#finger gore tw

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Hands in Whump

- Caretaker with shaky hands as they dress a deep wound for the first time in their life

- Whumpee’s fists clenching absentmindedly while they are restrained, as the only way they can possibly calm themselves

- Whumpee who puts their hands in their pockets to hide the fact that they’re bruised and bleeding (and the pain that comes with shoving your raw hands into rough denim)

- Whumper who strokes their torture implements to show them off (or because they’re just fascinated by them) before using them

- Whumpee who bites their hands out of nervousness

- Caretakers with a featherlight touch and steady hands

- Accidentally getting a nail ripped off in an accident

- Nerve damage from getting a hand sliced through with a knife

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane’s Pets Pt. 19: Hair’s Breadth From Death

TWs in the tags

Previous

Masterlist

Next

Gun to temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled

“Sorry, I’m sorry, master please-”

Lionel knew, at this point, there was nothing they could do. There was no amount of begging that would convince Jane to stop. Still, they whispered pleas as their rescuers- their friends- shrieked in pain and fear.

Lionel is learning how much Jane holds back when she doesn’t want her victims to die. Lionel thought that they’d experienced the worst Jane was capable of, but watching her cut open their friends one by one made them realize just how much worse it could be. It could always be worse. All three of them are a hair’s breadth from death.

“Lionel!” One of them chokes out, asking for help that won’t come. Lionel lays in a puddle of their own blood, ankle chained to the wall.

Jane pauses. “That’s right. You had them call you Lionel?”

Jane stalks towards them, and they recoil. They don’t want her attention on them, even if it means a break for their friends.

“That’s cute. I guess you wouldn’t want to keep being called Kitty if you thought you were free. But you picked a cat-themed name! Adorable. You’re adorable, Kitty. Certainly not a Lion, though. Of course, we’ll have to get rid of your new name, too, but that can come later.”

Lionel whimpers. They don’t want to be tortured into forgetting their name again.

“Are you enjoying the show? I told you I’d always find you. Puppy knew, she tried to stop you. Remember, they wouldn’t have to die if you hadn’t run. I never would’ve paid any attention to them if you hadn’t used them in your escape. This is your fault”

Lionel can’t help but agree. If only they hadn’t run…

Jane walks back over to her victims. A gun appears in her hand, and she holds it to the head of the victim closest to her.

“What was your name again?” she asks the woman beneath her gun. She doesn’t answer. She can’t, Jane cut out her tongue an hour ago. Instead, she stares ahead blankly, not showing any sigh of awareness of the gun to her head.

“I think it’s time for you to be done. Any last words?”

Lionel sobs. They don’t want to watch her die, but they don’t want her to get hurt worse either.

“Say goodbye, Kitty.”

Lionel isn’t sure if this is a command or not, so they mumble a goodbye. The gun goes off.

Jane’s victim (Lionel can only think of her as that, can’t think about her as a person with a name who sacrificed to help them) slumps to the ground, dead. Lionel looks at the ceiling, not wanting to see the chunks of her brain on the cement floor.

“Two more to go!” Jane says cheerfully. “Eyes on me, Kitty. They deserve better than you turning away from their deaths when you caused them, don’t you think?”

Lionel focuses on Jane reluctantly. She impales her next victim through the chest with a literal sword.

Lionel hasn’t seen her use a sword before. They stare at Jane’s feet as her victim chokes on their own blood. This is their fault. This never should’ve happened.

Jane is in her element, relaxed and joyful. She holds the face of her victim in her hands and watches the life drain from their eyes, smiling the most genuine smile Lionel has ever seen from her.

If Lionel had any energy, they would throw up.

“I think this last one needs to suffer more, though.” She pats the last one on the head, eliciting a startled cry. They couldn’t see her coming with their eyes cut out.

“Come here, Puppy.”

Puppy sits cross-legged and unrestrained in another corner. She hasn’t been punished. At least, not yet. She gets up and stands next to Jane. Jane hands her a knife.

“Hurt them.” She orders.

Puppy cuts careful, shallow lines into the victim’s skin, avoiding aggravating the wounds already there. It hurts, Lionel knows it hurts, but it could be much worse.

“Puppy. My sweet Puppy. Kneel.” Puppy kneels instantly, and Jane takes her face in her bloodstained hands. Puppy leans into the touch.

“You’ve been really good, Puppy. I’m really happy with you.”

Puppy relaxes a bit, a rare sight.

“I have a problem, though. I feel like you’re always trying to do the least amount you can possibly get away with while still obeying me.”

Puppy tenses again.

“I’m not mad. I don’t even think punishing you is necessary. I just need you to show me that you can prioritize pleasing your master over everything else. You can do that, can’t you?”

Puppy nods.

“I want your first thought when I give you an order to be ‘how can I do this in a way that pleases my master’ and not ‘how much can I get away with without being punished.’ I know you can do that. I know I don’t have to hurt you to make you do that. I want you to hurt this person, and I want you to think about what I want and not how you can cause the least amount of pain while still obeying. If you can do that, you won’t be punished, okay?”

Puppy nods and gets up after Jane lets go of her.

Puppy looks at the knife Jane gave her. Looks at Jane’s victim. Looks at the knife.

Puppy plunges the knife into the victim’s thigh and twists it.

Lionel screams. “Puppy, please!”

They don’t know what they’re asking for. They know that Jane’s victim will get tortured anyway, and that at least this way Puppy won’t have to be punished. Later, they’ll comfort her and tell her it wasn’t her fault and that they’re glad she didn’t end up getting tortured. But right now, they just want it to stop. They want Puppy to make it stop, somehow, please make it stop-

Puppy acts like she didn’t hear them. She stabs the victim’s shoulder and drags the knife down through their arm. Lionel suddenly has the energy to vomit.

Lionel tries to keep their focus on Jane, that’s what she said to do and they do not want to focus on the victim, but it’s hard to look away.

“Erik!” Lionel cries. They can’t pretend they’re a faceless victim anymore. They strain against the chain around their ankle.

Puppy cuts off Erik’s remaining fingers. Erik screams and Lionel vomits again.

Finally, Puppy jams the knife underneath their kneecap. In just a few minutes, they bleed out, their suffering finally over. Lionel feels nothing but relief.

Puppy looks at Jane, terror written on her face. She didn’t know that would make them bleed out, and Jane did not tell her to kill them. She’s prepared to be punished.

Jane isn’t mad though. Maybe that’s what she wanted, or maybe she’s let off enough steam torturing the others that she’s more lenient. Jane isn’t mad. If anything, she seems pleased.

“That was good! Almost exactly what I wanted. You’ll get better at keeping them alive with more practice. Good Puppy. You can go upstairs.”

Puppy quickly makes her way out of the basement. Jane approaches Lionel, still smiling, still happy. But it won’t mean leniency for Lionel, and they know it.

Jane grabs Lionel’s hair and yanks them up to look at her. “Now… Now is the fun part.”

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else! I hope it’s clear that this was a flashback lol

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @ghostsinthecloset

[agirlontheshorew]

He's sharing his food with you !! (I think.......)

Tsugino Haru my favorite cannibal ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

[katkalis-the-horror-fanartist]

Commission for @hopusthebrainlessfloof!! Thank you so much for commissioning me!! It was a good one...Good luck on that mutilation table 😳🙏

[mellxncollie]

— Yes, Mick. We'd like to hear your story. Unless it's a love story. — No. It's just tragic.

Dead Boy Detectives (2024) — 1.06

[enukitake]

ghoul named finger : )

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Afton Virus’d Y/N AU: Inciting Incident !

(don’t worry tho they’re ok they’re just murdering ppl now 😌)

(Alternative take on how the blood could’ve looked and a fun fact abt the au below!)

Fun fact, in the very first original babies-first-au-concept of this AU, reader’s ‘inciting incident’ (aka what would’ve started them on the path of Violencing) was finding an old spring lock suit while clearing out some storage! They found a piece of the instructions on how to operate the suit, got curious, tried it on, and got spring’d! Ain’t that just the worst. They survive, but are now traumatized and covered in grisly scars, and FazCo, being completely and utterly unable to read the room, is like ‘heyyyy so we know u almost died but uh. What if we fire u and make u sign an NDA buuuut u get a nice check out of it <3’ and reader is like wtf no????? Ur gonna promote me and let me stay here or im telling everyone and FazCo is like ‘Jesus fine be like that’ AND THATS HOW IT STARTS IG LMAO

(Also, yes, reader’s hands were destroyed by this machine (no idk what it is exactly sorry lmao) bc they thought it was off when in reality the light that’s supposed to indicate when it’s on was busted or burnt out lol rip)

[minnow-doodle-doo]

whoops

[kiwibongos]

brewed up a dumb little horror postgame au

[ashintheairlikesnow]

IRL whump but it's me cutting the tip of my finger off with a mandolin slicer

Description includes blood and discussion of pain and what it looks like below cut

I was trying to make spring rolls. I was slicing carrots and cucumbers and sliced a huge chunk off and my finger won't stop bleeding because, like, a big part of it is missing and my kitchen looks like I committed a gruesome murder against some cucumbers and rice paper and I had to dig out my skin from the fucking mandolin I had to DIG IT OUT and I could SEE THE EDGE OF MY FINGERPRINT

Also it fucking hurts like hell, the pain is sharp and throbs with my heartbeat and we don't have any gauze WHY DO WE NOT HAVE GAUZE so I had to wrap paper towels around it but I kept bleeding through them it took so fucking long to stop bleeding and all my nerve endings are PISSED OFF and I am. I am so mad at the mandolin right now.

It took my fingertip as a blood sacrifice. It cost ten dollars and it requires blood.

I can see the fucking wedge missing. I liked that wedge. It was my favorite finger skin! Which I did not know until it was gone and left me with PAIN.

When I can write again I am doing this to a whumpee and they will feel my pain

Probably Kauri or Chris

[justbreakonme]

A whumper that likes the punishment to fit the crime.

Whumpee scratches them? Rip out their nails.

Refuses to speak? Gags them for days.

Whumpee spits at them? No water for as long as is physically possible.

Tries to run? Breaks their leg.

Everything whumpee does is met with brutal swiftness, and soon, their spirit is starting to break. The satisfaction of rebelling is not worth the pain it brings, not even close.

[i-eat-worlds]

Wow Birthday Whump Day 13: Natural disaster / Shock collar / "Shut up!"

*sighs in Immortal ALS* This was fun, though it did get kinda long. Hope y’all enjoy!

Related to Day 4

Content: floods, pretty detailed medical whump, gore (descriptions of serious injuries and dead* bodies), immortal whumpee, implied past abuse, briefly mentioned finger gore, fear of punishment, caretaker new whumper, medicinal drug use, feelings of suffocation

The stairs creaked under Joseph’s feet as he descended, and he hoped they wouldn’t give out. He could smell the awfulness from the top of them. Whatever the floodwater had washed in absolutely reeked.

It hadn’t all drained out yet. Several inches of murky water shimmered in the light from his headlamp. It sloshed as he stepped down into it, wrinkling his nose at the smell. This was going to be hell to clean out of his uniform. Once he was off the stairs, Eric came down behind him. He looked a little green faced at the pungent aroma, but they continued into the pitch-black basement nonetheless.

Joseph led the way, headlamp only illuminating one small portion of wall at a time. The stench grew stronger as they walked, and it was only a matter of time before they finally found the cause.

There was a body.

They were slumped against the wall, one hand shackled on a short chain. Their head was squarely below the line of grime on the wall that marked the crest of the water. Blood swirled around them, oozing from the open wound across their belly. Several loops of bowel were hanging out, and they were starting to turn a blackish-green color. Their unrestrained arm was puffy and swollen, and their clavicle protruded from their shoulder, stained a muddy color from the water. It was a horrible scene.

Joseph’s stomach dropped as he approached them. Despite the gray skin and blue tinge to their lips, they looked so young. Who the fuck had Darkstar been keeping in his basement?

He reached his hand out, sliding it under their jaw. As he expected, there was nothing there, just the sensation of cold skin. For another brief second, he stared down at their face, mouth unable to form the words to call in the report.

And, suddenly, there were two big, amber eyes staring up at him.

He did a double take, blinking a little in surprise. The eyes flickered wildly around the room before settling on him. This was real. They were alive.

“Unshakable,” he called, squatting down into the water while he removed his pack, and Eric quickly wheeled around, confused. “They’re immortal.”

His eyes flashed with understanding. “I'll call it in.”

“Can you cut them loose?” He pulled a pair of gloves on.

“On it.” He reached behind to grab his bolt cutters while he requested an ambulance.

His hands worked quickly as he wetted a pad and placed it up against their abdomen. “I’m Exhale, and this is Unshakable. We work for INSUPA. We’re going to help you.”

Their eyes widened at that, but they gave no other response. With a loud chink, the chain snapped, and their arm dropped like a ragdoll. A little splash went up as it hit the water. Once their wound was dressed, his hand flittered higher, feeling for a pulse again, and watching their breathing.

Both were entirely absent. Great.

He looked up to Eric. “We need to get them upstairs.”

*** Someone was touching them.

Nova could feel someone’s finger pressing under their jaw, pulling them back to consciousness. They tried to fight it, begging their body to descend back into nothingness, but they were unable to. Slowly, their eyelids slid open, and the awful sensation of their existence returned.

There was a crushing weight on their chest, and it felt still and empty and wrong. Panic surged through them as they were reminded that they couldn’t breathe. Something was lodged in their throat, suffocating them, and they couldn’t do anything to get it out and- A cool, wet bandage pressed against their belly. Right. There was a person here. People? Maybe.

Their eyes flickered downwards. He was saying something to them. They should be listening, shouldn’t they?

“…Exhale….We….INSUPA…..going to….”

No. No no no. Darkstar was too late. They’d been captured. Fuck. And Exhale. The name was familiar but they couldn’t place quite where…

Oh. Oh no.

That was why he was here, looking for them in this half-flooded basement. Revenge.

It didn’t matter, though. Their body was still dead and it wouldn’t move or respond or do anything. He was going to do as he pleased. Did it really matter? Was Darkstar any different?

They still couldn’t breathe. They wanted to breathe. Why wasn’t it working?

Suddenly, the chain pinning their arm to the wall was cut and their arm flopped down into the water. They glanced over and found another person standing by them. He was holding some sort of long handled tool.

Please, please no. They couldn’t speak to beg for mercy, but maybe the pleading look would work. Darkstar liked to lop off their fingers when they’d been bad. Hopefully Exhale wasn’t the same. Or, maybe he would wait until they healed? Did it matter?

It wasn’t like he wasn’t justified.

They’d tortured him, because Darkstar had asked them too, and they really didn’t have any integrity, did they? And they’d failed Nebula, and Darkstar had kicked them out, and they’d failed everyone and hurt so many people and it was all for nothing.

It would be hard for them to argue that they didn't deserve this.

Suddenly, hands seized them, hosting them up out of the water. They tried to gasp in surprise but they couldn’t.

They just wanted to breathe.

The movement was agonizing, pulling at their injuries and sending waves of pain rolling through them. Neither of the heroes touched their shoulder at all, steering clear of the limb entirely. It was odd.

Exhale started to ascend the stairs, light slowly growing brighter as they neared the top. The fabric of his uniform was grating against their skin as he walked through the safehouse’s hallways, each step jostling their body.

Stupidly, they tried to breathe again. It didn’t work, their lungs still empty of air and the choking, suffocating sensation still stuck in their throat.

The cold air stung as Exhale carried them out the door, laying them down on the pavement. Not dropping. Laying.

He dropped his bag down next to them, and the hero they didn’t recognize took up a spot by their head. His lips moved, and he was obviously trying to tell them something, but they couldn’t hear it. Everything was a blur.

Two fingers slid under their jaw again, and he bent down low, his cheek right by their unbreathing mouth. It stayed there for what felt like a small eternity, and he straightened up, locked his fingers together, leaned over them, and pushed.

Their eyes went wide as his hands came down in their chest. He was crushing them, pushing their sternum down again and again and again. They wanted to fight him away, but their limbs still weren’t cooperating and their chest felt empty and they couldn’t breathe.

While Exhale beat into them, they could feel the hero working behind them. There was the ghost of something against their cheek, and then something invaded their nostril. They could feel the slime coated tube slithering down the back of their throat, eventually coming to a stop.

Exhale’s hands finally let up, and he leaned back on his heels. They didn’t get a break, though. Immediately, their head was yanked back and a piece of thick plastic clamped over their mouth and nose. Air was forced into their lungs, but it didn’t feel like enough.

The mask fell to the side and Exhale was back on them, pumping their chest. It hurt. They almost wished for Darkstar’s loppers.

There was an incessant drone in their ears, loud and screeching, and they were finally able to place it as sirens. An ambulance was charging down the road, lights visible out of the corner of their eye.

Exhale pulled away from their chest again, and air was pushed into their lungs. He leaned over them, ready to start, and they strained to stop him. All they could manage was a dull twitch of their hand.

He went back to pushing down on their chest, slamming his weight into them relentlessly. In the far field of their vision, they were able to see several more people approaching, laden with many bags. That couldn’t be a good sign.

They swarmed around them, voices swirling while they exchanged information. Exhale tilted back and the mask descended over their face again. They tried to resist, straining to breathe on their own, but they couldn’t do it.

Once more, he brought his hands down repeatedly, slamming his body weight into them repeatedly. More hands worked around him, a pair sticking things to their chest while another tugged at their wrist. The touch was overwhelming, and they tried to get their limbs to cooperate.

This time, though, was more successful than the first.

They raised an arm at Exhale’s body, weakly trying to fend him off. They noticed that their wrist was a little less swollen as they slapped it against his side. It probably wouldn’t end well, but they needed him to stop, even if it was just for a moment.

“Rhythm check!” someone called out.

Surprisingly, his hands pulled away, and everyone’s eyes turned towards something they couldn’t see. Two fingers came to rest under their jaw.

“Back in sinus.” Was that good? “Still not breathing.”

They tried to pull a breath in, but they still couldn’t, their lungs refusing to pull in air. The hero quickly brought the mask back down over their face, his fingers pressing up against their chin.

Exhale looked down at them. His face was calm, almost thoughtful, not angry. Why? He’d just beat their chest into pieces. He was supposed to hate them.

“We’re going to move you up onto the stretcher now,” he said, voice far too gentle. “I know it's scary, but we’re going to take care of you.”

They couldn’t detect any malice in the statement, but they also couldn’t bring themselves to believe it. He had to be lying, right? He had to be.

The people around them shifted positions, and then, on the count of three, they were lifted into the air and quickly deposited on the stretcher. It was agonizing, their legs jerking and kicking on instinct.

“Stay still for us,” Exhale said. “I know it hurts, let us help.”

They were quickly loaded onto the ambulance. It was the warmest they could remember being. Exhale disappeared from their vision, but the other hero stayed by their head, keeping the mask on their face, steadily pushing air in and out. They were hungry for it. Every pause felt like an eternity.

One of the medics was messing with their arm again. They could feel a tight band around it, the ends ticking their bicep. The other was clipping something to their finger and covering their legs with a blanket.

“Sharp scratch,” a voice said, and then something burrowed into the crook of their elbow. Several seconds later, a rush of cool washed up their arm.

Exhale reappeared. “You got access?” He sounded surprised. There was a pause, presumably for a response they couldn’t make out, and then he turned away.

“We’re going to get you something for the pain now,” the medic said. They nodded weakly, still unable to speak. Another chilling wave rolled up their arm. Exhale kept breathing for them, and try as they might to resist, they couldn’t do it. It just wouldn’t work. He looked away from their face, eyes flickering over to the monitor and back down to them. What was he going to do?

There was a brief discussion that they couldn’t follow, and then he bent down to speak with them. “Hey, you with me?” he asked. They blinked in response, tears welling in their eyes for some reason. “Good. We’re concerned about your breathing, so we’re going to put you to sleep so that we can breathe for you. It’ll be more comfortable for you, yeah.”

His voice was calm, but it struck horror in them nonetheless. Darkstar had threatened them with this before, reminding them that the drugs wouldn’t work. But they couldn’t talk, beholden to the hero moving air in and out of their lungs.

People were shifting around them, preparing for something. The painkillers were starting to dull the agony. Even though everything still hurt, it was further away. Exhale swapped out for the other hero, still squeezing the bag in time. They half expected him to stop, forcing them to feel the crushing sensation of suffocation.

He didn’t though, his face still free of any malice. It had to be fake, considering the awfulnes they knew was coming.

There were two more consecutive rushes of cold. “Ket’s in,” somebody said.

Exhale looked down at them. “You might start feelin’ pretty tired soon, and that’s okay.”

They waited, but nothing happened. He didn’t seem too shocked by this, and he told the medic to push more.

It took a moment, but eventually they felt their eyelids start to grow heavy. Were the drugs working? They hoped they were. Please. Please.

Exhale’s face hanging above them was the last thing they saw before everything went black.

*** It took nearly a double dose of ketamine to get them out, but their eyes finally slid closed. The look on their face was strangely peaceful as he instructed the paramedic to push the roc. That one took a less dramatic amount to work, but it still irked him a little. After a minute had passed, the BVM was removed, and he began.

Using his right hand, he scissored their mouth open, then went in with the laryngoscope. He moved past their teeth and pushed their tongue away, descending further into their throat. It was coated with secretions, thick and slimy and a little bloody. “Suction,” he called out.

The tool was placed in his hand, and he quickly swept it back and forth across their mouth, vacuuming the goop away. It revealed their vocal cords, still and unmoving. “Bougie, please.” He kept his eyes on their glottis as it was passed to him.

He threaded it into their mouth and down their throat, feeling it click as it moved past the rings of their trachea. Once he felt the bougie stop, he asked for his tube. He’d just gotten it past their teeth when their face jerked.

Oh fuck.

They slowly pulled their eyes open, and it was obvious they were immediately aware of what was happening. “They’ve regained consciousness, I need another dose of ket in.”

He kept sliding the tube down as their eyes flitted around frantically, eyes watering. “We’re going to get you to sleep again.” Tears started to flow down their cheeks as he pulled the bougie out. “I know, I know, but I have to.”

They were obviously terrified, eyes wide and begging for relief. “Ket’s in.”

“Good.” He inated the balloon, then attached them to the ventilator while the paramedic used tape to secure the tube. “We’ve got the medicine in now. I know it's scary, but you’ll be asleep soon.”

Slowly, it started to work, and their eyes slid closed once more. They pushed another dose of roc, since they’d eaten through that too. Immortals were always hell to keep out, and this one wasn’t going to be any different.

Once they knew it was placed correctly, they got off to the hospital. Everything else that needed to happen could be done en route. They were eating through meds at a ridiculous rate, but the procedure had done its job, and their vitals were less awful.

They looked less dead now, somehow, and as he studied their face, looking for any signs of consciousness, it hit him. He knew them.

That was Darkstar’s sidekick.

That was Nova.

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump@painful-pooch@snaillamp @rainbowsandwhumperflies @whumperofworlds

[star2stop]

btw can i just say im WAY too happy about the new game over screen being this

guys. guys im going insane

[goblinbeetle]

first attack of the year !

[vuulpecula]

✖ @mistrdctr inquired: 55

spotify wrapped | always accepting ↳ 55. night channels - foxing

Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. He was going to die, and it was all her fault. Hands pressed desperately over his middle, trying to staunch the bleeding that flowed endlessly, Fox tried to save the life that was already slipping away between her fingers. Shredded muscle and sinew twisted with the tattered remains of his robes, weaving together around her incapable digits like a grotesque mockery of a cat’s cradle. Maybe with medical equipment, earthly objects from that life left behind, his life would be spared—but there was nothing. Nothing she could reach for or grab, no one to call, there was nothing she could do. The great Doctor Strange was dying and the world would be lesser for it.

“Please, please,” her arms were shaking as she begged for that tiny spark of something to appear. Concentrating, digging as deep as she could for any shred of healing power or magic or whatever it was. The shaking became worse. The edges around him, laying prone beneath her unlit hands, began to fade. Melting into a darkness she fought to keep back. Blood dripped from her nostrils, a splitting headache brought forth a spasm of pain, and still she tried. Frantic for anything and lacking in everything. There was no fighting the dizziness that sent the world around them spinning, meshing every color together until all she could see was black.

A deep red glow filled the space and from it walked a woman. Spine straight, moving unhurried to kneel beside the dying Strange. “We clung to our warp weighted loom,” she began softly. “By the time we were done, we were woven in. Such constriction from a self-made trap.” It was Fox and it wasn’t. She was different. Perhaps a little older, confident, oozing with the darkness of power, and looking down upon him with the softness of seeing an old friend. A hand, fingers sooty with darkness, rested over his wound. Again, a glow began, pulsing a deep orange where it had once been gold. The pieces of him that had fallen apart began to weave back together once more. Cells healing in a way that seemed wholly impossible.

With her other hand, she pushed the hair back from his brow. “And on these antlers, dry-rot cracks through.” As if he was crowned or meant to be. This Fox, she glanced to the other beside him. Unconscious and incapable. “I left myself too open for you,” she reflected before turning her attention back to him. “So, by now I know what decay is.” There was a sadness in the way she said it, as if all three had been connected in some mysterious way that had led her down the darker path. The corrupted path. Wanda Maximoff was not the only witch tempted by that which she could not have.

“I’ll lay on waves until the night channels end,” Fox stated, as if telling him where she would be. Where he could find the beginning to the end that would not come for him. Not now, at least. She leaned close to him, his body nearly healed completely beneath her hand. “Future love,” she whispered against the shell of his ear. “Don’t fall apart.” As quickly as she had come, she was gone. Disappearing into the fading glow like a figment of a twisted imagination.

[anoctore]