Shoulder Blades Uneven Novels & Stories

Those were the two things right away and I just held that until the rest came back. I ran the inventory. Feet, fine. Legs, fine. Left side of my torso, not great. Ribs, at least two, the difference between cracked and bruised matter only in degree because the functional outcome was the same. Right shoulder, sore but mobile. Head still mostly intact, the bell starting to lose its harshest jangle. I pushed myself upright.

The doctor started explaining, after he sat down on his seat. Few months have passed. Jace has been having discomfort on his shoulder that was shot. Most especially when he is exercising in the gym or lifting weights. Eliana convinced him to go to the doctor so that they can check if something is the matter with the shoulder. Now from the look of things, he might have a problem there.

"Your choice." He looked at her for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached for the hem of his shirt and lifted it. The scar ran from his lower left rib to his hip — old, fully healed, but thick in the way that meant it had once been very deep and had not been properly treated at the time. It had healed wrong, scar tissue pulling in one direction, and she could see by the redness at the edges that he had been pushing the training too hard and the tissue was inflamed.

Then, William eagle eyes slightly drooping, eyes fell on her tight neckline. He seldom patiently coaxed, as if coaxing children to give injections: "Don't worry, I won't force you to do this, I just want to see your right shoulder injury." "How did you know I had a right shoulder injury?" William squatted down slowly in front of her, looking straight at her, an. If it weren't for Mary Kinson's own eyes, he wouldn't believe that William's cold eagle eyes were so thrilling. William pressed her left shoulder with one hand, and the other big hand stretched out two fingers, grabbed her right shoulder clothes, and gradually pulled them away.

The motion costing him – I could see it in the way his jaw clenched when his arms went above his shoulders, the muscles in his torso contracting around whatever Caleb's check had done to his ribs. The bruise on his shoulder was worse than I'd thought. Not just the thunderstorm purple – there was a deeper layer underneath, the kind that meant the tissue was damaged beyond surface level. His ribs on the left side were tender and discoloured. I pressed my fingers gently along each one. He breathed in sharp through his nose on the fourth. "That one might be cracked." "It's not." "You don't know that." "I know what cracked feels like. This isn't it." Flat. Certain. The voice of a man who'd catalo

Leaving a fine scratch over one shoulder. Her shimmering gold hair had worked loose from the plait circling her crown and was now wild around her shoulders and waving along her flushed face in a feral tangle. The torn shoulder of the dress had caused one side of her bodice to dip enough it nearly exposed one ample breast. The pink crest nearly slipped over the bit of lace adorning it. The falling fabric left a fine dusting of freckles along the upper mound clearly visible. And he knew that deep in that hollow there was one soft pink mole. Every bit as delicate as the rest of her.

I said. "What about it." "It's right." "I know it's right." She adjusted it slightly. "Look at the mirror." I looked. The sleeve was barely there. A whisper of fabric from shoulder to mid-forearm. Not covering, not exposing. Just present. Like the ring. Nothing more than what it needed to be. "Yes," I said. "The hem needs two inches," Iris said. "The waist seam needs taking in slightly on the left." "The left specifically." "You carry tension on the left side. It affects how you stand." She moved to my right. "The right side is fine."

His eyes are dark green and they're looking at my bare tits with an expression he's trying very hard to keep professional and failing. "Would you like me to cover –" "No." He swallows. Nods. Pumps more oil into his palms. He starts with my collarbones. His thumbs trace from my shoulders inward along the bone – a legitimate technique, releasing the pectorals. But his hands are on my upper chest and his fingertips are inches from my nipples and the oil is making my skin glisten in the candlelight. "The pectoral muscles connect to the shoulder tension," he says. Clinical. Reciting textbook anatomy while his oiled hands slide lower. "If I release these, your shoulders will –" "Erik." "Yeah?" "Yo

AURORA- His hands had visible veins that popped out every time he tossed the omelet in the pan. He had sharp jawline, and a faint grey color in his dark brown eyes. He was taller than me, a lot and his shoulders were broad comparatively less than Zeus--- His shoulders were broad and a lean midriff with flesh sticked to his skin forcing all the necessary curves to pop visible. He wore black shirt with matching pants and formal black sneakers, and still, I could see his defined frame. Black tends to hide solid curves but his were so firm that it was impossible to unsee them.

her voice was quiet but I could feel a hint of excitement. “Real shoulders slope, even when someone’s standing upright. There’s a natural fall – a bit of tension, maybe, but never flat. And the trap, this part here,” I traced lightly with a finger, “should wrap a little more into the neck. Right now, the way you’ve drawn it, the neck and shoulder feel disconnected, like two pieces from different puzzles.” She narrowed her eyes, studying the sketch more. “The pose you seem to be going for is intense, maybe a little guarded, like the subject is holding something in. But because the shoulder is so static, it’s stealing that emotion. The viewer’s eye will stop here and feel like something’s off,