Do You Ever Wonder If Styrofoam Would Taste Like Cinnamon

Happy Birthday Logan.

Here is the first of several drawings that I shall be uploading today and the next week or so.

I hope that you enjoy

That fuckin smile at the end

Reblog if you think fanfiction is a legitimate form of creative writing.

A New Level of Hurt 

Logan's friends keep letting him down

Logan Sanders angst

Warnings: swearing, anxiety, self deprecating thoughts 

Word count: 778

Incoming text from Virgil: 

Hey! Sorry that this is so last minute, but we have to cancel, Lo :( Something just came up… We’ll see you next time tho 

His phone hit the bed with a soft thump. Again? His friends usually canceled the plans he made, but no matter how many times it happened, he was still let down. Why did he even try anymore? 

Collapsing back onto the mattress, he stared at the ceiling. They had no problem following through with the plans they made, but when it came to him, there were so many painfully comical excuses. What was it about him? Was he actually as annoying as he thought? Was he a damper on their fun? What was the problem? 

Mustering up just barely enough politeness to reply, he picked up his phone. 

You sent: 

No problem, Virgil. See you another time. :) 

He couldn’t identify the feeling building in his chest, but he knew it was uncomfortable. Picturing them all sitting around Virgil’s phone, laughing at how gullible he was, the feeling grew worse. 

“Logan’s so fucking stupid! I can’t believe he actually thinks we want to hang out with him.” 

“When is he going to stop inviting us over? I’m starting to feel bad for him.” 

“I’m surprised he keeps believing our excuses, they’re getting pretty bad. But he’s so naive, I bet he actually thinks something happened!” 

His breathing was becoming heavy, and the room started to feel like it was closing in. His friends must hate him, that’s the only explanation, right? 

“No- logically speaking, anything could’ve happened, they’re most likely telling the truth, there’s no need to get worked up.” He thought. 

However, even as logical as he was, nothing could stop the negative thoughts from overtaking the rational ones. 

Tears were collecting in his eyes, but he was trying as hard as possible to resist them. This was such a dumb thing to get upset over. He should’ve known. How could he have been so stupid? 

If Roman, Patton, and Virgil abandoned him, he’d be alone. They were his only friends. Would he be able to deal with being friendless? 

He suddenly remembered some advice he’d once given to Virgil. If you’re anxious, you should find a healthy distraction. 

Looking around his dimly lit room, desperately trying to find something to take his mind off the disappointment and hurt, he came up empty handed. 

His phone made a noise, pulling his attention toward the spot where it had been abandoned. That could be an adequate distraction, right?

Scrolling through the various apps, he opened Instagram. Bad choice. 

The first picture on his feed was of his friends together. It hadn’t been posted today, but last night. 

They were standing in front of an old building downtown, dressed to the nines. 

The caption read: 

Friends who slay together, stay together. 

He didn’t even have to look at the user to know it came from Roman.

Logan figured they hung out without him, and that was okay, but actually seeing it in front of him was a different story. 

Without even thinking about it, his fingers scrolled to the next picture. Thankfully, neither Virgil nor Patton had posted pictures, but he still wished he hadn’t seen it at all. 

He envisioned them mocking him again. Walking around downtown in suits and ties, talking about how glad they were it was just the three of them. 

It was safe to say this “healthy” distraction was not working. He put his phone on silent, shoved it into a drawer, and sat on the floor. 

He’d never been so uncomfortable in his life. That was the only word he could think of to describe this horrible feeling that had made a home in his stomach and now his chest. As he laid back, he realized he’d been shaking and sweating. The hardwood floor felt benevolent on his bare arms, so he removed his shirt in hopes of cooling down faster. 

The thing was, he was let down constantly. It had been happening his entire life, this was something he’d gotten used to. Why was this time any different? 

Did this confirm everything he’d ever thought about himself? 

Maybe he actually was a horrible person who wasn’t worth anyone’s time or attention. That’s why he was always alone. 

He screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, trying to get rid of those thoughts. 

“I think this is a new level of hurt.” He whispered to himself while watching the ceiling fan spin circles over his head.

Watching the fan spin, he was growing sleepy. 

His eyes closed and he felt himself begin to fall asleep. 

Me, refusing to leave tumblr: sir, this is my emotional support hellsite

Because of speed and convenience. If it of any comfort, I use a kettle instead of microwave.

I just want every non-american who gets mad about microwaving hot water for tea to know that my family owns a kettle and I use the microwave anyway. I will not change and I want you to die mad about it.