AM

Hello! My name is AM and I am a fanfiction writer on ao3!! I’ve been writing since 2017 and posted my first fanfiction back in 2018 on fanfiction.net. I’ve never gotten a social media page set up before for this but recently I’ve fallen back in love with writing and would love to hear from more writers/readers!!

!!Links!!

AO3 account — Anhedonia__mayhavelived

Spotify Playlists for fanfictions — Cut on the Crease Playlist & Ponyboy Curtis playlist & Call Your Mom Playlist & Effortlessly, I feel Everything Playlist

However, I’m definitely overloaded this semester with my work so it’s gonna be a little bit of away before this one comes out however I am working on it every day when I get a chance to !!!!

(thank you so much to @iamumbra195 and @augustaffa1rs for the suggestions on this chapter— I incorporated a lot of them into this chapter !!)

Small little snippet here:

“ “I don’t think I’m ready yet,” he whispers to Death, a couple of nights before the lake.

He’s curled up in his bedsheets, listening to his brothers talk in the living room, their voices drifting in and out. Death appears in front of him, their chin resting upon the edge of the bed as they gaze up at him. The face they’ve taken is of an old woman, her eyes are crinkled and her pupils are almost like dark spirals.

“I know,” they respond, almost soothing, their hand reaches up and takes his own, and he wishes that it brought some kind of comfort.

“Tell me I can do it,” he asks, suddenly feeling like a small child, feeling almost like he’s supposed to. “Tell me.”

They do not.”

Sunday Morning

Morning light rests softly like a blessing, Her.

The quiet of the room begins confessing Her.

Sun lingers slowly through the window, gold and slow,

dust gathers in the light, caressing, Her.

I wake within a house of breath not stone,

my very skin and soul possessing Her.

Still I’m caught beneath a house of stone and bleeding palms

confessing, always confessing, Her.

Once bent to laws etched deep in blood and bone,

now grace finds a way, redressing, Her.

This cup I lift, a new covenant of pressed-out vineyards,

each broken, holy drop confessing, Her.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst to be known,

like Hagar crying El Roi: I was first seen when adoring Her.

A rib once taken softly from my body,

the hollow had been quietly awaiting Her.

They said no place was written for the ones like me,

yet still a name endures, professing Her.

If this is sin, then Abba, name it, tell me:

SORRY. I JUST REALLY LOVE UR WRITING!! ITS GENUINELY AMAZING AND YOU GIVE ME SO MUCH INSPIRATION TO WRITE MY OWN FANFICS!! （＾∇＾）

The bad news is I literally cannot catch a win, so much has happened. THE GOOD NEWS is that everytime that happens I’m inspired to write a new chapter :D!!

““What happened?” Sodapop repeated, louder this time, drawing everyone’s attention—including Curly’s, who groaned.

“Oh, shut ’im up, will ya? My head’s killin’ me,” Curly whined, and Ponyboy rolled his eyes even as he brushed back Curly’s tightly gelled curls.

“Got jumped,” Ponyboy answered for him, trying to pull Curly upright, though his arm trembled with the effort. A bitterness clawed up his throat remembering when he could lift someone his own size without even thinking about it.

Both Steve and Sodapop rushed in then, making Ponyboy’s face burn red, and the two of them hauled Curly—and half of Ponyboy—upright. All three of them respectfully ignored the pained whimper that escaped Curly Shepard’s throat; they all knew Curly would rather die than be pitied. Together they got him inside.

Ponyboy followed behind, wishing he could’ve carried Curly inside by himself—wishing his body didn’t betray him at every turn. He hadn’t even been strong enough to catch Curly when they hit the ground; one Curly Shepard had been enough to knock him flat.

Sodapop and Steve dumped Curly on the couch and immediately scattered, searching for the first aid kit, towels, water—anything.

Meanwhile Ponyboy sank onto the couch beside Curly, looking down at him with a wince. “Who grabbed you?”

“Man,” Curly started, annoyed and exhausted, before his mouth stretched into a grin that tugged at his split lip. “Who you think? I’ll give you four guesses, too. But at this point we got four sonvabitchs in Tulsa with their names on every greaser’s hit list—and one of ’em in the hospital.”

Ponyboy paused, shifting like he was actually weighing the choices before saying, “Randy, Chet, and—”