#emsyspeaks

[emsypoo444]

So we discovered something today during @theeretblr stream today. I cannot stop laughing

[emsypoo444]

FIC READERS READ THIS!

Y’all my fanfic idol practically just gave me a shoutout on her tumblr just for commenting on her works I am SHAKING

Leave comments in fics! They love to read them, and it inspires them to post more. Seeing that I make her happy just from commenting on works and telling others to as well??? It’s really rewarding, and not just in more fics being published.

Y’all need to go and check out @icypantherwrites She works so hard and not enough people recognize that. All of her works (except for the ones that are Patreon-exclusive I believe) are posted on her ao3, IcyPanther. She mostly writes Langst, but she occasionally writes for other fandoms (I think there’s even a BNHA one that I have yet to read, and there’s an FMA one, and I think an ATLA one? Not sure on the last one)

She brightens my day whenever she posts a fic, or when I go back and re-read her other fics. She’s super good at writing angst, and then the comfort that comes after is *french kiss*

She inspired me to not only write fanfictions (ones that aren’t my super old Wattpad 12-year-old-garbage) and publish them (I know that one of them is on hiatus bUT THATS NOT MY POINT) And Holding On With Broken Fingers (my most popular fic) makes me so excited to update, because I get some wonderful comments, and I want to see her get the same treatment!

Icy is a huge inspiration and it sucks to see that she gets so discouraged sometimes. She works incredibly hard, and I want to see her works get the recognition she deserves.

So go to her Patreon and become a member, where you can read fics she hasn’t put on AO3 (do it for me, my mother won’t let me) and she does fic commissions!!! I don’t remember if they’re only seasonal, I don’t think so though.

And WHENEVER YOU COMMISSION ANYONE, WHETHER IT BE FOR ART OR FIC OR ANYTHING ELSE, THANK THEM!!!!! They put so much time and effort into it, and not showing them thanks is just heartbreaking to see (looking at you, Quarentine commissioner!)

Sorry this got long, but I know I have at least SOME regulars on my page. I know that I usually just reblog stuff and occasionally post art, but please take me seriously right now. Icy is amazing, and this is a thank you post. (I’ve been meaning to make it for a while, and I regret not making it sooner)

She reads her comments, and even occasionally replies. She knows her regulars, and I am proud to be one.

So @icypantherwrites, keep your head up. You do wonderful things, and I want to thank you. Thank you for providing us with all of these wonderful fanfictions. Thank you for being so strong in the face of disappointment. You’re wonderful

[emsypoo444]

Navigation

I reblog a LOT. And don’t post much. So if you’re trying to find my own posts then here’s the very short list of my tags!

Art tag!- #emsyart

General yapping tag!- #emsyspeaks

Fanfiction stuff!- #emsywrites

All of my original posts!- #emsyposts

Art Blog is @emsyart

[emsypoo444]

It’s been 361 days.

I woke up with knee pain two weeks ago. Burning pain. Is that what you felt? It reminded me of you. I felt miserable all day. I couldn’t drag myself out of bed. Hollow. I looked at my phone but not at the date.

It wasn’t until the evening that I realized it was your birthday.

My soul knew your birthday even when my mind didn’t.

It’s been 361 days.

I am supposed to be past this.

How am I supposed to breathe in the air of tomorrow when I’m suffocating from the smoke of yesterday?

I see you every time I’m in my room. The books. The shelves. The Xbox. The stuffed animals we used to make our own worlds.

Would you play with me one more time? I wasn’t ready for the story to end.

I have so many pictures of you still. I found some from when we were first friends. We were so little. I put away my camera. I can’t look at photos from school because you are in almost every one.

Soon you will have been out of my life longer than you were in it. I don’t know what to do with that.

It’s been 361 days.

I still remember how to get to your old house. I could get to your parents’ from anywhere. I have those memories. I don’t know what to do with them. I can’t forget how to go to my second home.

I was born there, I think. Part of me emerged that I didn’t know existed.

I think that part of me died. Kneeling on the bathroom floor, wrapped in a towel. I couldn’t tell if what rolled down my face was from the shower or my eyes. I don’t think it would’ve made much of a difference.

I waited for two weeks. I unblocked you after the first, but never sent anything. I was so afraid.

I turned twenty. I’d never thought that I would make it that far. We were supposed to cross that line together.

I waited all day. Checked my phone every five minutes. I had company but I’d never felt so alone. Midnight passed.

My parents watched as I went to bed. I can’t remember anything but feeling numb. I went to work the next day, even though I didn’t have to. I didn’t want to think.

There was a dragonfly in the parking lot. It stayed on my hand for ten minutes, then spent the next few hours sitting with us.

When I got home I mustered up the courage to text you. Three words that carried half of my life, half of my soul. “You missed it”.

It never sent. I never got a response.

It’s been 361 days.

I tried not to cry when I went to your house. The box with your things was so heavy, I felt I’d be crushed from it. Your parents were waiting. My bonus parents, we always said. Walking down to the basement, “Mom, can we order a pizza?”

I stalled for a long time. We talked about everything and nothing. I miss your dog. He’s got so much white fur. I won’t have seen him for so long when he goes, I know this. It aches.

I had told myself I wasn’t going to cry.

I failed.

I couldn’t get the words out. Telling your mom you weren’t talking to me anymore. She put the box away and held me. I tried to say sorry but she wouldn’t let me. She’s a good bonus mom. Your dad hugged me too. Your dog tried to lick away my tears. He’s such a good boy.

I saw your brother. He didn’t understand either. I miss having an older brother. He doesn’t play on his Xbox anymore. I haven’t seen him since then.

It’s been 361 days.

I still talk to your mom. It isn’t the same, and we avoid the elephant in the room, but I think without her I would be lost. She promised me I wouldn’t lose them too, but I think I did.

I think I was always going to lose you.

After that I made it three days before I couldn’t work without the grief in my stomach turning into bile. I took a shower when I got home and didn’t get dressed for another 5 days.

It’s been 361 days.

I tried explaining to our friends. They didn’t understand. They still don’t. I don’t either. But I could never have made them choose. I’ve been in that position and it’s a shitty place to stand. I want them to still be your friends. I think it’s good to have you as a friend. I would know.

My other friends couldn’t understand. They still don’t. They know, but they can never understand.

The residents ask where you are. I have to tell them I don’t know. I see the pity in their eyes. I don’t want it.

I got drunk and told my friend that he was amazing. I wouldn’t replace him for the world, and he’s so important to me.

I told him that despite all that, he could never be you. That I didn’t want him to be you, I wanted him to be himself while I still had you. I think I hurt him, a little bit. I didn’t mean to. I did it anyway. I think I’m good at that.

I’m going to be in the same cube we were in when we started. I’m not going to be able to look at that resident in the eye. I need to try anyway. How am I supposed to explain that they live in the room we shared and learned and lived in and laughed in?

I’ve seen you twice on campus and once in the town we grew up in. They walked me back to my dorm after I almost ran into you. I almost threw up in the hallway. I texted my mom.

It’s been 361 days.

I dream about you. I never know what to say to you. After the third, I even admitted to you that I’d dreamed about you. I thought it was real. I wanted it to be real. The fifth dream I forgave you. Not because you earned it, but because I couldn’t bear to live a life where you weren’t in it.

Waking up is so disappointing. Going to sleep is terrifying. I’m so afraid I’ll see you. I hope I get to hear your voice.

It’s been 361 days.

You left him too. He doesn’t know why either. We try and joke about it. Try to ignore the gaping hole that sits in the voice chat. Try not to think about how we were down a player. Try not to think about the silence after a quip that would’ve been filled by you.

I’m mad at you for that, I think. He didn’t do anything to you. He didn’t deserve that. He still loved you. I still loved you. It’s not a type of love that can be described. It isn’t romantic, and it isn’t familial. It just is.

We can’t say that we lost part of ourselves. We didn’t, because we know exactly where you are. You’re not out of reach but you’ve never been further away.

It’s been 361 days.

I could live with losing her. It hurt, and I felt so abandoned. Again. I tried to burn the piñata with the notes she gave me for my 16th birthday. It didn’t work. I screamed at it. I went to my mom smelling of smoke and tears.

It sat in the driveway for a week before my brother moved it. I’d been asked, but I couldn’t. Sometimes I look for it on my shelf and wonder where it is.

Out of the two of them, she was the hardest by far. I can’t forget the image of the piñata, murdered in my driveway. Broken and burned and torn to shreds, because if I don’t burn the bridge I would let myself go back.

Sometimes I wonder if I’d drown trying to make it back to her shore.

The other one I wasn’t surprised.

I’d already known I was losing her. Out of the three of you, she was the one I was least bothered by it. It stung, but I thought I’d have the two of you. I’d have the piñata and the space in my chest where you resided wouldn’t be empty.

I hope the three of you are happy. I hope they don’t do to you what they did to me. I hope you don’t do to her what you did to me. I hope you turn on eachother. I hope you are left alone wondering why. Maybe you’ll finally understand how it feels. Maybe you’d come back.

It’s been 361 days.

My family are getting sick of me still being broken. Still crying over it. They don’t show it but I can tell. I’m trying so hard to forget you.

Every single day I am reminded of you. I’ll see a video I would’ve sent to you. I see a post from your elementary teacher. I drive through town, past the schools where we made every memory we could. I drive on the road I would’ve taken to get to you.

I walk around campus with my eyes peeled. Ready to run at the sight of you. There have been a few times i had the breath knocked out of my lungs, only for it to be shoved back in when i realize it’s someone else.

I’m so tired.

I wonder if you’d find me. If you would come to the dorm. Knock on my door. I don’t know if I’d answer. I like my own space. I loved having you as a roommate. I think you’d stain the doorknob.

It’s been 361 days.

I’ve only ever tried to contact you once. In the fall, I can’t remember when. Lying in bed trying not to think about the new knife I had in the ottoman where we’d kept our food. I had more space for it now. I almost texted my friend asking them to come get it. I was afraid he wouldn’t understand. I was afraid that he would.

I called you. You hated it when I called you without texting. But I think I knew you wouldn’t have picked up anyway. I wasn’t surprised when it went to voicemail.

It was the first time I’d heard your voice in months.

I didn’t say anything. I hung up before the beep I think. Maybe I was silent for a second. I don’t remember. I don’t know if you saw that I called. I don’t think so.

I am an amalgamation of everyone I have ever loved and everyone I have ever lost. I am everything you built me to be. I sm everything you destroyed.

It’s 1am.

It’s been 362 days.