Apparently People Are Now Purchasing Thick Water To Make Slimes With Because Of A Trend On Tiktok

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

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.

Hare and Kit

Augusnippets day 9: hypothermia | overheating | dehydration

Word count: 496

Trigger warnings: implied/referenced death, description of corpses, implied/referenced child death

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“You,” Archaios says, “are not just shivering from pain, are you.”

The child, predictably, shivers in response.

“Fuck,” Archaios says, and picks up speed. “Look, in my defense, you were getting shredded from the inside-out by curse energy, I had other things on my mind! Like keeping you un-shredded! I forgot that humans are—squishy! Don’t like being cold! Fuck!”

Because he’s reveled in blizzards before, only to come across blanched, stiff corpses, squirreled in little snow-dens that they thought would save them. He’s tried to save ones that were still breathing by feeding on their cold, hoping that drawing it away would help keep them warm. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

“I hate doing that on children, you know?” he murmurs into the child’s forehead. “It’s filthy, feeding from the young. And you shouldn’t have to be so close to death, anyways. You should—”

Be with your parents, laughing and loved, free of curse marks, not small and alone. Be warm.

Too many things this child should have instead of some inhuman hermit that came upon them by happenstance; it all crowds Archaios’ throat and clogs there.

His next step echoes, warps; his own wards welcome him as he slows his run into the cave to a purposeful stride. He has pelts stored away, despite his best efforts to foist everything he hunts on humans that actually need it. Humans always bundle themselves up in the cold, surely those will help.

He has two pelts … well, one is a cloak. He wraps that first around the child, then the second, until only the child’s pale face and baby wisps of their white hair show. Then—and this is the hard part—he sits back until only a comforting hand is touching the swaddled child.

“Fenn always told me my skin was icy,” he tells them. “I don’t think holding you will help, no matter how it’ll make me feel better. But ….”

He’s bundled up the child, stopped touching them with his cold hands. Is there anything else? How will he know this is helping? How soon? He’s always known his knowledge on humans is essentially a dark, unknown chasm, but never has it yawned deeper, faced with a child he must save.

“Maybe,” he starts, then looks at the black marks crawling up the child’s cheeks, and stops. Bringing this child to humans, to anyone that knows better, will only get them killed.

Then a realization clicks, followed by his heart dropping.

“Fire,” Archaios says. “You need fire. Except I … I don’t know how to light one.”

He’s never really needed it—he needs cold, not heat. And he’s never committed to saving a cold victim like this child, so he’s never thought of it before.

Wait, no. He has.

He sighs and heaves himself up. “I hope Tiana forgives me,” he mutters. “And you. For using a practice meant to invite ambient magic to light funeral pyres for you.”

He goes to find sticks.

List of Ways to (FICTIONALLY) Torture Someone

I genuinely have no idea how to make a content warning for this- just don't do this stuff irl ig

Caning

Electrocution

Stress Positions

Sensory Deprivation

Degradation

Water boarding

Strangling

Choking

Flaying

Skinning

Nailing

Drugging

Sleep Deprivation

Nudity

Shaving away the hair off their head

Plain ol' beating/manhandling

Public humiliation

Keeping them in a cage

Keeping them in a small dark place

Cutting off a body part

Carving them out with a knife

Whipping

Breaking their bones

Burning them with cigarettes

Poking holes into them with needles

Burning them in general

Forcing them to drink alcohol

Burning off their soles and forcing them to walk

Starvation

Dehydration

Sensory Overstimulation

Forcing them to scream their throat raw

Gagging them

Muzzling them

Crushing them w/ a hammer/mallet

Killing off their loved ones in front of them

Torturing their loved ones in front of them

Burying them alive

Hypothermia

Hyperthermia

Forcing them to hurt a stranger

Forcing them to hurt their loved ones

Forcing them to stay completely silent

Feel free to suggest additions!

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'?