#sharpest tool

[saydontgo]

We never talk about it

[sabrinasgifs]

SABRINA CARPENTER performing at ACL festival *

[swiftiesbuddie]

i feel like sabrina carpenter would love let’s generalize about men from crazy ex-girlfriend

[theinkbleeds]

Sabrina Carpenter, Sharpest Tool

[honeyyymmoon]

[leaawrites]

hii I saw your post about the short n sweet writing n I was wondering if you could do Logan huntzberger with one of them you can pick which one side I haven’t listened to the album yet x

Sharpest Tool

Logan Huntzberger x fem!reader

Summary: in which, the smart yale boy isn't the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to relationships.

Warnings: sexual references, rory is kind of a villian (but so is Logan), angst,

Wordcount: 0.7k

Masterlist, Short n'Sweet Series

She had been warned, by almost everyone. She should’ve known.

It was obvious, that somewhere in between promises and heartfelt laughter, somewhat a little less than something, but a little more than nothing was hidden. It was obvious, that whatever he said was nothing more than a line he said more than once that night. It was obvious, that the missed calls and lonely nights were signs enough. But they never talked about it, so she never understood what they were.

“You know, that Rory’s been over at his more often lately, right?” Paris asked, as both girls were occupied with the last papers for the Yale Daily News. The last story being put into it’s right place.

“It’s not like that,” she defended herself more than him. If Paris knew, that she wasn’t even aware of what they were, or that she knew that she wasn’t the only one, she wouldn’t gear the end of it. And she would never talk to Rory again, probably be kicked out of the Paper as well. “They are friends, that’s all.”

“They went out to dinner and Rory didn’t come back home that night,” Paris kept on pushing her closer to the edge.

“It’s nothing.”

“What is?” The brunette in the doorway asked, walking into the room as it feel deadly silent. “What were you talking about?”

God, why couldn’t she take a hint that she wasn’t appreciated here?

“Nothing,” Y/n answered once more, shooting a dirty look in Paris’ way to tell her to keep her mouth shut. “I need to go, I’m meeting Logan.”

“He’s out with the guys, he probably won’t be home,” Rory answered nonchalant, helping Paris with the Paper now.

The girl stopped dead in her tracks, leaving little space between her tears and skin, tearing one off with every blink of her eye. She couldn’t be serious, could she?

“I’ll find him,” she answered, before walking out and leaving Rory dumbfounded as to what she did wrong.

She should’ve known.

Of course, someone like Logan would never settle solely for her. Of course, she wouldn’t be the only one he whispered to in between his sheets.

She should’ve known.

Logan was busy talking to his friends to notice her walk near him, until her hand found his and he almost jumped back at the contact. Until his eyes met hers and he pulled her into a hug, kissing her head in greeting, instead of using his mouth and the words in his head. He was good at talking until it came to her - to them. Then he didn’t seem to know the definition of commitment or anything serious relationship related. It were always just kisses and smiles and hugs and flowers and chocolates and sex and whispers and moans and giggles, but never actual words.

“You’ve met Colin and Finn already, right?” Logan asked, keeping his hand on her waist as she shook both boys hands.

“Yes, we met at that one party. You introduced us,” she answered as if it was nothing. As if she was the only one he should remember, because there were no others.

“Oh, right. I forgot, sorry. The one at Halloween, right?”

No, one on a random Tuesday, where he seemed surprised to see her out of her dorm for once. Like she wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Yeah,” she answered with a smile. “I’m gonna go now, just wanted to say hi. The day was really long and tiresome, but I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asked, turning to Logan to see the wheels turning in his head, searching in his brain for a free time for her.

“Yes, of course,” he answered, not turning around once as she walked away.

She wouldn’t see him tomorrow, she saw him and Rory, yes. But not him. The boy she started to love two weeks after meeting him because he gave her hope for meaning something. And when she was too eager for more than he was willing to give, he couldn’t understand why she stopped calling.

He really wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

[0-rainbow-lies-0]

Some parts of Sabrina Carpenter’s Sharpest Tool reminded me of how Shane and Ilya can’t communicate well with each other about anything they’re feeling.

We know that they clearly aren’t just fucking eachother anymore but they both veer in different directions and say things that can be misleading/misunderstood easily especially within the framework of - we aren’t supposed to catch feelings - we’re “nothing”. They’re both second guessing the context of their “relationship” and it’s years of lying to themselves and each other about what they have between them. It’s years of knowing it’s not casual, but feeling like an idiot for wanting/expecting more.

It’s of Shane’s perspective of when Ilya pulls back and leaves him hanging without a word, because Ilya IS confused and it clearly upsets Shane. Ilya keeps giving mixed signals whether they’re moving forward or taking steps backwards. He invites Shane to stay, cuddles, cooks, and gives him his favourite ginger ale. Ilya then talks about the girls he likes/has available to him and how he doesn’t really like Shane’s “boring” personality; but he does love to fuck him.

Shane clearly wants to comfort him after the phone call with his Dad and he does it through sex because “they don’t talk about it” and when Ilya calls him Shane, he realizes it’s not casual. It’s explicitly no longer casual for either of them after he says Ilya’s name and with all the mixed signals he’s stuck panicking (as an already anxious guy, it’s kinda understandable). But, they never talk about it and it goes back to silence that suffocates them and traps the other at the forefront of their mind, no matter how hard they try to think of other things or people.

🎶

I don't hear a word 'til your guilt creeps in

On a Tuesday, send a soft "Hey"

As if you really don't recall the time

We were going right, then you took a left

Left me with a lot of shit to second guess

Guess I'll waste another year on wondering if

If that was casual, then I'm an idiot

I'm looking for an answer in between the lines

Lying to yourself if you think we're fine

You're confused and I'm upset

But we never talk about it

We never talk about it

We never talk about it

All the silence just makes it worse, really

'Cause it leaves you so top of mind for me

All the silence is just your strategy

'Cause it leaves you so top of mind for me

🎶

[getobitchs]

Lying To Yourself If You Think We’re Fine - G. S.

✧.* content warning: angst (like usual)

✧.* w/c : 935

✧.* n/a : this is the shit I think about at 1am fr, inspired by moms sabrina

✧.* tagline : @sugurus-thoughts ;

“You’re confused and I’m upset.”

₊ ⊹ 🫐 ✧ ˚i

It all started with Gojo Satoru’s signature charm, the kind that made it easy to ignore the red flags waving in the distance.

He wasn’t the most emotionally intuitive person — that much was clear from the beginning.

“I know you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed.”

It was part of his charm, you’d tell yourself. His carefree attitude, his inability to take anything too seriously. It kept him lighthearted when the world was unbearably heavy, and for a while, you appreciated it.

But over time, that same obliviousness that drew you in started to wear on you. You’d pour your heart out, trying to reach him, and he’d respond with a distracted smile or a half-hearted, “What? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

We had sex, I met your best friends.

It had started out as fun, lighthearted and easy. Gojo had introduced you to his world with no hesitation.

“Geto, Shoko—meet my new favorite person,” he’d said, grinning as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

Geto had raised an eyebrow, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Satoru’s favorite person? That’s quite the title.”

You’d laughed, trying to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks. For a while, being with Gojo felt like you were part of something bigger.

But as much as you tried to believe in his sincerity, there was always a nagging doubt in the back of your mind.

I don’t hear a word ’til your guilt creeps in.

And then, the pattern began.

When things got too close, too real, he pulled away. It would start with a missed text, a canceled plan. Then days would stretch into weeks, the silence between you growing heavier with every passing moment.

Until finally, his guilt would pull him back.

“Hey,” he’d text, the word so soft, so casual, like he hadn’t left you hanging on the edge of uncertainty. And like clockwork, you’d let him back in.

We were going right, then you took a left.

Left me with a lot of shit to second guess.

You tried to tell yourself it was normal, that relationships weren’t always perfect. But every time things felt stable, he’d throw you off balance again.

One day he was all in — laughing with you, holding you like you were his entire world. The next, he was cold, distant, unreachable.

“Do you even want this?” you’d asked him one night, your voice barely above a whisper.

His response had been a shrug, followed by a deflective joke that made your heart ache.

Guess I’ll waste another year on wondering if.

If that was casual, then I’m an idiot.

The more time you spent with Gojo, the more you questioned yourself. You hated the power he had over you, the way he could make you feel like the most important person in his life one moment and an afterthought the next.

“Do I mean anything to you?” you’d asked once, your voice trembling under the weight of your insecurities.

He’d looked at you like you’d asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “Of course, you do,” he’d said, and for a moment, you believed him.

Lying to yourself if you think we’re fine.

You’re confused and I’m upset.

You wanted so badly to believe that the two of you could work, but the cracks were impossible to ignore. Gojo’s avoidance, his inability to talk about anything serious, his constant retreat into his own world — it was suffocating.

“Why can’t we ever just talk about this?” you’d asked one night, frustration spilling out of you.

But he’d only shrugged, brushing you off like he always did.

All the silence just makes it worse, really.

’Cause it leaves you so top of mind for me.

The silence between you was deafening. Every time he left, he took a piece of you with him, and every time he came back, you let him in.

You hated how much space he took up in your mind, how his absence seemed louder than his presence ever was.

We never talk about how you found God at your ex’s house.

Always made sure that the phone was face down.

You didn’t want to believe the rumors at first, but the signs were impossible to ignore. The phone always face down. The late nights with no explanation. The way he’d flinch whenever you asked where he’d been.

When you finally confronted him, he didn’t deny it.

“You’re overthinking this,” he’d said, his tone so dismissive it made your chest tighten.

“Am I?” you shot back. “Because it feels like I’m the only one thinking about this at all.”

“Seems like overnight, I’m just the bitch you hate now.”

The change was sudden, like flipping a switch. One day he was teasing you, kissing you, pulling you into his orbit. The next, he was cold, distant, treating you like you were the problem.

It was like he’d decided overnight that you weren’t worth his time anymore. And the worst part was, you couldn’t even figure out why.

We never talk it through.

How you guilt-tripped me to open up to you.

Then you logged out, leaving me dumbfounded, ooh.

You replayed every conversation, every moment you’d let yourself be vulnerable with him. You’d let him in, trusted him with parts of yourself you didn’t share with anyone else.

And he’d taken that trust and left you with nothing but silence.

You wanted to scream, to demand answers, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain he’d caused you. But every time you tried, the words caught in your throat.

And Gojo? He was already gone.