long jersey


Put to rest
What you thought of me
While I clean this slate
With the hands
Of uncertainty

So let mercy come
And wash away
What I’ve done
I’ll face myself
To cross out
What I’ve become
Erase myself
And let go of
What I’ve done

For what I’ve done
I start again
And whatever pain may come
Today this ends

fuckers that save each other break me 

anonymous asked:

Imagine Natasha with Steve's shield? And that turning him on?

Admittedly, he’d been a little busy in Sokovia to notice Natasha using his shield.  It wouldn’t have surprised him then to see how fluidly she moved with it, just like it didn’t surprise him now, watching her sparr with him after having managed to relieve him of his shield.  

What was surprising was his distraction.  The one in his pants-area.  It wasn’t entirely unexpected.  He’d always found her sexy.  Not her body (yes, her body but not just that), but she was witty and capable and strategic and if he was honest, she was someone with that (sort of) shared life experience and he always felt a sense of calm settle over him when they fought side-by-side.  So he knew he was a little smitten.  

He just wasn’t counting on the shield.  He also wasn’t counting on how long he took to think through all of that and before he knew it, he wasn’t staring at her face, features set in determination (and something…guarded around her eyes, something she was trying to keep secret, maybe), shield at the ready, but rather he was staring at the rafters of the training space. 

“What’sa matter, Rogers, never see a pretty face before?” She smirked. 

He huffed a laugh and used his supersoldier reflexes to his advantage, sweeping her legs out from under her and twisting so he’d disarmed her and had her pinned.  He tried not to look too smug and mostly succeeded.  He was just glad he managed to keep his hips from touching any part of her.

Natasha lifted one eyebrow and shifted so that she was pressed flush against him.  “You gonna gloat all day, or are you gonna kiss me?”

Steve didn’t waste time being awestruck, and leaned forward.


My lats have ripped a few dresses and I can’t really wear crop tops anymore. My only suiting that still fits are jackets that used to be too big and pants with spandex. I feel uncomfortable in most of the formalwear I would’ve bought off the rack in high school. I’ve gained about 15lbs since freshman year of college.

And my relationship with myself and my body has never been better. I want a bigger squat more than I want to look good in pants and I want a big deadlift more than I want to wear spaghetti straps. I worked really fucking hard to get here.

When I was a teenager, I desperately wanted to be tall because I wanted to wear Cheap Monday jeans–being a size 0 didn’t change that. Getting fucking strong did.