âThere was this constant change, and constant invention of characters. It seemed the shoot was about exploring new characters.â Bowie in character on the telephone in Los Angeles, 1974.
Photo Š Steve Schapiro
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âThere was this constant change, and constant invention of characters. It seemed the shoot was about exploring new characters.â Bowie in character on the telephone in Los Angeles, 1974.
Photo Š Steve Schapiro
@thewormwood

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Ancient Roman gold nipple cover, 1st century AD.
from Czernyâs International Auction House
Draconicus (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/z7HHOhJKCR A young man wakes up naked, dazed and confused in unfamiliar and inhospitable surroundings, unable to recall a single detail pertaining to his identity. He stumbles blindly through a series of events that reveal to him more than just the identity he had unwittingly lost, but also the wealth offered to him by the new life he is destined to now live. Rivalries form, romance blossoms, and enlightenment follows in every step he takes as he continues upon his new path; the path of a juvenile dragon.
âż - Dragomir
The wind whistled through his hair and made of it a golden banner, touched with strands of russet, streaming behind him as he rode. The powerful, yet svelte, creature beneath him pounded ahead at an astonishing rate, kicking up flecks of sand and water in its wake. Thrump, thrump, the traskâs legs pumped and its feet splayed over the sand, sinking very little before the sinuous body lifted and seemed to glide through the air in one smooth motion. Dragomir felt the perfection of the animalâs fluid motion beneath him, completely unlike the almost jarring gait of an equivar, and when he gave the serpentine animal more reign it seemed to fly forward faster than its taller counterpart.
Donât choke her, let her do the work.
With a wide grin on his full lips, Dragomir closed his eyes and gave her more reign, feeling and hearing the traskâs legs drum the occasional contact against the sand then lift entirely in mid-stride of her gallop. She was magnificent, and he still couldnât believe that Dagny had told him she was his. It had to be some sort of elaborate lie, a jest that he would no doubt pout about later, but he couldnât resist just seeing what she could do. These things, they were worth millions to some, especially thoroughbreds, there was just no comparison to the long-legged off-world equivalents, not when trasks ran like a streak of colour along a race track.
â - Mal
Ryll gazed out the window while holding aside the heavy drape, his acid green eyes following the movements of the children in the garden below. One boy with silver hair, the other a mysterious head of black. Ryllâs expression darkened a touch, his grip on the drape tightening as he watched his sons chasing one another around the trunks of the golden oaks. There were ten years between them, but Darys, the oldest, seemed delighted with his little brotherâs clumsy attempts at catching him. The picture of an idyllic childhood, and yet the Bloodwrath patriarch gazed down at the scene with thinly-veiled hostility.
Where had that mop of dark hair spawned from? Not his own gold locks, nor his motherâs silvery grey. No, some mysterious wellspring caused the boyâs genetic mutation, though for a direct man like Ryll the explanation seemed to be couched in far simpler terms. Surely the dark-haired aberration was no spawn of his, but the fruit of some other manâs loins. And why not? Why wouldnât Anedris spread her thighs for someone else? She had no reason to pledge fealty to his hearth.
A pair of arms circled Ryllâs shoulders from behind, and the warmth of his naked lover pressed to his robed back. Casually, and without conscious thought, Ryll reached up with his free hand and began to caress the fiery red hair that spilled over his shoulder, subconsciously admiring Haleâs straight soft locks laid over his own golden waves. His wife had no cause to remain faithful, not when he saw no point in it himself, but her alleged indiscretion had left a telling mark within the family that displeased him greatly. She could have gotten rid of it. But no. Anedris chose to bear the little darkling and birth him, then showered Maladar with all of her love and openly rejected their eldest.

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â - Beardad
The fire offered warmth, but companionship was lost to him, and had been for a long time. With a soft sigh, burdened by all of his misery, Kalor drew the furred cloak he was wearing closer around himself and glanced up at the spectacular sky of the tundra. The frozen and sere landscape of Borean stretched out for miles in every direction all around the druidâs modest campfire, but the selfsame stark environment offered the sky a wide panorama for its fathomless majesty, resplendent with wondrous stars and the beauty of the dancing northern lights.
Kalor remembered the last time he felt so alone. Even though he swore to himself that he wouldnât go through that sort of pain again, there he was, nursing deep wounds that refused to stop bleeding. Nothing physical, though they may as well have been, for how real the pain seemed. It was his own fault, but even with his years of experience, he was lost and unsure of how to make himself whole again. The attempts he made only succeeded in hollowing out the ache in his chest even more, until he began to wonder what it had felt like to feel full.
Warm, he thought. It used to feel warm, and it sparkled brilliantly, as if he was carrying sunlight. He sat by the fire alone, picking out several constellations in the night sky as a mild distraction, shuddering beneath his cloak when the wind picked up a notch and ruffled through the dry russet-gold grasses of the tundra. No job brought him out to the wilderness this time, just an escape from what had left him feeling so bereft. His eyes clouded with the assault of a fresh wave of pain. It was his own fault, the thought kept repeating until it drowned out everything else he felt and sank its poisonous teeth into his mind.
i just found this website that can randomly generate a continent for you!! this is great for fantasy writers
plus, you can look at it in 3d!
theres a lot of viewing options and other things! theres an option on-site to take a screenshot, so you donât have to have a program for that!
you can view it here!
Totally gonna use this for making my worlds
This is the future
Art By IG: @sushiartstudio
Instagram: @artwoonz
Does your friend ever show you art theyâre working on and you just
@thewormwood
Elf by Kyoung Hwan Kim

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oh no heâs hot
@thewormwood
Zaugreb trying to get Sparrow to eat her vegetables.
i had a restful sleep
@thewormwood so apt rn
â° - Troy
He shuffled his papers again, lining them up neatly. They had to be neat. They had to be neat, because if they werenât neat, he had to shuffle them up and line them up neatly again. No, not right still. Nigel spent a good ten minutes reordering his papers, until someoneâs hands closed over his and made him jump slightly. The dark-haired boy looked up through the long fringe he wore across his face at the boy he usually sat next to, well, when Troy Barton bothered to show up for any classes that is. Something in Nigelâs chest squeezed really hard, he felt his cheeks colour, and he looked back down at his papers. Ah no, messy again. That wouldnât do, but Troyâs hands were covering his, what to do, what to do?
âIf you mess with those papers one more time Iâm going to take âem and throw âem in the nearest recycle receptacle,â Troy drawled in an exasperated voice.
âS-sorry...â Nigel mumbled in reply.

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i think itâs cute when someone texts you after hanging out just to say they had fun with you, idk little things like that mean the world to me
he angry