Voltaic Refeeding

Voltaic Refeeding

Augusnippets day 3: thunderstorm | blizzard | heat wave

Word count: 499

Trigger warnings: mentions of eating, electric shock, burns, blood, fear of death

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Camlanns were born attuned to the elements. Magic wove them into being just as much as DNA, and they needed magic just as much as they needed food or air. This was easy, for some—if you were attuned to earth, wind, plants, water, physics, all you needed was to touch it to feed on the ambient magic, and you were set.

For Ruika, attuned to electricity, that was harder. Tal had told him that there were people thinking about using electricity to power lights and heat in a house, but for now, fire magic was used to bring fire, light magic to produce light. Outside of combat and nastier warding styles, no one had really incorporated electricity into their life, and Ruika did not want to get in the practice of getting beaten up by wards or people just to try and keep himself healthy.

So, when summer rolled around, the air turning souplike and clouds becoming dark with the promise of rain, Tal whipped out all his governmental real-time storm maps, Piri rented a mobile, and the three of them went storm-chasing.

Lightning was an excellent source of electricity for Ruika. Electricity naturally bent towards him, knowing he was a home for it, which was great when he was fighting lightning mages and even better when he wanted to get struck multiple times in one storm. The rest of the time, Piri and Tal set up warded spheres to catch lightning, to feed him for the rest of the year when storms were rarer. It really was the best way to keep his magic stores from withering and him dying of starvation!

It also, Ruika reflected, hand raised to the roiling sky and shaking, just could be really very dangerous.

His ears had ceased to hear anything but a high-pitched, screaming whine. He was somewhere between feeling nothing but tingling numbness and like he was about to explode, the telltale sign that he’d eaten a little too well, and like a starving person gorging themself, that was going to have some immediate, horrible consequences. Distantly, he knew he was burned all over to the point of burst, bleeding blisters, even if he couldn’t feel the blood trickling over his skin.

Somehow his arrhythmic, rabbit-quick heart found it in itself to leap in fear when his smearing vision managed to catch a flicker of light in the billowing darkness above. The three strikes in quick succession before had destroyed his ability to withstand any more voltage. If he got struck again—

The world went white.

He registered his vision jarring—had his knees given out? He couldn’t care, around the agonizing numbness, around the sight of a copper, spiky rod above him, now sizzling with the heat of catching lightning before he could. He saw a blur of red—candy-red, Piri-red. Oh, she’d put the lightning rod there.

And then any coherent thought was lost to the blinding torture of a brick-red, Tal-red blur picking him up and sweeping him away.

apparently people are now purchasing thick water to make slimes with because of a trend on tiktok

thick water is for disabled people who can’t swallow properly. stores usually have extremely limited supplies of it.

please don’t buy thick water for fun or to make slime with. it’s literally the only way some disabled people can drink anything. It’s not a fucking toy

Dialogue Prompts for Stoic Whumpee™️

“It’s not a big deal. They didn’t do much.”

“The scars are none of your concern. Don’t look at them if you don’t like them.”

“What happened? Nothing. Nothing worth complaining about.”

“Hey, hey, are you with me? It’s okay, take a deep breath. I know what to do— you’re going to be okay.”

“I don’t like short sleeves. And I don’t like your questions.”

“I didn’t flinch then and I didn’t flinch now—fuck—fine— when someone raises their hand close to my face, what do you think i’m going to do?”

“At one point, it was just me and the cliff. And the wind. Loud, that night. But—well, I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“I’ve said too much.”

“If I’ve learned one lesson, it’s that trust should be sparsely given. Remember that, my friend, next time you try to leave a knife in my ribs.”

“When we go in there, I’m going to act different. Yeah, it’s all bravado. We’re going to pretend we like the bastards, and then we’re going to rob them.”

“Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You never did.”

Whumpees being forced to call Whumpers 'sir' or 'master' is an all time classic, but what about Whumpers forcing Whumpees to call them by pet names, such as 'love' or 'darling'?

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Philosophical Incident

Augusnippets day 6: car accident | plane crash | shipwreck

Word count: 500

Trigger warnings: minor injury, minor blood

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“Cass. Cass! Cassie!”

Cassander let his head loll to the side. “What,” he deigned to answer.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, ya goth fuck!” Mag snapped. “Stop contemplating the secrets of the universe and tell me if it’s because yer being you or because yer head got fucking cracked open!”

Ugh, he was so loud. “If now isn’t the time for philosophy,” Cassander posited, “when is?” The road was nice and level, warm from the sun. It was a good day for cloud-watching. In all honesty, laying here and staring up at the blue sounded like a much better deal than having to sit up and contend with any injuries he definitely had.

“When yer magic-forsaken road rash hasn’t maybe sheared off important bits of your fucking circle tattoos! Have I mentioned lately that those’re fucking suicidal? Have I mentioned that I don’t like being, oh, I dunno, stabbed or burned or exploded?”

“If my spell circles were going to explode,” Cassander said, “they would’ve done it already.” They did have a point, though. Hells. If any of his circles were affected, if his clothes hadn’t protected his skin enough … he was going to have to do so many touch-ups, he just knew it.

Alright. Time to get up, aaand there was the pain. Mostly duller pain, though—he was going to have a helluva set of bruises later.

“Any goose egg-type feelings?” Mag asked, squinting at him. “Can’t check your pupils—dizziness, amnesia, anything?”

“Oh, I hate having to reimburse people,” Cassander muttered, eyeing what had once been their car. Well, it was still recognizably a car, if you liked your cars crumpled like an accordion. At least the top was open, and they both knew how to fall when they got thrown forward and out.

“Cassander!”

“No concussion symptoms, just bruises and minor cuts.” What had made it through his clothing hadn’t seemed to touch his tattoos yet, thankfully. “You’re going to be the one paying back the rental. This is on you and your horrific driving. I didn’t think it was possible to hate cars even more than I did before.”

Mag sputtered, before leveling an accusing finger at him. “Take the wheel, then, if ya hate my driving so much!” he said.

“No,” Cassander said, flat and immediate. “I would rather die. I almost did die, actually.” It was either endure Mag’s idea of road safety, or willingly put on a siphoning cuff to provide magic for the engine. He’d like to sleep at night, thanks, instead of scrubbing his wrists raw from the nightmares.

All of Mag’s fight left him, his shoulders sagging. “Right,” they muttered, looking at a vaguely bloody rip in Cassander’s pants.

Cassander instantly made an affronted sound. “Stop looking like a kicked puppy; I know what I signed up for, or else I wouldn’t have gotten in a car with you again.”

“Right,” Mag said again, lips quirking a little; he held out a hand. “Well, let’s figure out how’ta get outta this mess.”