supposed to put them?” 
Yasha carefully guided one hand to her arm, near the shoulder, but not quite, “Keep your hand there.” she advised. The other hand she grasped together with hers. Yasha’s free hand found itself on Beau’s waist, who, at the contact, sucked in a short, quickened breath. Noticing this, Yasha raised an eyebrow, seeming mildly concerned. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah… Y-Yeah, I’m fine.” Beau said.
Besides the fact that my heart has seemingly migrated to my throat… That’s completely normal…
“Now… Now what?” Beau managed to ask through the slight tightness of her throat.
Yasha smiled a small bit. “Just follow my lead.” she said. 
As the two began a slow start at a waltz, Beau tried to focus on the steps they were taking. But it was kind of hard. Beau kept getting distracted. Her mind continued to wander back to the hand that was currently on her waist. 
Yasha’s hand… 
They were so close together right now. Rashly thinking, Beau so desperately wanted to close the distance between them, but she resisted. She didn’t want to potentially ruin this moment by letting her impulsiveness take over. Instead, Beau looked up at Yasha, focusing on her eyes. Those mysterious, and equally beautiful eyes of hers. Beau could get lost in them for hours if she’d let her…
God, stop. Can you not focus on her like that for one minute?
The truth was, no… No, she couldn’t. Or atleast, she severely doubted she could.
At one point, as they glided across the floor, Beau realized that she had been staring at Yasha for a very long span of time. She tried to look away, but again, it was hard. She didn’t really want to, though. 
She must've been making a face (maybe a grimace; Beau wasn’t exactly sure.) because Yasha’s smile faltered a bit. “Is something wrong?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper it was so quiet. 
Beau blinked, snapped out of her trance, “What? Oh… No. No, nothing’s wrong.” That was… Mostly true. 
Yasha tilted her head a bit, “Really? Because you seem distracted…” 
That’s because I am…
Beau blushed a bit. “Me? Distracted?” she asked, chuckling a bit nervously. “No. Never!” 
Yasha narrowed her eyes a small bit, which only made Beau’s guilty grin grow wider. “Beau…” she said, almost as if she were chastising her. 
“Alright, fine!” Beau said, “I… was distracted. A little…” she mumbled the last part. 
Yasha’s eyes softened. “By what?” she asked, softly. 
“By…” Beau glanced away. “By you.” 
Silence spanned between the two of them and Beau’s blush only deepened. Had she said the wrong thing?
God, she hates me now, doesn’t she? 
But, Yasha’s eyes were still as soft and as welcoming as they were before. “Beau…” Yasha whispered. When Beau didn’t look at her, Yasha gently cradled her cheek. “Beau, look at me…” 
Beau did so, her cheeks still flushed quite a bit. “What?”
“You really think I care if you were distracted by me in that way? That I’d judge you for it?” Yasha asked.
Beau blinked, again feeling a bit sheepish. “I mean… I don’t know. Maybe?”
“No.” Yasha answered, “No, I wouldn’t. And I don’t…” she said, her voice calm. A small smile crossed Yasha’s lips. “I never really knew you to be easily flustered.”
“Well… Then have you really met me?” Beau asked, chuckling. “God… I’m a blushing mess, aren’t I?”
Yasha chuckled, “At the moment? Yes… Yes you are.” 
“God damn it!”
They both found a laugh at this. When their laughter died down, Beau found herself looking into Yasha’s eyes again.
“I should really thank you.” Yasha said.
Now it was Beau who tilted her head. “For what?” 
Yasha paused, then answered, unable to keep back her smile. “For letting me have this dance.”
32 notes · View notes
luckyfluf · 2 years
Text
“i won't scream” | A C3 AU Short Story
Authors Note: I was in a very witchy mood today, so I decided to write a story to calm that urge. Scratch that itch. Douse that flame. (Heh-) In this AU, Imogen was seen as a witch in her town. She was sentenced to a trial… Will she survive? Read to find out! (This story is partially inspired by the song "Burn The Witch" by Shawn James. Highly suggest you check it out.)
Smoke. That was the first thing that drew her attention. Smoke and burning wood. Was it birch? Alder? Spruce? She didn't know… And honestly, she didn't care.
Smoke. She glared through the smoke at the crowd. There were people around her, she realized. Screaming people. Angry people. People who wanted her dead.
She glared through the smoke at her father.
The one who had started all of this.
“Imogen Temult,” her father spoke in that… grand voice of his. Too grand for someone of his status. “You are charged under the felony of witchcraft… How do you plead?”
Imogen knew what she was supposed to say. She knew what the people wanted to hear. But like hell she was going to give it to them. “Innocent,” she spat. “I am innocent and all of you know it!”
Her father, ever so withered in appearance, scoffed. The torch in his hands flickered and crackled. “Ever the fighter… It'll do you no good.”
“I never thought you'd do this to your own daughter…” Her tone was like ice, despite the flame nearly licking her cheek as he leaned in close.
“I never thought my daughter'd turn out to be a witch.” he spat.
He was the one who threw the first torch.
The kindling caught aflame instantly. It burned slow… smoke started to plume upward, and she tensed. She shut her eyes, feeling the urge to struggle. Through the stress… Her mind opened up.
She heard the townspeople's thoughts.
“To the Hells with her!”
“At last, the Temult family will be at peace!”
“Disgraceful-”
“Can't even look her own father in the eyes-”
"Burn her!"
"Burn the witch!"
The voices merged together, becoming a cacophony almost as loud as the flames that roared beneath her. It was a deafening chant of the mind…
And then she could hear it from their throats, coarse and rough, like the kindling that was burning away…
“Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”
Imogen kept her eyes shut, but they were beginning to sting. Each breath she took seemed to choke her. She started to cough. Her wrists had been shackled with iron. They had wanted her wrists to blister as she burned. Her father's idea…
She opened her eyes now, though it stung to see. She spotted him, just as stoic as before. To business. This was just an everyday thing for him…
The trial of his daughter.
No…
The trial of a witch.
If she didn't already hate him, she probably would've broken down in tears. But, the thing he didn't know. She was her father's daughter; Stubborn and unmoving like the stake that held her. She would glare death at him. If she had been a witch, she probably would've summoned a curse to spite him, one that would sicken his blood until his heart would turn as black as it should be.
But Imogen Temult was not a witch.
Imogen Temult had never been a witch.
Imogen tore her gaze away. If she was going down in flames, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing the pain in her eyes. Instead, she looked at the sky. Moments ago, it had been clear. Now it was blackened with smog.
No… That… That wasn't smog. Those were…
Clouds.
She focused, closing her eyes to see if she could hear something. She did. It sounded like an uneven heartbeat, thrumming at random intervals.
Thunder…
And where there was thunder, there was-
She felt her spark. Tiny volts of electricity, violet in color, zipped across her fingertips. It danced over her shackles, conducting easily. Her father had been a fool to choose iron…
When she opened her eyes, they glowed a light purple. She heard gasps of shock, saw the crowd take a few steps back. Saw her father raise a hand…
“She is shackled, she can't hurt anyone-”
As the flames licked at her ankles, her bonds broke. Brilliant violet energy released from her palm, shooting straight for her father.
The bastard had the forethought to dodge the attack.
Imogen tried again. The crowd at this point was in a panic, screaming, “The witch! She's free!”
Oh yes… She was free. But she didn't want anything to do with them. She looked onward at her panicking spectators. “I'm not the witch you perceive me as,” she said, her voice echoing against the distant storm. “I am but a townsperson, just like all of you. It is you who have accused me of heinous acts I've yet to commit!” She looked at the sky. It was red like blood… She could play this up. “Look at the sky above you, and witness the blood that stains it! The clouds show what you would have done by believing this foul lie!”
“It is you who are the liar!” Her father growled. “You should've listened! I told you to keep it hidden!”
Imogen looked at her father. If she could, she would've set him ablaze. “Let me leave here and there shall be no more blood to stain the sky.”
The square was silent. Distant thunder rumbled.
Imogen glared at her father. She meant it. She couldn't be more sincere in her words if she wanted to.
Her father didn't budge. “If your mother could see you now-”
“If my mother could see me now, this would've never happened!” Imogen snapped. “Let me go, Pop… Please.”
They seemed to be stuck that way for a spell. Each glaring into the others eyes. Eventually her dad tore his gaze off of hers. “Go,” he said, hoarsely. “Go, and never even think to come back here…”
Imogen would accept that. She faced the crowd. The townsfolk started to part, seeming to shrink away from her. She didn't look them in the eyes. She could already sense the tale they were crafting as she looked up at the scarlet sky.
Imogen Temult
"The witch that washed the sky red with blood..."
2 notes · View notes