#buckle manufacturers

[matelware]

Buckle Manufacturers

Metalware Corporation stands out as one of the leading belt buckle manufacturers, making a wide range of stylish and durable buckles. With a commitment to precision engineering and creative design, Metalware continues to set industry standards, providing goodness with every product.

Contact Us:-

Email:-Marketing@metalwarecorporation.com

Phone:-9560249544

Web:-https://www.metalwarecorporation.com

[tj-crochets]

I keep forgetting to ask, but do y'all have any recommendations for B12 supplements that are like liquigels (or whatever those are called) instead of tablets? I'm allergic to at least one of the inactive ingredients in the B12 supplements I've tried, but I have never yet had a reaction to inactive ingredients of liquigels (capsules? what are those called?) At this point, I am not looking for any particular dosage of B12; my doctor just wants me to try it to see if it helps with severe muscle cramps. Once I see if it works, she's going to do more bloodwork and determine which dosage I should be taking (I have had other bloodwork to rule out other possible causes, and at this moment B12 is the only thing I'm testing low on)

[liftwellenterprise]

Enhancing Logistics Efficiency with Liftwell Enterprise

In the fast-paced world of logistics and supply chain management, the importance of reliable packaging solutions cannot be overstated. Liftwell Enterprise, a leader in the industry, specializes in providing high-quality products that ensure the safe and efficient transportation of goods. With a strong focus on innovation and customer satisfaction, Liftwell Enterprise has established itself as a top choice for businesses seeking robust and reliable packaging solutions.

Cord Strap Buckle Suppliers

Liftwell Enterprise stands out as a premier Cord Strap Buckle Supplier, offering durable and high-strength cord straps and buckles designed to secure heavy loads during transit. These buckles are made from premium materials that provide excellent tensile strength and resistance to environmental factors, ensuring that your cargo remains securely fastened throughout its journey. Whether you are shipping domestically or internationally, Liftwell's cord strap buckles are engineered to meet the highest standards of reliability and performance.

PP Dunnage Air Bag Suppliers

As leading PP Dunnage Air Bag Suppliers, Liftwell Enterprise provides an essential solution for void filling and cargo stabilization. PP dunnage air bags are designed to fill the gaps between cargo, preventing movement and minimizing the risk of damage during transportation. Liftwell’s air bags are easy to inflate, reusable, and environmentally friendly, making them a cost-effective and sustainable choice for businesses looking to optimize their shipping processes.

Cargo Net Suppliers

For businesses requiring versatile and adaptable load-securing solutions, Liftwell Enterprise offers high-quality Cargo Nets. As reputable Cargo Net Suppliers, Liftwell provides nets that are suitable for a variety of applications, from securing items in transit to organizing storage spaces. These cargo nets are made from robust materials that ensure durability and long-term use, offering a reliable way to keep your cargo safe and secure.

Paper Dunnage Air Bag Wholesalers

Liftwell Enterprise also excels as Paper Dunnage Air Bag Wholesalers, supplying a range of eco-friendly and cost-effective dunnage air bags. These paper dunnage air bags are an excellent choice for businesses looking to enhance their green credentials without compromising on quality and performance. They provide exceptional load stabilization and are ideal for use in a variety of shipping scenarios, from palletized loads to containerized shipments.

PP Dunnage Air Bag Manufacturers

In addition to supplying, Liftwell Enterprise is also a distinguished PP Dunnage Air Bag Manufacturer. The company manufactures these air bags with precision and care, ensuring they meet rigorous quality standards. By maintaining control over the manufacturing process, Liftwell Enterprise can offer customized solutions tailored to the specific needs of their clients, ensuring optimal performance and customer satisfaction.

Conclusion

Liftwell Enterprise's comprehensive range of packaging solutions, including cord strap buckles, PP dunnage air bags, cargo nets, and paper dunnage air bags, positions them as a reliable partner in the logistics and supply chain industry. By focusing on quality, innovation, and customer service, Liftwell Enterprise continues to help businesses enhance their operational efficiency and protect their valuable cargo during transit. Whether you are looking for standard solutions or custom-designed products, Liftwell Enterprise has the expertise and resources to meet your needs.

[metalwarecorporation]

Elevate Your Fashion Designs with a Trusted Bag Hardware and Shoe Fitting Manufacturer

Are you a fashion designer or a brand owner looking to create stunning bags and shoes that stand out in the market? Look no further! Welcome to Metalware Corporation, a high end buckle manufacturer founded in 1999. In this blog, we will explore how Metalware Corporation has become a trusted manufacturer of high-quality belt buckles, bag hardware, and shoe accessories for India, US, Europe, and the global market. Let's delve into the world of premium fashion design and manufacturing.

The Legacy of Metalware Corporation

With over two decades of experience, Metalware Corporation has carved a niche for itself in the fashion industry. Their commitment to craftsmanship, innovation, and customer satisfaction has earned them a stellar reputation as one of the leader of Bag Hardware Manufacturer and Shoe Fitting Manufacturer.

Uncompromising Quality and Craftsmanship

At Metalware Corporation, quality is the cornerstone of everything they do. Each piece of hardware is meticulously crafted with a keen eye for detail and precision. The use of state-of-the-art technology and skilled artisans ensures that every product meets the highest standards of quality and durability.

Extensive Product Range

Metalware Corporation boasts an extensive product range that caters to the diverse needs of fashion designers and brands. From belt buckles in various designs and finishes to an array of bag hardware and shoe accessories, their catalog is a treasure trove of options to enhance your designs.

Customization for Personalized Designs

The power of personalization can set your fashion line apart from the rest. Metalware Corporation understands this and offers customization services to bring your unique ideas to life. Collaborate with their team to create custom belt buckles and hardware that resonate with your brand's identity.

Embracing Fashion Trends

In the fast-paced fashion industry, staying up-to-date with the latest trends is crucial. Metalware Corporation continuously researches and embraces emerging fashion trends to offer hardware and accessories that are both timeless and in vogue.

Serving Global Markets

With a strong presence in India, the US, and Europe, Metalware Corporation has successfully expanded its footprint in the global market. Their commitment to delivering top-notch products to international clients has made them a preferred partner for fashion designers worldwide.

Sustainable Practices

Environmental responsibility is a core value at Metalware Corporation. They are dedicated to implementing sustainable manufacturing practices, ensuring that their production processes have minimal impact on the environment.

Streamlined Production and Timely Delivery

Metalware Corporation understands the importance of timely delivery in the fashion industry. Their streamlined production process and efficient logistics ensure that you receive your orders promptly, allowing you to meet your production deadlines with ease.

Client Testimonials

The satisfaction of Metalware Corporation's clients speaks volumes about their commitment to excellence. Positive client testimonials reflect the company's dedication to providing exceptional products and outstanding customer service.

Building Lasting Partnerships

Metalware Corporation values long-term partnerships with their clients. Their customer-centric approach and reliability have fostered enduring relationships, making them a trusted ally for fashion designers and brands.

Conclusion

When it comes to fashion design, every detail matters. Metalware Corporation, the high-end buckle manufacturer, has proven its mettle in the world of bag hardware and shoe fittings. With their uncompromising quality, extensive product range, and commitment to sustainability, they are the ideal partner to elevate your fashion designs. Embrace the legacy of craftsmanship and innovation with Metalware Corporation and take your bags and shoes to new heights of elegance and sophistication.

For more details contact us - http://www.metalwarecorporation.com/

[mallowmaenad]

6'3" Underweight Trans Girl With Eyebags whose wearing an Oversized Black Sweater: I recently remembered all of my past lives. Most of it was spent as various plant life and fungi in the same twenty foot radius in a forest by a rural interstate route until a robin ate the seed containing my soul and flew to another forest where I reincarnated as her child. I would then die a tragic death at a young age to a local fox where I'd live a long life as her kit and eventually die of old age, I then spent several generations as various plant life and fungi in that forest which was eventually destroyed by industry.

I was a tree during that time and my plant fibers were processed to manufacture paper used to make a sticker placed on an orange whose peel was placed in a compost bin, eventually leading me to the dark yet decadent life of a worm until I then eventually expired and awoke as a tomato plant in the care of a kindly older woman, it is that life whose memories I treasure the most.

She was a very skilled and warm woman, and many of my cycles afterwards were spent as my own kin in generations of tomato plants in a blink of an eye. One day she took me into her car in a pot, I remember how she spoke to me. At the time she had named me Reynolds, she had set into a trend of naming me after Hollywood actors she found attractive. It was the day before her daughter's birthday and I was to be her gift, I could not feel bittersweet about this a the time, because I was a tomato plant.

She buckled me into the back seat of a car as if I was a child of her own and drove down a rural interstate route, illuminating the black sea of the night sky with her headlights as the shadows seemed to drown out anything but us. A deer with bone wasting disease stood in the road like a grim reaper, white eyes shining as her aching foot tried to react in time on the break peddle.

The two embraced in a bloody collision, I remember the deer in its last moments weakly nibbling at her flesh as they both bled out in an agony they were ignorant to, I wilted and died in that car along with her and that deer, I do not know what the journey of my soul was like, but my next life was as a patch of semi-feral grass on the side of a similar road caught in the mouth of a possum eating a partially full discarded box of Wendy's fries who was then promptly turned into road kill, when the day was new a burly Appalachian man whose stern demeanor hid a soft heart would legally and cleanly collect the cadaver and break it down, using the remains for a meal some yuppies would find ghastly. This man was my father- or rather my father in this cycle of life.

I know in my heart of hearts that you were that old woman who nurtured me so many times as her beloved tomato plants, you had the rare privilege to live your life as an incinerator at a crematorium, but the march of technology and nut after bolt you grew broken, a death by a thousand cuts, a death by a thousand bodies. Your massive metal cadaver was melted down over time, the raw materials eventually finding itself to a factory that manufactured bullets, a life of darkness in a cardboard prison only to be shunted into a pistol's magazine... your entire existence is interesting, stretching the meaning of what it means to be eaten and to live. The meek 24 year old boy thought nobody would mourn him when he was gone, you lived as an amorphous patch of greenery ahead of his grave stone.

A curious thing would happen during a visit to this boy's grave, his childhood dog either in embarrassing coincidence or a moment of sentience began to dig at where the body was, being wrenched back as it began to desperately sink his teeth into the soil, ripping you asunder. Almost as divine penance, you lived your next life as a member of this dog's litter, you'd be named after the boy, despite being a girl. Maybe the dog was given some precognition and wanted to eat the boy and take his soul into its mouth to get her the life she always wanted. You were unfortunately born with a chronic condition that led you to a young death, the girl's mother crying just as hard after the vet put you down. You were buried lovingly in her back yard where you became a tomato plant, your same mother not being as much of a green thumb as mine but she devoured your fruits all the same, eventually giving birth to another meek boy after growing pregnant during the time when your last tomato was picked off your wilted stem. I have pursued you since that day with my whole body and spirit, one part unintentional one part in this moment of enlightenment. I love you, and I will love you for the rest of forever.

Trans girl who dropped out of high school to make Hello Kitty breakcore who has her girlfriend's dick in her mouth and is high as fuck right now: Waash dat?

Their shared girlfriend sitting across from them playing Wario Land Shake It on her modded Wii U: Was I the deer with bone wasting disease?

6'3" Underweight Trans Girl: ... Yeah...

[varpusvaras]

It had been a busy day.

Part of it was Bail's own doing. He had needed something to distract himself from the ongoing investigation, so he had picked up all the work he had been putting aside during the past couple of weeks, and finally started to go through them. He was in the middle of going through the budget draft of ship manufacturing for Frigate-class ships, when the office's door's alarm lighted up.

Someone was trying to get in.

Emphasis on trying to get in. They weren't trying to break in, as Bail could see that they were trying to use their clearance on the door, but the reading kept being interrupted for some reason.

Bail frowned. He stood up and started to make his way towards the door, when the alarm shut down and the door slid open.

Fox all but stumbled in, his whole upper body pitching forwards as he moved, and he swayed still when he stopped and just stood there.

Bail was very thankful for having long legs, because he got to Fox with only a few quick strides, just in time when his swaying got worse and he started to list to the side, with his knees buckling. Bail managed to step to his side, so Fox would just easily fall towards him. He all but collapsed against Bail, his helmet diggin hard into Bail's chest as he let his head drop as well.

"Careful", Bail said, trying to take a batter hold of Fox, but as soon as Bail laid his hands on his back, Fox flinched and dug himself deeper against Bail. That was the last sign Bail needed to know that Fox was hurt.

When had this happened? Bail had not heard about any other operations where Fox would've been needed for the day, as they were busy with the attack on the Temple. Had something happened there? Bail had been under the impression that the situation was under control, and that there hadn't been any further attacks-

He could think about all of that a bit later.

"Fox?" He called. "Where does it hurt the most?"

Bail had learned to not simply ask if Fox was hurt, because almost every single time, if Fox just still had all of his limbs and his head attached to him, he would start to deny that he was injured in the first place, or insist that it was not, actually, even that bad. Fox did answer when asked what was exactly bothering him, even if he would try to downplay it anyway right after. At least it gave some sort of general direction for things.

Fox made an odd noise under his helmet, that almost didn't come out through the vocoders. It sounded almost like a whine.

"Head. Back. Arms. Hands. Legs", Fox muttered against Bail's chest. "Everywhere."

Alright, then. A little help, but a lot to be worried about.

"Alright", Bail breathed out. "Let's get you to sit down."

The few meters from the door to the office's couch took a lot longer than they usually did. Bail tried to keep most of Fox's weight on him, but it was still a struggle.

Bail couldn't understand how this had happened, and how any of the other Guards had not taken Fox back to the base immediately to be treated. They were all very protective of their Commander, and if they had been present, Bail knew that they would've taken action immediately, unless...they had not been there at all.

There was only one situation that Bail knew where Fox would be alone, that would end up like this.

The burning of anger lit up inside of him. Bail had never previously thought of himself using blackmail or any other unsavory methods like that, but even he had his limits. It was high time he started to weed out all the unsuitable people, who thought it was appropriate to treat the Guard how they liked.

But first, he needed to tend to Fox.

They got to the couch. Fox looked like he was ready to just fall onto it, which would most likely just aggravate everything more, so Bail had to very slowly and carefully put him down and arrange his body so it didn't look like it hurt too much.

"I'm going to take the helmet off", Bail informed him, before he reached for it and gently lifted it up.

Fox had mentioned head pain just before, and Bail could see why straight away. He had seen enough concussions to know what they looked like, and the way Fox's eyes were dark and could barely keep track of Bail, even though he was right in front of him, told enough.

Bail took in a deep breath and then took a better look of Fox as a whole.

Another immediately noticeable thing was his left arm. Fox was holding it close to his abdomen, and the commlink on his vambrace had an error-light on, as that entire piece of armor seemed to be slightly dented inwards. That explained why he had difficulties getting the door to read the clearance. It was either that the device didn't work properly, or Fox had difficulties keeping his arm still, or both, as Bail was already sure that the arm itself was also broken.

Bail glanced down, and held back a grimace and then a snarl. If the arm was probably broken, Fox's left leg definitely was, as the foot had rotated inside in a way that was clearly forced. No wonder he had been stumbling, with both the concussion and this.

Head, arms, hands, legs. Back.

The armor was not fastened properly, so Bail had an easier time getting it all of, even with Fox sitting up. He still ended up jostling him a little as he took off the backpiece, and every sharp breath Fox took in only served to fuel the anger more.

Bail carefully rolled the blacks up. He didn't need more than a peek to see the deeply darkened skin as bruises were already starting to form.

Bail never stopped to be both impressed and horrified of the way the clones were able to just push the pain aside. He almost hoped that some of it was because the concussion was making Fox confused enough to ignore some of it.

Bail tried to breathe in deep. He hoped it would've get the anger at bay for a moment longer.

It did, in a way. It pushed it down, but at the same time, gave it enough air to grow.

Fox looked at him then, his eyes wide, and even though Bail was almost scared to touch him, he had to. He needed to.

So he took Fox's face into his hands.

"What happened?" He asked, stroking his thumb over Fox's cheek.

Fox let out a wavering breath.

"I- we got a suspect brought in", Fox started, his voice stammering bit at the start. "She requested a visitor, a Jedi. It was- in her rights, so, we brought the Jedi in, and she- we saw though the monitor her strangling the suspect, so we took her in. We had to."

He sounded almost pleading at the end, for a reason Bail didn't yet understand.

"I know", Bail said. "I know, you were just doing your job."

Fox swallowed, and grimaced, pressing his eyes shut tight for a moment. Bail ran his thumb over Fox's cheek again, and Fox tilted his head more into the touch.

"I-" Fox started. "Admiral Tarkin told us that this was not a Jedi matter anymore, and we couldn't let anyone else in. He ordered us not to let anyone in. But then Skywalker came and wanted to go see her, and-"

He grimaced again, and Bail wondered if speaking was aggravating him. He started to lean forward, and Bail let him fall to him again, tucking him against him as gently as he could.

"What was Skywalker doing there?" Bail asked. He hadn't thought that the Jedi would put him out of all people to investigate a crime like this. Skywalker was a capable Jedi and a General, but what Bail knew about him, he was not the most experienced in situations like these.

"She's his Padawan", Fox said against Bail's shoulder.

"Tano?" Bail asked, perplexed. "You arrested Ahsoka Tano?"

Fox stiffened.

"We had her on camera", he said. "There was no one else in the room. We didn't hurt her, we just-"

"Of course you didn't hurt her", Bail hurried to say. There had been a desperate edge sneaking into Fox's voice just now. "I know that."

Bail had to admit that he didn't know Ahsoka Tano too well, but from the impression he had gotten, he wouldn't have suspected her first, at least not without any evidence.

Well, it seemed like there was evidence, wasn't there?

Fox's right hand closed around the front of Bail's shirt. Bail held him as tight as he could.

"I told Skywalker", Fox said. "I told him my orders. I told him. He didn't listen. He got in. Tarkin found out I failed. One of his guards kicked me down. I think I- I think I broke my foot more."

Bail frowned, something like dread starting to trickle in into the anger.

"More?" He asked.

Fox didn't answer. He just curled up against Bail, and Bail heard his breath hitch.

"Fox?" Bail pressed on. He had to know. "What do you mean by that?"

Fox pushed his forehead hard against Bail's shoulder.

"Skywalker didn't listen", he said. "He demanded to be let in. I told him no. He didn't listen, he forced himself in, I couldn't- Tarkin didn't listen when I told him-"

He stopped, and breathed, almost heaving.

"It hurts", he whispered. "Nobody listened to me. It hurts."

Bail held him as tight as he could, stared at the wall of his office, and saw red.

---

Bail got the recording of what had happened in less than an hour.

The Guard was very willing to give him anything he asked for. They had all seemed just as angry as Bail was, and has kept apologising over and over again, for letting this happen. For leaving Fox alone. It had been in between rotations, and Fox had taken it upon himself to watch the security point for that one moment. During that one moment, Skywalker had come in, and started to demand to be let in.

It wasn't their fault, and Bail said so every single time. Skywalker was a Jedi. The Guard should've been able to trust a Jedi not to hurt them.

Bail watched Skywalker and Fox talk. He watched how Skywalker got more and more upset with every single second. He watched how Skywalker lifted his hand and pointed it towards Fox on the other side of the security glass. He watched Fox tell Skywalker no.

He watched Skywalker threw his arm towards Fox. He watched as the whole panel around the glass bent and broke away, the glass shattering. He watched Fox being flung across the room and crashing hard against the far wall, shards of the glass raining all around him. He watched Skywalker not giving any of it a second look as he made his way inside.

He watched Fox lay there, dazed, before he rolled on his side and just managed to push himself up when two officer guards strolled in, with Tarkin soon following them.

He watched the guards kick Fox down and beat down on his already battered back one, two times, before the recording cut.

He couldn't stomach watching it for a second time.

There was a request to enter coming from he door. Bail pressed the door open.

Padmé stepped in, with a tight smile on her face.

"I'm sorry it took me a while to get here", she said, as she sat down on the chair on the other side of the desk. "Things have been...hectic."

"I can only imagine", Bail said.

The anger had stopped burning a long time ago, now. Now, Bail felt like ice.

He leveled Padmé a look.

"Anakin has had a hectic day as well", he said.

Padmé was an intelligent woman. Bail knew that she would be able to connect all the implications and come to a conclusion on her own.

She did, as the smile dropped away from her face.

"What happened?" She asked. "Did...did something happen at the prison?"

Bail almost had a feeling that she knew already, on some level.

"Yes", Bail said. "He attacked Fox when Fox didn't let him in."

Colour drained from Padmé's face. She opened her mouth, closed it, and hesitated for a moment before she opened it again.

"Is he alright?" She asked. The correct question for the situation.

"No", Bail answered bluntly. "No, he isn't. He got seriously injured by Anakin, and then injured further by Tarkin because somehow, an armed Jedi attacking him means that he failed to follow orders."

Padmé shook her head.

"I can't believe it", she said. "Are you sure-"

"It's on record", Bail said. "And before you mention it, yes, I am aware that Tano was innocent and framed. That didn't happen here."

Padmé didn't say anything to that, even though she looked like she very much wanted to.

Bail stood up.

"I asked you to come here as a courtesy", he said. Padmé blinked at him.

"Courtesy?" She asked. "For what?"

"I'm warning you in advance, because you are still my friend", Bail said. "I am reporting Skywalker to the Jedi council and asking them to demote him. He is not suitable to be a Jedi."

"Bail", Padmé said. "Can we talk about this-"

"We cannot", Bail interrupted her. "I am not going to let this happen again."

"It's not going to happen again!" Padmé stood up as well. "Anakin was just worried about Ahsoka. Bail, please."

"That doesn't give him the right!" Bail almost felt bad as Padmé flinched at his voice, but not quite. "I have kept your secrets, Padmé! I did that because you are my friend and I care about you, not because I wished to shield Skywalker!"

He went around the table and stood in front of her.

"He is going to face consequences for this", Bail said. "And you will not interfere with it. If you try to, my loyalty for you is over as well."

Padmé drew in a sharp breath.

"You wouldn't", she said.

"I would." Bail looked her straight into the eyes. "And I advice you to look hard at your choices. This meeting is now over. Leave my office."

He could see from her eyes that she understood him to be serious. Padmé walked out of the office without saying another word.

Bail stood there for a moment, before he took his commlink and his cape.

First, the Temple. Then, he was going to the Guard base to see Fox.

[drawlfoy]

the benefits of journaling p.1

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: she/her pronouns/reader that stays in the girl's dorms, language, eventual discussion of murder and whatnot but not yet!, you being a little femcel-aligned/obsessed, tom being awkward because he's been stuck in a diary without talking to anyone for 50 years, i fumble around trying to explain how to brew potions after taking only one semester of high school biology

please note that this tom riddle is definitely not the same tom riddle that dumbledore describes in canon. i read a few meta posts that rewired my brain and now my tom riddle is ~complicated~ and not just evil and murdery for the plot. so just keep that in mind lol

a/n: whoa is this....something other than draco on this blog? yes. im suffering right now and needed to get this out. hopefully i can get this longfic completed within 2-3 parts! i'm not using my usual taglist because i don't know how many of my draco readers want this

wc: 10k

The day you unknowingly bought a part of the late Lord Voldemort’s soul was like any other. It was overcast, the thick clouds a somber, humid ceiling hanging above you and Lucy as you made your way through the annual antiques sale in a dusty corner of Diagon Alley.

“Y/N,” said your companion for the day—a slight, freckled witch with mushroom brown waves and a perpetual smile etched into her mouth. “Look. This is so you.”

You looked up from the bookshelves of one of the stands. It took you a moment to see what she was holding, but once it came into focus, you rolled your eyes. “Oh, sod off. Not funny.” 

Lucy just cackled, tossing the crudely carved wooden snake back onto the pile wearing a wicked grin. 

The world is cruel in that you can scream once when you see Draco Malfoy’s pet ball python in third year and no one ever lets you forget it. 

You turned away from Lucy, looking back to the old bookshelf that had been moved onto the cobbled street. The rich mahogany wood was close to buckling under the weight of all the tomes stacked haphazardly atop each other—far more than would be advisable. 

But it wasn’t just the furniture that caught your eye. No, it was the glimpse of a black spine on the bottom, partially hidden away by an ancient encyclopedia on arithmancy. 

You knelt, carefully arranging your robes so that they wouldn’t pick up dust from the street. You narrowly managed to avoid sending all the books on top tumbling into the street by slowly sliding it out from under the stack.

An unimpressively sized black journal laid in your hand, looking entirely unassuming and incredibly boring. 

You frowned. A quick flip-through confirmed that it was in fact a journal—and that there was nothing written in it. 

Why would someone try to sell an unused journal at an antiques market? You wondered, turning it over in your hand. Though its pages appeared entirely pristine, you could see some wear on the cover. There were no markings detailing when it had been manufactured.

It could very well have been an antique journal, you conceded. But why anyone would want an empty journal made years ago was beyond you.

You went to set the journal back onto the stack, getting so far as to nearly loosen your grip and let it drop from your fingers, when—

You had to buy this journal. 

You weren’t sure why, or how. You just knew that this journal was coming home with you today, even if it was the least interesting thing you could’ve come across in your shopping trip.

“What’s that?” asked Lucy, appearing at your side and gently taking the journal from you. 

“Just an empty journal, I think,” you answered, staring blankly at it in her hands. 

“You know we can just get a normal new one at the bookstore, right?” 

“Well, I like this one,” you heard yourself say. “It has…character.”

“Character.” She snorted, holding it up next to her face. “This is the most bland looking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Consider yourself blind, then. Surely they’ll charge you twice the cost for this since it’s allegedly ‘vintage’.” Lucy made liberal use of air quotes. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the bookstore before we go? It’ll be on our way.”

“No, it’s really fine,” you said, taking it back into your hands, “I really like this one for some reason. I don’t know. There’s just something about it.”

Lucy tilted her head, giving it one last odd look. “Whatever you say. You go check out, then. Mum’s going to expect me back soon and the queue looks a bit long.” 

The journal sat in your bag for the remainder of the summer, nearly forgotten as you went about your day. You opened it for the first time to examine it on August 31st, just a day before you were off to begin your 6th year.

There was writing that you hadn’t noticed before—thin, elegant script on the inside of the cover in black lettering. A simple “Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

You stared, letting your finger trace gently across the parchment. There was a slight indentation at the lower swoop of the last letter “L”, like whoever had written it had pressed a little too hard with his quill. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” you whispered, trying the syllables out on your tongue. You’d never heard of any wizard named that before. You wondered how long it had been since those words had been written. You wondered if Tom Marvolo Riddle was still alive, and if he was, why he saw it fit to mark his property and then swiftly lose its custody to an antiques dealer. 

Oh well. Sucks to suck, you thought dryly as you took the quill that you’d been using to finish updating your calendar and lifted it over the parchment. Whatever happened to the crusty old dinosaur that hadn’t even been able to make one full entry into his own journal before croaking or whatever was none of your business.

You’d barely started out how you imagined a normal person would begin a diary—a date, August 31st—when it suddenly became clear why this Tom fellow had been unable to leave a lasting mark. 

The ink hadn’t even begun to dry before it sank into the pages, disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, dumbstruck. You dipped your quill in ink once again and drew a series of short slashes across the first page, using more ink than was strictly necessary.

In a moment it was as if they had never been there.

WHAT??? You wrote mindlessly in the freshly blank page as your mind spun. What kind of magic was this? And what was the point? 

No wonder you’d been drawn to it. It was probably dripping in all sorts of charms. Maybe the combination had been unintentionally alluring to particular passerbys. 

Before you could think any further, the clean page transformed again, but not at your hand.

Hello.

The word assembled letter by letter, as if a ghost was writing it over your shoulder. 

It seems you've found my journal.

You stared. A journal that could write back to you. Huh. A smile caught on your lips as you became glad after all that you’d chosen this one over a plain bookstore version. 

How old are you? You wrote, resting your chin in your palm as you waited for a response as to whether or not your new acquisition actually belonged at the antiques market. 

Sixteen.

You frowned. That was hardly vintage.

This was made sixteen years ago?

The response appeared quickly..

No. I'm sixteen.

Yeah. You were made sixteen years ago.

This time, the journal seemed to hem and haw at the response.

What year is it? Was the final answer that appeared.

What year do you think?

1943. 

A little off. you wrote impishly.

Oh really?

Just a smidge.

Define a smidge, please. 

What does it matter to you?

This seemed to stump the journal. 

May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?

You may not. Then, because you had nothing better to do, you dipped your quill and drew out a Tic-Tac-Toe board, placing an X in the middle.

The board disappeared into the page, and for a moment you wondered if you’d annoyed your magical journal too much. But then it reappeared, this time with an O in the middle.

You huffed. When you took too long to respond, another line appeared below. 

I'm Tom. Tom Riddle.

You stared at the letters, the implications sinking in. If the journal had belonged to Tom—who was presumably a real person at some point in his life—then that would mean…which meant…

In seconds you’d slammed the journal shut and had your wand out, poking at the binding and being careful to avoid touching it again with your bare hands. Stupid, stupid you, buying something that had so clearly been engineered to lure you in, just like it probably had done to Tom back in the 40s. 

The antique market rarely had issues with unknowingly cursed objects. They were allegedly thoroughly vetted by the stand officials to ensure that something like this didn’t happen. But perhaps this one had fallen through the cracks.

There was nothing you could do for now except to wrap the journal in a blanket and throw it into your suitcase. As a muggleborn, there was going to be no real magic for you until tomorrow on the train. 

Better to investigate then, you decided firmly. With access to spellwork, you could at least cast protective wards around yourself and try to detect what exactly was wrong with it the next time you touched it. 

Yes, you thought. That cannot possibly go wrong.

~

“Y/N!” 

“Sorry, what was that?” You blearily blinked in the direction of Lucy and Ishan, both sitting there with an expectant look on their faces. 

“I was saying that I’m pretty sure that Parkinson and Malfoy are actually together this time,” said Lucy, frowning. “I just came from the loo and his head was in her lap. Revolting, to be entirely honest. I can’t believe I had to see that with my own eyes. But whatever. Are you feeling alright? You keep spacing out.”

“I’m fine.” You pulled the fabric of your robe over your wrist so you could gently scrub at your eyes. “Just—tough night last night. I barely slept.”

“I totally get that,” mused Lucy, nodding as her gaze fixed itself on the window. “I can normally never get to sleep the night before we leave. I just get so excited for the new year.”

You smiled. “Yeah.” 

But that hadn’t been your problem. Despite the creepy journal encounter that had left you with your mind spinning, you’d fallen asleep deeply the moment you’d gotten into bed. The issue had been staying asleep after all the dreams you’d had. 

You rarely dreamt. When you did and remembered it the next day, it was normally nonsensical and had to do with forgotten final exams or missing a lecture. But last night…last night had been different.

There was a boy. His hair was dark and his face cast mostly in shadow, his voice a tenor that seemed typical to boys in your year. He hadn’t been speaking anything you’d understood, though. The most peculiar, bone-chilling hissing noises came from his mouth as he bowed his head leaned over a vaguely familiar sink. 

Even though he wouldn’t acknowledge you, it was as if a channel had been opened between you two, like you could feel his emotions as phantoms within you. 

Franticness. Vindictiveness. A thirst for vengeance beyond anything you’d ever felt before.

You sat watching this mysterious dark haired boy from the cobbled floor, feeling the wetness on the stones seep into your robes, climbing up and up until it soaked your skin. 

At precisely 4 in the morning, you’d shot awake so distressed that you hadn’t slept a wink after. Needless to say, you were hardly what you’d consider to be well-rested.

The remainder of the train ride and the welcoming feast went on without a hitch. You managed to keep yourself from falling asleep at dinner and even joined in on the cheering for new Ravenclaws. The first years seemed to look younger and younger every year, you noted dully as you cut into the roast on your plate. It was making you feel awfully old.

Sixth year was supposed to be exciting—the year of N.E.W.T.S and figuring out what you’d concentrate in during your final year and getting to go to Hogsmeade without permission. But you hadn’t quite figured out what it was that you wanted to study. Being a muggleborn from a modest upbringing meant that you couldn’t be too frivolous. There was no amateur art or sports or celebrity career in your future. You couldn’t even count on marrying well—or marrying at all, in fact. None of your halfblood or pureblood friends seemed to understand that your family hadn’t already had an engagement arranged for you from the moment you were born. It was hard to look forward to a life that was so cloaked in uncertainty. 

That being said, you had more immediate concerns to attend to. Though the journal was tucked safely away in one of your suitcases far away in the Ravenclaw Tower, you couldn’t help but feel its presence. You were itching to get back to your dorm so you could steal away into a corner and begin to inspect it. 

Dumbledore finally dismissed the students after a rather uninspiring speech about the importance of dreaming big and staying true to yourself. You all but ran up the stairs, rushing to unpack all of your things.

“Merlin,” noted Padma from her desk. “That excited to move in?”

“I just want to go to bed,” you said, relishing the feeling of casting a spell to quickly stow away your skirts and button ups into your dresser. “Long day.”

“And even longer tomorrow.” Lucy was sitting at her desk, her feet crossed at the ankles. She’d somehow unpacked even quicker than you. “Does everyone have their finalized timetable for the term?”

“I’ve got Potions with Slughorn and Transfiguration with McGonagall on Mondays and Thursdays,” you began, unzipping your last bag and flicking your wand to send your school supplies to your desk. “Divination with Trelawney, Arithmancy with Vector, and Runes with Babbling on Tuesdays and Fridays. And of course the extended lab section on Wednesday for Potions.”

“Which lab section?”

“Morning,” you said. The diary was levitating from your wand now, looking unassuming and very innocent under the golden light of your dorm room. “You?”

“Same,” said Lucy, grinning. “I can’t believe you’re taking N.E.W.T level Divination. Do you hate yourself?”

“It was that or History of Magic.”

She nodded emphatically, turning back to make a marking in her planner.

With the dorm settled into a comfortable silence, you brandished your wand again, peering at the diary in front of you. 

There was nothing outwardly sinister about it. When you’d gone over to Ishan’s manor over Easter break last year, he’d shown you some of the (potentially unlawful) darker artifacts that his old pureblood family had in possession. They’d felt dark. This journal didn’t have that syrupy thick feel around it. Its aura felt sparkly, magnetic. Surely it couldn’t have been dark magic. Because all dark magic felt dark, right?

You gulped. You wouldn’t touch it with your bare hands anymore, you reasoned. Just spellwork and using the tip of your wand to maneuver it. Just in case.

Your 5 years of Hogwarts education had left you sorely deficient in useful diagnostic spells, so you dug around in one of your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks from previous years and found a section on spells to examine magical objects. 

Revelo you whispered, feeling the slight jolt of magic as the charm left your wand. 

Nothing, It didn’t even glow blue, a sign of magically active objects. 

Huh. 

You frowned. The slightly more obscure spell you’d heard Snape use once on a student’s suspiciously well-written essay didn’t yield anything either. 

“Whatcha doing?’

You nearly screamed, clutching your wand to your chest. 

Lucy grinned wickedly as she leaned over your shoulder and reached for your journal. “Ooh, is this that thing you bought at—”

“Don’t touch!” You quickly batted her hand away. 

“Sheesh,” said Lucy. “Chill. I wasn’t going to read it or anything. I was just wondering why you were waving your wand at your journal. Secrecy spells?”

“No,” you said. Your heart was racing, “Er—not quite. I actually haven’t written in it, you see,”

“Oh?” Lucy’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Explain the theatrics then?”

A half-baked lie formed at your lips that was about to spill when you stopped yourself. Lucy was your friend. She’d been your best friend since the moment you’d met on the Hogwarts Express during first year. There was no reason to lie.

“It’s so weird!” You motioned towards the diary with your wand. “I buy this, right, because I feel this weird draw to it. And I take it home and try to write in it, and suddenly the book starts writing back.”

“A self-writing journal?” 

“Not quite. Maybe. Maybe not, I’m not sure. It’s just—something’s not totally right about it, but I can’t tell if it’s dangerous or not.”

Lucy gave a good natured snort. “A journal? Dangerous? And from old Linda’s stand? Please. I see her going through everything in her inventory. The poor shopboy in charge of vetting items has to answer to her if he slips up. There’s no way anything actually powerful slipped onto the stacks.” 

You stuck the tip of your wand under the cover and carefully pried it open, pointing at the lettering on the inside. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” She frowned. “Am I supposed to know that name?”

“I don’t know,” you responded at the swooping lettering. “But the journal talked back like it was Tom. Like, it introduced itself as Tom and said that it was 1943. And it acted like an….I don’t know. It was like it was a real person talking to me.”

“Huh.” You could see the gears slowly turning in Lucy’s head,

“Do you know any detection or diagnostic spells?” you asked. “I tried all the ones that we’ve learned so far and it doesn’t even detect magic. But it has to be cursed, right? If the last owner of this diary got sucked into it?”

Lucy was just beginning to open her mouth when ink began to appear.

It is rather rude to be casting all sorts of spells in my direction without warning.

You jumped. “Jesus Christ. Do you see that?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Lucy, but her eyes were crinkled. “Girl. Don’t worry. If it was dangerous, you’d probably know by now. You’ve had it around you for, what, two months? And you’ve already touched it. It doesn’t feel dark. I don’t think there are any slow burning curses that gradually trap you inside an object. If you’re still alright, you’ll probably stay that way. Maybe you should just ask Tom how he got there?”

“If I start disappearing, do try to keep me in this plane.”

“Noted.”

Nervously, you dipped a quill on your desk into an inkwell, waiting for a moment before thinking up how to word your request. In the meantime, a drop of ink fell to the page. It was quickly swallowed up by the parchment.

Sorry you began. Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to trap me in there with you or something

An understandable concern

“Just ask him the bloody question,” said Lucy, hitting your shoulder. “I want to go to bed.” 

“Right, right.” 

If you'd like me to stop with the spells, maybe you could tell me how you ended up in here in the first place

“Nice,” said Lucy. She was nodding thoughtfully. “Very smooth.” 

It took a long time for Tom’s answer to appear despite the fact that your writing had almost instantly disappeared. Finally, black ink began to rise. 

It was an accident. Nothing that can be replicated by you, however. There's no need to worry. I fooled around with the wrong book in the school library.

“School library?” Lucy leaned closer so that the locks of her hair dangled over your shoulder. “Ask him if he went to Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts? You wrote quickly. 

Yes.

In your sixth year?

Yes.

“Ooh.” Lucy hit your shoulder. “Maybe you can use this to get comfortable talking to boys, Y/N.”

You scoffed, blushing a hot red. “Excuse me! I’ve told you. I’m too busy for that.”

“Uh huh.” She twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. “Well, I think you should just keep it. It’s harmless. Like I said, it’s from one of the tamest parts of Diagon Alley. And you wouldn’t be able to get anything genuinely dark into Hogwarts. The wards would’ve detected it. Have fun with it.”

“Have fun with it?”

Lucy shrugged, bouncing once as she settled down on her bed. “I dunno. Think about it. I think a responding diary could be fun. Let’s say I’m not around to gossip one day. You have another outlet. Or maybe you could use him to help you study or something. Really, the possibilities are endless.” 

“True.” You mulled over the thought as you let your wand sit on its stand on your desk. Tentatively you grasped the soft leather of the journal and pulled it nearer to you. Tom was waiting for your response, after all. 

Me too you wrote.

And you still won't tell me your name?

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to tell him my name?” you asked Lucy, whipping around.

She set down her book and shook her head. “What’s he gonna do with it? He’s stuck in there.” 

Y/N. 

A splotch of black appeared on the other end, but it was quickly crossed out. 

How did you find me?

Antiques sale in Diagon Alley

I'm an antique?

Given that 1943 was over 50 years ago, yes

Nothing from Tom.

Is that not what you expected? You added. 

I'm not sure

Just as you were about to close the journal and head to bed, Tom wrote again.

And how are you liking your time at Hogwarts?

It's nice. Fall term starts tomorrow. 

You thought about leaving it there, but for some reason the words began to spill out of you. 

It does feel weird being so close to graduating, though. I don’t know quite what it is that I want to do yet.

Oh? But surely you must have some idea.

You pressed the end of your quill to your lips, debating whether or not to share it with this mysterious Tom. In the end, Lucy’s previous comment was what made the scales tip. What did it matter? Tom wasn’t going to tell anyone.

I would really like to go for a cursebreaking mastery abroad, but that hinges on what happens in my N.E.W.Ts this year. I need an O in Potions. 

I was taking N.E.W.T Potions at the time that I was trapped, Tom wrote. Perhaps I can be of assistance.

I can’t ask that of you.

Please do. It’s terribly boring being all alone in here.

You swallowed, watching the ink slowly sink back into nothing. 

What do you mean? What’s it like being trapped?

It took a while for a response to form.

Quiet. You’re the first visitor I’ve ever had. I’m still in Hogwarts, technically, but there’s no one else here. 

I’m sorry you found yourself writing before you could stop yourself. That sounds very lonely.

I don’t mind being lonely. It does get a bit dull, though. 

“Luce,” you said, leaning over the back of your desk chair. “He just offered to help me with Potions.” 

“See? Useful.” 

I've got to go to bed now. First day of classes and whatnot. 

Best of luck

Can you sleep where you are?

I don’t need to but I can

The words chilled you somewhat, but you pushed the feeling away. 

Well, goodnight you wrote. 

Goodnight

~

How were classes?

The ink appeared the moment you flipped open the journal. It was already two weeks into term, and you’d written to Tom nearly every night. You were curled up in bed, your blankets pulled heavy around your lap and your pajamas clean and smelling of lavender. A mug of tea lay steaming on your bedside table, its tendrils barely visible in the dim golden light of the candle you’d lit. 

As expected you wrote, yawning. How was your day?

Oh, you know. Thrilling.

You snorted.

“What are you giggling about?” Lucy’s voice snapped you back into reality. You looked up to see her peeking over the textbook in her lap, a smirk etched deeply into her lips. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but the way you slammed the journal shut gave it away.

“Talking to your fake boyfriend, huh?” teased Lucy. 

“I’m not even going to answer that.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s a fucking journal. It’s not like he’s real.”

“Didn’t he say he was trapped in there?”

You huffed. “I guess. He seems to have accepted his position in life, though. It’s not like he’s begging for help.” 

“No,” agreed Lucy. “But just think about it. What if you did manage to get him out? How romantic would that be?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” 

Lucy ducked away from the pillow you lobbed in her direction, cackling maniacally all the way. 

There you are. I thought I’d bored you. 

The words reappeared within seconds of you reopening the journal. You tried to smother the way your lips turned upwards at the sight. 

Sorry you wrote back, hoping that Lucy was sufficiently distracted with her textbook and would give you a rest for the night. A friend wanted to talk.

Does this friend know about me?

You held your quill to your lips for a moment before you wrote back.

Yes. She loves to tease over how much time I spend writing to you 

I take it she doesn’t understand

Quite the contrary. She’s the one who encouraged me to write to you in the first place, in fact.

How so?

Something about how it would be nice to be able to tell my secrets to someone who could never tell anyone else

Tom’s response took a bit longer to appear this time around. 

Oh? Any you’d like to share now?

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at the drying ink. 

You first.

For a minute, you thought that maybe Tom had disappeared. The parchment remained blank and clean. Maybe he’d gotten bored with you and had gone off to…whatever he did in his empty version of Hogwarts. 

Then the lettering appeared again. 

I used to have a pet snake when I was a child. I was an orphan, you see, and the other children thought that I was too strange to play with. I was terribly lonely. The matron took us to the beach once, and I found this little grass snake in the weeds. I stuck it in my pocket and took it back to the orphanage with me. 

You lived in a muggle orphanage? 

Yes. Obviously. Once I was amongst magicfolk, people did find me quite charming. 

Why’d you pick a snake?

I liked having someone—or something, I suppose—to talk to. 

You stared as the ink sunk back into nothing. Talk. Snakes. Talking?

Are you a Parselmouth? 

I’ve already given a secret Tom wrote. Your turn. 

Will you answer if I give you one?

That’s only fair. 

Secrets—you barely had those. You’d grown up sharing nearly everything with Lucy since you’d been paired up in first year Charms class. 

Not losing your nerve, are you?

I’m just thinking you quickly wrote back. I don’t have many secrets. 

Surely you do. 

This isn’t a very exciting secret. Heat rose to your cheeks as your quill scratched against the paper. But I haven’t told anyone this. 

Go on.

I can’t tell anyone this because they’ll think I’m annoying. I do really well in classes. But I feel like I’m never going to be smart enough. It seems like nothing that I ever do will be enough to stand out 

I understand more than you know

What do you mean?

I was sorted into Slytherin. Coming from such a modest background meant that I had to prove that I was worth the space I was taking up 

A swell of…something rose in you as you stared down at the paper. You tried to imagine this mysterious Tom in the familiar green robes that you saw every day in Potions, scrunching his nose up over a book and studying hard. All alone—motivated by the knowledge that no one was rooting for his success—knowing that there was no name he could depend on to cover even one misstep—

You blinked. Whoa. That was some serious projection. 

I can’t really tell this to anyone else. All of my friends come from influential pureblood families, so they just don’t get why I don’t get to make mistakes or slip up. They think I’m so uptight

Exactly. They all have safety nets. The grades, the house points, the prefect badges—those are all just surface level. It’s your name that gets you anywhere important 

“You’re looking mighty serious over there,” said Lucy from over her textbook. “Trouble in paradise?”

You laughed tightly. “Er, no. Just talking.” 

“Uh huh.”

I always feel like it’s evidence that I don’t belong when I don’t immediately understand something in class you add into the journal. To your horror, tears started pricking at your eyes. None of your friends were muggleborns. You’d never been able to voice these things out loud—or on paper, in this case. Writing it all out seemed so sad now. Like today in Runes. It took me longer than usual to understand a translation technique for this ridiculous slate from the Middle Ages. I had to talk myself down from believing that I’m faking it and that everyone else doesn’t even need to try

Is Babbling still there?

Yes. She’s still teaching 

She was already too old to be coherent when she was teaching me wrote Tom. Tell me, do you have to rennervate her throughout the lesson to keep her present?

She was old back then??? 

Ancient. 

I can’t believe she’s still alive. You chewed on your lip as you thought. She’s practically a fossil.

Do you think of me like that? Old?

Would it make you feel better if I said I considered you vintage? 

I’m wounded

“Fucking get to the library and start researching ways to pull that poor boy out of there,” said Lucy from her bed, “Or stop giggling like that. Merlin. You’re killing me. You’re practically twirling your hair.”

“Shut up!” Slowly, you opened the journal back up after slamming it closed.

Your friend again?

Yes you scribbled back. She’s teasing me again about how I should try to get you out of here. Which I’m assuming is impossible, since I’m doubtful you’re even a real person

I’m very real

Your blood cooled. 

Then why haven’t you asked me to get you out? 

A pause—just long enough for you to feel suspicious. 

I’ve gotten quite used to my little home in here wrote Tom finally. And forgive me if I believe it a bit forward to immediately demand the first person to which I speak to orchestrate my extraction. 

Extraction. Interesting word choice, you thought. 

How polite. Part of you was beginning to feel the slightest bit uneasy. And what would this so-called extraction entail? 

That I haven’t quite figured out yet. The response was instantaneous. Ever since we’ve met I’ve been returning to the library in hopes of finding an answer.

Which book trapped you in here?

Another pause. 

I sincerely doubt it’s still in print wrote Tom. It was a very dangerous book with dark, terrible magic. I had no business digging around in it. I paid the price dearly. 

He refused to elaborate.

You spent the entire weekend digging through the Restricted Section, paging through every book you could imagine that had anything to do with Tom’s situation.

Nothing. Nada. Zero. You tried every querying spell you could think of. You were desperate enough to recruit Madam Pince by telling her that you were writing a paper for a class and needed to find anything there was on getting yourself trapped in magical objects. What she did dig up was at best irrelevant—tales of ill-executed Animagi rituals that resulted in the wizard getting stuck in their animal form and reports of interactions with cursed objects sending the users into a different dimension, never to be heard from again. 

But as you were leaving the library on Sunday night, feeling downtrodden and profoundly disappointed, you saw something that caught your eye: the Alumni section. 

It was one of those things that you always passed by without another thought. No classwork required students to reference previous Hogwarts attendees. It existed largely to appease the old families by nodding to their longstanding presence in Hogwarts, and the only friends who you had ever seen in this part of the library were purebloods curious about their ancestry. As a muggleborn, this was predictably unrelatable. There’d been no person of interest waiting for you in the old, dusty books that were shoved neatly into chronological order, no long-lost ancestor or namesake. 

Not until now. 

The click of your oxfords against the dark hardwood echoed as you came to a stop in front of the stacks. Every yearbook was the color of that school year’s House Cup winner, and the one with 1943-1944 on the thin spine was a rich, loud red. It slid easily from the shelf—which was a relief, because occasionally older books required permission to handle and were thus unremovable—and settled gently in your hands. 

For a second you pondered leaving the aisle and finding a table to crack it open and savor the moment, but the thought of having to explain why you were looking at the 1943 class yearbook would be embarrassing. Doubly so if Lucy found you—she’d never let you hear the end of it. So, case closed. You’d open it here. 

Oh god. You swallowed and used the cuff of your free sleeve to wipe the bead of sweat that had formed on your forehead. This was a terrible idea—or was it? Maybe he wouldn’t be your type. Yes, maybe he’d look just like someone who annoyed you in class or he’d have poorly kept hair or he’d have a creepy smile. Then you could stop thinking about—that.

And that shouldn’t even matter! You squeezed your eyes shut to dispel the thought. It was all Lucy’s fault for teasing you so much about him being your sort-of-weird-ghost boyfriend—part of you was starting to pretend like that was real. And it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It didn’t matter that no boy before had managed to make you this excited to talk to them. It didn’t matter that he got you like no one else in this castle seemed to. It didn’t, because as of present he was actually a journal and not a corporeal being.

In short, you reminded yourself harshly, you were checking this yearbook to verify that a Tom Marvolo Riddle did in fact exist and attended Hogwarts during the time period he claimed. That was it—nothing more. 

Nervously, you let the cover flip open and began to card through the thick pages. Moving pictures of entirely unfamiliar students greeted you, flashing past your eyes. First years, second years, third years, fourth years…

You paused before turning from the fifth year page to the sixth, overwhelmed with the thought that whatever you saw was going to change the way you saw your interactions with the diary. If he wasn’t there, you’d need to re-evaluate how safe this whole diary scenario was. You’d need to go back and reconsider if anything you’d heard from him was ever the actual truth. And if he was…

You swallowed. You couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t been imagining what he’d look like on nights that you struggled to fall asleep. There was never a face you could settle on. Whenever you’d spin up something in your mind’s eye, the features would shift and morph into something entirely different before you could enjoy it. 

But it didn’t matter—it couldn’t matter, because it was crazy that you’d even been fantasizing about a potentially make-believe boy who only existed in a worn diary. 

You turned the page, and Tom Marvolo Riddle stared right back at you.

Tom looked every bit of what you’d expect a Slytherin prefect to be like. Everything about him was neat, orderly, and intentional, from the tidy robes to the obediently shaped dark waves atop his head that looked tragically soft. The only thing out of place was a single piece of black hair, dangling temptingly in the middle of his forehead. 

His lips were drawn into a polite almost smile, his image almost entirely still save for the slight bob of his throat that repeated as the image replayed, over and over again. 

Tom was pretty—much prettier than you ever could’ve thought up on your own. He looked unreal, like he’d been sculpted by some higher being’s hand with the express purpose of being devastatingly ethereal. 

And he’d been talking to you. Connecting with you. And he was real. The weight of your satchel over your shoulder reminded you that he was right there. All it’d take was a quill and some ink to speak to him again. 

The picture had repeated its loop one final time before you closed the book shut and pushed it back onto the shelf, hearing the pounding of your heart the whole way.

When you wrote to him that night, you tried your best to keep yourself imagining how he’d look writing back. Would he smile when he saw that you’d opened the journal? Would he laugh at your (admittedly stupid) jokes? 

September turned into October which tilted into November with such speed that you could barely breathe. Time barreled ahead as classes sped up, assignments piled on, and each day became just another challenge to survive. 

Tom remained one of the few constants in your life, alongside Lucy and Ishan. It was concerning how much you’d come to confide in him, telling him things that you’d never dare to share with anyone else. You told him about the little accomplishments that you could never bring up to your friends, like Professor Snape insulting everyone’s potion except yours and what McGonagall wrote on your most recent paper, calling it one of the most well-researched essays she’d gotten from a N.E.W.T level student. You even told him how Lucy occasionally got on your nerves and how it made you feel like a bad friend. 

He was a good listener and an even better conversationalist. When he wasn’t being your confidant, he was more than happy to indulge any academic topics of interest. You spent hours going back and forth, debating the content of the news headlines that you’d tell him about each day. 

With time, the memory of Tom’s face and intimidatingly good looks faded to the back of your mind. You’d barred yourself from going back into the Alumni section in the library lest you felt inspired to crack open his yearbook again and remind yourself just how attractive your imaginary friend had been when he’d been alive. If you did that, then you’d start fantasizing about a future where you invented some sort of way to pull him out, and that was just silly. You had exams, and Tom didn’t seem particularly rushed in leaving his journal—or he’d at least come to accept that he’d never leave.

Despite this new normality you’d built around the strangeness of the journal, some things still felt tense. You’d grown comfortable with Tom—arguably more comfortable with him than nearly anyone else, save for maybe Lucy, since you couldn’t ever imagine opening up the journal and telling him all about the fact that it was your time of the month and detailing exactly how your cramps were making you feel—but there was this underlying sense of anticipation. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. You just knew that things couldn’t be like this forever. Something had to give. 

In the end, it was Professor Snape who started it. He’d looked down at your cauldron and said something about how your Draught of Living Death base was the most elementary thing he’d ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes upon and that you were lucky to even be allowed into the class, and something inside you broke. 

You’d tried so hard on that potion. You’d followed the instructions to a T. You’d diced everything evenly and stirred it with the precision of a muggle performing brain surgery. Potions had never been your best subject, and you tried to make up for it by trying harder than everyone else. Normally it worked, but N.E.W.T potions was something else.

Tom was taking longer than usual to respond to this particular soliloquy that night, a few letters surfacing before he scribbled them out.

I know this might seem scary he finally wrote. I’ll understand if this frightens you too much. But I think that I may be able to help. 

What do you mean, scary? Are you a mean tutor or something?

I mean that I can show you how to brew that Draught Tom replied. 

Show me?

If my research is correct, it’s possible that I can temporarily cross you over into my world. 

Your heart thudded, your hands suddenly clammy. 

“Lucy?” 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Lucy tossed her book onto her desk and turned to face you. “Oh no. Did something happen? You look awful.”

“Gee. Thanks.” You swallowed. “Er—sort of? I was writing to Tom about how crazy Potions class was today and he told me that he could help me. Like actually tutor me.”

“Is that not a good thing?” 

Your mouth was dry. “No. That’s not it. He means like, tutor me tutor me. In person. He says he can cross me over into his world temporarily.”

Lucy froze. 

“I have to say no, right?” It was so, so stupid that you were asking that. Of course you had to say no. There was no telling what he could do to you if you said yes. Maybe he was actually a demon that was attempting to possess you. Maybe he was going to eat your soul and use your body as a husk to feed on the other students and—

“I mean, probably not.” She thoughtfully pressed the top of her quill to her mouth. “Think about it. You guys have been in contact for months and nothing supernatural has happened. We already came to the conclusion that the journal isn’t dark magic because the wards would’ve kept it out.”

“But what if I get stuck with him? I haven’t been able to find anything about this type of magic before. I don’t know how it works.”

Lucy hummed. Then realization flickered across her features. “Hang on. I think I have something that might help.” 

She dug around in one of her desk drawers until she produced a small spool of half-used thread. It was golden in color but so thin it was nearly iridescent. 

“What’s that?” you asked, squinting at it. 

“It’s Invisible String,” said Lucy, already rolling it out and pulling it around your wrist. It was pleasantly warm against your skin, like it’d just been sitting out in the sun. As soon as it made contact with your body, it disappeared. “It used to be used for Ministry Employees who used Time Turners. Whoever is on the other end of the thread is able to pull the wearer back to this reality and this timeline. It’s very useful in avoiding nasty time related incidents. My dad took home a bunch of spools when Time Turners were officially outlawed. He taught me how to apparate with them since it can also work over long distances in the same reality—just in case I did something stupid.” 

“Wow,” you breathed, staring down at your wrist. There was nothing to stare at, of course. It was already gone. But it was an ingenious little contraption, probably charmed so many times with such obscure and rare spells that it would go for thousands of galleons if you tried to buy it yourself.

The perks of having a rich pureblood best friend, you supposed.

“As long as I’m holding the other end, I’ll be able to bring you back,” explained Lucy, holding the spool up demonstratively. “So, go for it. If that’s your only hold-up, I think you should go meet him. If anything, at least it’ll help your Potions grade.” 

You turned your attention back to the journal, worrying your lip for a second before you dipped your quill in the inkwell and wrote out Ok. 

“This is so exciting,” said Lucy from over your shoulder. “You have to tell me everything when you get back.”

“If I can come back.”

She dangled the spool in front of you. “I’ll make sure of that. If you’re not back by curfew, I’ll yank you back to this reality by myself.”

“Right.” Anxiety began to build in your middle, bubbling up until you were sure you were trembling. 

This might feel a bit uncomfortable was all Tom wrote before you were suddenly falling into a void.

When the inertia faded and light slowly bled back into your vision, you were sprawled on the floor of a Potions classroom that you’d been in when you were a second year. Tom Riddle stood tidily a few feet away from you, wearing the same formal school robes you’d seen on him in the yearbook. 

“Hello.” His voice was proper and measured. It fit him perfectly, but the fact that you were finally hearing him speak for the first time made you feel something that was highly inadvisable. 

“Hi.” 

For a moment, you just stared right back into his eyes as the silence closed in around you and the gravity of your situation sunk in. You’d really done it now, hadn’t you? As if to comfort you, the thread around your wrist warmed against your skin. 

“Don’t worry,” said Tom, like he could already tell what you were thinking.“You won’t be trapped. It’s me who’s bound to this world.” 

“And how are you so sure of that?” 

“This is a prison for my soul,” he said casually. “Not yours. You have nothing keeping you here.” 

“Right.” You slowly made your way from the ground to your feet, brushing off your robes and casting a few cleansing charms to dispel the dust clinging to you. At least your magic seemed to work fine here, you noted. It was a small comfort to know that you’d be able to defend yourself if shit went left. 

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Now that he was speaking more, you couldn’t help but admire the way he sounded—silken and smooth and entirely unbothered, like he did this every day. “I was sure that I’d scared you off.”

“You underestimate how much I want that Potions O,” you offered. 

“Never,” he said dryly. “Now that I see that you’re a Ravenclaw, I wouldn’t endeavor to make such ill-informed assumptions.”

You blanched, your head whipping down to take in what you were wearing. You weren’t sure why you were so shocked to see that you were wearing exactly what you’d had on moments ago at your desk—a midnight blue jumper with the Ravenclaw emblem stitched into the left breast, pulled on top of the white button up with the bronze and blue tie tucked underneath. That, and the standard-issue Hogwarts skirt and tights. Hardly dungeon attire—if you didn’t start brewing something soon, you’d be shivering. 

It all looked very silly compared to how many layers Tom was wearing. His prefect pin glinted under the dim lighting of the Potions classroom, and you tried your best to keep your heart from swooning. 

“Did I not tell you that I was a Ravenclaw?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I don’t believe so. I would’ve remembered.” 

“Are you surprised?”

He cast his dark eyes up to the ceiling and scrunched his nose in a way that you thought was meant to convey a serious bout of thinking. “Not quite. I was stuck between that and Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” You couldn’t stop the way you grimaced at this.

“I thought we had enough in common for it to be plausible.” 

A thrill shot through you. “I’m sorry to disappoint.” 

“I suppose I can't be too taken aback,” he said mildly, stepping neatly back and conjuring a cauldron to appear on the tabletop to his right. “You are a muggleborn. I don’t know of any who have been sorted into Slytherin.” 

This wasn’t news to you, but Tom’s delivery stung more than usual. The implication hung heavy in the air that you were somehow in the inferior house, only placed in Ravenclaw because of your blood. As an afterthought—as a convenient place for you to be put away. 

“That’s true,” you said, stepping closer until only the brewing table was in between you two. “But I doubt that I’d have been sorted there, even if I had been born a pureblood. The whole glutton-for-knowledge thing about Ravenclaw has always been me.”

“I disagree.” Tom summoned over a few jars of ingredients with a nonverbal wave of his wand. “If you’d been born with purer blood, you wouldn’t be so desperate to find a way to compensate.”

You flinched. Ouch. 

“I’m very aware of why I feel the need to work so hard,” you snipped. “But I really don’t think that has anything to do with my genuine academic curiosity. If I was so single-minded in using knowledge for compensation then perhaps I would have been a Slytherin.”

For a moment, his dark eyes flashed with something that you couldn’t quite catch before his face ironed itself into something impassive once more. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

You frowned, watching as he placed familiar ingredients on the table and began lining them up. “It’s fine. Just a bit of a sore spot, that’s all.” 

He gave you a look that made you feel like you’d just pointed out the obvious. Which you had, clearly. But it was offensive regardless. 

“I’ve assembled all the ingredients for a Draught of Living Death,” he announced, stepping back from the table and waving one pale hand at the spread in front of you. “You said you had trouble with brewing the base. This makes sense, since more complicated potions require more stable bases. I’m not wrong in assuming that you’ve always been adept at following instructions and brewing perfect potions before this year?”

He waited for your nod to continue.

“N.E.W.T Potions is different in that it challenges your intuition. Before this, you’ve been able to coast by relying on the guidance of others. But with potions like the Living Death, you need to be able to think on your feet. Even the slightest variation in your ingredients—the age, the quality, the place of origin—can be what ruins an otherwise perfectly good brew. Every potions recipe you see in school textbooks makes implicit assumptions about the quality and age of your ingredients. If, say, it’s an unusually hot day when a supply shipment arrives and the gillyweed oxidizes, the instructions for a more difficult potion won’t anticipate that you need to temper it with volcanic salt.

“That’s where you come in. When you’re preparing your base, you need to have an intimate understanding of the properties of each ingredient and how they interact with each other. This way, when you notice something isn’t quite average with your supplies—as is common in a school where ingredients are shipped in bulk—you can adjust.” 

Tom paused, his eyes meeting yours. You blinked once, then broke the contact to look at the cauldron.

No one had ever explained that to you before. No one had ever taken the time. Snape certainly hadn’t been interested in lecturing about why so many students were incapable of  producing viable potions—he was far more content with insulting his pupils for being inadequate. 

“I never knew that,” you admitted, finally looking back at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. “That makes so much sense.” 

Though your words were far from creative, honesty dripped from your voice.

“Right then,” said Tom, nodding tightly and stepping back to gesture to the ingredients. “Try to prepare the base again. This time pay attention to the state of the ingredients.”

You got the work, thinly dicing the beetroot while you set the moon water to simmer in the cauldron. 

“This was bruised,” you noted, motioning to the cubes you’d just cut. 

Tom nodded, looking at you rather expectantly. 

“...which means that part of it has already oxidized,” you continued cautiously. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time learning about the different chemical properties of the ingredients. That felt too concretely muggle, too blatantly biological. “Which means that the enzymes have, uh, had their bonds ruptured?”

“And…?” 

“And that means I need to…” You squinted down at the vegetable, trying to conjure up any knowledge you had about enzymes and potion making. It probably wouldn’t be volcanic salt. Would it? “I don’t think that I can use volcanic salt as a binding agent this time. If my memory serves correctly, moon water becomes unstable in the presence of pure minerals. So that means…acid? Lemon?”

Tom slid a vial over to you, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Mix a little into the beetroot before adding it.”

You uncorked it and let the citrus juice sink into the purple cubes, running slightly down the cutting board and pooling in the wooden crevices. 

The rest of your base preparation went just as smoothly, with Tom offering up the odd helpful comment while you nodded and committed it to memory. 

You finished with a base that looked nothing like the disaster you’d created just hours ago. You were just barely able to keep yourself from grinning and throwing your arms around Tom’s neck as you both began to clean up and vanish the contents of the cauldron.

“Well done,” said Tom, spelling the cutting board clean. The vibrant pink marks from the beetroot vanished. “Consider me impressed.”

You nearly exploded with giddiness. 

“Thank you,” you said very normally. He was standing so close to you now that if you reached out, your fingers would skim his robe-clad arm. But you wouldn’t do that, because that was weird. Because he was living in a journal and he was somehow bound to this strange alternative reality. Because you weren’t even sure if it was possible to touch him. Because even if it was, Tom Riddle did not seem like the type of person who would be partial to physical affection—especially not from someone like you. “Do you—have you found anything out about how you can escape?” 

Tom’s fluid motions as he tidied the table only stuttered for a moment. “Some. Nothing concrete, though.”

“If you told me exactly what it was you did to get stuck in here, I’d probably be able to offer a lot more help,” you pointed out in a way that you hoped didn’t sound too cajoling. 

He didn’t say anything. 

“Come on,” you pressed, putting your hands on your hips. “I’ve aired out all my dirty laundry to you. You can tell me. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that I haven’t already guessed.”

“Really?” drawled Tom, his eyes locking on yours. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you affirmed. 

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Men could be so frightfully dull sometimes. 

“There’s a book,” said Tom with a deceptive casualness, “That should be in the Restricted section. It’s called ‘Secrets of the Darkest Arts.’ Read that. If you’d still like to know afterwards, I’ll oblige.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” 

The work table was all cleaned up, no trace of your previous potion brewing except for the lingering scent in the air. 

“Well,” said Tom. His hands were folded neatly behind his back as he remained a respectable distance away from you. “I suppose I should be sending you back.”

“I suppose,” you echoed. “Will I—do you think I’ll get to see you again?”

You regretted it the moment the words left your mouth. Hopefully the blush on your face could be written off by the excuse that you were just brewing. 

This time when he looked at you, it felt like he was re-evaluating something. “Whenever you’d like. I’m not especially occupied.”

Before you could stop yourself, your face was splitting into a bright smile. “Of course. I was definitely asking because of your busy schedule.” 

He blinked twice. Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and fidgeted with his tie. It was the most obvious sign of discomfort you’d seen from him the entire evening. 

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Ehm—yes. It was pleasant to have you here.”

“Pleasant?” you echoed, your eyebrows raised. 

“I mean that I’ve enjoyed the time that we’ve spent in correspondence,” he said, waving a hand like that made what he said any less awkward.

“Tom, I was teasing you,” you said. “I don’t need some sort of confession about how you can actually stand being around me. I can tell.”

“Right,” he said again. “I’ll send you back now.”

Before you could add another remark about how weird he was being, you were catapulted out of the dungeons and back into your desk chair.

“Merlin’s Beard!” gasped Lucy from behind you. 

You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the bright lighting of your dorm. 

“You literally came out of nowhere!” said Lucy, coming around to put her hands on your desk and stare at you. “I was getting worried, too. Padma is coming back soon. I thought that I’d have to devise some sort of plan to keep her out of the room so she wouldn’t ask why you materialized out of thin air.”

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes unfocused.

“So what happened?” 

“I—” You exhaled. “Lucy, I’m so fucked. He’s actually really cute.” 

“I knew it,” said Lucy, shaking your shoulders. 

“He helped me brew the base for the Draught of Living Death,” you elaborated. “He’s a really good tutor. He spoke for like 5 minutes about the properties of different ingredients, and I swear I’ve learned more from him than from 6 years of Snape’s lectures.”

“And did you guys talk?”

“A little.” You frowned, thinking back on the interactions you’d had. “He was really odd when I asked him about what I needed to do to get him out. Even weirder when I asked if I was going to see him again. He made some comment about how he wasn’t exactly busy and I said something that implied that I knew that but wanted to know if he liked seeing me, and he was super awkward.”

Lucy cringed. “Well, I mean, if I’d been stuck in a diary for 50 years without talking to someone, I’d probably be a little strange too. Tell me how he is when he talks—or writes, I guess—to you next.”

The next time Tom responded to a diary entry, you had news.

Tom you wrote. Are you there?

Yes.

Can you bring me back to you?

Why? Do you need another Potions lesson?

You rolled your eyes. Not quite.

Well, no. I won’t let you back until you’ve read the book I told you about.

That’s why I’m asking! I’ve tried looking for it everywhere. When none of the querying spells worked, I went through the entire Restricted Section by hand. Nothing! I asked Madam Pince and she told me that that book had been banned since before she’d gotten the position as librarian. I’m probably on some watch list now

That is troubling. 

So if you’ll be so kind, please let me back in so I can use your library. Thank you in advance

There was a long pause that you imagined Tom took to sigh and run his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Then:

Very well. 

You were falling through space once again.

final a/n: thank you for reading! let me know how you feel about it! this is my first time writing for tom so im kind of nervous or whatever

[denial-permanente]

You often mentioned that to start off Etsy/ Amazon etc offer cheap Chinese copies of devices which are good to get an idea of what fits.

My thought has always gone to the health risk that there is in buying anything that comes from China and is cheap. Do you have any advice on how to avoid stuff made of harmful plastics/covered in toxic chemicals?

🔏 Okay, buckle in, we're going for a ride.

Very few people in our consumer society know how anything is made. I'm not joking. Even the simplest items most of us buy are mass produced. When I was growing up, most kids had been to "the factory in town" on a class trip to see things produced. I have seen dozens of different kinds of things being made, from baked goods, to bottled soft drinks, to wine, and of course, to manufactured goods (consumer and industrial products). Now, nobody sees these anymore, and no body gets to have any underlying k edge of how things are made, or how good, ie, quality products differ from crappy consumer items. Hell, most schools no longer have regular shop class anymore (I'm told it's a liability 🙄).

All that is a lead up to this: most consumer driven products (like plastic chastity cages) coming from China are cheap because a) they did not have to so k any mo ey I to development costs, and b) the products are cheap enough so that most people don't care if it breaks, and c) most people can't tell the difference between an okay product and a high end one. A $10 crappy product might have sharp edges and burrs, while an okay $30 product won't. But few people will notice or care about the difference between the $30 cage and the $130 or even the $300 cage.

Now, that said, I am wearing a Chinese made A272 cage that I bought about seven or eight years ago, and have been wearing steadily (and now permanently) since. Did I get lucky? Maybe. I've bought other Chinese stainless steel cages just to test them out, and most were junk. And even this particular cage came with a crappy knockoff Burg Wachter ME/2 barrel lock. I ended up buying a few more, better quality locks as backups.

Okay, I got that off my chest. 😅

Here's the problem with buying those cheap Chinese cages: you can't tell what you're getting. The Cobra knockoffs have been reported to have color dye that irritates some people. The locks will probably need to be replaced with decent ones. The molds will probably leave the cages with sharp edges that could irritate sensitive skin. And don't even get me started on the quality of the plastic. Many years ago I bought a cage that was advertised as stainless steel. The cage was, but the rings were cheap metal with chrome plating. That would have been a major reaction for a lot of other guys.

So while I do suggest that some people experiment with the cheap cages in order to get a feel for what works, I also follow that up with suggesting that when they figure out what works, to use that information to help pick out a quality cage. A few months in and out of a crappy cage will probably not poison you; the harmful chemicals in those plastics are fairly well bound up.

And until Consumer Reports starts reviewing them, then about the best you can hope for is reading the various discussion groups to glean whatever information you can.

[averixus]

on friday I decided I wanted to make better luggage bags for my wheelchair in time for my trip today (monday), so I spent the weekend in a frenzy and created these

lots more pics and info under the cut!

until now I've been using an off-the-rack under seat bag at the front (smaller than necessary, awkward to use) and random shopping bags bungeed to the axle at the back (impossible to add/remove items without taking them off and unpacking them entirely, not much volume for all that effort).

here's my old setup for comparison (although I can still add the backpack with the new setup too):

the old front bag attached by wrapping all the way over the seat, which made it difficult to remove. it was also unnecessarily small - there was a lot of wasted spare space behind and either side of it.

I measured up for a replacement to properly fill the available space. It's a simple but irregular cuboid - the top edge slopes slightly (because the seat slopes), and the top is narrower than the bottom (becase the frame is in the way at the top).

I designed mine to attach directly to the frame, rather than around the seat. at the back there are short straps with side-release buckles to wrap around a conveniently-placed bar on the frame. at the front are more side-release buckles, attached to make use of the buckles that were installed on the chair by the manufacturer (intended to attach a much smaller under seat bag).

the old bag just had one big compartment inside, so there was no easy way to keep small items accessible without them getting lost among everything else. so I added pockets to mine!

at the top, I made a panel the whole size of the top face, and attached it at a slight diagonal to make a shallow sloping pocket. I also added big flat patch pockets to both sides. and I added a piece of really thick cardboard as a base shaper so it wouldn't sag when full of stuff.

the rear bag was a lot more complicated. I didn't have an existing bag for this use at all, I'd been getting by with just bungeeing soft bags onto whatever bars I could reach on the frame.

I took a bunch of measurements and planned out my design. to make the best use of the space, it needed to wrap *around* the axle both above and below. so the end result is a slightly irregular cuboid but with a cutout at one side.

just above the axle cutout, there are short straps which clip around side bars on the frame to keep it in place. at the other end there are longer straps which buckle around the horizontal bar on the seat backrest, to hold it up.

I didn't add any pockets to this bag, because it's basically for luggage so I won't need to get at small things while it's still attached. more board in the bottom to keep the base in shape.

I would have used a double-ended zip for this one too but I couldn't get one in time (might replace it later). I'm also wondering about adding a shelf or something, to make it easier to squeeze things into the little above-axle space without falling back out.

on both bags I added a strip of old woven belt along the inside top of the opening, to help it keep its shape when the zip is undone.

I don't know enough sewing vocabulary to describe the kind of seam I used on them, but- I folded the edges in, right-sides together, and then topstitched over them. just one line of stitching per seam, but that line goes through each piece of fabric twice. raw edges still exposed on the inside.

I successfully took the new bags on a 4.5-hour train journey today, packed with a week's worth of luggage. and when I arrived, all I had to do was clip them off the chair and lay them on their backs, and then they can easily unzip like suitcases!

[eaudecrow]

Well, I promised context to anyone who begged sweetly, and that’s sweet though for me. (I say as if I haven’t been dying to rant about them for weeks.)

The short story: The Target, aka Din, is the assassination target of Father Kilter’s adopted revenant kid, Pigeon. If Din dies, both they and Pidge will rot in an existence worse than hell, as the unjust death and necromancy magic fuses their souls together in eternal agony. Kilter stays in contact with Din via Sending and Dream spells to keep the two apart (and manages to steal their heart by being wet and pathetic and teaching them how to care).

The full story (buckle the fuckle up):

So. The Target. They have what we’ll call a… justified god complex. As the self-appointed harbinger of truth, they run around exposing secrets and toppling corrupt governments for the betterment of the world. Unfortunately, this makes them public enemy number one. So what did they do to keep themself safe?

Trade away their face, of course.

The Target bargained with Truth itself. They would give it their long-lived service, in exchange for the power to mete out justice and a face that cannot be remembered. The moment you look away, you forget it.

Now their enemies have a new problem to contend with. How do you kill someone who can’t be found or even identified? The answer comes in the form of a revenant: a being so hellbent on killing one person, it always knows their target’s position, regardless of what magic is used to hide them. And this target is so important to eliminate that a necromancy cult artificially manufactures one to go after them.

Enter Pidge.

For a while, the only thing Father Kilter could do when the Target got too close was hold Pigeon as they scratched and stabbed and clawed, trying to bring about their own end as well as some random stranger’s. He had no idea who the target was, no way to contact them and keep them far, far away from his kid, no way to keep them safe—so he jumped at the chance to spy on them when they happened to pass within viewing distance.

One poorly-timed hunting snare later, and Kilter was left hanging upside down, before their horse, at their mercy.

Luckily they seemed inclined to have mercy. Despite Kilter’s terrible attempts at lying and generally suspicious nervous energy, their curiosity was piqued. They let him down. They joined him for some wine, even, introducing themself as “Din”. The two had a chat that started with each trying to subtly pick the other apart, and ended with Kilter completely losing that battle—so desperate for a semblance of help and genuine connection, that he spilled his backstory and his secrets to this literally faceless stranger. All they had to do was touch his knee and say “you aren’t alone” and he was FINISHED. In the end, he had no choice but to trust that they had good intentions and the means with which to act upon them.

That’s where things are at in the canon campaign. Outside of that, @couchtaro and I have been going FERAL over future things such as:

Kilter finally being able to touch someone bare-handed in their shared Dreamscape

Them providing Kilter a place to sleep without being haunted by Pestilence’s manipulative nightmares, and it somehow devolving into cuddles

To get around the face enchantment, Kilter reading the arch of their nose and brow and lips like braille, memorizing the shape of their scar so that he can recognize them by touch

The Target’s myriad 14-foot thick, adamantium emotional barriers getting blasted to itty bitty pieces by Kilter fixing their blood-loss-induced hypothermia with his own body heat

They’re so suspicious of each other right now. Little do they know they’re in for a rollercoaster of learning what it means to love, and by proxy what it means to live. Thanks for asking @booksandberries!

[jadenvargen]

hellooo!!! i was wondering a few things regarding your upcoming pre-orders/shop release:

- will a mailing list be available? (to notify us for the drop)

- how much will bundles be? i’m interested in getting your art book plus some other goodies :-)

- are there any current updates on the production process?

thank you for your time!!!

Thanks for the interest!!! : D

Prefacing saying store website is NOT up yet since ive recieved so many asks about the url! thank u also to those ppl.

-I haven't planned for a mailing list since we’re going with an unlimited run of preorders thru some weeks so im confident ppl will have time to get if they need, I can set it up!

-I'd like to have bundles, maybe by fandom or item. We're still setting stuff up. The store is run thru shopify, and it’s a bit tricky to set up item bundles but we’re finding ways we like. maybe in a separate listing… The movie stickers will be sold separetely and the saw+ds9+brba ones will be on a sheet, so I was thinking of group deals for individual stickers too. I plan to offer discount codes to my patreons.

Rn in production we decided to go with another manufacturer for the artbook after some more reviewing and being unhappy with the quality. The glue is cracking up a bit at the last page, so the last few pages have a slight buckling and wobbling to them. (Looks like a moisture issue) Print quality isn't affected, but I'd really like it to be as close to perfect as can get! so we've sent them away again to see how we like it this time. we've picked printing place, and we're waiting for the sticker sheet proofs to come in next week ^_^ !

[matelware]

Auto Lock Buckles

Are you in search of reliable and suitable answers for your belts? Look no distant than our collection of Auto Lock Buckles. These innovative buckles offer a hassle-free experience, providing quick and secure fastening with just a simple click.

[odinsblog]

Traccye Love used hair relaxers for years and believes the chemicals in those hair products are related to her uterine fibroids. Love, of Oak Park, had a hysterectomy two years ago and is one of thousands of women who have filed suit against the hair care companies.

Growing up in Chicago’s Chatham neighborhood in the late 1990s, Traccye Love wished for the long, smooth tresses of pop star Aaliyah.

“That was the look then — smooth and straight,” said Love, of Oak Park. “My mom would press it (with a hot comb), but I wanted it to stay straight.”

Love wasn’t allowed to get her first chemical hair relaxer until she turned 18. For most of the women in her close-knit, predominantly Black community, the rite of passage of using relaxers to straighten their naturally kinky, thick hair had come much younger. Love’s mother worried about the dangers of using a relaxer: chemical burns or brittle hair caused by lye and similar chemicals in hair-straightening products.

Throughout college, and well into her 30s, Love slathered on chemicals from home straightening kits every six weeks or so. Then, in her late 30s, she began to feel knee-buckling abdominal pain during her menstrual cycles — on her worst days each month, Love downed five 200-milligram tablets of ibuprofen every four hours.

“It felt like someone was taking my ovary and twisting it like a balloon,” Love said.

After several years and trips to three different doctors, tests revealed Love had multiple, golf ball-sized fibroid tumors in her uterus. In 2022, at the age of 38, she had a hysterectomy. She was still using hair relaxers until her husband spotted a social media post about lawsuits targeting the manufacturers. She now thinks the relaxers caused her tumors.

“It had never occurred to me that there was serious risk to using relaxers,” Love said. “I thought the risk was getting scalp burns.”

In October 2022, the first of several thousand lawsuits was filed at the Dirksen Federal Courthouse in the Loop by a woman from St. Louis claiming that chemicals in hair relaxer products she used — such as Soft Sheen, Just for Me and Dark & Lovely — caused her cancer.

(continue reading)

[rustingways]

I rewatched “I want you more than anything in the world” last night before bed, and there’s a… moment of hesitation before Armand leads Louis into the room with his painting.

Had he planned on showing Louis his history that night? They were already walking that way. Or did he decide to in that moment because Louis was asking? If he hadn’t planned on it… what was the plan? Walk through that room with Louis and see if he noticed? Had he originally intended to test Louis, to check if Louis would see him? Justify to himself when Louis didn’t that their relationship wouldn’t endure? That it would best for Louis to leave Paris. Make it easier on himself to push Louis away. Manufacturing a reason to pick the coven, despite the buckling foundation. Manufacturing a reason to pick the coven, because Louis wouldn’t claim him.

[metalwarecorporation]

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[biggulp3515-blog]

Too Big for a Boat

As a feeder, I often think about how large of a woman I could make you.  I think about the structural integrity items and when you will surpass their weight limit. The thought of you easily exceeding the capacity of any chair, ladder, or bicycle is intoxicating. Seeing your powerful mounds of blubber buckle and bend any frame put into your path will have me begging to be next. I recently started looking at purchasing a boat for the two of us so we can enjoy the coastal estuaries and I can watch your gut glisten in the sun. I began noticing that boat manufacturers drill placards on the helm that say, “2 PERSONS OR 450 LBS” and “4 PERSONS OR 700 LBS”. Now all I can dream about is buying you any number of these 17-foot skiffs and watching you sink them one by one beneath your heavy foot. Before you step aboard all the placards will need to be changed to “1 PERSON OR 700 LBS” or “1 GLUTTON OR 700 LBS”.

This fantasy has me drooling. Maybe one of you can help me come up with a clever boat name that is worthy of a fat queen.