hey honey! 💖 sambucky and 25. things you said in front of other people!
thanks for the ask, sweetheart <3
does something over 1k words count as a snippet oops
(from this list)
"I just wasn't really feelin' it, y'know?" Sam laments to the circle of older ladies around him, sighing while they all nod along knowingly.
It's the first Thursday of the month, which means the local older women's book club is meeting in a small room off the church building where Sam's daddy had preached for twenty years, and, just like every first Thursday of the month that Sam's been in Delacroix since he was fourteen years old, Sam came by to help them set up tables and chairs for all the potluck food they bring with them.
And just like every first Thursday of the last six months since Sam and Bucky had rented a little house down here for when the world isn't on fire--last month excluded, given New York City, at least, was actually on fire--the first fifteen minutes of the local older women's book club is spent lightly interrogating Sam about his love life.
"How many of these dating app first dates have you been on, Sam?" Ms. Sheryl asks from beside him, her arms crossed over her chest.
Sam looks up at the ceiling and counts them in his head, each disappointing match after disappointing match. "Twelve in the last two months, Ms. Sheryl. Thirteen if you count the woman from NOLA I met at a jazz bar and had to leave after five minutes because an emergency mission came up. She unmatched me after that."
Ms. Sheryl nods, her lips pursed, and Sam thinks he might've accidentally just proved a point he didn't know she was making yet. "And how many of those got second dates?"
Sam's saved from having to answer that disheartening, kind-of-a-rhetorical question from the late arrival of Ms. Josephine, newcomer to both the book club and to Delacroix.
She'd moved here about a month and a half ago, about half a year after her husband had passed away, looking for a new start. Every interaction Sam's had with her thus far has been honestly lovely, and he already knows she's got a soft spot for Bucky given how much of her house he'd come over to help fix since she'd moved in. Sam's had his fair share of her "thank you" cooking, and knows full well she's as wonderful a cook as she is a lady.
"Evenin', ladies," she says, holding some kind of dish in her hand that smells downright heavenly. "And Sam," she adds with a wink, smiling when Sam takes the dish from her and sets it over on the table with the rest of the food. "What'd I miss?"
"Sam was just lamenting to us about his dating woes," Ms. Jackie replies, with a tone full of sympathy but a playful twinkle in her eye, taking Sam's hand and patting it soothingly when he comes to stand next to her, leaving his previous seat open for Ms. Josephine.
Sam laughs and squeezes Ms. Jackie's hand. "You've got a son about my age, right, Ms. Josephine? Is he single?"
All the other ladies in the room chuckle along at Sam's joke, but Ms. Josephine just looks confused. "Did something happen with you and Bucky?" she asks, concerned. "He didn't mention it when he came by to fix one of my hinges this morning."
Sam's eyebrows furrow this time around. "Not that I know of? Not unless something has happened in the last thirty minutes since I checked my phone, anyway, but he's not generally the type to call in any case."
Ms. Josephine's face morphs from confusion to contemplation, and she crosses her legs at her ankles and crosses her hands over her lap. "So are y'all in one of those relationships where you can date other people then? I saw some article about that a few weeks ago. Must have some real good communication between the two of you to make both that and all your superheroing work."
She sounds almost impressed, but Sam doesn't really have the mental capacity to acknowledge that right now, not when his brain got stuck on the word "relationships" applied to Bucky and himself.
He looks around the rest of the group to see if any of them are gonna correct her while he's still stuck in his state of shock, but finds all of them just looking vaguely amused.
He shakes his head minutely. "Ms. Josephine, Bucky and I aren't dating."
Her eyes go more than a little wide. "Wait, so you did call it off?"
Sam shakes his head again, a little more vigorously. "No, ma'am. We weren't ever dating in the first place. Did Bucky tell you we were?"
Ms. Josephine shakes her head right back. "Never explicitly, Sam, but it ain't exactly hard to tell when somebody's head over heels. He talks about you like you went and hung the moon for him. Just yesterday he came by and asked if I'd seen one of the recent news segments about you, gushing about how amazin' you look flyin' up there. 'He's so fast, and nimble, Ms. Josephine,' he said to me, all moony eyed. 'It's like nothing you've ever seen before. Sometimes I swear he looks like an angel when he's got his wings spread out.'
"And that's not even countin' the things he says about you when you've been home for a bit. He's always talkin' about whatever fishin' you've done recently, or charity work you've been doin' around here or in NOLA, or how excited you were to buy new cat toys the week before. Every time I ask him if he's got any special requests for thank you meals, he always asks for something with a spice level I'm still not sure he can handle, tellin' me all about how it's been one of your favorites since you were a kid. Bucky's spent at least four days a week at my house pretty much since I've moved in, Sam, and I'm pretty sure I know more about you than I do about him, given how much he talks about you."
Sam's world is starting to tilt on an axis, but he's saved from having to speak up by Ms. Jackie throwing in her two cents. "You know he hates the smell of the flowers he buys from me for y'all's table every week," she says, tone full of faux nonchalance. "Says they're a little too fragrant for his nose because of the serum, but he buys 'em anyway because you always smile when you see he's brought home fresh ones."
Ms. Sheryl's lips quirk up. "You know he replaced damn near every faucet in my house as payment for me helping him with some of the most complicated bits of that sweater he knit you for Christmas. Said it had to be perfect because he knew how cold you always get any time you have to go north of here."
Ms. Maybelle comes in with the final blow, and it hits Sam like the steel chair in all the WWE shows AJ insists on watching every week. "And it ain't like you don't do the same things neither, Sam. Every time I see you it's, 'Hey, Ms. Maybelle, how you been? You wanna see this cute picture I got of Bucky and the cats earlier? They fell asleep on the porch swing he built for us.' You spent the first five minutes of the book club session two months ago debating whether or not Bucky should grow his hair out because he wanted new opinions that weren't yours, and at least half of that was you trying to explain how nice he looked before with the long hair even though it was greasy, but how you like the way the short hair feels when he has his head in your lap on movie night."
Sam doesn't really know how he can defend himself here, but he's got some argument on the tip of his tongue about how their couch was just a little too small for the both of them and their cats, so the head in the lap was the obvious solution. He doesn't think it'll do much damage control, but he thinks he should at least make the attempt.
Instead, he turns back to Ms. Josephine kind of on autopilot. "He called me an angel?" he asks, his heart a little fluttery, and Ms. Josephine just smiles.
"I'll, uh, see you all here same time next month?" he asks as a kind of permission to leave. "I think I might need to go see what my roommate is up to."
"Bring your boy with you next time, Sam," Ms. Sheryl replies, nodding him towards the door. "It's much more fun to tease you both together."
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The blueberry tart moral quandary has been very fun to ponder! Thank you for sharing it with us. I think the real question, however, is what each of your animals would think about ordering two slices of tart under the circumstances
You're right, that IS the true question here. Let's situate this in a universe where blueberry tart is safe & delicious to eat for all animal species.
CHICKENS. The chickens would definitely want that second helping of tart because chickens live in a solipsistic moral universe and would hesitate to share tart even if it was their dying sister's last wish.
However if you place two slices of tart on the ground for 2 chickens, they will immediately and violently start fighting each other over the same slice, thus giving you the opportunity to discreetly retrieve the first slice for yourself.
Moreover, if a chicken manages to break off half of the slice and starts running like hell to go eat it elsewhere in peace, the other chicken will take off after her instead of eating the other half happily by herself. If they then break this half in two while fighting over it, they will resume fighting over that half of the half, allowing you to retrieve 3/4 of the second slice. And so on. This is Zeno's paradox applied to chickens and tart: the hens will spend the rest of eternity fighting over diminishing crumbs while you get almost all of the second slice back (albeit broken in increasingly minuscule halves.)
CATS. Not only would the cats want that second slice regardless of who else wants it, they would also sit & start grooming themselves on the rest of the pie with great serenity, rendering it inedible for anyone else.
However, my original post established that the pies were under large bell jars. Two of my three cats are (to their everlasting torment) stymied by this sadistic human invention. If the bell jar is heavy enough that you can't push it off the table (a popular strategy), then Mascarille and Merricat will just circle it a few times, ram their faces into the glass, do a full body swipe against it in case this might open a secret door, and then walk away in frustration.
Morille on the other hand is a cat possessed of extreme patience, diabolical intelligence and acute interest in forbidden food. She will get the tart no matter how long she has to lie in wait.
DOG. Pandolf would not want a second slice or even a first one, if he is made to understand that this might make other people sad. The thing with Pandolf is, he can smell disappointment. His great big nose picks up on every particle of human disappointment in the air and they go straight to his heart. He is also too polite to even defend his bone from thieving chickens. There's no way he would claim any tart at all unless someone gave it to him and made it clear they would be happy for him to eat it.
However Pandolf is very cute when he sits there with a lolling tongue, happy for others to have a good time, and there is also no way one or several persons wouldn't give him their slice of tart. He would definitely end up with tart.
LLAMAS. Pampelune is the matriarch and since her duties involve dying to protect her herd in case of predator attacks, she considers it her prerogative to eat first and as much as she damn pleases in compensation. She would get two slices. I believe Poldine would choose to have only one slice and kiss everyone in the restaurant on the cheek for good measure, and I also believe she would actually get zero tart. As shown in the salt video, Poldine understands her place in the pasture hierarchy (the one who eats last) and has to resort to subterfuge to get even 1 lick of salt while others are gorging themselves. She will be very dependent on other people's temperance and decency to get any tart (so, Pandolf is her best bet.)
Meanwhile Pampérigouste is trying to figure out how to escape the restaurant undetected to go on an adventure while the sheeple are talking about tart. She will get one or two or three slices but only if they can facilitate her various stratagems (for example, to bribe a guard at the door.)
The FISH—do not have the cognitive abilities to worry about morals but more importantly, do not experience soul-deep desires in the way the birds and mammals in this list do. My fish live in a smooth and quiet world where the gods make food rain from the sky every day. In this luminescent existence of untroubled abundance their capacity for longing has atrophied. They do not understand what wanting tart means, let alone the complex philosophical agonies humans can put themselves through when faced with culinary conundrums.
DONKEY. Pirlouit's first instinct would be to claim all the tart he can eat and then some. However donkeys and fish sit at opposite ends of the philosophical spectrum; Pirlouit strikes me as an animal who would be interested in exploring the ethical ramifications of the issue, as an intellectual exercise. 70% of his life consists in quiet deep ponderings. I think Pirlouit could get distracted ruminating the blueberry tart quandary in light of the rich philosophical heritage of donkey civilisation, and arrive too late to get any tart by the time he determined whether one or two slices is the right answer. Kind of like that time he got distracted by his need for revenge and was late for breakfast and the llamas had already claimed the hay.
IN CONCLUSION.
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i can see the trio dangerously driving to or from a party. they’re speeding down the empty road, the new future album blasting from the speakers of topper’s jeep. kelce is up front, and reader and rafe are in the back. reader is a bit drunk and rafe is high out of his mind and can’t control his feelings for reader so he starts getting touchy with her, maybe trying to kiss her. since you’re just starting this au out, i’m curious to know how do you think reader would react and if she did kiss him back, how would topper and kelce react?
the last line of coke was a mistake—it made him lose the last bits of his self control. it was clear that he was way too high to drive, even though it seemed like rafe always drove clear-headed or not, so you were assigned babysitting duty in the back.
top was on a rager today, even worse than his usual ones. whenever him and sarah started fighting, he got like this, currently blasting some future song at the highest volume possible, speeding through the streets of kildare. you would be a little scared, except kelce is driving while topper nurses yet another beer in the passenger seat. you're deliciously drunk, still gone from the drinks you had at the party, not a care in the world except making sure rafe doesn't keel over in the back.
you mumble along the words to the song, pretty much engraved in your memory from how often it was played. you don't know how it happens, your fingers just find rafe's hair, brushing it out of his face while he talks to top and kelce in the front, amped up and loud, acting as crazy as you've ever seen him. you giggle, continuing your motions.
topper begins some rant about his girlfriend, or rather, his ex, while rafe locks eyes with you. it's hard to keep eye contact, looking away the second rafe shuts up and focuses on you completely. you're never shy around them but this might be the closest you've gotten.
you feel rafe's hands on your exposed thighs, your tiny skirt ridden up in the seat. his touch feels good, in your drunken state you don't think there's anything wrong with it. he's just being friendly, being touchy, being rafe. he strokes the soft skin of your legs, running his hands down to your ankles, while you shift around in the back. all it would take is one look from the boys in the front to see that something's going on back here.
"rafe, listen to top he's talkin-"
"shh," rafe says, noise completely overlooked by the others, nothing audible except the thump of the bass. he takes your face into his hand, leaning in close. "shut up for a second." he kisses you, briefly, barely, lips touching together and your eyes fluttering shut, when kelce slams on the brakes. the two of you fly apart, your heart thudding for an entirely different reason now.
"what the fuck, kelce, my brakes-" top starts.
"it was a deer, you idiot. you guys okay?" he turns to look at you and rafe in the back, your face flushed and rafe's hands still on your legs.
"fine," rafe mumbles. the four of you head back to tannyhill, you crashing on rafe's bed like always while top and kelce take the guest room down the ball. the two of you are out before you can bring it up, but rafe doesn't forget about it.
in the morning, you stretch, the oversized shirt of his you'd put on for the night riding up. rafe doesn't wait another minute.
"so, about last night. in the car." he looks at you, waiting for your response.
"oh, rafe, don't apologize. it's okay. we were both pretty gone."
"m'not apologizin', i-"
"and i mean, who hasn't been there once or twice-"
"once or twice?"
"and i kissed kelce that one time, so i guess-"
"you kissed kelce?" rafe looks at you like you've committed a crime.
"what? it was new years."
"where the hell was i?"
"i don't know, probably sucking some girl's face off. i was busy making out with kelce, remember?" you laugh, getting up and looking for your clothes. rafe lays back down on the bed, deciding he's never leaving you alone with kelce ever again.
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