fateandfortune | The Sweet Gestures Meme

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The Sweet Gestures Meme

the sweet gestures meme

Everyone loves sweet gestures—little things that remind someone that you love them, that you think of them, that you care for their general, and other things. A gesture could be made towards a friend, a family member, or some other loved one. Maybe towards a total stranger you think deserves something to make them smile.

prompts

1. LOVE NOTES ❤ Everyone loves love notes, and they don’t even have to be romantic. It could be simple as ‘have a good day at work’ or even something funny to brighten someone’s day.

2. BREAKFAST IN BED ❤ Especially on a Sunday morning or after a long, late shift at work, breakfast in bed with their favorite foods is surely the way to start the day off right.

3. PHONE CALL ❤ Who doesn’t like a phone call from someone they love, for no reason? A nice conversation can be all someone needs to have a better day or make a good day be a great one.

4. SWEET TREAT ❤ Late at night when you’re both tired from work or just general day-to-day things, something sweet from the local bakery can be just the thing you need.

5. MASSAGE ❤ While a wonderful idea, swapping massages can be a good idea too, or doing it after a nice bubble bath you made for them, or just randomly.

6. RANDOM HUG ❤ Even if they are not having a bad day, how could a hug not bring a smile to someone’s face?

7. SMALL GIFT ❤ It could be a piece of jewelry that caught your eye and reminded you of them, a stuffed animal you won at the carnival… just something small and sweet that you are sure they are going to love no matter how cheap or expensive it is.

8. FLOWERS ❤ From a florist or from a random patch of green, the surprise of flowers for someone you know and/or love is always welcomed! Look into their meanings to make the bouquet, big or small, become extra special.

9. RENT A MOVIE ❤ Sure, you might not like the genre of the movie, but if the other person does, then that is all that matters.

10. SLOW DANCE ❤ Middle of the living room, randomly while on a date, or maybe that is the whole purpose of the date. Slow dances are so underrated.

11. SURPRISE GETAWAY ❤ Yes, that is just what you guys need: a vacation from things, even if it’s just for a day or two and is not half way across the world. From a family vacation to a romantic spur of the moment, everyone loves going to a new place.

12. SURPRISE KISS ❤ Who doesn’t like a surprise kiss? A soft one on the cheek, a kiss being the thing to wake you up in the morning, or a big one right when you walk through the door.

13. HOLD HANDS ❤ There is nothing like holding hands. It’s a simple and intimate gesture, and if you do it the right way, it could have a whole different meaning.

14. COOK DINNER ❤ Come on, give it a go. Who cares if you’re not the best cook in the world or possibly the worst? It’s the thought that counts.

15. WILD CARD ❤ Was there something missed? Did you have another scene in mind? Want to roll again?

POSTED BY luuupin @ allmymemes

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I wanted to look nice for you on your birthday. Steve ducked his head, unable to hide his pleased smile. He shook his head, grabbing the helmet as an excuse for looking away. "No, not-- definitely not too much."

He did think of Peggy, then; of back to when the two of them had been tentatively feeling out the thing between them; of the red dress she'd worn that had made the entire pub fall silent when she walked in. It ached, some, remembering that, but in a bittersweet way that all reminiscences on the past should.

He was letting her go, Steve realized - and that did hurt, a little, but he knew he'd always love her, the person in his memories, as well as the woman she was now. But... that part of his life was over; more than that, he was starting a new life, and he couldn't continue to cling to the past and let it affect his every moment.

Handing her the helmet, he said, "Every fella who sees you is gonna be jealous that I'm the lucky guy you're with."

Steve wasn't the only one thinking on lost loves. Rogue had a moment of remembering all the nights she'd gotten dressed up to go out with Remy, for things like dinner and dancing, concerts or the theater. He'd loved taking her out and showing her off, claiming that she would have the eye of every man and the envy of ever woman they passed. Those comments had always been brushed off with a shove at his shoulder or an eye roll in exasperation, but it had all truly done wonders for her self-esteem, which was what he'd been aiming for.

"And all the ladies are gonna be drooling at the sight of you, handsome," she informed him with a smirk, taking the helmet and settling it into place. "You already turn heads when you walk down the street, but in this sunlight - you're absolutely gorgeous. I could look at that smile all day long." And she hoped she got the chance to do so.

Steve could be objective about his appearance: he knew he was attractive, now, even if he forgot most of the time, because he was still just him. But he did know. He also knew that before Project Rebirth, he had been too scrawny, all skin and bones and sharp angles and no muscle, to be attractive. Bucky had always tried to convince him he was a catch, but they were best friends, and even Bucky had talked more about his personality than his appearance; they both knew no gal would be instantly attracted to his looks.

It was always a mixed feeling for him when someone complimented him; he appreciated it, because it was always nice to hear, but he'd done nothing for his looks, didn't even have to do anything to maintain his muscles. He ran and worked out because he had extra energy to burn, and just because he could, now, but he didn't have to.

Still, when Rogue complimented him, he knew she was seeing more than just his outward appearance, and mentioning his smile helped, too.

"Come on, flatterer," he said, swinging onto the bike and waiting for her to follow. He could've left the bike at home, taken a taxi to pick her up and get to the park -- but he knew she liked the bike, and he had a not-so-secret love of feeling her holding onto him, and moving with him into the turns.

Rogue had plans to tell Steve all about the parts of him that she loved most. She loved his smile, the way it lit up his entire face and the space around him. She could drown in the blue of his eyes and the rich sound of his laugh. Those were things that hadn't changed when the rest of him had, and she wished she could have known him before all of this. She cursed the women who had hurt him with their rejections in the past, and she would do everything she could to make sure Steve knew she wasn't with him just for those good looks of his.

She giggled again and climbed into place behind him, not hesitating in the slightest to press her body against his and wrap her arms around him. It was for safety, of course, but she also loved the feel of being so close to him. The thrill of being on the bike combined with the elation of being wrapped around him - she wouldn't give it up for the world.

"Let's go, Speed Racer," she teased him, realizing afterward she'd likely have to explain that reference to him, unless he'd caught a rerun of the cartoon somewhere. There were a great many things she could help him learn about this world, and she was looking forward to it.

Steve recognized her comment as a reference, but not what it actually was. Unlike some other people, though, he knew she didn't toss out references for the sole purpose of confusing him; probably didn't even realize she'd done it. People who hadn't skipped 70 years often confused how old something 'old' really was. He still needed to learn so much, wanted to learn more, and he'd be glad to let her help him. He wanted that, but he wouldn't ask for it; he didn't want to bore her, or put a spotlight on the already-obvious fact that he was out of his depth at the moment.

The traffic was as bad today in the boroughs as it had been in the heart of Manhattan yesterday, thanks to almost everyone having off, and traveling somewhere to celebrate the holiday. Steve kept with the flow of traffic, for the most part (which almost never matched the actual speed limit), because they had a longer way to go this time, and he wanted to get them both there safely. He had the reflexes to avoid collisions, or jump off the bike if necessary to avoid serious injury, but he wasn't going to take any chance with Rogue, and frankly, he didn't trust 'Sunday drivers'.

Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, seeing the water and the city spanning before them, Steve felt a surprising sense of homecoming. This was his small piece of the world, and bringing Rogue into it felt like the most natural thing, the right thing, to do.

It took them a while to reach the park, but at the same time seemed to happen all too soon; Steve found a spot to park the bike, and couldn't quash the small flare of disappointment at not having Rogue pressed against him anymore. It was comforting, in a way he wouldn't be able to easily explain to anyone else. It wasn't sexual, but it wasn't exactly platonic, either. It was intimate, and knowing that she trusted him made it even more-so.

But they had all day to be together, and he was looking forward to that, too, so Steve killed the engine, knocked the kickstand down, and waited for her to dismount.

It wouldn't be at all boring for Rogue to give Steve a crash course in the past seventy years. She would honestly enjoy getting to share those things with him, the ones that were her favorites and those that were necessary for him to understand the most common references. Movies, books, music, events - all of it.

She appreciated the care Steve took while they drove, and never once was she nervous despite the heavy traffic. With her arms around him, she felt perfectly safe, and she knew he wouldn't do anything that would get her hurt. Trusting him was as easy as breathing.

Before she dismounted, she tugged at the helmet and held it in one hand as she leaned in to press a kiss to the back of his neck. Then she was off the bike, trailing her free hand along his shoulder until she was steady. "I love riding with you," she told him with a smile.

Steve closed his eyes and smiled as he felt Rogue's lips press against his neck. And that hand on his shoulder, made him think she wasn't quite ready to stop touching him, either.

They'd have all day for small touches - and, if yesterday was anything to judge by, some not-so-small ones, too.

He turned and smiled, lovesick and exceedingly sappy, he was sure. "Yeah, I love it, too." He reached for the helmet, stepping forward as he tugged on it, then kissing her, soft and sweet, on the lips. He could just stand here and kiss her all day.

His stomach had other ideas, though, and started grumbling. Loudly. Steve groaned, letting his head fall back, before stashing the helmet, and grabbing the cooler and his portfolio.

She could stand there and kiss him all day too. It hadn't even been a week since they'd met, and she was completely, hopelessly in love with him. If it hadn't been his birthday, a day of traditions that meant a great deal to him, she would have been perfectly happy to just sit on a couch with him all day, fireworks be damned. But this was a day to make new, happy memories for the both of them, and so that's what they were going to do.

When she heard his stomach grumble, she grinned while he groaned. He'd said he was always hungry - well, she'd have to see about that. "Let's go claim our spot so we can get you fed," she teased him. "There's plenty of time for kissing later." In the sun, on his roof, in his bed... Plenty of time.

Sitting on the couch with her sounded wonderful, but it wasn't something Steve considered a date. He had very clear ideas of what to do on dates, and he was determined to actually court Rogue. Even though they'd already decided they wanted to be together, some traditions he just couldn't let go of, not entirely, and this was one of them. Dating was a way to prove yourself to your partner, and that's what he planned on doing.

If Steve knew all the locations in which Rogue was contemplating kissing him, he would have turned bright red. His cheeks still heated up a little, picking up the undercurrent in her words, but he decided to blame it on the sun and his Irish skintone. He smiled at her words, though; Plenty of time for kissing later. "That's what I'm planning on," he couldn't help but reply, sending her a cheeky smile. He reached out for her hand, heading toward the grassy area of the park, that already had several other people with the same idea, sitting and laying about on blankets, with baskets beside them.

Holding his hand was one of the best feelings in the world. Just that simple touch made her smile, made her feel light as air with no worries in sight. If she was holding his hand, she could conquer anything. But first things first, they had to find the perfect spot to sit.

Rogue glanced around as they approached that grassy area, then tugged Steve forward when she'd seen it. There weren't too many people nearby, close enough to feel like they weren't pariahs but far enough away that they could talk without being easily overheard. The patch of grass was green and just waiting to be covered with their blanket.

"It's been ages since I was on a picnic," she confided, still smiling like a smitten schoolgirl, only letting go of his hand when they reached their spot, and only to take the cooler from him. She made short work of unzipping it and removing the thin red and white checkered blanket, unfolding it partway and then holding out an end to Steve to help her lay it down.

Steve just watched her for a moment, her quick, efficient movements getting the cooler open and the blanket ready. Taking the proffered side, he pulled it out and watched as it puffed up as they set it down and let it settle on the grass. "I haven't been on one since I was a kid," he responded. "Usually on holidays like this, or Decoration Day, Labor Day, things like that. We'd bring a blanket to the park, where a bandstand had been set up. Everyone would bring food, so it was sort of a potluck, and we'd sit around listening to the bands play."

Settling on the blanket, Steve took off his jacket, revealing a sky blue short sleeved shirt that had only been hinted at before. He'd foregone a tie (although he'd seriously debated about wearing one), and now he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, letting it hang loose and show the neck of his white undershirt beneath. Glancing up at the sky, he commented, "Not sure how long we'll want to stay out in this weather, though. I may be the perfect human specimen, but I don't know exactly what that means in terms of sunburns." Or freckles. He'd avoided looking like a Rorschach test when he was younger, just by virtue of always being sick and not being out in the sun too much.

[*Decoration Day - originally to commemorate soldiers who died during the Civil War, and then all soldiers who died in combat; after WWII it became called Memorial Day, and was instituted as a national holiday in 1967.]

Decoration Day. Now he was the one stumping her, mentioning a holiday that she was certain she'd never heard of it before. It was only through an explanation offered by the Erik in her head that she realized it was the older incarnation of Memorial Day - Erik and Charles both remembered when the day had been renamed and classified as a national holiday.

She'd knelt on the blanket and had been busy pulling out the plastic containers of food and removing the lids when he took off his jacket and made her heart skip a beat. It was the blue of his shirt - it made the color of his eyes so bright, and it worked wonderfully with his blonde hair. He was the one who was stunning in that moment, not her. She had to blink heavily a few times to snap herself out of it or she might very well have stared at him for hours without looking away.

One fairly large container was filled with an assortment of triangle-halved sandwiches, including chicken salad, turkey, and ham. Another held cold fried chicken, which was still cool enough to taste exceptionally good in the heat of the day. Smaller containers held potato salad, green grapes, and slices of watermelon. A final large container was set aside, still covered, to warm up a little in the sun.

She set out a small stack of blue napkins and paper plates, and a small collection of white plastic utensils. It wasn't the fanciest picnic, but she hoped it would do. "I forgot to ask yesterday if there was anything in particular that you wanted for today, or that you didn't like, so I hope this is okay," she said with a bit of worry in her voice and expression. It was that sealed container that she was most looking forward to sharing with him, but they were adults and they could wait for dessert. Probably.

It had only been a couple months after he'd woken up that Steve had started hearing people talk about 'Memorial Day', and it had confused him; not so much the name, but that people were talking about 'Memorial Day weekend', when he knew that the 30th was on a Wednesday. He'd finally looked it up online, and learned that in the 60s, several holidays' dates had been changed from specific dates, to specific Mondays, so people could have long weekends. Seeing as how people were still decorating graves and commemorating officers, the change didn't really bother Steve too much, and he thought it was nice that people had a longer amount of time to spend with their families on that holiday.

Steve started smiling as he saw the food she was pulling out, and laughed a little at the question, shaking his head. "No, nothing in particular, really. I'm a pretty adventurous eater, honestly. I had so many allergies, plus diabetes, when I was a kid, I always had to pay attention to all the ingredients in things, stay away from a lot of stuff. After the serum, I didn't get a big chance to try different foods, but we did tour the country, so I got to try things at local diners along the way." He shrugged. "Foods are different now, though, so I'm kinda starting over again. But this all looks great," he added with a sincere smile.

A tour of the country, back in the 1940's. What a thing that must have been. She'd always wanted to see more of the United States, more of the world period, but aside from her hitchhiking expedition and a few trips with Remy, her traveling had been limited to missions and the made race for survival during the war. Maybe now, in this world, she'd get a second chance at that, too.

"Just save judgment until you've tasted it," she cautioned good-naturedly. "I'm a decent cook, but sometimes I completely miss the mark. I think most everything here is safe for human consumption, though." She glanced up at that bright blue sky and the sun shining down on them and scrunched her nose up. "I think you're probably right about not staying out here too long, though. I used to tan really easily, but I've been covered up and stuck inside for so many years, I might very well end up looking like a lobster if we're out here very long." She was still too pale and too thin in her own opinion, but she was working on it, slowly but surely.

Steve would gladly tell her all about his tour of the US, but he never considered it glamorous, or anything other than a job he hadn't really wanted to do, back then. He'd wanted to be using his new body and skills on the front lines, with other soldiers; he'd been thankful he wasn't stuck in a lab being tested on, trying to recreate the serum, but he hadn't wanted to be traveling by train and bus to different cities, basically as a vaudeville act.

"I'm sure it tastes fine. Great, even," he smiled at her, picking up a triangle of turkey sandwich. "And if not--well, pretty sure I'm immune to food poisoning." He winked at her.

He didn't like being reminded of the things she'd gone through, needing to hide, and later being imprisoned; he was sure she didn't enjoy having to take things like that into consideration for a simple outing, either. "We'll find someplace with shade, after we're done eating," he decided. "Sunburns are not to be taken lightly. And I really don't want to find out if I still freckle."

Well, it was good to know that food poisoning probably wouldn't effect him, but it sure would her, and that was not something she would enjoy experiencing. It was why she'd purchased the cooler, after all - they could have brought the food in another bag, but the days were so warm that she worried about things spoiling.

Steve might be bothered by her comments, but she wasn't. They came out easily, and she was so almost detached from those experiences, sitting there with him in the sun, that there was no pull of grief or melancholy. If she knew that he didn't like hearing about it, though, she would make an effort to keep the mentions minimal - she'd had to suffer through that part of her life, but he didn't need to come along for the ride down memory lane with her.

"I think you'd look adorable with freckles," she told him with a playful smile. "But shade sounds good, after we've soaked up some of this warmth." She settled down properly onto the blanket beside him, stretching her legs out in front of her and straightening out her skirt, which just reached the tops of her knees. It was still both strange and thrilling to walk around with bare skin, but the sun felt wonderful on her legs.

They'd had refrigerators in the 20s, but except in the summer, no one really worried about food spoiling before it was eaten. They hadn't worried about a lot of things concerning food that people did nowadays, honestly. Meat and eggs had to be cooked to a certain degree, where he remembered his ma cooking eggs runny, and eating raw hamburger off the counter while she prepared meals. It was just one more small thing that, added with all the other small things, made him stand out as someone different.

It saddened, and angered, him that she'd been forced to go through all of that, when she hadn't deserved any of it. But that was how he'd always been; getting angry on other people's behalves, wanting to stand up for them, even when no one else would. She was here now, though, and Steve was determined that, even though she'd had to go through that, it would be something that, eventually, wouldn't need to be considered before she did something as simple as sitting in the sun. As horrible an analogy as it was, it was like his food allergies - it had taken him time to get used to the fact that he didn't have to check every single dish for all its ingredients.

Steve was distracted from responding to her comment on freckles as she stretched out beside him, her bare legs quite a sight to see. It took him a moment to tear his eyes away, and when he did, he rolled them at her. "I think I'd look like a working class Mick who couldn't keep himself out of the sun."

Mick. Just like there were things she said that he didn't understand, there were numerous things he'd mentioned that she hadn't caught. It was Erik to her rescue again, explaining that it was a term for Irish people, and that it wasn't taken very well in modern times, as was the case with most ethnic terms. She made a mental note to mention it to him later; doing it now might make things awkward or uncomfortable for him, and that was the last thing she wanted for his birthday.

Rogue noticed the way Steve seemed a little distracted, and she saw where his eyes had landed. She couldn't stop the smile at his reactions, and she leaned in to nudge him with her shoulder. "Adorable," she insisted, then giggled and picked up a plate that she started filling with food. Well, 'filling' wasn't entirely accurate - all of her portions were smaller than she'd like, but even after three months, she hadn't quite gotten her appetite back to where it had been before.

There were some terms that had been offensive even in his own time, but not practically taboo like they were now. As he'd currently been referring to himself and his own ethnicity, Steve hadn't even thought twice about calling himself a Mick. He'd be embarrassed when she did explain it to him, but grateful that it was Rogue, and not someone he ended up offending beforehand by it.

Caught out staring - his eyes just kept drifting back, without any input from him - Steve grinned sheepishly, and gently nudged her back. "I can't help it. You've got great legs. Also," his face scrunched a little, "I'm still not used to seein' ladies without stockings on their bare legs. It's weird, how it's all the little things that seem to throw me for the biggest loops."

Steve glanced at her plate, but knew better than to comment on how little she'd taken to eat. The way she acted made him doubt she was one of those gals who only nibbled on food when she was with company, so he could only assume she wasn't all that hungry. Since they'd been planning on this and she'd known what food would be available, he couldn't imagine she'd eaten too late to work up an appetite yet. Which only left him with: she didn't eat a lot in the first place at any given time. Knowing what he did about what she'd gone through, it wasn't that surprising, or unusual, but it still bothered him.

He kept his thoughts off his face, leaning forward to start fixing his own plate, piling it to the brim with different foods. It smelled delicious; he wouldn't tell her this, because he was sure it tasted fine, but at the moment, even if it tasted like wet socks he'd probably devour it and ask for more.

His compliment on her legs made her blush a little, because she was pleased to hear it - she'd been working hard on getting back into shape with her running, building up her strength, and any compliment helped her self-esteem greatly. She was so self-conscious about her body these days, about a great many things really, that she could have kissed him senseless for saying it.

She hoped it didn't taste like wet socks to him. Spearing a bit of potato salad, she thought it tasted pretty good for her not having made it in almost a decade. "A lot of things changed while you were gone," she acknowledged. "The little things are always the hardest to cope with, because you don't notice them as easily. Technological advances are big and bold and tough to miss, because they're always right there in front of you. But things like women not always wearing stockings... You'll get there, sugar. I know it's probably frustrating, but it's only been a few months."

Steve nodded. "It's easy enough to fake in casual conversation, usually, which is all I really need to do to get by, but seeing all the changes..." he shook his head. "It all just adds up, until suddenly I'm back in Times Square, with Fury telling me I've been gone for 70 years. I know I'll get used to it..." he looked down at the piece of sandwich he was currently holding. "Somedays - a lot of days, honestly - I just don't want to have to. It's weird, the things I miss. Big cars with real fenders, rounded wheel wells that jutted out, hand cranks. Women in skirts, with their hair coiffed, or down in pin curls, but always looking put together. Even the clothes that are the same, aren't the same, the styles and cuts are different, the material and colors. And people show a lot more skin than I'm used to."

He glanced at her with an apologetic look. "Sorry. I'm an artist, I was trained to notice things like that - and now I can't stop noticing them." Wow, he was depressing himself; and after they'd been doing so well, so far, keeping the conversation light and fun. Way to ruin the mood, Rogers.

The things he mentioned, those were some of the things she'd always loved about the era he'd lived in. It was something she'd emphasized in her literature courses when they read things set during that era - she'd shared visuals with the class so they could properly understand the cultural contexts. The women really had always looked so put together, and for a moment she felt nervous about what Steve would think about how she usually looked, when she wasn't all dolled up for a date.

She didn't let it sit in her mind for long, though. This wasn't the time for those thoughts. This was the time for her to set her plate off to the side and in against him. She slid one arm around his back, leaning her cheek against his shoulder, and smoothed her other hand along his arm. "You don't have to apologize," she told him softly. "I have times like that myself." She didn't elaborate; she couldn't. Those times were when she saw a city burned to ash, all the faces around her attached to corpses piled a dozen feet high. He didn't need to know that about the world she'd come from, didn't need to know the things that haunted her sleep.

Her touch helped ground him, settling him after getting rather more riled up than he'd meant to. He settled back, looking around the park and the people enjoying themselves, then back to her, a fond smile covering his face. They were quite a pair, two people displaced from their homes, just trying to figure things out. "The colors are brighter," he confided softly. "Everything seems more vibrant. I do like that. I may miss the way women used to do up their hair, but I love all the crazy styles and colors people use, now. Expressing themselves, not caring what anyone thinks... I like that."

Deciding then that he'd ask if he could draw her, Steve set about finishing his food; not rushing, but putting more of his attention toward it, instead of thinking on all the things that were different, or seemed wrong, about the future.

"I love listening to the way you talk about things," she murmured contentedly, leaning away from him so they could both eat their food, but not going too far, of course. She wanted to be close to him always, within reach so she could hold his hand, stroke his cheek, brush her fingers through his hair. There was a nagging feeling at the back of her mind that after what they had planned for that night, being apart from him was going to become incredibly difficult.

Whenever she made her way back home, the first thing on her agenda was researching womens hairstyles from his time. With the convenience of the internet, there were likely plenty of tutorials available that would help her get the hang of things.

A little bemused, he gave her a lopsided smile. "Thanks?" he laughed a little, self-deprecatingly. "I'm sure I sound like some out-of-date novel, or something. Or some old man, reminiscing about yesteryear. Isn't that a joke, now? 'In my day, we walked 5 miles to school, uphill, both ways. In the snow. With no shoes.'"

He might have some problems with being apart from her as well; one of the really nice things about this age, was telephones - cell phones, to be precise. He wouldn't even have to call her, he could just text her, whenever he wanted, so she'd have something waiting when she had the chance to check.

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here, have an introspective novel.

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