Revealed to humankind after the breaking of a memory charm that had kept vampiric Merfolk hidden for the last 200 years, Nathaniel is the first mer in captivity. And while Nathaniel is very glad they think his injuries are too bad to risk torturing him for information, they seem to be able to take information even from his unconscious body
After writing this story on and off for 6 years, mediwhump May has finally given me the push to publish some of Nathaniel's story. I am posting the first 2 chapters for background, then the timelines are getting mixed up for Medwhump mer May
Tw medical whump, drugging, injury, fainting/unconscious, threat, Dead Dove Jewish vampiric whumpee , unethical medicine, semi-consensual medicine testing, religious whumpee, grey morality, self loathing, captivity, brainwashing, expectations of torture,interrogation, dehumanisation, death mentions, fawn response to trauma
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Prologue - On the Brink of Death
First chapter
Medwhump may prompts
These are snippets of Restless far from a Wine Dark sea, published wayyy before they should have been. Since publishing I have rearraged them all into their rough plot beats, so you can ignore the day numbers. Each snippet has a enough exposition to make sense as standalones for mediwhump mermay! I have
Post capture actively dying
Day 11 - Passing out
Day 18 - Alt prompt - exhaustion
Day 27 - Pain meds
Day 19 - Blood loss
Post-feeding getting better
Day 21 - Nausea
Day 3 - Hold my Hand
Settling in
Alt Prompt - Broken Bones
Alt prompt - Needles
Day 16 - Coma
Day 17 - Forced to stay awake
Day 23 - Resisting treatment
Day 9 - Alt prompt broken bones fuckin oops
Day 10 - Emergency surgery fuckin oops again
Semi consensual medical experimentation
Day 4 Sedation - Little Fogal
Day 24 - Not breathing
Day 7 - Unresponsive
Day 8 - A Shock
Day 5 - Stay with me
Day 15 - warmed blanket
Day 14 - Seizure
Pool era
Day 29 - discharged from long hospital stay
Day 30 - Mystery Illness
Various
Day 22 - Sirens - Alternative view of prologue
Day 26 - Oxygen mask Vignettes
Day 6 - Doctor becomes Patient (not necessarily canon post captivity)
Alt prompt - Bedside vigil (not necessarily canon)
Day 12 - stabbed - in the golden age of piracy! (canon pre-RFWDS storyline)
Remember, if you enjoyed please leave a like and a comment, as I am unsure if I want to continue publishing, and will only put the effort in if I know someone is actually reading my stuff ^_^
in general you can do a lot with torture tapes for living weapons if your future caretakers are investigating the enemy's weapons development without knowing it's y'know. People
Ummm something with the team finally finding whumpee and untying them.
Whumpee repeating "I didn't break, I swear I didn't, I didn't tell them anything, I didn't," while sobbing.
It's true, whumpee didn't tell them anything, but all that caretaker cares about now is trying to calm whumpee down before they bleed out even more.
A Messy Rescue
whumpee slumped over until caretaker grabs their face, desperate to see if they're still conscious
wide eyes and split lip-- a flash of recognition-- and before caretaker can assure them that its all going to be okay, whumpee panics
"I didn't say anything, I didn't, please you have to--" their sentences fragment as they gasp for air. "You have to believe me!"
At first, the team is horrified that this is whumpee's recognition. They feel sick. One teammate turns away, unable to stand it. Unable to watch. It's wrong.
Caretaker snaps out of it first. "Help me cut them down!" Then, they notice whumpee's blood drenching through their once-white shirt
As the team works to free whumpee's wrists from the shackles, Caretaker frantically tries to assess the damage. But whumpee keeps thrashing, jerking out of reach and flinching at their touch.
Alternating between, "I didn't say anything!" and "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry- please don't-- please don't hurt me!"
The teammates all have these grim expressions, mouths in a thin line
A fluttering horror is embedded in caretaker's chest-- this is so much worse than they could have imagined
Even better if Leader, with real pain in their voice, says "We have to keep them quiet."
Caretaker pulls away for a second, hands half-full of bandages. "What're you saying?"
Leader breaks through the last bit of metal and whumpee slumps to the floor, shivering uncontrollably. Caretaker places one hand protectively on their back, rubbing up and down. They don't stop crying. Leader looks away. "Gag them. Or get them to shut up. We don't need them giving away our position to Whumper"
Carrying a gagged and sobbing whumpee out of the building, caretaker can't look them in the eyes. They keep whispering how sorry they are, but they have no idea if whumpee can even hear them or cares. It feels like betrayal, but they can only hope it was worth it.
heavily inspired by this video by the hoof gp, which can provide context, visuals, and terminology
-
All the farmhand had said was “Something weird’s in the barn.” The boy could have prepared him a little better than that.
Caretaker had never seen anything like it. The critter–was it really a critter?–huddled itself in the back corner of the barn. The cows gave it a wide berth, and none of them seemed injured, at least. It looked almost like what he could describe as a satyr of myth, with the head and torso of a man and the legs of a goat, spiral horns growing from his head.
There was another cloven-hooved being it fit the description of, though. Just to be safe, Caretaker made the sign of the cross. It didn’t seem to take any effect.
And yet, despite having never seen one before, Caretaker was somehow positive he was looking at a demon in his barn.
“Hoo boy.” Who was he supposed to call for this? The police? A priest? An exorcist?
Before he could make up his mind, the demon growled at him. Caretaker may work with cows, but he knew that when an animal growls at you, you stay away. He took a step back to the barn’s entrance.
“Easy now,” he said out of habit.
“Leave me alone,” the demon spat.
Caretaker blinked.
“You talk?” he asked incredulously.
“Leave me!” The demon’s voice broke a bit. It scrabbled further against the wall, wincing as it did so, as if the action hurt it. It held one hoof aloft, balancing on the other with its arms spread against the wall behind it.
It looked unnatural and uncomfortable and… familiar.
Something’s wrong, that little voice in his head said.
Caretaker put his hands up, taking another step back so he was fully out of the barn, looking in. “Alright. I’m all the way over here, not comin’ near you. That hoof bothering you?”
The demon glared at him, like it was trying very hard to be intimidating. “What’s it matter to you?”
“I fix hooves. I could take a look at it.” What the fuck was he saying? He should be taking this thing’s advice and leaving, calling someone to come get it out of his barn.
“Don’t touch me!” it shrieked, startling a few of the cattle.
If this demon were capable of hurting him, he was pretty sure it would’ve done it by now.
“Okay, okay, not gonna,” Caretaker assured it. “Not taking a step into this barn unless you give me the all-clear. I’m just saying, it looks painful. Usually when my cows won’t use a foot, means they’ve gotta get looked at.”
“I’m not a cow,” it glowered. And then, after a little hesitation: “It… hurts.”
“I can take a look. Only if you want. And only if you promise not to hurt me or my cows.” Even as Caretaker’s brain screamed at him that he was a dumbass about to get himself killed, he couldn’t stop himself. He’d done dumber.
They stood there in silence for a long moment.
“F-fine. Just do it,” the demon conceded.
“Alright. Not gonna hurt’cha. Just looking,” Caretaker reminded it. He approached slowly, no sudden moves. The closer he got, the more dread he felt, like the demon was radiating an aura of it. Still, he persisted, kneeling down in front of it, trying to ignore the feeling. “Can I see? It’d be easier if you turn around.”
Just as slowly, the demon extended its hoof. Caretaker took it gently by the ankle, resting it on his knee. He could feel the demon’s skin jump a little bit, but it let him. It was something he’d usually never dream of doing, but the demon was rather smaller than a cow and capable of reason, and Caretaker was sure he’d never get it to agree to go in a chute.
Coarse brown fur, rather unlike that of a goat, led to a dirty hoof. Despite the demon’s lower half looking like a goat from afar, its hoof looked more like a cow’s than anything else. Lucky, he knew what he was doing with that. Immediately, this close, it was apparent that the inkling he’d had was correct: the bit of the inner claw more toward the heel was higher than the rest, darker in color. If it were a cow, he’d start grinding it down to free the problem clearly lying inside, then get a block on the other toe to keep the pressure off while it healed.
But, as the demon had pointed out, it wasn’t a cow.
“Yeah, something’s wrong on your inner claw right here. Can’t tell exactly how bad without giving you a trim. I’ve got the tools to do it, if you’ll let me.” Caretaker dropped the hoof. “When’s the last time you got these trimmed?”
“Trimmed?” the demon asked, skepticism dripping from its voice as he went back to balancing, turning back around to face him.
“See, that’s where you’re going wrong. You’ve gotta trim your hooves.” Caretaker stood back up. “Two or three times a year for cows, that’s what I’ve got experience with. I know goats are more often. Not sure about demons, if that’s what you are. Maybe someplace in between.”
“I’ve never met anybody who trims their hooves,” the demon retorted.
“And do they get problems with ‘em a lot?”
The demon looked away. “Most demons fly. I don’t have wings.”
“Well, there’s your answer, then. Gotta trim ‘em.” Caretaker raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“Ugh. Fine.” It was almost cute, the way it pouted. Made Caretaker wish he could talk to all his patients.
“There you go,” he praised. “Lemme grab my tools.”
He returned with a grinder, a hoof knife, a block, glue, and a blowtorch. “I know it might look intimidating, but none of this should hurt. Reckon you’ll start to feel real better soon. Don’t kick me.”
The wariness never left the demon’s eyes, but it turned back around, hoof extended. “Just do your job, human.”
Well, that was something Caretaker could work with.
He knelt and rested the hoof on his knee again. “I’m going to grind down both toes to correct the height and balance the soles. Then I’ll use the knife to model them out and hopefully relieve that pressure. I’ll put a block on your good claw with the torch and glue, and that’ll let you walk on it and stay off the bad one while it heals,” he explained.
He started up the grinder, only for the demon to jump at the whirring. “What is that!?”
“The grinder. Won’t hurt you, just try to relax,” Caretaker soothed. “Let me know if you need a break and I’ll stop. You ready?”
The demon nodded hesitantly, and Caretaker touched the grinder to the hoof. Already, he could see a few cracks in that inner claw as soon as he got past the very surface. Once the toes were evened out, he took the knife for the more precise work.
He carefully chipped away at that cracked area, modeling it out, until finally, one of those little cracks opened, releasing a trickle of built-up fluid.
All at once, the demon relaxed. Its shoulders drooped, its entire being went from tightly wound up to the picture of relief. It let out a little sigh. “How did you do that?”
“You’ve got a cavity in your hoof right there, got filled with fluid.” He resisted the urge to say poor thing. “Just got to the tiniest opening and it started to get outta you. I’m gonna get this taken care of, so just sit tight for a few minutes.”
“Okay.” There was no hostility in the demon’s voice anymore. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” He kept chipping away at it, the cavity growing and growing until he’d exposed and drained the whole thing. The hoof horn was downright flexible with damage, but hopefully now it’d be able to dry and cure until it could grow back healthy. “I’m going to use the torch on your good hoof now, just to make sure it’s completely dry before I apply the block. It shouldn’t hurt, might feel a bit warm.”
The demon nodded, and Caretaker got to work. Just a quick thrice-over with the blowtorch was enough. He spread glue generously over the outer claw, then pressed the block into the hoof. He waited a few minutes for it to set, petting the demon’s shin a little. It seemed to appreciate that, appearing calmer by the minute.
“There. You should be all set,” he announced, setting the demon’s leg down. “Try walking on that block. You might be a little unsteady at first.”
Slowly, the demon touched its injured hoof to the floor. Only the block touched it, the cavernous claw raised up. It took only a few unsteady steps before it got the hang of it, walking confidently.
“It doesn’t hurt,” it said, amazed.
“Come back in a few weeks and I’ll take the block off. I’ll let the farmhands know I’m expecting you. Want me to trim your other hoof?” Caretaker offered. “So it stays healthy, too.”
I know it's not the worst thing about capitalism. But I do think there's something really *bad* about the fact that between lack of leisure time, lack of disposable income, and "hustle culture" mindset that for many, many, many people the primary/only way they are able to express their creativity and artistic aesthetics is through consumer culture. Buying stuff and displaying that stuff.
When like...making stuff. Drawing, painting, weaving, crafting, sketching is like, baked deep deep into our bones as humans.
But I know so many adults who haven't like...drawn a picture since they were children.
fun behaviors to give dragons that aren't feline/canine based
cause as much as i love dragons purring and roaring i wish there was just more variety in how they would act
clacking their teeth together to show contentedness/happiness (budgies)
using tails as a defensive weapon in a whip like fashion (iguana)
twitching to express that they're not a threat to members of their species (hognose snake)
feeling calm when eyes are hooded/covered (birds of prey)
head bobbing as a threat display (anoles/bearded dragons)
flattening neck or sides to appear bigger (snakes/lizards)
mantling over food to protect it from hatchmates (birds of prey)
wiggling neck as a courting maneuver (budgies)
audibly grinding teeth as a warning (macaques)
maintained eye contact as a challenge (gorillas)
pounding wings against sides as a threat (gorillas)
slapping other dragons with their claws when their personal bubble is invaded (seals)
hoards used as a site to impress mates (birds of paradise)
snorting when undergoing heightened stress (horses)
making repeated loud noises with surroundings to establish territory (woodpeckers)
loud constant arguments with other dragons when roosting (bats)
building lairs that cause a domino effect of change in the land around them (beavers)
slapping their tails against the ground/water as a warning (beavers)
wiggling tail tip to attract prey (various animals)
wiggling tail tip as a warning (snakes)
plucking or scraping off scales as a sign of stress (parrots)
raising spines/frills as a response to danger and carrying on with their usual business as they believe they're protected (lionfish)
and im not saying canine and feline behaviors are wrong or bad to give a dragon (people wouldn't write dragons with those behaviors if they weren't fun in the first place!) but i feel for creatures that are mythological giant winged lizards that you can do more and get experimental with it. often the more unfamiliar behavior the more dragony the dragon feels
Stop just asking "is it normal?" and start asking "is it harming anyone?" Lots of harmful things are normalized in this society and lots of things considered weird or rare are completely harmless. Whether something is considered normal or common shouldn't be the deciding factor in whether it's okay
Unhealed Wounds Your Character Pretends Are Just “Personality Traits”
These are the things your character claims are just “how they are” but really, they’re bleeding all over everyone and calling it a vibe.
╰ They say they're "independent."
Translation: They don’t trust anyone to stay.
They learned early that needing people = disappointment. So now they call it “being self-sufficient” like it’s some shiny badge of honor. (Mostly to cover up how lonely they are.)
╰ They say they're "laid-back."
Translation: They stopped believing their wants mattered.
They'll eat anywhere. Do anything. Agree with everyone. Not because they're chill, but because the fight got beaten out of them a long time ago.
╰ They say they're "a perfectionist."
Translation: They believe mistakes make them unlovable.
Every typo. Every bad hair day. Every misstep feels like proof that they’re worthless. So they polish and polish and polish... until there’s nothing real left.
╰ They say they're "private."
Translation: They’re terrified of being judged—or worse, pitied.
Walls on walls on walls. They joke about being “mysterious” while desperately hoping no one gets close enough to see the mess behind the curtain.
╰ They say they're "ambitious."
Translation: They think achieving enough will finally make the emptiness go away.
If they can just get the promotion, the award, the validation—then maybe they’ll finally outrun the feeling that they’re fundamentally broken. (It never works.)
╰ They say they're "good at moving on."
Translation: They’re world-class at repression.
They’ll cut people out. Bury heartbreak. Pretend it never happened. And then wonder why they wake up at 3 a.m. feeling like they're suffocating.
╰ They say they're "logical."
Translation: They’re terrified of their own feelings.
Emotions? Messy. Dangerous. Uncontrollable. So they intellectualize everything to avoid feeling anything real. They call it rationality. (It's fear.)
╰ They say they're "loyal to a fault."
Translation: They mistake abandonment for loyalty.
They stay too long. Forgive too much. Invest in people who treat them like an afterthought, because they think walking away makes them "just as bad."
╰ They say they're "resilient."
Translation: They don't know how to ask for help without feeling like a burden.
They wear every bruise like a trophy. They survive things they should never have had to survive. And they call it strength. (But really? It's exhaustion wearing a cape.)
So my problem with most ‘get to know your character’ questioneers is that they’re full of questions that just aren’t that important (what color eyes do they have) too hard to answer right away (what is their greatest fear) or are just impossible to answer (what is their favorite movie.) Like no one has one single favorite movie. And even if they do the answer changes.
If I’m doing this exercise, I want 7-10 questions to get the character feeling real in my head. So I thought I’d share the ones that get me (and my students) good results:
What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/resturant)
What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)
What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time)
Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory)
What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.)
Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.)
Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)
Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)
What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.)
What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.)
Hey. Minors following me. Internet safety is key!! NEVER include these in your bio/byf:
Medical diagnoses - this is nobody's business but yours. You don't owe anyone an explanation for why you are the way that you are
Trauma - same reason as above
Triggers - people can use these against you! Don't give people tools to hurt you. No one has to know what tags you block. Just block tags to stay safe!
Age - age is okay for adults to include but is iffy when you're a teen. Predators want this information, don't give people more than they need. Just state that you're a minor, that's all that anyone needs to know.
In general: stay safe. If you're not comfortable with every stranger out there having access to this information, you shouldn't post it on the internet.
Play devil's advocate and ask yourself about what would happen if someone searched for your information with intent to hurt you. You do NOT owe anyone an explanation!
adding on to this post, i agree w all of OPs points, but i also highly advise against super young teens posting their face on the internet, its so easy to take peoples selfies + name and find stuff out like your school and then figure out the rough area in which you live. same with your phone number. be super careful about what you put out there. once you post it, it really is here forever.
OP already said this so I’m just reiterating to emphasize:
The golden rule of information sharing on the internet is: What would happen if someone saw this who wanted to hurt me?
If the answer is that it would make it easier to harass you, identify you, contact you, or god forbid find you, don’t put it online. You can’t fully control who does and does not see that information--not even with privacy settings.
content: recovery, past pet whump, older / middle-aged whumpee, comfort, psychological whump
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Stocking shelves was a simple job with clear tasks. That was what the social worker told him. That wasn’t to say stocking was easy, especially not on Whumpee, even after he’d put the meat back on his bones. It was physical, and the boxes were often heavy, and he almost never stopped moving his whole shift.
But he could handle it right now, and that was all he needed. He needed this.
“Could always go for cleaning or food service. You were good at those,” Whumper purred.
Whumpee pushed his cart through him wordlessly, his expression unchanging. He was getting better at that, just staring straight ahead so his coworkers wouldn’t think he was crazy. Though that ship had pretty much sailed months ago.
He pushed the cart, unloading its contents and placing them on the shelves where they belonged. Twisting things around so the labels faced forward like they were supposed to.
Whumper reappeared, sighing contentedly as he reclined to watch Whumpee work. “Good boy. What a good pet you are, following your orders.”
Whumpee shook his head with a grumble, just barely keeping himself from muttering I’m not a ‘good boy’. I’m forty-six. Even without that added tidbit, he was already getting an odd look from the new girl working beside him, a kid about half his age. He gave her an awkward smile to try and save it, but she quickly looked away, and he dropped the effort. Whatever. She was seasonal anyway, just some college kid trying to earn something over the summer.
Maybe if things had been different, he’d have a daughter her age. That ship had long since sailed, too.
Despite his internal protests, Whumper continued to coo at him about being a good boy and a good pet as he did his damn job. He’d learned to mostly ignore it by now. Better that than… the opposite.
“So, uh, what are you studying?” he asked, just to distract himself.
The girl startled. “Oh! Social work. Yeah. About halfway through. Junior year around the corner.” She spoke a little too quickly.
Whumpee couldn’t help but laugh.
“What?” the kid demanded, somehow seeming a little more comfortable then.
“I just know a lot of social workers. Nothin’ against it, just thought it was funny. It’s good people, most of ‘em.” Most.
“Oh.” The girl relaxed a little, walking with him as they moved to unload more product. “And they… help?”
“What, with the talking to myself? I mean, not enough, I guess.” Was that rude? He’s been way too rude during this conversation. He’d let himself slip in Whumper’s absence.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
He raised a hand in peace. “It’s fine. It takes a lot more than that to offend me.”
“Bad pet,” Whumper admonished with a tsk-tsk. “You know better than to interrupt.”
Whumpee flinched, just barely managing to stop himself from dropping the box he was unloading to grovel. “I’m sorry for interrupting you.”
There. Normal thing to say. Not so hard.
The kid eyed him curiously, not that Whumpee could figure out what it was this time. “It’s fine.” And lightly, with a smile, “Takes a lot more than that to offend me.”
“She’s cute,” Whumper whispered in his ear. “I’ve been needing a new pet, ever since you left me. You were getting older anyway. Maybe she could take your place.”
Whumpee whipped around so fast his head spun. “Shut up! Don’t you dare say that about her! What’s wrong with you!?”
The girl gasped, dropping her box. Something shattered inside it, spilling red through the cracks, just like him.
Whumper trailed a finger up Whumpee’s throat to his chin. He could swear he could feel it. “You don’t talk to your master that way, pet. You know what comes next.”
“Mr. Whumpee?” the girl asked, voice small, tears in her eyes.
Whumpee dropped to the ground, cowering on the floor with his arms over his face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
By that point, others were rushing over, a cavalcade of coworkers pushing themselves between them and all talking at once so he could hear none of them.
“Just give me a minute,” Whumpee begged. Whether it was Whumper or the real people he was begging, he wasn’t sure. “I just need a minute. Please. Just a minute.”
“I’m fine, give him some space,” he distantly heard the kid say among the rumble.
After a couple minutes, he dared to uncover his face. She was still there, though everyone else had left. She crouched as soon as she could see his eyes. “Hey,” she said, gentle. “You alright?”
“I guess.” He pushed himself up to sitting, wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve. “Sorry you had to see that.”
She shrugged. “Sorry you had to experience it.” And then: “I also know a lot of social workers. For the record. It’s why I decided to go into it.”
“Ah, a kindred spirit.” Though he doubted it was for the same reason. At least, he damn hoped so.
“Thanks for defending me from the voice you were hearing. That’s what you were doing, right?” She offered him a hand.
Whumpee took it, getting back to his feet. “Yeah. He’s a dick.”
The night after she watched her best friend die in front of her, she appeared right in front of her door. The ding of the doorbell seemed to drag out, ringing in Caretaker’s ears just like the heart monitor had as she stared at the thing wearing Whumpee’s face.
Because whatever it was, it was certainly not the woman she’d seen flatline less than 24 hours ago.
“Caretaker?” it asked, its voice small and meek like it never was. “Can I come in?”
The doorbell and the flatline sang together, harmonizing in the distance like background music.
“Okay.” She didn’t know why she said it. It came out flat, her words failing to pick any emotion with all the options it had.
“Thank you!” The thing that was not Whumpee strolled into her apartment like it belonged there, far too agile for the frail, skeletal body it had stolen from Whumpee. “I’m really hungry. Can I have something to eat?”
Caretaker nodded in a daze. “Is ramen okay?”
“I love ramen.” It said it like it was reciting a memorized fact, plopping itself down at the kitchen table.
With that, Caretaker got to work, rotely pulling the noodles from the cabinet and starting a pot boiling, two bowls ready and waiting.
She was silent, and the thing followed her lead, waiting pleasant and smiling at the table. It kicked its feet absentmindedly, looking around at her kitchen like it had never seen it before.
“You’re not very good at this,” Caretaker noted. “You could at least try a little harder.”
Not-Whumpee flinched like it had been slapped. “What?”
“I mean, you’re not even acting like her.” She dumped the noodles into the water.
The thing slowly rose from its seat. “Should I go?” it asked, its smile gone now, its voice back to that timid little thing.
Caretaker shrugged. “I’m already making the ramen.”
Just as slowly, Whumpee sat back down. It only had eyes for Caretaker now, its flitting glances gone, quiet again.
She decided to top the bowls with some soft-boiled eggs she had in her fridge, serving Whumpee before sitting down across from it.
Whumpee dove into the bowl, eating ravenously, like it had been starved for weeks. It shoveled the noodles into its mouth, its jaw just a little wider than it should have been. It finished before Caretaker had even taken her first bite.
She shoved her bowl across the table without a word. Whumpee ate that too, just as quick.
“Still hungry?” she asked.
“Yes. Thank you.” Whumpee’s gaze followed her to the fridge. There was a massive beef casserole Whumpee’s parents had loaded off onto her, telling her You’ve done so much and we can’t eat all this food.
She placed it in front of Whumpee, cold. It was gone in seconds.
“What even are you?” Caretaker asked.
Whumpee had the nerve to shrug. “I didn’t kill her,” it defended instead. “Lots of people think I’ve killed whoever it is. I didn’t.”
“I know. She was sick for a long time.” Caretaker took the bowls, clearing the table.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” it added.
Caretaker laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “God, even the monster wearing my friend’s face is saying it.”
“It’s what you’re supposed to say,” Whumpee recited.
“Sure,” she agreed. “You got anywhere to spend the night?”
“Usually I just–” Whumpee cut itself off abruptly, like jerking itself back from a cliff’s edge. “I don’t.”
“Stay here and I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. You usually crashed on the couch.” Caretaker jabbed a thumb at the living room. “You know. Before.”
“That’s true. I did.” Whumpee seemed to roll the words around in its head. “I can really stay?”
“Of course.” Caretaker smiled for the first time in weeks. “You’re my best friend.”
