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You sniffle and throw the 19th tissue you’ve used into the bin. The bin is overflowing, much like your brain and your tear ducts, all because of some dumb stupid final exam season at your dumb stupid idiot school. You rub your eyes violently to get rid of the blurriness, which was probably from studying for 14 hours straight (comprised of 5 hours of actual studying and 10 hours of crying, staring into space, and napping).“I want to go to bed,” you say with phlegm in your throat, making you sound like a sick Victorian child about to die. You feel like one. To bed you go, one foot lagging behind the other, ignoring your gross unwashed face and squiggly hair, and you sprawl face down on the mattress like a dead rat on the kitchen floor.Could you sleep? Of course not, not with your unpaid hydro bill and the looming threat of that one final exam. That final exam. It was an Eldritch horror growing right in your chest and pressing the air out of you, begging for your attention, for you to cram paragraph after paragraph, slide after slide—Something creaked.“Fuck off,” you croak back to whatever living or dead thing has decided to disturb your difficult to find peace.Your eyes open and search around the room upon hearing the growing rustling of what appeared to be garbage, line of sight scanning from the desk to the bookshelf to the pile of blankets and clothes on the floor—“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH HOLY FUCKING—”There was that blob again. A living, moving, writhing abyss staring back at you as you flipped yourself over onto your butt so quickly you nearly fell off your bed.From the impermeable void, appeared the familiar face of Cornerthing.“WHAT THE FUCK MAN,” you scream, clutching at your chest but failing to calm your overly anxious nerves. That should be why you were so badly jumpscared. It’s the nerves. From your exams. Totally not because you had various dreams about Cornerthing with extremely questionable content (you weren’t aware of this, however, because you don’t remember your dreams).Cornerthing stood in all its glorious silence, staring at you with eyes so blank you were compelled to look behind you to see if he was staring at something else.“So, uh—” you attempt to cough with your phlegmy throat, “what are you doing at my room at this hour?”“I saw you dream,” says Cornerthing, “you are very silly. You silly and dream silly.”Huh? As mentioned before, you didn’t remember any of your dreams. You assumed it was due to the psychological defense mechanism of repression because if you didn’t repress it, you would not have a good time. (You are bullshitting, you don’t actually know why.)“You scream. In sleep,” Cornerthing begins to drool and oh no, surely, he could not be—Cornerthing moves closer, the trail of abyssal darkness trailing after it, until he stands right at the foot of your bed, leaving you nowhere to hide, and no other option other than to huddle your blankets while being pressed against the headboard.“Goddammit are you going to eat me already?” you sob with a blanket held up to your nose to catch the tears uncontrollably rolling down your cheeks. You aren’t usually like this, you swear. It must be the stress, you plead with yourself for the millionth time.
“You like being eaten.”
“No, the fuck I don’t!”
“Yes. I saw.”
Being eaten alive suddenly became less concerning than what Cornerthing saw. You wanted to kick Cornerthing right in his smug little face.Emboldened, you forget about your mortality for a flickering second and jab at the little shit's chest, only to touch what felt like really dense, oddly warm vapor. Ick. “Stop saying weird shit, man, it’s not funny.”But before you could pull away, he grabs you with a hand of firm vapor, like extremely light slime with an iron grip, and holds your hand there for a second as you stare back, eyes widened, red, blank with exhaustion and surprise. Hold on, was he smiling--?Cornerthing shoves your wrist back against the headboard and you yelp, ears ringing, shoulder joint cracking with what sounded like a dislocated limb. He seizes the other hand and pushes it up too. You don’t even bother struggling with how tired you are. Defeated, hands pinned above your head by some supernatural entity you couldn’t overpower.“You missed me,” says Cornerthing factually. And he was right (unfortunately).“But not because I want to be eaten! Why the fuck would I miss you if I knew you were going to eat me.”
“You have not. Gone outside in. Seventy-two hours. You want touch. Human love. Touch.”
You nearly choke on your saliva as you splutter out a scratchy laugh. You bring your knees closer to your chest, more out of nervousness than intent to defend, and you look up through your lashes. Cornerthing watches you back with—is that disapproval?
“You do not. Get. What. You. Want. You are. Not. Smart.”
“It’s called finals week,” you hang your head and offer unhelpfully. Cornerthing probably has no idea what the fuck that is.Cornerthing glances at your closed laptop, then looks at you accusingly. You couldn’t piece together why your laptop would possibly piss him off until his expression goes blank and says, “I saw you read. You want very. Very. Strange. Things.”And for just a moment your brain reels, although you wish you could feign confusion for longer. A shiver runs down your spine. He wasn’t kidding about watching me. I also really did not want to explain what I read to Cornerthing. He cocks his head to the side and the grip around your wrists tighten.
I doubt he would understand. Sometimes I don’t even know why I like reading about people beating the shit out of me.
“Let me go!”
“No.”
You jerk your right hand towards Cornerthing’s face with all your force while pulling the left down against the headboard, and for a split second you think you are going to get free. Your legs kick from the momentum and find purchase in the thick smog of Cornerthing’s torso. You bend your knees, prepared to push him away from you when—--the void looms over you. The shadow entity’s expression sours into a drooling mess and an extra pair of arms erupt from his torso. His spare hands seizes your ankles.All four of your limbs were held squarely in place, and you barely find the will to resist with a strangled grunt before Cornerthing drags your feet towards the end of the bed, yanking your hands down from the headboard so he held both wrists against your pillow with his right hand. He pinned your throat against the blankets with the left and your face immediately flushed pink at that. From embarrassment or lack of oxygen? You decide.His weight presses on your thighs, uncharacteristically heavy, almost enough to bruise.His extra limbs disappear with a poof as he tilts his head again, coyly.“Always. Look. So. Tasty,” he begins to drool. The sticky liquid slid down his chin right onto your neck and you grimaced. You should be a lot more concerned, but this is definitely the easy way out of your current predicament. Perhaps, you think, dying on your soft bed with a shadow entity gorging on your guts is more pleasant than it sounds. You frown at the thought. Of course you would like that. You pervert.He bites down, but it isn’t time to scream yet. You also can’t scream because you can barely breathe from Cornerthing’s iron grip on your esophagus, and it seems too late to tell him when you feel sharp teeth pierce skin and muscle. Tears brim but nothing comes out, your vision goes spotty for just a moment before the pang of initial agony spreads into a throb. A wet tongue laps at the hot blood dripping down your shoulder, slimy and almost searing hot, prodding into the gashes and making you kick your legs pathetically, tossing your head left and right. The struggling only made it worse, with every twist of your torso and contraction of your core, Cornerthing only became more agitated, licks increasing in aggression until you heard your own flesh squelch and tear under the strain.When you finally try to scream, to yell, to beg for mercy, all that came out was a whimper easily misinterpreted as neediness. And as your vision begins to fizz out, Cornerthing releases your throat.He seems very pleased with himself, so he sits on your thighs, legs sprawled over yours, leaning back to admire your bloodied body teetering on the edge of consciousness. You could’ve sworn he licked his lips and let out a content hum. But of course, you were too out of it to see anything properly.The first thing you did when you regained a bit of strength was to voice your confusion. Or at least, try to ask Cornerthing why the fuck you’re still alive and why he decided to drink your blood like you were a goddamn Capri-sun. Last time you checked, he wasn’t some horny medieval vampire into fucked up kinky shit. (You lowkey wished he was though.)But instead, you coughed out blood. It mixed with drool (both yours and Cornerthing’s) and soaked through your shirt as you hacked out a few more weak coughs before giving up. Your throat had enough. It evidently didn’t want to speak.“I. Do. What. Story. Says.” Cornerthing grins down at you dumbly, licking at the drool that uncontrollably dribbles down its jaw, as if it was Pavlov’s dog and you were the ringing dinner bell.“What the fuck did you even watch me read?” You croak out. The fic about getting beaten half to death then accidentally moaning at the touch of your opponent? The one where you get kidnapped and get waterboarded?
Oh. It has to be one of those vampire AUs. He’s trying to be a vampire. Why is that kind of adorable?
“So you aren’t going to question why I like vampires beating me up and drinking my blood? You just decide to roll with it?” You ask, incredulous but not really complaining.Cornerthing nods, and just sticks out a hand while pointing the other at his mouth. Oh, so now he’s actually hungry.You would recoil in fear but your legs are still pinned under Cornerthing, so you just flail your arms around dumbly, but not long before he grabs one wrist in each hand and digs his talons into your arms.“A-are you now going to eat me?”Cornerthing stared silently for a good second, eyes darting ever so slightly as he thought about this rather simple question, “No. If. I. Eat. You. Are. Gone.” He pauses again, soft breaths labored.
“I. Like. Seeing. You. Cry.”
Oh my god. This shadow entity will be the end of you.“You can’t just say stuff like that, man,” you mutter, voice cracking a little, and Cornerthing giggles. “Blood. Taste. Good. Like. Burger .” “I actually have an iron deficiency. You’re drinking subpar blood, hate to break it to you.”Cornerthing’s mouth hangs open a little, confused.“Nevermind. Are you sure you don’t want to eat me?” You were mostly kidding with that. Although, you couldn’t help but feel a little emboldened by your newfound status as a mortal toy for this sadistic but silly otherworldly being (at least, that was how you understood it).“Do. You. Want. To. Be. Eaten?” Cornerthing bites its lip.“I mean, I won’t complain,” you side eye him, “you must be holding yourself back so much. Even I sometimes want to twist people’s heads off like the cap of a water bottle and slurp down their intestines. Only sometimes.”Cornerthing just stares at your forehead. Was he attempting telepathy? Or was what I said just too weird? Even for an other-dimensional being that eats corpses?You frown a bit, “you probably think I’m gross and disgusting, don’t you.” You dimly note it would be hypocritical of Cornerthing to dislike you for wanting to break people’s spines, but the guilt gnawed at you nonetheless.Cornerthing tilts its head in question, asking for elaboration.You sigh, and rub your eyes to clear the thought of your head, “I get stressed. And when I get stressed, I want to do bad things because I have to do too much. Because I have too much to do. I want people to be quiet. And I want to kill them. And that makes me feel bad.”“You. Are. Very. Weird.” Cornerthing says, and although it doesn’t sound like it’s scolding you, the shame still stings. It almost hurts harder than his teeth.“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” You throw your hands up in exasperation and turn to the side so you didn’t have to stare at Cornerthing while you scolded it. “I KNOW. IF YOU HATE ME THAT MUCH JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. Fuck off. Go away.”There was a long silence, only ending with your sniffling. You don’t like to sniffle. It sounds pathetic and looks even worse.
“I. Kill. Them. For. You.”
“What?”
“I. Love. Watching. Over. You.”
“Wait, no, don’t actually kill them, I don’t mean it like that, I don’t actually—”You had to stop mid-sentence to gag at the sudden rancid smell that permeated the room, was that—Cornerthing leans over to one side of the bed, reaches under it, and drags out a body.The eyes were open.It was alive.Blinking.Breathing loud and suddenly quiet the next second as Cornerthing’s free hand clamps around his jaw.Blood splurting out from the severed arteries on its arm, where Cornerthing’s claws dug into his flesh. Coagulated blood coated the lips in a cakey mess, and those eyes—glassy and looking in two directions at once, glossy just like the skin, blood seeping into the orbital cavity to stain the whites of the eyes red. How did he--He blinks, and you blink back in horror.He smells dead.Like flesh and blood.You realize your mouth was hanging open and your eyes huge as Cornerthing drags more of the body out. He stared at your forehead the whole time, watching your surprise melt into ominous fear. He knows you worry that you will be next. Cornerthing giggles to himself at that.He loves how you taste when you’re so afraid.
“Kill. Them.”
Your voice fails you. You just gawk dumbly before holding the blanket up against your face to hide yourself from the nightmare playing out in your room.“You. Want. To. Kill. Them.” Cornerthing repeats, just barely inquisitive.“No, I don’t actually want to kill anyone! It’s just an intrusive thought, I’m just mentally fucked up and I don’t know what I want in life. I don’t know. I really don’t know. But I don’t want to kill—” The poor person chokes on their own spit as Cornerthing’s grip on their jaw tightens. You avert your gaze.“—I’m just a terrible person sometimes. Want people to die. Won’t actually do it. It’s like how I want to be beaten up. I won’t actually go out into an alleyway to get beaten up. I just feel so dirty. Like I need to be punished. Like if I get what I deserve, I’ll be clean again. When water doesn’t make you feel clean, you have to use your own blood, you know.”
“Hard. To. Understand.”
Cornerthing seems to be bored of all the talking. He grabs the poor guy’s head by the back of his scalp like it was a bowling ball. The shadow entity’s eyes crinkle into a crescent shape and he smiles at you for a fleeting moment before—CRACK.A dying gurgle was all the man let out before his head was snapped back, the obscene pop reverberating in your eardrums like some unholy incantation heard from the depths of hell. Then the sound of a waterfall of blood cascading down, slowly reducing to a plip-plip-plip. You wince and look up, trembling.“You. Are. Not. Evil.” He seems to be comforting you.You try not to think too hard about the mangled corpse and the moral consequences Cornerthing should face, “but what would that make you?”
“I. Am. The. Law.”
“So you don’t think you’re evil either?”Cornerthing shakes its head.
“You. Do. Not. Need. To. Be. Cleaned.”
Goddammit. You wanted to cry. All the filth, the mental turmoil. It had started seeping out of your skin in a gross layer of grime immune to the long showers and frantic scrubbing of your skin. You felt dirty. You always do when you think terrible thoughts. You always do when you think about how you rot at home and don’t have a job. How you’re years behind mental development, cognitive and social.There was a long silence. The only sound to be heard was the splattering of blood on the floor, like raindrops on a calm summer night.Cornerthing throws the dead body onto your bed. The blood mingles with yours and you bite back a wretch, because the desire to voice the emotions bursting from your heart was stronger than the desire to get the corpse out of sight.“Nobody’s ever said that to me before,” you say to the bed, softly, and Cornerthing tilts its head, before continuing to bore holes into your forehead with its laser stare.Even more quietly, you add, “I think I’m in love with you.”Cornerthing said nothing. There was no more dripping of blood to quench this silence.Your heart rises to a pounding staccato in your throat and the regret surfaces like a flash flood, pouring into your heart in icy cold torrents. Surely, he understood love? Would he scorn me for thinking he, a flesh eating, higher dimensional being would love an entity as simple as a human? He must feel disgusted to be loved by a soul of lower existence.But deep down, you knew that a lot of the things brewed up in your brain are far from the truth, and you knew that Cornerthing isn’t like that. You knew this, but convincing yourself of it is another thing.“Do. You. Watch. Me. Too.” Cornerthing asks, although the monotonicity of its voice made the question seem more like a statement.“What—no! What gave you that idea?”
“I. Watch. You.”
“I know that.”He tilts his head. “Watch. Same. As. Love.”“No it’s not, you dumbass.”Cornerthing looks visibly deflated at your lack of intelligence. Instead of replying, it moves its weight off of your legs and lifted your thighs up so his legs slid under yours in a straddle, and it waits for you to arrive at your own conclusion.“Huh??”Cornerthing just keeps staring.“You want me to watch you??”He’s getting bored.“You love people so you watch them?”Cornerthing’s disapproving stare softens for a bit but persists.“You love me???”The shadow entity’s mouth splits into a silent toothy smile, and he presses against your thighs, holding them apart to get closer as your breath hitches. Resting his head on your lower chest, his grins widens just a little more, “I. Have. Attached. Myself. To. You.”You fervently try to cover your blushing face at the unexpected onslaught of affection. You swallowed words of love badly, they were always a little misshapen and felt like a cube as it was forced down your esophagus.“I-- *hic* I love you too, Cornerthing,” you whisper, “can I have a hug?” You pause, ready to take that pathetic sentence back, but instead pin on an even quieter, “please?”And he sinks into your arms, the darkness all consuming, like the heaviest of weighted blankets, except this time, it did do wonders for your touch starvation.You bury your head in the nook of Cornerthing's neck, inhaling as much as your scratchy throat would let you, breathing in its smell of blood and homicide, and you decide at that moment that Nietzsche was wrong. If you stare at the abyss, the abyss doesn’t stare back. It cuddles you.