The Spots Don’t Lie
Though, if some have worn out and fallen on the old spot-readers, there may be some justice in life. if the spot-readers had told me i'd be a kite maker, i wouldn't have complained.
The Queen's Consort pt1
As she slowly caught her breath, hand to chest and tail hugging around herself, the dragoness looked at him with an openly worn smile. "was.. he says! you sir are by far the most insane sane individual i have encountered in my life.
Closet Love Chapter 1
I picked out a black tank top and a pair of worn blue jeans and threw them on. shoving everything into my bag, i grabbed it and raced down the rickety stairs two at a time, my bushy orange tail wagging all the way down.
Nexus - Ch 1 - Back from the Abyss
Both desks were the same, mid-century models probably recovered from surplus, with worn out swivel chairs and older model workstations. “take whichever you like.” ryan told her. flynn stood behind the desk and removed her jacket.
Bui's New Slave
The jolteon followed close behind his beloved master, lying on the ground was a bell that up until a minute ago had been worn by the jolteon. it was all that remained of the jolteon known as niven...
Colton
He took a brief second to admire himself in colton's mirror, standing there in just the tight boxer briefs that he had worn to bed. he turned back toward the bed when he heard colton mumble softly in his sleep.
Work In Progress Section 1
The gate was flanked by two guards, dressed in chainmail, a bronze helmet resembling those worn by the soldiers of the old roman empire, small, circular, bronze shields, and a longsword sheathed at their sides.
Identity: Chapter Twenty-Six
Mikey wasn't certain when dad had given it to him - like so many other things, that had happened before - but since then he had worn it on a small chain round his neck, the only piece of his former life he still wore physically.
The Art of Caring for Horns
Tobias and his father walked down that old, familiar, well-worn path through the woods that they walked every so often.
A Lover's Lament
#4 of poetry cool damp a drape of gray the setting sun painting the heavens beauty refined a path weathered familiar a figure wandering as if to forget brown eyes glistening woeful trotting along the path worn
Down for the Farm
The asphalt in front of her was faded and worn; potholes lined the center of the thin path and the edges were crumbling. she drove slowly, bouncing in the driver's seat more than the road was causing.
Sprinting
The white lines had nearly been worn into the dust, but it would do well enough for what he wanted, his body as limber as it was going to be after a night of roughing it, his partner in crime snoring away in the next room.