seat tube


(via Hunter “Rough Rider” | Hunter Cycles “Rough Rider” Seat Tube… | Flickr)

Meeting on the Train (Joe Sugg Imagine)

Can you do one where y/n is on a bus and she is alone and Joe asks if he can sit next to her. It’s not much but yeah

can u do one where he meets y/n on the tube or something like that please x


You sat down on a free seat in the tube and took out your laptop. You were on your way home from college in London and to your home in Brighton. Even though you were 23 years old, you still lived at home, which were nice but quite inconvenient as you were studying in London. Getting an affordable flat in London was absolutely impossible so for now you were living with your parents in Brighton. You opened up your homework and started writing on your computer, totally disappearing into your own little world.

“Can I sit here?” a voice suddenly asked and you looked up from your computer and to the person asking. A slim guy with blonde fluffy hair and light blue eyes stood in front of you with a cute smile. He looked around the same age as you and he looked really polite.

“Of course,” you answered, which made the guy smile even more before he placed himself on the seat in front of you. You looked back on your computer but you had a hard time concentrating because you could feel the blonde guy’s eyes on you. You decided to look back at him and your eyes met, which made both of you smile.

“I’m Joe by the way,” the guy then said and you smiled at him before taking the hand he had put out in front of him.

“I’m Y/N,” you answered as you shook hands. As you had guessed, he was really polite.

“Where are you heading? If you don’t mind me asking,” Joe then asked and you smiled at him once again.

“I’m just going home to Brighton. I’m studying in London so I’m taking this train every day,” you said with a little laugh and Joe nodded impressed.

“So you’re in college?” He asked interested and you nodded.

“Yep, english and psychology,” you said and Joe looked impressed at you with a smile.

“That sounds really interesting!” Joe said and you nodded with a grin.

“It is. Are you studying or working or…?” you asked as you were beginning to get quite interested in this sweet guy in front of you. He looked pretty fit as well.

“No, I used to be a roof thatcher but then I started making videos on youtube,” Joe said, and now it was your turn to nod impressed.

“I’ve heard about the whole youtube community, that’s really cool!” you answered and you could see Joe got flattered.

“I’m not one of the cool ones though,” Joe said with a fake pout, which made you laugh.

“I can tell you are,” you said and you were surprised at how flirty you sounded.

“Oh stop it,” Joe said and his face expression made you laugh again. You were really starting to like this guy.

“So where are you going? If you dont mind me asking,” you asked with a cheeky smile, which made Joe chuckle.

“To Brighton too actually. And dont worry. I’m not a creepy stalker or anything. I’m visiting my sister and her boyfriend,” Joe said with a smile and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh really? I would’ve guessed stalker,” you said sarcastically, which made Joe laugh.

“You’re quite a funny girl, “Y/N” Joe said and you could feel yourself blush as you smiled.

For the rest of the train journey you kept chatting and laughing, and you really liked him. He was so charismatic and funny, and you had gotten to know each other really well during the train ride. You had gotten to know more about the whole youtube thing and his family, and he had gotten to know about your family as well, your studies and just your daily life in general. When the next stop was announced and the train lady said Brighton you almost felt disappointed that you had to leave.

“That was the quickest this journey has ever been,” you said with a smile and Joe nodded in agreement.

“Time flies when you’re in good company,” Joe said in a flirty tone and you blushed again.

“It certainly does,” you answered as you put your laptop down in your bag again.

“I’m sorry if I distracted you from school work or anything,” Joe suddenly said with a worrying look and you shook your head with a smile.

“Dont worry. I wouldn’t have been productive anyways. The laptop is only there to make me look like I’m actually cool and doing something with my life,” you said, which made Joe laugh.

“I’m totally the same,” Joe said with a laugh, which made you laugh as well.

The train arrived at Brighton station and you both gathered your things and got up from your seats. You walked towards the doors together and when the train stopped you exited the train.

“So will I ever see you again?” Joe asked, which made you turn around and look at him.

“I hope so,” you answered with red cheeks and a smile.

“I’m gonna ask really awkward for your number and hope you won’t give me a fake one,” Joe then said and you stopped to look at him with a laugh.

“Why would I give you a fake one?” you asked with a laugh and Joe looked you in the eyes as he gave you his phone.

“You’re way more cooler than me,” Joe said and his words made your belly tickle and you laughed out loud.

“I’m not too sure about that. I’m not the one who is famous on youtube,” you said with a cheeky smile, which made Joe laugh again. You put your number in his phone before giving it back to him.

“There you go,” you said with a smile, and Joe smiled as well.

“As mentioned I’m not very cool so you will probably get a text from me later today,” Joe said and once again he made you laugh.

“Playing hard to get is boring anyways, right?” you answered with a smile and Joe smiled at you with admiration.

“I like your thinking,” Joe said with flirty eyes and for a second you disappeared into them. They were absolutely beautiful.

“My mom is picking me up, so I have to leave,” you said as you realized what time it was.

“Sure. It was a pleasure to meet you and I’m definitely going to see you again,” Joe said as he took my hand and kissed it like in the old movies. You blushed and laughed at his actions.

“I can’t wait,” you said before you started to walk away still with your eyes locked with Joe’s. Eventually you turned around with a smile and walked towards the exit. You could feel Joe’s eyes on you, which made you smile to yourself. You couldn’t wait for him to text you because you knew you had to see this guy again.      

Break the Laws of Love

Summary: Dan just wants to go home. His day has been long and exhausting and he’s tired, damnit. But then he sees a man on the tube dressed in the exact same clothes he’s wearing. What will happen through a meeting a pure coincidence, and will Dan finally be able to get the happy ending he’s dreamed of?

Tags/warnings: Nothing, just fluff!

Word count: 6,792

A/N: This started just from the prompt of “wearing the same outfit on the metro” and I really don’t know what happened but it evolved into this. (Also had this proposal trope I really wanted to use but shhhh spoilers) Read on ao3

Keep reading


Paulistano Chair by Paulo Mendes da Rocha

The work of Brazilian designer Paulo Mendes da Rocha reached international recognition when he was awarded the 2006 Pritzker Architecture Prize. That same year, we introduced his Paulistano Armchair (1957) – a classic that had never before been available in the United States. This chair was originally designed for the Paulistano Athletic Club in São Paulo, Brazil. The frame, a continuous 17-foot-long piece of solid steel, is welded in a single spot. This deceptively simple structure is then wrapped in almost an entire hide of leather that will gain depth and luster as it ages. Exceptionally comfortable, the Paulistano flexes slightly, and the sling can be adjusted up or down the frame for upright or relaxed sitting positions. The stainless steel frame is hand-machine polished and may exhibit markings consistent with hand craftsmanship. The frame in phosphatized carbon steel, which is the original raw material used in 1957, is slightly rough to the touch and will oxidize slowly with time. This was the intent of the architect, who wants the appearance to evolve, believing the charm of a piece of furniture resides in its non-permanent character. To prevent rust, the phosphatized frame should be treated with WD-40® twice annually. 


(via 1940s Porteur | This 1940s porteur from Paris came in good s… | Flickr)

1940s Porteur

This 1940s porteur from Paris came in good straight working condition, repainted and lovingly modified by its former owner. In his spirit, I’m modifying it some more. A perpetual work in progress, it gets a lot of use already. Or still.

The elegant lugless frame has a sloping top tube, long chainstays and a steepish headtube. It has small diameter tubes; the seat tube takes a tiny 22 mm post. I replaced the rusty original and needed a BMX post to fit.

‘Before’ picture is here . It came with cracked 700 x 28c tires, I mounted 35mm Panaracer Paselas. I added a deadstock fabric chainguard which I chopped to the length of those steel ones usually found on French porteurs.

Imagine being on a game show

You shifted nervously backstage. When you had received a letter in the mail that you would be able to get a cash prize that would cover your university fees in full, you jumped at the chance. But now, you were worried about what you had signed up for. It was the first episode of the game show. Maybe you should have waited until you watched a few contestants from home before deciding to participate.

“Now, are you ready to meet your first contestant?” The host asked. The crowd roared in response.

The woman standing next to you listened to something in her earpiece before ushering you forward, “Good luck,” You weren’t sure if you were just hearing things, but it seemed that it was more of a warning than anything else.

You walked out onto the stage, the crowd growing louder as you approached the host. You were so nervous. You had never been on TV before. You had called your family and told them to watch, hoping that they would be able to see you win a glorious prize.

The host was attractive, tall with dark hair. He had a cute little conversation with you about who you were and why you had joined the show. He was quite charming.

With a flourish, he returned his attention to the audience, “Well then. Are you ready to start the show?” The crowd screamed and waved, “Then let’s get started!” He gestured behind him, where the floor opened up to reveal a chair. You had never seen anything like it. You fidgeted nervously, wondering what it was for. The game show’s synopsis had been vague. You knew that there was some sort of punishment involved, but it hadn’t specified on the form.

The host led you over to the chair. You sat down. Metal bands immediately snapped over your wrists and ankles, keeping you in place. You were surprised, but didn’t fight back. It was probably for your own safety, so you kept still.

“In this show, we have a penalty that’s never been seen before,” The host explained, “First, a little dose of something special,” He revealed a needled syringe, sticking it into your hip and emptying it into your body. At first, nothing happened. After a few seconds, however, you felt your body grow hot. You squirmed in your chair, becoming more and more uncomfortable. You had never been so turned on before. You tried rubbing your thighs together to get rid of the ache, but nothing worked.

“Second, preparation for our show’s penalty,” He brandished a pair of scissors, cutting your clothes from your body. You tried to escape the chair, but you weren’t strong enough. You opened your mouth to tell him to stop, only for him to cover his microphone with his hand, “You signed up for this, sweetheart. I hope you’re ready,” He winked before once again turning to the audience. You couldn’t believe this. You were naked in front of hundreds of people. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You hoped that your family wasn’t watching. Sure, there were plenty of game shows involving nudity, but you hadn’t been prepared for this.

“Now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” The host held out his arm toward you. The chair suddenly shifted. You were leaned back, your legs spread and knees bent. Your eyes widened, knowing that you were bare for the world to see. You tried to ask the host what was going on, only for something to prod against your entrance. Before you could react, it shoved itself as far as it could go. You cried out, the crowd drinking in your discomfort. You glanced to one of the screens that you could see. It was a tube. You forced yourself to breathe slowly. You were fine. You would win the cash prize.

“Now, it’s time to explain the show we have in store for you,” The host smiled, still so charismatic despite having you in such a compromising position right next to him, “You, my dear little contestant have been injected with a fertility drug. I’m going to ask you twenty questions. For every correct answer, more money will be added to your total. For every wrong answer, you’ll be impregnated.”

You froze, eyes widening. He couldn’t be serious. The crowd was loving it, clearly in on the whole ploy from the start. You were speechless. You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t get pregnant now. You were halfway through university. You wouldn’t be able to continue your education while caring and providing for children.

“Now, the real challenge is the bonus question at the end. If you get it right, you get all of the money you’ve earned and your pregnancy will be reversed. If you get it wrong, then you don’t get the money and you’ll have to carry your baby, or babies, to term. You’ll stay here with us on the show so we can check on your progress every week until you give birth, which will be a special after-show,” The crowd cheered once again, “So, are you ready to begin your quiz?”

You didn’t have a choice. You had signed up for this. The show was live. They wouldn’t let you go now. Besides, you needed that money. The show’s practice questions had all been based on elementary school level classes, so you were bound to get through the questions and get the maximum amount of prize money. You nodded.

“Alright, first question: who founded the Icelandic town of Hofn?”

This had to be some sort of joke. Such a trivial question was the opposite of what had been advertised in the game show’s pamphlet. You stared at the host, his grin only widening as you hesitated. You didn’t know the answer. You doubted anyone in the audience knew that answer.

“We need an answer, sweetheart,” The host gestured to the clock counting down.

You swallowed thickly. You were already off to a horrible start. Maybe they always made one question hard on purpose, just to add a bit of tension. You shook your head, “I-I don’t know.”

The crowd cooed in response, but you knew that they weren’t on your side. They were all fidgeting in their chairs, waiting for your punishment to begin.

“Oh dear,” The host pretended to be upset, though he still seemed as vibrant as ever, “You know what a wrong answer means.”

The chair whirred beneath you, a thick liquid bubbling up the tube and into your entrance. With nowhere for it to go, it moved further into your body. By the time the machine stopped, your belly was slightly distended. You watched the screen fearfully, waiting.

Pressure suddenly overtook your womb, swelling outward. You groaned in pain, a new weight added between your hips. The crowd cheered, some of them already quite aroused.

“Question two…”

They had tricked you. All of the questions were so specific. Even the ones that you thought you had known the answer to were still judged as wrong by some technicality. Each time you answered a question wrong and more fluid was pumped into your womb, your belly rolled outward with yet another child. By the fifth, you were sweaty and squirming as your breasts leaked milk. On the tenth question, the tube had started moving to distract you. They were deliberately sabotaging you. The pace increased whenever you were about to answer, rendering your words useless as your back arched with yet another orgasm. They hooked you up to breast pumps after the fifteenth question, adding further humiliation and arousal. Some of the audience members looked like they were about to jump out of their seats, pull the tube from your entrance, and fuck you until they were empty to add their children to your growing belly.

As a special treat for the audience, the show had a quick raffle after the twentieth question. Those who wanted to participate had to pay in order to get their tickets put into the draw. Men jumped up, emptying their wallets and draining their credit cards. You watched the screen in horror. You were already so full. You had answered all twenty questions wrong. There were twenty babies inside of you. And they wanted to add more. Your womb was filled to the brim. You weren’t sure if another would fit.

The host remained by your side, rubbing his free hand over your stomach as he talked into the microphone to sell more raffle tickets. The contents of your womb were displaced with his touch, the weight moving around. You were gasping for air from both arousal and the heaviness. Each little shift was sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. The tube was still thrusting inside of you, but its pace was lazy. They wouldn’t let you orgasm unless it was beneficial for them. You squirmed. You didn’t know how long the gestation would be, but you already looked heavily pregnant.

“Ah, all of the tickets have been collected, I see,” The host beamed. The same woman that had ushered you on stage carried a bowl full of tickets to the host, who swirled his hand around before pulling a single slip, “Number 2398!”

A man got up from a row close to the front, holding up his own copy of the ticket. He was brought in front of you. You could see the bulge in his pants. He wore a suit that looked more expensive than all of your university expenses combined. His gaze swept over your form, his smirk growing. He could clearly afford to buy countless tickets without putting so much as a dent into his bank accounts.

“You’re quite the lucky man,” The host grinned, “You’ve won the chance to get your own turn with our darling little contestant!”

The rest of the crowd either cheered at the notion of an intimate show or groaned because their ticket hadn’t been chosen. The man in the suit loosened his tie, slipping it from his collar. He unbuttoned his jacket as the tube was pulled from your body. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, only for the man to free himself from his trousers and thrust into you. Your breathing was ragged as he grabbed your hips and moved deeper inside of you. The pace he initiated was slow but rough. You gripped the arms of the chair in an attempt to keep yourself grounded and focused on something other than what was buried between your thighs. But the fertility drug you had been dosed with was too potent and the babies rolling around in your stomach were bumping against every sweet spot you didn’t know you had. It wasn’t long before you and the man in the suit were both on the brink of release. His grip on you was bruising as each thrust became harder and deeper. You moaned with every movement. You couldn’t think of anything else but the heavenly orgasm you would have. Your family could be watching in horror as you were fucked on live television, but you merely begged for more.

You cried out, waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your legs quivered, chest heaving with each breath. Your walls twitched around the man, leading him to his own release. He buried himself to the hilt, the familiar heat pooling against your womb. Your stomach rolled outward again to accommodate your twenty-first child. He removed himself from your body and composed himself, though his hair was still disheveled and he wasn’t wearing his tie.

A bell sounded. You tensed a bit. It was the same noise they had used when you failed to answer a question.

The host frowned, though you could still see the amusement in his eyes, “Oh dear, you were so busy having fun that you were unable to answer the bonus question. That means that you’ve lost our little game. You’re be staying with us and you’ll keep your babies.”

“What?” They had tricked you again. They had distracted you so you wouldn’t be able to answer the question. You would have to carry all of your babies to term. All twenty-one of them. Tears filled your eyes, “No, you can’t-” You were interrupted by the tube once again thrusting into your entrance.

The host smiled, rubbing his hand over your stomach and keeping the microphone away from his face, “There’s just a few terms for your contract here with us. You’ll stay with us and we’ll provide you with everything you need. In exchange, the entire staff and anyone that pays well enough gets to use you however they like,” He winked, “Which includes me. You’ll give birth to all of your little darlings on a live special after the main show. If you go into labor before that, we’re going to keep those babies inside of you until the main show is over. We can’t be cutting into one program to show another,” He smiled, brushing your damp hair away from your face, “We’re also planning on a special season finale. All of the fan favourites will come back to play again with even more at stake. Since you were the first contestant in our show, you’re shoe-in to be selected.”

Two workers began to wheel you off stage, the breasts pumps and tube still whirring. You squirmed, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The host waved as you left, then turned back to the audience, “Now, then, for our second contestant of the show!”


PATELLI  ~1980-90~

SIZE 535mm(C-C)

Head Parts: Campagnolo /  Record
F&R Derailleur : Campagnolo / Super Recoed
W lever : Campagnolo
Seat tube : Campagnolo
Handle : 3ttt
Stem : 3ttt (刻印入り)
F&R Brake : campagnolo/Super Record
Crank : Campagnolo /Super Record
Hub : Campagnolo / Record
Rim(F&R):FIR EL20


Love Letters To A Stranger, Part 2

Title: Love Letters To A Stranger, Part 2

Chapter/One Shot: Part 2 of something that started as a One Shot :)

Genre: Fluff/Romance

Rating: K

Author’s Notes: I didn’t intend for this to be longer and I am so surprised at the interest in the the original one shot!  People were asking about a continuation, so here is Part 2.  I hope you enjoy it!  Here is Part 1 if you would like to re-read it first.

He stepped off the train.

He took a few strides in the direction of his usual exit and then halted abruptly.


Without stopping to think about where that voice had come from, he immediately ran to the next car and snuck in right as the doors were closing, having to turn his body sideways to fit through. 

Now what?

He looked to the end of the car at the connecting doors.  It wasn’t a perfectly clear view, but he could see through the glass and just make her out.  She was sitting with the bag on her lap, holding it just like she often did with a book.  Her lids had fluttered closed and her fingertips were running over the paper as if she was reading it without the use of her eyes.  Green.  They were green.  He had noticed them when he handed her the gift.  Green like the rolling hills of his home on a lush late summer afternoon.

Eventually she opened those eyes and reached into the bag.  For the next twenty minutes, he watched her, absolutely transfixed.

It was an entirely different experience than watching her read a book. 

Those were just books.  Just black markings on a page.


These were pieces of him.

Pieces of his mind.

Pieces of his heart.

When she opened the first envelope, a strange sensation of nervousness was tingling through him like pins and needles.

He realized that he was almost trembling a bit in excitement, almost standing on tiptoe in childlike anticipation of her reaction.

She opened that first envelope, and each subsequent one, with gentle care, treating the paper with what appeared to be a sort of reverence.  That alone made the breath hitch in his throat.

Removing the folded yellow sheets with the same respect, she delicately smoothed out the paper and let her palm glide over it.  Her gaze shifted just a bit and he guessed that she was looking for his name first.  When he saw her smile and mouth “Tom,” he was guess was confirmed.  He didn’t realize that she had been leaning forward until she settled back against the hard plastic of the tube seat and began to read the letters. 

It was an odd thing, to desire the approval of a stranger like this.  He had seen her cry and laugh and react to words before, he had witnessed how they thrilled her.  He wanted the same thing for the words he had written to her, for her, and about her.  He wanted to see her shoulders shake while she stifled a giggled.  He wanted to see her little fingers brush away a tear.  He wanted to see her be so overcome that she had to stop reading for a moment.  He wanted those things.  He wanted to inspire them.  He wanted to see them.  He needed to see them. 

Even though he hadn’t let himself look back and edit the letters or even read them once he finished them, he could remember most of them in detail.  As she read the second one and giggled for the first time, his brain sifted through the data and he remembered that he had included his first pun, one about an author that he had seen her read more than once. 

She laughed.

He remembered how he felt as a child when his dad use to grip his hands and spin him around and around so that he was parallel to the ground, giggling and flying through the air until they were both dizzy and collapsed onto the carpet. 

That was this.

He made her laugh.

He did.

Not some faceless writer who would never see her emerald eyes or hear her sweet voice or know her name or –


But he didn’t know her name.

He didn’t even know her name.

She was a stranger to him.

The unexpected pang of discomfort made him shift his position and lean against the side of the car, as if that could ease the rising storm of currently unclassifiable emotions that were swirling around inside him.

It was the fourth letter that drew the first tears.

What was in that one?

Ah, yes, the anecdote about his childhood. 

I remember my grandmother reading to me while I sat at her feet and helped her ball yarn.  She always had a Bible or something from C.S. Lewis or someone similar on her little sewing table and would open it randomly.  I don’t know exactly how, but I remembered a favorite quote from one of those authors.  I confess, I had to do a quick search on the internet to discover that it is by G. K. Chesterton.

“Men always talk about the most important things to perfect strangers.”

You, little blue stocking, are my perfect stranger.

When she folded that fourth one and delicately returned it to the envelope and then proceeded to adjust her bag and stand, it occurred to me that I hadn’t thought past the act of watching her read them.

What now?

She was getting off.

She was going to leave.

My blue stocking.

My perfect stranger.

Thoughts seemed to fly through my brain at a rapid speed.

She’s going to think you’re a crazy stalker.


Do not try to follow her, mate.


You’re going to be out of the country for months.


She could be married or in a relationship.


She could be a judo expert.  She might crush your windpipe.  You’ll never act again.


You don’t even know her name.  She didn’t tell you what it is.  That must have been deliberate.

I stepped off the train.

I couldn’t do it.

It wasn’t wise.  I didn’t want to frighten her.  I didn’t want to leave her with a terrible memory.  I would leave with her a pile of love letters from a stranger and would always remain as such to her, something she could think of for years to come and remember with a sigh about what might have been.


That was the only wise way.

I purposely hung back and let the crowd pass, seeing her pink coat disappear into the sea of passengers.  I waited a few more minutes, just to be safe, and in the process I remembered that one of my favorite cafes was just a few blocks from this station.  Might as well stop for a cuppa and give myself a talking to about proper behavior, which most definitely does not include following strangers and potentially scaring them out of their wits.

It was summer and still light outside when I emerged from the station.  The fresh air helped me clear my head and I began to feel horribly embarrassed about what I had one.  Of course it was harmless to me, but she wouldn’t have any proof of what kind of person I was other than the contents of my letters, and those could have been complete and utter falsities.  I knew I had a tendency to become single-minded, rather dogged in my preparation for a role, but I had never let it push me this far previously.  Endangering another person or even giving them cause to think that they were in danger was simply unacceptable. 

I was in the process of mentally calling myself every name in my arsenal of insults as I entered the café when a soft voice made me freeze in my tracks.


I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t turn around. 

“Tom, I thought you got off the train?”

I didn’t know my heart could speed up so rapidly in a few seconds.

It was time to face the music and dance.

I willed myself to turn and face her.

She was looking at me with those emerald eyes and a tense smile, but a smile, nonetheless.

I swallowed.

“Yes, I did.  But I got back on.  I am so sorry.  I am so sorry.  I wanted to see you read them.  I shouldn’t have done that.  I didn’t know you would be here.  I am so sorry.”

I was moving to head back to the doors and run away, run far far away and hope to feel like a sensible human being again one day.

But one of her little hands reached out to grasp at mine and I stopped: however, I was still facing the doors, facing away from her.  I couldn’t face her.  I had never been more embarrassed in my entire life.

“Tom, will you please look at me?”

I complied immediately.

I could see that she was feeling nervous and was completely aware of how awkward this situation was.

She smiled again, this time it was fuller and brighter and now I couldn’t look away.

“The letters are beautiful.  Thank you.  Thank you for the…”

Her already rosy cheeks were quickly turning a shade or two closer to red.

“Thank you for the lovely things you wrote about me.”


“You’re welcome.”

Oh, that was brilliant. 

She licked her lips and took a deep breath.

“I’ve only read a few of them, but I already know so much about you.  You don’t know anything about me.   Do you…do you want to know something about me the way that I know things about you, the way that you shared yourself with me?  You can refuse and I will understand.”

Her voice was brimming with hesitancy and hope; she was giving me an out in the form of that question in case I wasn’t interested.  After all, I had said “Goodbye” to her when I gave her the bag; perhaps she was thinking that was the end on my part, a word signaling the finality of what I wanted to give.  She was stepping out a limb for me.

I was so happy in that moment, I wanted to do a cartwheel right there in the café.

You’ve been granted a reprieve, old thing.  Don’t waste it.

“Well, since you’re offering, I would like to know if you would forgive me for…for…”               

For being forward.  For being -

“Yes,” she answered with a smile, stopping me from berating myself again and inspiring me with a rush of gratitude that she hadn’t tried to finish my sentence.

“And…I would love to know your name.”

She offered me a hand.

“Hi, Tom.  I’m Elinor.  Now we are no longer strangers.”

I took her little hand in mine.

Maybe not.  But I’m still going to write you love letters.

Double Agent (Avengers x reader)

Request:  price-is-rite said:First off I love your writing. You may already have a lot of requests but I was wondering if you could do one where all the Avengers go to a water park? Thanks!

Here you go, love!  I hope you like it!  THANK YOU so much!!

As you walked into the common room of the tower, you noticed Natasha looking intently at a computer screen, rapidly scrolling thru pages of information.  Clint was behind her, leaning over to read what she was finding and discussing whatever they were looking at with animated expressions and gestures.  Whatever they were working on, it looked intense.

“No, that’s a terrible idea.”  Nat said as she leaned back in her chair and pointed at the screen, “travel time alone will take up too much of the day.  We want to get there before all the rugrats take over.”

“Okay, valid point.” Clint paused to move to another screen, “hey, here’s one!  96 acres of rides, slides and pools, and the kiddie section is on it’s own.  And look, it’s just over in Long Island.”  

Now your curiosity was in full force, wanting to know what was going on.  “Can one of you please tell me what has you so intrigued over here?” You moved so that you too could look over Nat’s shoulder and saw that the two of the most feared master assassins known were planning a trip to a local water park.  “The way you two were going on, I was sure you were planning our next mission.”

“Oh, we are.”


The Avengers would be split into teams, working together to overtake the other.  Marking your target as dead or captured would be identified by taking their park bracelet so they would no longer be allowed to participate on the premises and would be forced to sit out.  No one would be permitted to bring any gear or use their powers, and civilian safety was of the utmost importance.  The team who either took out the other completely or had the most bracelets collected by park close would be the winner.

“Why is it that we can never just go somewhere and have fun like normal people?” you grumbled as you hopped from the back of Steve’s motorcycle.  

“Sweetheart, do we look like normal people?”

You laughed as you removed your outer clothing to reveal your swimsuit, pausing to enjoy the feeling of the sun beating against your skin, “Point taken.  It’s not fair that you and I were split into opposite teams though.  How am I supposed to be expected to take out my beautiful boyfriend?”  Your eyes followed as Steve removed his t-shirt, exposing is muscular form.

“You’re staring.”  

After a few seconds you were startled out of your trance, “Hmmm…um, what?”

Steve grabbed your waist and pulled you against his chest.  “Like what you see?”

Looking up at him, you stood on your toes to whisper in his ear, softly grazing your lips against his cheek, “baby, I’m just deciding how I’m gonna take you down.”  You pulled away, pushing against his chest to release his grip.  

A low growl came from him, his eyes looking at you intensely, “I can’t wait.”

“Alright, you two break it up.  You’re supposed to be mortal enemies, remember?  You can’t go into this compromised or you’re useless to me, (Y/N).” Natasha handed you your park bracelet, smirking as she looked at Steve, “you ready to be beaten by a girl, Rogers?”

He nodded silently, still looking at you.  “I’ve never been more ready, Romanoff.”


The teams were split with Captains Steve and Tony; Steve’s team was made of Clint, Sam, Wanda, Bruce and Thor.  Tony’s team was you, Nat, Bucky, Pietro, and Vision.  After a five minute head start, the game was on.  Your team split up immediately, using comms to communicate. It didn’t take long for those who were there for fun to be separated from those who were out for blood and glory. Over the course of the first hour, the teams were reduced to Steve and Clint against Tony, Nat, and you.  

“How has no one found Hawkeye yet?  Look high, guys.”  

“Stark, don’t you think he’s going to be expecting that?”  Nat said with an annoyed tone to her voice.  You could tell she was pissed that she hadn’t taken out her best friend yet. “I’ll take the Hawk, you two take Flag Boy.”

You could hear Tony snicker at her choice in name for Steve, “Atta girl.  That one’s added to my vocabulary for sure.  Alright, (Y/N), you up for this?  Got any inside info on that boyfriend of yours?”

“Yeah, he’s right behind you.”  

Shaking your head at the sound of Steve’s voice in your comm, you laughed as you heard him take Tony’s bracelet and the continuous whining from your team’s former leader. “(Y/N), I’m counting on you to take him down, you hear me?”

“Yes, boss.”  

You quickly moved to take the high ground, looking for both your last teammate and Steve from the top of the highest slide at the center of the park.  Finding two spies amidst a crowd wasn’t going to be easy, but a man of Steve’s size should be a bit more manageable.  

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you can’t stand there.”  You spun around to see Clint reaching out to grab your arm, but you pulled away quickly and dropped low to swing your leg and kick the back of his knees.  As he fell forward you moved behind him to hold his legs down with your own, pulling his arms behind him so you would remove his bracelet.

“Nat, what the hell? I thought you were on Hawkeye?” Clint tried to fight as you pulled at his bracelet, but to no avail.  “Stop fighting, Clint.  You lost, just accept it.”

Steve’s deep voice was again in your ear, “She can’t talk right now, baby.”

You were laughing out loud now, but quieted as you looked at the shocked faces of the people waiting in line for the slide, watching as you struggled to hold Clint to the ground.

“He was trying to cut in line.  Let him be a lesson to you kids.”


After following Clint to the bottom of the slide, you stepped cautiously out of the pool, looking for Steve.  “Alright, Barton.  Out you go.”

“Just so you know, this was all Nat’s idea.  I just wanted a day out.”

“Go.  I’m busy.”  As Clint sulked away, you glanced at the map of the park on a nearby wall.  You were at the center of the park, so really any direction could potentially run you right into Steve.  You were the final two, so there were no worries about anyone else being on the hunt.


Steve’s command had you moving quickly towards the lazy river that ran thru the park.  As you reached the entrance you saw him approaching, smiling to yourself as you saw the park patrons staring at him as he passed. It happened to him so often now that he never even took notice.

“Nice work, my dear. It’s down to just us two.”

“Same to you, doll. Shall we?”

Steve grabbed a large inner tube and threw it into the water.  He threw you over his shoulder and jumped in, seating himself on the tube with you on his lap.  “I think we’ve earned a little relaxation, don’t you?”

“That’s what they get for splitting us up.”

After an hour floating around the park, enjoying the warm sun, cool water, and rare quiet time together, you both decided it was probably time to go and to let your team off the hook from waiting for you.  When you approached the park entrance, you couldn’t help but laugh at the group of superheroes, sitting together with defeated looks on their faces.  

“Look at them.  I kinda feel bad.”

“Don’t worry about them, babe,” you said, “they knew what they were getting into.”  

Steve shrugged his shoulders in agreement, reaching down to remove his bracelet before exiting the park. You reached out your hand to take it from him.  “Here, I’ll take care of that for you.”  He handed it to you without hesitation.

“Oh, babe.  That was too easy.  I might need to try this ‘double agent’ thing more often.”  You waved his bracelet in the air, running towards the team. “Hey, Tony!  We won!”


(via Big Osell Touring bike | Osell touring bike. 75 cm seat tube… | Flickr)

“Big Osell Touring bike : Osell touring bike. 75 cm seat tube!!!”


Cinelli Golden Black. Italy, 1983. (part2)

Show bike from Cinelli Milano with Columbus framework #83520 G finished in full black chrome. Campagnolo Super Record equipment plus Cinelli bar/stem/saddle, Regina 6-speed freewheel and chain, Fiamme 700 rims, Clement Seta Extra tubulars. All parts with special back/gold finish which includes about 200 small parts in 18 karat gold plating.

Very original except new tubulars. New-old-stock, no miles. Patina from age and storing. Rating 2+

Seat tube c-c 51cm (c-t 52cm), top tube c-c 52cm, weight 8.9kg


David Cameron, 2nd September 2015.

David Cameron, 3rd September 2015.

Previously, this was his response to the crisis;

“Of the 4 million Syrians who have fled their country since the war began, including hundreds of thousands who have poured into Europe, the number who have been resettled in Britain could fit on a single London Underground train — with plenty of seats to spare.Just 216 Syrian refugees have qualified for the government’s official relocation program, according to data released last week. (Tube trains seat about 300.) British Prime Minister David Cameron has reassured his anxious public that the total number won’t rise above 1,000.

As Germany prepares for an expected onslaught of 800,000 asylum applications just this year, the contrast between the two biggest powers in Europe couldn’t be sharper. On a continent that is supposed to be bound together by a common set of rules and values, the impact of this summer’s migrant crisis is being felt disproportionately by a handful of countries while others, such as Britain, have resisted efforts to more equitably share the burden.

The more miserly policy reflects the political atmosphere in a country where the tabloid press routinely characterizes refugees as an invading army attempting to storm the Cliffs of Dover; the Daily Mail recently wondered why the government could stop Hitler but not “a few thousand exhausted migrants.”

Britain’s leaders have contributed to the mood, with Cameron referring to the migrants as “a swarm” and Foreign Secretary Philip Hammond warning of “marauding” Africans who threaten Europe’s “standard of living.”

And let’s put this into context compared with the rest of Europe and surrounding areas;


So shameful.