felicitygs | Entries tagged with ship: frostcap

Not feeling any of the meet uglies, the vague melancholy Steve Rogers is Sad(tm) fic isn't really working out, and don't feel like working on the novel rewrite, so here's some prompts:

1. One of the few 'joys' of working the skate rental booth over winter break has and will always be watching the adults try and fail to teach children how to skate. Perhaps he's mean spirited, but Loki never quite manages it for this years cute new instructor--a scrawny guy with blond hair and blue eyes and a smile that is as disgustingly sincere as it is wide.

2. Loki is perfectly capable of getting his christmas tree on top of his car thank you, and he doesn't need some tall blond and stupid stranger's help.

3. Steve's been working at the coffee shop for a while now, and he doesn't mean to snoop, but he can't help hearing one of the regulars on the phone and a declaration they're not going home for Christmas, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

4. Steve's new neighbor has been hiding inside since they moved next door, but after the snowstorm, they can't hide forever. There's snow piled high on a sidewalk that needs clearing; Steve's happy to help, but first he needs to see if said neighbor is even alive. He wades through the mid-shin high snow to the front door and knocks.

5. Steve doesn't usually work the late night shift at the grocery, but since he lives in walking distance and there's a blizzard en route, he volunteers to take someone else's shift. Unfortunately, that means he's also working with the grumpiest and most sour stocker he's ever had to work with; it's not his fault there's a storm, so maybe Loki shouldn't act like it is when they both get snowed in.

gaslightgallows wrote this in response to my comment on their title meme:

It’s one of the few things Steve still has that no one can touch: the simple taste of citrus fruit, gone from Depression-era rarity to dizzingly common. And it’s one of the things he’s hesitant to share. But for one broken Asgardian prince, back from the dead one too many times to ever be quite whole again, he might consider making an exception.

And frankly, I couldn't resist, so here we are. [crosspost to AO3]:

It's cold, on the roof of the compound, and the forest all around them is dark and towering. Steve shuts the door to the roof behind him quietly, steps further out so he can see a bit better by the moonlight, then pauses.

There's someone else here.

It takes a very long few seconds for him to relax; he's been so keyed up since... everything, and as much as he appreciates the chance to relax out in the middle of nowhere, there's just--

They spent a long time running, once Thanos was dead.

"I know you're there," a rough and low voice says, and finally Steve knows who it is--Loki.

"I didn't know anyone else was up here," Steve says in reply, approaching cautiously. He's still not entirely sure what to make of Loki--Thor had said Thanos strangled him, and Steve believes that, and he believes Thor never thought to see Loki again. He didn't see Thor's face when Loki showed back up, skin tinged with the faintest orange glow; he was too busy staring at Bucky, somehow alive and whole, too busy with his own world. It wasn't until after that Steve... that any of them realized Loki was there.

Sometimes, just barely, Steve's seen the faintest flicker of orange at Loki's joints, a gleam in his eyes.

"Mm," is all Loki says in reply as Steve joins him at the edge of the roof. Steve leans against the thick ledge that Loki's sitting on.

He's seemed... different, from what Steve remembers. What any of them remember. But then, that was years and several disasters ago. In the silvery moonlight, he's all contrasts.

Steve doesn't comment how the light seems a lot warmer than it should where it touches Loki's skin.

"Can't sleep?" Steve asks.

"I am not up here to make conversation," Loki says, only his eyes sliding to view Steve askance, the slightest dip at the corner of his mouth.

"Alright." Steve looks away from Loki, looks out across the forest that swallows up the light, then up at the stars and sky. Steve's glad they aren't up there, that they're finally back on Earth, that things are finally starting to mend. It doesn't change how his stomach twists all the same staring up at the firmament.

They don't talk, and Loki doesn't look at Steve again. He just sits, a shadow in the periphery of Steve's vision. Eventually, Steve can feel the thoughts that propelled him up to the roof settle, the promise of sleep creeping into his bones, the lids of his eyes.

"Good night," Steve tells Loki.

Loki hums, a low and warm sound, but he does not turn from where he stares out across the forest.

If Steve's honest, he didn't expect him to.

( Read more... )

Will I do a ton of these? Who knows!! But I've got a fair bit of spare time at the moment thanks to regular classes ending, and want to squeeze in a little more writing before 2018 calls it quits. So let's go!!!!

01. we were set up on a blind date but it went horribly, so now you message me every time you have a good date because you think your tips will help me in the future, you ass

- from this list of meet ugly prompts

Steve is well-versed in having things go wrong. He's well-versed in embarrassment, well-versed in disappointment, in things just deciding to go sideways for no discernible reason (and sometimes do so for discernible ones). A lot of people forget that he was a scrawny runt of a kid, and didn't really hit his growth spurt until he was almost twenty-five (at least, the people who met him later in life; Bucky sure as hell as never let him live it down), but Steve knows, on an intimate level, just what it's like to be embarrassed.

And yet, and still, it feels like none of it prepared him for this.

So here's a tip from the newest date: don't spill the wine all over the table. He very much did not spill any wine on the table, and lo, we had a good date.

Steve got the text last night; he's left it on read since then, because part of him doesn't want to dignify it with a response. But the other part of him, the part that would yell at bullies, the the part that's some scrappy kid who just can't shut up, absolutely wants to give Loki a piece of his mind; eventually, that's the part that wins out.

I don't know how I could have predicted the waiter was going to bump into the table while I was pouring the wine, Steve shoots back, and then he pockets his phone, grabs his gym bag, and heads out for the gym.

He knows he shouldn't respond; that Loki's just trolling, but he can't help it.

It's not his fault their blind date was a disaster.

***

( Read more... )

A better late than never fill for my

happystevebingo card, which you can view here .

Deciduous

Steve double checks his bag--sketchbook, pastels, setting spray. Pencil case with a couple pencils, the gummy eraser, the rubber one. A book, for if he changes his mind once he gets to the park, some water. Assured it's all in order, he closes it up and slings it over his shoulder.

"Be back in a bit," he calls out to what seems empty air.

"Have a good trip, sir," Jarvis replies, voice smooth and soothing as ever. It still, sometimes, gives Steve's goosebumps, but Jarvis themself isn't the problem.

It's hard, picking a favourite season. There's good cases to be made for all of them, and as much as he sees people debate it online, Steve doesn't even have a grudge against winter. But as he walks to the park, the air turning his cheeks pink, he has to say that autumn certainly makes a strong case; maybe even as strong as late spring.

No one really pays Steve any mind at the park; it's one of the only reasons he stays in New York and at the tower with the other Avengers. Everywhere else, he's a celebrity, too well known to go about his day--here, though, he's just another guy. Besides, it's good to be near the rest of the team if there's an emergency. He picks out a spot under a tree with a view over the lake and gets to work, trying to capture a little of the warmth and radiance of the trees before they go into their winter slumbers.

"That's really good," a voice says.

Steve looks up, startled. A man is standing next to him, tall and lean and well-dressed. His eyes are sharp, skin the kind of smooth that only comes from youth or a lifetime of careful control.

"Well thank you," Steve says, managing to smother the instinctive urge to hide his work.

The man looks away, out at the view that Steve has been drawing, then back at Steve.

"Do you take commissions?" he asks.

"Uh, I... not really? Maybe." Steve's a little surprised; whoever this person is, he doesn't seem to know who Steve is.

"Mm, well if you do." The man pulls a business card from the inside breast pocket of his suit, hands it to Steve. The paper is thick, expensive, and it is blank except for the glossy black embossed letters across the center; when Steve tilts the card, they sheen magpie greens and blues. He reads:

Loki LaFey
Investments &Solutions

and a phone number.

"Your work is quite beautiful," Mr. LaFey says, "and I wouldn't mind it in my office."

"I really haven't done commission work, but I'll let you know."

"Good," LaFey says. He gives Steve's sketchbook one last look, and then he leaves, steps clipped and long and fast, a sharp silhouette against the afternoon light and fall colors.

"Well, I'll be damned," Steve says, turning the card over to find a magpie. He has no idea who this guy is, or if he'll even do work for him but...

it's nice, being approached for his art and not for being Captain America.

It was hot that summer, hot the way summer always was in his childhood memories, and the sun spilled through the trees and left dappled shadows all across the ground. It’s what he remembers, and sometimes he thinks, perhaps, that he stepped back in time somehow and that’s why things played out the way they did.

He was tall and lithe, skin pale and hair dark, and when he glanced up at Steve, Steve had never fallen quite so hard.

He was drinking tea under the willow trees, a book supported in his lap, and he quirked an eyebrow at Steve full of amused curiosity, and Steve tried not to tumble on his tongue. He ducked his head down, and Steve went on his way because he was meant to be at the beach life-guarding already.

Steve passed him near every day for two weeks, and he was always sipping tea and reading. Steve always drank the sight of him in, and Steve tried to be discrete about it, he did, but he’d always glance up at Steve and a smile would quirk his lips and Steve would need to hurry on his way; so instead of watching him Steve would remember him the rest of the afternoon, draw sketches at night in the corners of papers for college, and wonder what his name was.

“Do you ever intend to ever say hello?” he said one afternoon, voice lazy in the high heat, and Steve blushed scarlet to the roots of his hair.

“Hello,” Steve said and stopped. “You wanna get sodas?” he asked and then nearly kicked himself.

“I might consider it,” he said, and he smiled, cat-wide and amused, “but you’ll have to buy.”

“Okay,” Steve said and stopped again.

“Will you ask my name?”

“I’m Steve,” Steve said, “what’s yours?” and Steve offered a hand to help him stand. His hand was smooth, long-fingered and graceful like Steve’s never were without a pencil, and Steve tried not to watch how the muscles in his arm flowed beneath the skin as he pulled himself up.

“Loki,” Loki said, and he smiled, eyes sparkling mischievous, and Steve thought he might do anything for that smile.

It catches him off-guard.

Not because it is unexpected; oh, no, not that. Common enough on Asgard, after all.

Only… it feels as if it has barely been any time at all. He examines himself in the mirror.

Silver is, he supposes, better than grey (even if the difference between them is oftentimes a matter of semantics).

(And if it feels as if it has been no time, it simultaneously feels as if he’s lived lifetimes, can point at a trail and chain of events that came and went and were lived, and that is equally satisfying, like good wine (which they’ve had much of, or he has, at any rate) and better food (which, yes, they’ve both had, if only because Steve takes so much joy in indulging his whims) on a long summer’s evening (near fifteen, in fact).)

“Loki?” Steve calls from down the hall. “You ready?”

“Yes,” he says absently, smoothing his hair back and leaving the bathroom.

Gold, he thinks, is treated as a birthright by those who have it, flashy and ostentatious.

Silver is earned, marker of a hundred thousands small lifetimes to make up a whole.

He smiles and Steve smiles in return without knowing what he smiles for, a reassuring touch to the small of his back as they walk out the door.

( You're about to view content that the journal owner has advised should be viewed with discretion. )

Loki has no idea what the feeling in the air actually is. It’s wet and warm despite the fact it is very definitely freezing out, like the air is caught between one thing in another. Whatever the feeling is, it seems to upset Steve, who eyes the cotton grey sky wearily that afternoon.

“It’s going to snow,” Steve says glumly, and Loki knows what it’s tied to something else, something before.

He wants to ask, but he’s already realized that the lack of seasons in Asgard is strange. He thinks of the hard and compact white stuff, that was more ice than anything on Jotunheim briefly, but he doesn’t think it’s the same as whatever is going to happen now. Jotunheim was never this warm.

Mayhap it is something between rain and frozen, but he is not sure and he does not wish to ask.

He spends hours in the dark of his studio that afternoon, and when he walks out with a cup of coffee to see if the strange warm-wet-cold sensation is still in the air he stills, blinking.

It falls from the sky in great flurries, whips in the occasional playful breeze, and it is already beginning to stick and pile up. It looks a little like the odd globes with cities in them that Olek has occasionally passed off to him, shaken up, white dusting everywhere. He gathers a bit up in one hand and it melts against his skin, leaving it frozen and pink, but it is so soft. Powdery even, nothing like what he saw on Jotunheim.

He watches for a long while, until the last of his coffee is done. It is, he thinks, breath-taking.

Snow.

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felicitygs

April 2019

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Page Summary

some loki/steve rogers winter prompts
Tangerines are Sweet Enough - 4.2k, Loki/Steve Rogers
Meet Ugly #1 - A Horrible Blind Date
Happy Steve Bingo - Deciduous
30 Days - Summer
30 Days - Silver
30 Days - Formal (part 1)
30 Days - Snowflake

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Style: Buttercup Summer Night for Hibiscus by branchandroot
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fel dreams

yea the one from tumblr et all

Entries tagged with ship: frostcap

some loki/steve rogers winter prompts

Tangerines are Sweet Enough - 4.2k, Loki/Steve Rogers

Meet Ugly #1 - A Horrible Blind Date

Happy Steve Bingo - Deciduous

30 Days - Summer

30 Days - Silver

30 Days - Formal (part 1)

30 Days - Snowflake