Discover Top Posts Tagged with #amwriter

What I imagine the Crope mountains to look like. Home to Acamik, wild sheep and goats, and the Centipede King.

Picture found on Deviantart and is called ‘achtorjah mountain’ by ferdinandladera

#writing #writers on tumblr #my writing #concept #fantasy landscape #fantasy #amwriting #amwriter #writerscommunity

Hi writeblr community! I’m a new writeblr hoping to find more blogs posting writing advice, motivation, prompts, and memes on here. Like or reblog if you’re a writing blog, and I’ll follow you from my main long-live-beau!

#writers on tumblr #writing advice #writing motivation #writing meme #amwriter #writing humor #writing community #tips for writers #writer problems #writing prompt #creative writing

I will come pouring out like radiation and with a vengeance set into my cavities.

Poem in Progress, Solar Revolutions

#poetry #my poetry #excerpt from a poem i'll never write #vengeance #not love poetry #poetbitesback #writing #my writing #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #ampoet #amwriter #celestial poetry #radiation #solar revolutions #sun #excerpt #writers

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| 6:61| • Praise to Allah who gives us life after He has caused us to die (sleep) and to Him is the return. ✨ ———————————————————— #99names #asmaulhusna #islam #poetry #poem #poet #poetrycommunity #writing #writer #writerscommunity #writersofinstagram #writersofig #instapoetry #instagrampoetry #poetryisnotdead #spilledink #spilledthoughts #spilledpoetry #amwriter #thoughts #love #sayhem

To Paris, with Hate - His (Part I)

He'd barely made his flight. He'd been rushing through as quickly as he could, and despite arriving early to LAX, he was not even close to where he'd needed to be when the gate called it's last call. He'd ran the whole way, huffing and puffing despite his pristine health -- after about a solid ten minutes or running, he’d made it to the gate, and nearly stumbled over his dress shoes. Still one of those people to dress up for travel, he’d regretted it immensely. Why couldn’t he be one of those people who bought food and their own pillow on a damned flight? He handed the stewardess his passport and plane ticket at once, noticing he was the very last to arrive, and hurriedly unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. He was going to give himself heat stroke if he didn't.

He braced himself against the counter at the entrance of the boarding area, and took a few deep breaths. She scanned it, smiled a sly smile at the slight appearance of chest hair as he tried to slow his breathing. If he was a little more sexually precocious, he would've winked at her. Winded as he was, he was just glad he'd made it, ignored her smile, and told himself he needed to push himself more often at the gym.

After a rather disastrous divorce, "irreconcilable differences", they'd agreed; along with a handful of painfully awkward dates, he decided it wouldn't hurt to travel somewhere exotic for a couple of weeks. Charlene, Charlie he'd called her, and him had simply come apart at the seams. They'd been together for six years, but around the sixth year, he felt them staying together moreso as pretense insisted, and their friends' circle had combined so much, he was unsure how they'd ever shed one another from one another's lives entirely.

He was headed to Paris. He'd never been, and his high school French was all he had going for him, but some supine relaxation with no people to talk to or impress would help immensely. Just a change of scenery. New foods. A change of pace, and they always said, travel was good for the soul.

As he boarded down the tunnel leading to the plane, feeling moreso than hearing his footing echo across the hollow but carpeted hallway, he was glad he'd splurged for the first class ticket. A little more space, better food, and a couple of doubles would allow him to zone out and watch whatever movies, or read his book.

He does up one of the buttons of his shirt, and wipes his brow with the sleeve of his suit jacket. He was fit and tall, but he was no Armani model. The suit was well-tailored, but not meant for running in, and definitely had him overheated. He'd remove the jacket as soon as he could and roll up the sleeves. Itching at the two day scruff across his jaw, he sighs as he finally reaches the end of the tunnel, and again, hands his passport and boarding pass to the next stewardess.

Another woman. She smiled at him, also sweetly, although whether she was flirting, or just doing her job, he couldn't tell anymore. He'd been out of the game too long. She hesitated longer than necessary, and in French directed him with her hands to go to the left of the entrance. He understood at least that much. The hesitation might've been his dishevelled appearance, or flirtation. It was anyone's guess which. As promptly as he enters the plane, he removes his jacket, and wanders down the aisle towards the front. B2. That's where he was supposed to sit. Not a window seat, but he didn't mind. The extra leg room would help him relax.

First class. Totally worth it. Every goddamned penny. And damnit, he deserved a break. Anything to get away from the mess that was his life right now. As he wanders down the aisle he was gestured to, he looked above the seats for his seat number. B2. Perfect. Two seats to a row, wide seats with plenty of leg room, cup holders in the arm rests, with chairs that would relax back further, and with bigger screens for the in-flight movies. As he opens the luggage bin, and pushes in his carry-on and jacket, not caring if he wrinkled the damned thing, he heard a startled gasp, and a voice he recognize oh-too-well,

"Oh, fuck no." His eyes widen, and with his hands still in the luggage compartment, he glances down to his seatmate. No. Fucking. Way.

"Charlie?" he knows he looks as surprised as his voice sounds. He nearly chokes out her name as his brows reached his hairline in earnest shock.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" She hisses, looking aghast, and leaning forward. Her pencil skirt rode up high on her thighs, and he caught himself glancing down despite himself. She'd always had amazing legs. He's frozen entirely, completely unaware of his staring at her legs until she hissed again, "What the fuck are you doing here, Steph?"

He looks at his baggage, and now wrinkled jacket, all squished together, looking around the plane like some dreaming person, as the mantra, this isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't happening, rounds again and again through his head. He blinks rapidly, and it clears his mind enough to bring him into the now, and he looks back at her. Her red hair was up in a messy bun with pieces falling down, framing her face, her amber eyes glowering at him like he was some kind of sociopathic stalker, and he realizes all within an instant what had happened. They'd both talked about wanting to see Paris. They'd both talked about doing it together. But they had worked so much, and been apart so much, they'd never gotten around to it. It had just become talk of a future plan that would never come to fruition. And now, through some sick twist of fate, they'd decided to do the same thing. At the same time. And somehow, they’d ended up on the same damned flight, right next to one another with the same plan. To go to Paris.

His mind slowly untwists itself, and he clears his throat, "I'm going to Paris." As though this were the most obvious thing in the world. She leans further forward, half across his seat, and scowls, "I can see that, what the fuck are you doing on my flight?" She was never one to mince words, Charlie. She cussed like a sailor when it suited her, and right now, he didn’t blame her for the venom dripping from her voice. But somehow, he was numb, if a little confused still, and getting more irritated as she spoke. "I can tell you this is not your flight," he argues quietly, and closes the luggage bin. He then moves to sit, as she panics and pushes her hands across the seat to stop him. "No, no way, I can't believe this is even happening! You cannot possibly sit next to me for eleven freaking hours! We can't even be in the same room with each other, much less sitting next to one another for nearly half a day. Are you insane?" He doesn't stop his descent into his seat, and she hurriedly moves her hands, and arms out of the way. "Look, this isn't what either of us had planned, just let me talk to the stewardess, and I'll see if I can get another seat, you freaking brat!" He returns the glower, and sits back in his seat for a moment, trying to let his brain process what's happening. He cranks the air from the small nozzle above him angrily, and points it directly at his face. "Don't call me a brat, you-you-you stalker!" she growls. Her cheeks are fully flushed, but her ivory skin looks remarkable. She looked well if somewhat thin. Amber eyes alight and afire in way he hadn’t seen in a long time, and clearly wearing a red push up bra under the low-cut white dress shirt she wore. He catches a glimpse of red lace at the corner of her blouse, and she turns brighter red than before, nearly matching her hair, and crosses her arms defiantly. "This is a huge mistake, trust me. Had I known you'd be on this flight, I would've missed it, believe me,” he mutters. There's a small shrinking in her shoulders, before she straightens her back and stares out the window, refusing to give him the slightest attention. Her back stiff, and legs crossed tightly, he takes a moment to take her in out of the corner of his eye. Her waist had become thinner. When stressed, she deigned to eat, as it was too distracting, and it simply brought out of the curvature of her spine, and hips more. She'd tucked the shirt in tightly, clearly a little too lose at the waist, but she still looked divine. He sighs heavily, and presses the call button for the stewardess.