Worm!

[[Hello littles wormophiliacs! ] [[🩵🪱💚🤎] ----The worm drags itself out of the soil like it owns the whole rotten garden, a thin ribbon of glistening muscle that moves with a slow, deliberate confidence. Its skin shimmers with a slick sheen—half dew, half attitude—catching every scrap of light as if it’s showing off on purpose. Each tiny ripple running down its body looks calculated, like it’s flexing in the most dramatic slow-motion possible. It doesn’t crawl. It parades. Every time it bends, its segments tighten and stretch with a hypnotic rhythm, almost like it’s daring anyone to look away. There’s something strangely intense about the way it explores its surroundings—pressing into the ground, tasting the soil, sliding through crevices like it was built for slipping into places it definitely shouldn’t be. And the way it moves when it senses something new? That sudden freeze, as if it’s thinking, then the smooth, silent glide forward—determined, fearless, a little too curious for its own good. Its tiny mouth opens and closes with that eerie, delicate patience only a creature that’s lived in the dark all its life can have. Despite its size, it radiates this ridiculous level of confidence, like it knows that anyone watching is secretly fascinated. A worm shouldn’t be this bold, this dramatic, this… intense—yet here it is, wriggling with the kind of swagger that could only belong to something that’s never questioned its own charm.