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

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.

The smile she gave him with bright with humor and happiness. "I think it's charming," she informed him with a very pointed look that said she would brook no arguments on the matter. "And it suits you perfectly. In fact, there's not a single thing about you that I would change." She paused for a moment then, looking him up and down as if reconsidering the statement she'd just made. "Well, maybe one thing..." The look in her eyes turned mischievous. "Your eyes are too damn blue and gorgeous, I keep getting lost in them."

As soon as they established that it was alright, Rogue would be messaging Steve all the time, sending him texts about her day and photos from places she visited around the city. She would want to be in constant contact with him, not to keep tabs on him like some women might, but because she wanted to share her life with him as it happened.

At her comment on his eyes, Steve burst out laughing. "Sorry," he finally replied, "I don't think there's much I can do about that." He reached out with the hand that had been holding his plate, and cupped her cheek, before leaning in to kiss her sweetly for a moment. "Afraid you're just gonna have to learn to deal with it, darling."

The endearment slipped out without his even having to think about it; it took him a moment to even realize what he'd said, but then he just grinned even more happily at her.

Rogue wanted to hear him laugh like that everyday for the rest of their lives. He had such an amazing laugh, heartfelt and genuine, and when he let it loose she couldn't help but feel warm and happy. And then he had to kiss her and call her darling and she was just lost.

"I am so in love with you, it takes my breath away," she confessed quietly, a look of pure adoration etched across her face. "So I think I can manage living with those gorgeous blue eyes of yours."

"The feeling is entirely mutual," he told her, his hand reaching out to idly play with one of her curls. He looked over the offerings of food, pretty thoroughly picked through, and the container she'd set off to the side - what he'd now realized was probably cake of some sort - then over to his portfolio.

Taking a deep breath, he asked, "Would you let me draw you?" It seemed a little silly, asking for her permission, but he also didn't want to just pull out his sketchbook and proceed to basically ignore her while he sketched. "I want to remember today, for as long as I can." She'd already made it ten times better than he'd been expecting, and so far all they'd done was eat lunch.

Of course the container held cake for him. Cupcakes, specifically. An assortment of flavors so he could try all sorts of things he'd never been able to before. She'd made a dozen of each flavor and kept a few for herself, but for the most part they'd been given to her friendlier neighbors, and to sweet Mrs. Chen for her grandchildren who were celebrating their first 4th of July in the US.

Rogue blinked at the request, then smiled at Steve in amazement. "Of course you can," she answered with fondness. "As long as you let me watch you while you do it." It was a caveat she was fairly certain he would be alright with. She hoped so, at least. She wanted to enjoy watching that look of concentration on his face and catch the way he lost himself in his art. Laughing briefly, she asked, "Is there any particular way you want me?"

Steve laughed in relief when she agreed, even seemed happy about it, and then again when she bargained that she had to watch him during. "It's not all that fun to watch. It's a lot of squinting at you, and then squinting at the paper, really. I'll try not to be too boring, though."

Already blushing a little from Rogue wanting to watch him, he felt his face grow a little hotter at her question. Any way I can get you, was his first, not entirely innocent, thought. Grinning, he shook his head. "No, no. This isn't a modeling job, no poses or anything. Just relax, be natural." He leaned over and snagged his portfolio, opening it and pulling his sketchbook and pencil bag out. He was a little too careless, and the edge of his shield slipped out, glinting in the sun. Shoving it back in and closing the flap, Steve glanced around, but no one seemed to have noticed. No one was staring at him in wide-eyed shock, anyway.

She'd never be bored looking at him. He was fascinating to her, intriguing, captivating. He meant the absolute world to her and she would let him draw her anytime he wanted.

Be natural. Alright. She gathered up the containers that held the few remnants of their lunch, closing them up and returning them to the cooler so they had more space on the blanket. That glint of sunlight caught her eye, as did Steve's scramble to hide what she assumed was his shield. "You know you're gonna have to show me that later," she informed him with a mischievous smile before scooting down on the blanket and moving to lay on her side. She straightened out the skirt of her dress and folded an arm under her head, her hair tumbling in its loose curls around her, sunlight catching her hair almost like it had his shield. "How's this?"

He huffed in amusement. "I don't mind showing you," he replied, a sardonic note in his voice. "It's the rest of the park who doesn't need to see it." He settled his legs taylor-style, before glancing over at her. Once again, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. "Perfect," he breathed, not meaning the pose at all.

But then he took a deep breath, pulling his brain back to the task at hand. Drawing. He unzipped his pencil bag, selecting a hard-leaded sketching pencil, as well as his gum eraser just in case, flipped his sketchbook to a clean page, and started outlining the major parts, that would eventually become her head, arms, torso, skirt and legs.

Gaze flicking to her momentarily before returning to the sketch, Steve didn't want her to get bored (no matter what she said, he couldn't imagine just watching him could be all that fun), so he pulled out a trick from his art school days, meant to keep the models relaxed and smiling, forgetting that they were holding a pose.

He started talking to her, telling stories. "I went to art school, y'know?" He added some wavy lines around the head circle, later to become her curling hair. "I told you, I was color blind back then, which, I could see some colors, but reds and greens and blues always confused me some. But I wanted to become a comic artist. A penciller; that's the one who actually draws all the artwork, before it goes to the inker, and then the colorist. At least, that's how it was back then." He added some lines to her skirt, where the folds would go. It wouldn't be a finished drawing, not right away, but he could go back and add in detail to the other parts later. Now he just needed a rough outline, so he could focus on getting her face.

"I spent a lot of my time at home, reading, and then making up stories for my favorite characters. I thought maybe, if I could get in good with some writers, make a name for myself, I could give them some of my ideas to add to their stories." He was always most comfortable like this, behind his sketchbook; his mind centered on what his pencil was putting on paper, and he could talk about himself in a way he found more difficult otherwise.

She watched as his fingers gripped the pencil and the tip started to move across the page, the movements smooth and practiced. He had been doing this for years, and she could tell that he took comfort in it. Seeing that finished piece was something she was looking forward to, and part of her wanted to fill their homes with his artwork. Cover the walls, the fridge, the bookshelves, all with pieces he'd created.

As she listened to him speak, her smile grew and she felt so very... happy and content. Just sitting there with him in the sunshine was one of the most perfect moments she'd ever experienced.

"You could still do that, you know," she offered, not being pushy but trying to show him that that dream, at least, wasn't gone. "The comic industry is huge now, and there are all sorts of stories being told. And if you didn't want anyone to know you were the one doing it, that's easy enough to accomplish." He could do a great many things in this new world, and she didn't want him to limit himself.

Keeping his head bent down, Steve looked up at her words. He huffed a laugh and smiled, but shook his head. "Yeah, it's huge. And I never even finished art school. Even if I did manage to find a job drawing - which, sketches are one thing, whole comics are another - I... I wouldn't feel right, taking that job from someone else." He tried to figure out how to articulate what he meant. "I'm-- I already have a job, as--" he flicked his gaze around, then murmured, "as you-know-who. Which, maybe that's not as irrelevant as I'd been thinking. It's not an every day job, but if it's important to people, I'm not gonna give that up."

Nothing was coming out right. He wasn't quite sure how to explain the fact that he was no longer that scrawny kid, dreaming of becoming a big name on the cover of comics. He'd seen the world, or at least large portions of it, that he'd never expected; he'd been to war; he'd essentially traveled through time. He wasn't sure he could be satisfied with the dreams he'd used to have. Not after everything else he'd gone through. He'd always feel that itch; that restless sensation that he should be out in the world somewhere, actively helping people. Fighting.

It all came back down to fighting.

His hand had slowed, but continued to add lines while he'd been contemplating. Now, he turned his attention fully back to the drawing, giving a one-shouldered shrug. "Maybe. We'll see." He gave a self-deprecating smile. "I'm not all that good, anyway, not compared to some others. This whole conversation may be a moot point after you see what I can manage."

Rogue wanted to point out that a lot of people had never even been to art school and still made art of all sorts their profession. She wanted to insist that he wouldn't necessarily be taking a job from someone, that he could do independent work or self-publish. But then he started talking about his alter ego and she sighed softly.

"If you're not that good, then you'll just have to practice," she decided, flashing him another smile. "I'm expecting great things from you, Mr. Rogers, and they have nothing to do with what you're hiding in that bag."

He didn't have to try to explain what he was feeling about his work as Captain America. She remembered what it was like to always be on the move, to be doing good work and fighting for a cause you believed in. She couldn't deny that she missed that part of her life as an X-Man, but... Taking up that lifestyle again just wasn't something she was entirely sure she could do again. There were too many painful memories, too much trauma she still had yet to overcome. That didn't mean that she wouldn't support him, though. She would be by his side no matter what he decided to do with his life - she was there to stay.

Grinning at her words, Steve set about adding the finer details to her face, defining the curls of her hair. It felt unbelievable, having someone believe in him, Steve Rogers, again.

He thought maybe she understood, remembering how she'd begun her own story to him, saying she'd been on a team of superheroes herself. Maybe, eventually, he'd feel comfortable enough to do more than just dabble with his art as a hobby. Right now, though...

"Hey," he said, flashing her a grin, "there's no rush. I'd rather get my head straight with the current world, and then have to worry about what I'm gonna do to fill up my spare time."

Setting down his pencil, he rummaged in his pencil bag until he found one with a softer lead, better for shading and smudging. He didn't want to get too carried away, though; if he decided, or if she wanted him to, he could color this one in with colored pencil, or maybe even pastels. "And believe me, I do practice. All the time. I'll doodle on any flat surface that holds still long enough," he joked. Of all the things that had changed, about the world, and about himself, that still held true; he still had to have a pen or pencil in his hand, creating, or re-creating, something.

He hadn't actually doodled recently, though. He'd gone out and drawn the Brooklyn Bridge, and different parts of the Manhattan skyline, he'd even drawn part of Lady Liberty, but that was all true-to-life art; he hadn't doodled anything fanciful, hadn't really felt like it.

No, that wasn't true. He'd drawn himself, eyes closed, shield resting on his chest as he lay in repose on top of a glass table, like Snow White in the animated Disney movie. He'd drawn the other Avengers gathered around, peering at him curiously (although he'd drawn Tony feigning disinterest while peeking at his shield). He'd had to stop when he realized the character he'd just drawn standing in the doorway was a younger version of Phil Coulson, clutching a fan of cards to his chest with an eager, joyous look on his face. He'd stuck to landscapes after that. Until now.

She giggled at the image of him drawing in all sorts of places, and on all sorts of things. It was a lovely image of the man she was in love with, a side of him that she'd only been glimpsing but certainly wanted to see more of. She wanted to see all sides of him, good and bad alike.

"Well, speaking of getting your head on straight," she started with a grin, "I'd like to help with that, if you'll let me. Maybe it's the teacher in me, of just the need to help you with whatever I can because I love you, but I really want to help you navigate all of this. We could work through that list of movies you haven't seen, music you haven't listened to, and I could share some of my favorites with you along the way."

She shifted a little, not really changing position because she didn't want to ruin his drawing, but rather just getting a little more comfortable. "It would be good for me, too," she added. "Sometimes I run into things that are different here from how they were back home. It's gotten me some strange looks these past few months. I think I'd rather avoid that in the future if I can."

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