vividvagrant

[vividvagrant]

[vividvagrant]

Chemical Corruption - Viper

Part 1 ☣

Viper's real name was lost to history, covered by the shadows of rumor and speculation, born to a military family that moved frequently due to his parent's deployments. Growing up as a military brat, Viper found it challenging to form any sort of stable connection, always the new kid in town, forever on the outside looking in.

As a child, Viper was enthralled by adventure and danger, spending his days exploring abandoned buildings on or around the military bases, venturing into nature to find dangerous life, and delving into forbidden areas.

As he grew older, Viper became enamored with the natural world, particularly the deadly inhabitants of the animal and plant kingdoms. He immersed himself in the study of poisons, venoms and toxins, honing his skills in concocting deadly mixtures that could kill with just a drop while also testing himself to make cures and remedies for them

It was during one of these ventures to a restricted part of the new military base he had moved too that he stumbled upon a hidden laboratory under a ruined building. The ladder was under a piece of rubble he had moved in hopes of finding one of the native snake species. He climbed down the rusted ladder, kicking away spider webs and egg sacks as he went. When he hit the ground after what seemed like three stories worth of climbing down rungs. He fumbled in his messenger bag for his flash light. Being a military brat meant he always was overprepared.

Once the light was flicked on he gazed in shock at the room filled with vials. On closer inspection to the lables he relized the lab was full of deadly toxins, bioweapons, twisted mutations of all that was natural, and classified research documents.

Intrigued by the contents of the lab, Viper began to experiment with the agents, fascinated by their potential for destruction. He learned to mix and concoct deadly solutions along with their cures.

At first he only tested these on animals but the more results he got, the more the curiosity to test them on a human grew.

Being a medic himself he couldn't bring himself to test it on some random person. He grabbed one of the toxins, one he knew wasn't deadly and placed a tourniquet on his arm. He pulled the rubber around his upper arm tight and pushed the needle into his vein. As soon as the plundger was pushed all the way he pulled the band off his arm.

He gasped as a rush of fire coarsed through his Veins and subsequently into his heart. The pain wasn't unbearable but the scare was enough for him to franticlly grab the antidote off the tray. He managed to inject the entire solution just as the first agent reached his brain. He dropped the needle as he felt himself grow dizzy and fall fast towards the floor. He was unconscious before he even hit the floor.

When he awoke several hours later he felt almost numb. It was as if his nerve endings had been fried. He should be burning up, after all this was a military base in the middle of a desert and he could see the light still peaking through the cracks of the ceiling.

He dragged himself off the floor and up into his chair. He grabbed the glass vial and turned it over. When he read the lable his heart sank. He had grabbed the wrong one. The agent he thought he had grabbed was one that would make him feel a sense of nostalgia. This one he had never tested. There was around six agents he had yet to test out and this was one of them. However the X on the front didn't e as e the growing worry in his chest. There was still some of the agent in the bottle. Maybe he could test him on someone to see if there would be any lasting effects...

[vividvagrant]

Palpatine: My boy, I'm afraid to report that Master Kenobi is very likely sleeping with your wife.

Anakin, who knows for a fact that Obi-Wan is sleeping with his Commander, a good chunk of Ghost company, the Organas and Quinlan Vos: ...where is he finding the fucking time???

Palpatine, oblivious: Oh I've heard from some very reliable sources that-

Anakin: *pulls out a spexcel spreadsheet, the 3rd System Army's shared spoogle calender and a calculator*

Anakin: Your Excellency. That's just. not logistically possible.

[vividvagrant]

The slendermanor headcannons

(based on my experience shifting there)

- the manor is almost an entity with its own consciousness, it can communicate with the residents through noises and clicks, sometimes even in dreams, but hardly anyone notices because they think the manor is just a place with supernatural properties.

- and of course when talking about the manor you can't help but mention its supernatural properties.

- some of which are:

- corridors and rooms can change at random moments.

- doors can appear and disappear.

- new rooms can appear.

- on the outside it's the normal size of an ordinary manor, but inside it's absurdly huge, up to 3x the size of an ordinary shopping mall.

- only the residents can see the manor, which is why no law enforcement agency or researcher has found this place.

- most people call it "Slendermansion" but it does have a name, at least on the day I went it did shifted there, and it was "Manor of the Cursed Woods" but apparently no resident cares much about the name. They even call it Slenderman's zoo or Slender's ark as a kind of joke because there are so many "animals" inside.

- To live there, you must not only have the Slenderman's trust or interest, but also be able to perform services for him in return, which can range from missions to domestic chores.

- "people" and creatures choose to live there because it's a great place to hide since no one who doesn't live there can see and find the manor, it's the safest place for creepypastas.

- and yes, it really is safe, there's not much chance of you, being considered a "creepypasta", ending up being attacked or killed by another one, because there are rules there, and if you don't comply with one of them, depending on what it is, you'll be punished with anything from temporary detention in the dungeon, to torture, loss of privileges, and expulsion.

- the rules are as follows:

- always maintain a positive relationship with the other residents, no matter how difficult it may be.

- keep the mansion clean. (There are some who seem to have extreme difficulty complying with this rule 💀)

- avoid fights and arguments.

- help a resident who is in serious condition if you spot them.

- never, under any circumstances, talk about the manor or mention it to non-residents.

- respect the proxies and obey them in any circumstance. (this rule has already gotten very bad)

- always be prepared and available for any call or mission.

- avoid making any kind of noise during sleep hours.

- no one is responsible for the loss of your belongings or clothes, so take care of them.

- you are responsible for any being or animal brought into the manor.

- it has a garden at the back, which is quite nice for a place like this, with some flowers that vary in color, birds and a broken fountain in the center. There is also a bench under an oak tree, where you can find residents sitting from time to time.

- it has up to four floors and a basement of two.

- the first floor is where you'll find the entrance hall, living room, dining room, kitchen, bathrooms, training room and storeroom, as well as other random rooms that appear from one moment to the next.

- the second floor is where the library is, the room where the residents store quest items and objects lost around the mansion, the bathroom, and a room where people put pet items such as food, feed pots and litter boxes.

- the second floor is where the first bedrooms are.

- The third floor is also just bedrooms.

- on the fourth floor is another library, but this one has restricted access and contains files containing information that only Slenderman and his proxies have access to. There's an attic full of boxes storing God-only-knows-what and a lot of rats, and there's another warehouse containing dangerous objects.

- on the second floor of the basement, there's a nurse office, an operating room, a pharmacy and a mini hospital, a laboratory, a torture room, and a room with the belongings of kidnapped people.

- on the bottom floor of the basement is the dungeon, which has restricted access. There is a torture room for the residents, cells, and a room where the "guards" and inmates' belongings are usually kept.

- As far as technology goes, it's pretty up-to-date and has sockets and switches, but they vary a lot, sometimes there are sockets that are very old and you can't plug anything into them.

- there is a kind of "wi-fi" there, which was installed by the residents, this wi-fi probably only exists in the mansion and has its own IP address that can't be traced.

- Speaking of which, there's also the mansion's own network, which only the residents have access to and no one from outside can get in. (I don't know much about technology, I'm just trying to explain what I saw in the dr)

[vividvagrant]

FUCKED IN THE HEAD

Dead dove- do not eat || MINORS DNI

!! mentions of guns and gunshots, detailed descriptions of violence and gore, fake out character death, wound fucking, brain fucking, penis in brain sex, brain creampie, head bashing, homophobic language, homophobia slur use, internalized homophobia, mentions of abuse, specifically masky bullies toby about his past with his physically abusive father, age gap but everyone is a consenting adult, degradation and generally mean spirited dirty talk

Like this version? @sister-lucifer wrote one too!

A horrible wet chop rang out, followed by a whoop from Toby. “I g-got the la-las-st one, Mas-sky!”

Masky turned back, mouth open, a “shut up, Rogers” ready to roll out of his throat when he saw it.

“Toby, watch out!” BANG!

The boy fell to the dirt, dark red glistening in the moonlight.

A feral scream ripped through Masky’s throat as he tore the head clean off of the woman who just shot Ticci Toby Rogers. Masky would never admit it out loud, but he was afraid in this moment. Slenderman could keep them from dying; Hoodie had tried a few times, and Rogers had had his fair share of accidents, but a gunshot wound to the head?

There’s just no way.

Masky dropped to his knees beside the corpse of his partner, hands shaking as he hesitated about what to do. What can you do in these situations?

“Rogers!” he hisses, shaking the smaller man. “Tobias, please!”

And then life, beautiful sound! Toby giggles, arms pushing into the dirt beneath him.

“I g-got you ther-there, didn’t I?”

"God damn you, boy!" Masky hissed, more venom than a viper spewing from his lips. He kicked the boy, to little satisfaction. Toby only laughed.

He couldn't feel it anyway.

"You were s-soooo upse-t, huh Tim? Thought I w-was dead, huh Tim?"

The masked proxy growls, a grin creept across Toby’s marred face as he pushed himself up from the ground.

“You know, T-Tim, now I h-ave th-three holes just like a r-real girl!” he taunts. “Bet you w-wanna fuck me n-now, huh?”

Toby continued his taunts and jeers. “You’ll f-feel less bad now-now, huh? Cuz I’m l-like a r-eal girl, and y-you’re not such a f-faggot when you fuck my ass-ss. I b-et my head feel-feels great. You should try-try it.”

The older man stops dead in his tracks. It was an interesting idea, sure-- but there was no telling how much damage it would do. A single gunshot to the head was apparently survivable, but could Toby's already muddled brain take his cock?

Masky jumps ever so slightly as the boy slides up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. "Come on, Tim. Think about how go-good it would be," he purrs.

He didn’t want to. He shouldn’t think about it, about thrusting in and out of his partner, fucking him hard, blood lubricating his hard cock and adding to the sensation— but god damnit if Timothy “Masky” Wright wasn’t a faggot freak who loved fucking the boy almost as much as he loved ruining his thin unfeeling figure. Being immortal and having CIPA meant the boy could take a beating. He often did. Masky abused that, so why would this be any different?

It was just another hole.

He turns, pushing Toby to his knees.

Just another hole.

Toby giggles in anticipation.

Just a quick fuck. Doesn't mean anything.

Masky fumbles with his belt buckle.

Never does. He likes girls.

He reaches into his pants, rubbing himself a few times to wake his dick up.

He likes girls. Not whatever sick shit this is.

“Fuck,” Masky groaned as he pulled Toby’s head back onto his dick. Toby squirmed and whimpered below, nerves firing all over his body.

Masky’s hands grip Toby’s face, fucking into his skull slowly, dragging out the sensation. “Shit, kid, this is even better than your ass,” Masky chokes out in a rare moment of praise.

Toby moaned in response, a sound so sweet and raw Masky could swear he’d died and went to heaven.

What the hell is he thinking? This isn't good. This is just stress relief. Shut your mouth, Tim.

Every nerve in Toby’s body is lighting up in ecstasy as Masky pounds into his brain. Every cry bursts from deep within his chest, pure pleasure ebbing through the parts of his brain still intact. Masky is not gentle despite the area being so delicate. He thrusts hard into the tissue, reaching the deepest parts of Toby’s skull.

He hates Toby. He hates his stupid voice, the way he never takes anything seriously. He hates his twitching, his stutters, how he moans and whimpers under him every time this happened, and most of all, Masky hates how he loves it.

So of course, he fucks harder. He hates that Toby can't feel pain-- he digs his nails into the soft flesh of Toby's face, jaw, cheeks, scalp, throat. No pain. Only ecstasy.

Toby's voice has always been high-pitched and raspy. Whiny, like some shitty greasy Midwest emo singer. It always got higher when Masky fucked him, and if you closed your eyes, you could trick yourself into thinking you were fucking a real, warm-blooded woman.

Masky didn’t close his eyes. Usually, he would. Usually, he’d try and pretend.

This time, he watched as Toby jerked and stuttered and twitched.

And this time, as he watches, as he recognizes the man below him, bleeding, pawing desperately at his crotch, he feels something snap.

Toby whimpers as something is hit. Bone hits bone as his skull knocks against Masky’s hips. Everything is on fire. His eyes aren’t capable of focus, his thoughts are scattered, his tongue won’t form words. All he can think is that he needs to touch himself right this very second.

He paws at his crotch as Masky fucks into him like an animal. He fumbles with his belt, with the buttons, desperate for release.

He doesn’t manage it. All of that requires motor skills that Masky is quite literally fucking out of him right now. He settles for grabbing at himself through his jeans.

“God, Rogers. You’re a fucking sissy-boy, huh? You moan like one,” Masky grunts.

Toby presses harder against his hand.

“You’re a fucking fag, getting fucked like this. Slut.” Toby cums in his pants as Masky tugs sharply on his scalp.

“Nasty little fucker,” Masky growls. Toby twitches harder, moaning as viscera is pushed out around Masky’s dick. "You better be grateful for how I fuck you like this, nobody else would want a nasty little fag-freak like you."

Masky pulled Toby off his dick, slamming his head into the nearest tree.

There’s a crunch as Toby’s nose breaks. Blood and goo spurts out of the hole in his head with the impact. He moans sickeningly.

“You just love being beat on like this, huh?”

What little is left of Toby’s vision is filled with stars. His ears are ringing, his stomach twists and clenches.

He can’t feel pain, so the damage only translates to ecstasy through his dick-scrambled brain. He moans, drooling, tongue limp and jaw slack. The bark of the tree leaves marks in his skin as Masky positions himself behind him.

“Bet you picked up some real weird kinks from your daddy huh? Some wires crossed somewhere, same way they fucked you in the head?” Masky held himself in one hand and pinned Toby to the tree with the other.

“How ‘bout after this is over you tell me who fucked you up better?”

Before Toby can process what’s being said, Masky pushes all the way in. He groans as he fucks into Toby’s skull like an unneutered dog, growling and panting and groaning. Thank god there’s no one around to see this save the dead eyes of the already dead victims, or else there would be no way for Masky to deny that he definitely is into men.

As Masky grows closer, Toby’s muffled whimpers are drowned out by him losing all sense of composure and chasing the pleasure like some goddamn hedonist.

Masky lets out a sharp cry as he finally hits his limit, cum mixing with blood and brain matter and spinal fluid into a gooey mess of a mixture. He thrusts a few more times then pulls Toby off with a sick pop. A squelch as a chunk of brain falls onto the ground, but then no other sound except their breathing.

Toby gurgles slightly, falling to the side. Tim’s juices leak out the back of his head and his eyes, mixing with the tears of sheer pleasure.

“…I should probably get you to Jack.”

[vividvagrant]

whimper|t.toby

bonus p. link

CW: RIDING, PRAISE, SCRATCHING, “GOOD BOY”

Third Person POV

toby that’s an absolute bitch when you ride him.

he loves fighting for dominance with you, but on the few occasions where you win, he’s a mess.

he’ll cry and moan as you get yourself off on his cock.

riding him until he’s a ticking and whimpering mess.

he’s laying underneath you, everything off him but his hoodie, his hands clawing at your thighs as you rut for pleasure.

he leaves marks, small crescent shapes from his nails, pink lines trailing down your skin when he drags them.

you just feel so good, he can’t help it.

“yes, yes, b-baby, that’s it- that’s i-it!”

screaming for his own release as he watches you bounce on him desperately, him a sweating and crying mess.

he can’t help but buck his own hips just slightly as you ride him, wanting you to take control but absentmindedly trying to push himself deeper too.

doing so, he feels you clench and throb around his cock, sending his head back with a choked sob from his throat, his brown locks falling and sticking to his face.

“y-you feel so-so s-so good, please!-“

he had his hands roaming up your stomach, caressing your chest and giving a slight squeeze as if this was to help him cum.

“s’ pretty…such a good boy, taking me so well”

you mumble just loud enough for him to hear, purposely making yourself tighten around him.

“o-oh, oh! fuck!”

he moans loudly, quickly clamping his hands onto your hips as he holds you down, feeling him warmly finish inside you.

so loud when he cums, he tenses and whines, mumbling through whimpers how good you feel.

you lean forward and place your hands on his chest, pulling yourself off him as cum slightly drips from your cunt.

“you cum so much every time, too, dontcha?”

[vividvagrant]

Hello, I hope you are well! Recently I read a fanfic of yours on Ao3 about Ticci Toby and I fell in love with your writing!! I loved the way you develop the characters and their feelings!! 🤧💕✨

I would like to know if you write for Creepypasta X Virus, it is one of my favorites but there is almost no content online about it 🥹👉🏻👈🏻

Anyway, I saw your requests are open! If the idea pleases you, I would like to ask for headcanons of X Virus and Toby (or just Toby) with a reader who practices magic and has somewhat "dark" tastes (interest in poisonous animals/plants and the supernatural as a whole, in short, just a scary and adorable nerd at the same time!)

Thanks!! 💚

ahh! hello-hello!! i read x-virus' story and took notes for these, i really enjoyed writing Cody, so thank you very much for the request :-]

i rlly liked this request, and this is actually the first time i've ever done headcanon-ish things, i hope you enjoy these (bc i enjoyed writing them a lot)

x-virus & ticci toby: reader with macabre interests

relationships: ticci toby x reader, x-virus x reader

word count: 1.5k

links: available on ao3

x-virus warnings: animal death (off-screen, animal body shown) animal dissection, taxidermy, canon-typical violence

ticci toby warnings: canon-typical violence

☣︎ X-Virus | Cody _____ ☣︎

You let it slip one day that you wanted to try taxidermy, an embarrassing guilty pleasure you were confident you could keep under wraps, but Cody’s just been so nice about your eccentricities and you couldn’t help yourself.

“They use bugs in the process, lots of museums have them to clean the bones because they’re better than the best person with the best tools—” You pace back and forth as Cody watches you from your bed, “—Because that’s all they do, all they do is eat rotting flesh off the bone. The bones last much longer when cleaned by any Dermes—”

You stop yourself from mentioning the insects by their scientific name, embarrassed that you let your ramblings slip away like that.

Cody leaves the next day and you’re left alone with your thoughts. Maybe there’s another mansion full of serial killers so you can start fresh, your ears burn recalling how excited you got talking about flesh-eating bugs.

A few days later, Cody returns to the mansion with a limp raccoon and some things it stole from the local morgue.

You spend the entire night together trying to preserve this creature’s hide, you take it apart with precise motions, expertly moving the scalpel along the skin and parting flesh and sinew. You soak the skin in salts, rubbing it into the bloody underside until you smell like copper and the salt mines.

The whole room smells like formaldehyde, too.

✸ ☣︎ ​​✸

Cody is so excited to share its books with you, all of them. You spend long evenings together curled over a battery-powered lantern and ten-pound textbooks, occasionally mentioning an interesting tidbit when you come across one. Your books are filled with flattened foliage from the surrounding woods, poisonous plants and flowers, plastic baggies filled with poison ivy leaves, and hand-drawn diagrams of each plant’s internal structures in a ballpoint pen. It flips through each page carefully, examining each specimen, complimenting each note and observation.

“You should open a museum,” It says, running a finger over a pressed Conium maculatum. That snaps you out of your science headspace.

You should, but you can’t. “Besides, who would enjoy a museum like that?” You argue.

“Think about the Mütter Museum,” It quips back, “If people frequent a museum full of pickled people-guts and spines, I’m sure people would go to yours. People like flowers.”

In another universe where violence wasn’t at the forefront of your mind, maybe you’d be the curator of a weird little museum full of oddities.

​​✸ ☣︎ ​​✸

“Toby comes here all the time to burn CDs, don’t worry, the cameras stopped working years ago and they never bothered to fix them,” Cody pushes open a window and climbs into the air-conditioned computer lab of the local library, “Just don’t knock anything over, I guess.” It jokes.

You drop through the window and feel goosebumps form on your arms, you haven’t felt air conditioning in years.

Cody unlocks the door leading to the rest of the facility, you walk side-by-side, dragging your fingers over the spines of dozens of books.

“You know the Dewey Decimal System, right?” Cody asks, there’s a thrill with breaking in, especially for pleasure (rather than worrying about killing every occupant in a house, you both can focus on finding a specific edition of a book you were dying to read).

“By heart.” You joke, guiding it to the 500s: Natural Sciences.

You spend five hours squished up together reading from the same book. It points to a diagram and you explain every minute detail, Cody listens eagerly to your explanations, wanting to ingrain every word that comes out of your brilliant, perfect brain, and memorize the way you describe the venom sacs of the Hydrophis schistosus.

 The way it rolls off your tongue—Hydrophis schistosus—Cody wants that to be the last sound it ever hears, the sound echoing forever in its brain until the heat death of the universe.

You creep down to the 200s and find a few textbooks about niche religious practices. You tell Cody about the rarity of cannibalistic religious practices, and the prevalence of cannibalism in some movies ticks you off.

“Cannibalism isn’t that common,” You scoff, “It’s more than socially taboo, it’s biologically taboo. Ever heard of Kuru?”

“Tell me.” It begs.

✸ ☣︎ ​​✸

⦻ Ticci Toby | Tobias Erin Rogers ⦻

Every word that comes out of you flies over his head. Even though he doesn't know a thing about what you’re telling him about, he’s completely and utterly enamored. Toby never graduated high school, and—for the most part—he’s glad he didn’t have to spend any more time around high-school people. 

He misses learning. Sometimes Toby thinks he’s stupid, Tim and Brian went to university, and they have high school diplomas with their names on them somewhere, Toby has nothing except an honor roll card from the eighth grade. You’re so brilliant, maybe part of him thinks he’s weighing you down by stopping your ramblings to ask for clarification. He’s so deep in thought he hasn't been paying attention to your talks about the Ghent Altarpiece’s connection to ancient practices of animal sacrifice.

“Does it bother you when I do that—when I don’t know things a-and you gotta explain it to me?”

You’re sitting on the porch together looking out over the rolling fog, he sucks in a breath, the tip of a Marlboro lighting up orange-hot.

“I like it, actually.” You say matter-of-factly

Toby’s diaphragm sputters as smoke spills from his nose, and he coughs hard into his elbow. “...Doesn’t it—But I’m interrupting you because I’m too stupid to get it the first time—”

That word gives you pause, and Toby tosses away the cigarette butt and curls into himself, shame burning hot on his face.

“I don’t think—”

“E-Everyone does,” He cries, “I-I can’t help it, I couldn’t even finish high school. Tim and Brian made it to college, at least.”

You push yourself into his personal space, knocking your knee into his as you lean over to share a secret.

“I can teach you if you’d like.”

Toby’s red-hot shame melts into a giddy flush as your warm breath lands on his ear.

✸ ⦻ ​​✸

The next victim that comes Toby’s way—a family of three with a prying-eyed teenager getting too close to discovering the mansion—grants you both access to the internet for a time.

You start with Wikipedia, it’s good practice to get bare-bones information that starts the deep dive. Marine Biology is the starting topic because the random article Wikipedia spat out at you was about the bigfin squid.

Toby mumbles aloud as he scrolls through the article, the picture on the right left the hairs on his arms standing on end. Little is known about it because it dwells so deep, and scientists aren’t entirely sure why its distinct long arms are there.

“Nobody knows how it feeds?”

“We know more about space than our oceans,” You say, “We have pictures of the Big Bang.”

Toby rolls back on the wheeled chair and pushes the keyboard to you.

You open a new tab and open the search bar.

COSMIC MICROWAVE BACKGROUND.

He pulls back in, opening the third link that pops up. You sit quietly as he devours an entire article explaining the picture’s existence, he’s vibrating in his chair. Toby continues the search without your input, googling words and finding plenty of pictures of smattered space dust orbiting tiny, dense stars.

The pictures of the black hole shake him to his core, nebulae give him chills, beautiful planets and star systems and moons and—

Alpha Centauri grabs a hold of Toby’s body and keeps him there. He pushes the monitor towards you and you read along with him, he’s shaking with excitement, free hand flapping excitedly as he scrolls through the academic journal.

He prints out a few pictures before the police show up, the cosmic microwave background bathing the room in greens and blues and smatterings of yellows and reds.

✸ ⦻ ​​✸

He starts stealing books from the library, as do you. You take turns showing and telling. He shows you astronomy books and you show him textbooks about the history of taxonomy; you spend hours sitting across from each other on the floor exchanging knowledge.

��I’m—I’m glad we did this. Thanks for doing all of—of that.” 

You peek over an academic journal you’ve read at least seven times, smiling softly as Toby puts his new collection of literature into a box and pushes it into the closet. He piles a few flannels and shirts over the box to camouflage it amongst his dirt laundry.

“Why’re you doing that?”

Toby turns to you and turns away meekly, “...It’s our special thing, you get it? I don’t want anyone getting into our business. This is our thing. Our special thing.”

A warmth creeps up your neck as Toby holds your gaze. You close your journals.

“Babies have more bones than adults.” You whisper, your hand splayed over his shoulder blades, “About three hundred.”

Toby’s breath hitches as your hands warm the spot where his cervical vertebrae end and the thoracic meet.

“H-How many are—” He covers his mouth to cover a shaky breath, “—i-in the spine?”

“There are thirty-three vertebrae. Seven cervical,” You and trails down his back, “Twelve thoracic,” you creep further, “Five lumbar,” Lower and lower you go, “Five sacral,” You’re getting bold now, “...And four coccygeals.”

You hold your hands there, Toby enjoys the warmth radiating from your fingers, he wants to melt into you like watered-down clay (you would call it slip since you know everything). He wants to read books with you for the rest of his life and not do anything else.

He wants you to count every rib, every tooth in his mouth, every bone in his hands and feet—counting and counting and counting until he's dizzy.

✸ ⦻ ​​✸