#keyways

[dozydawn]

[ironic-bread]

just got new locks, and one of them is a wafer lock. bruh i was told these were easy, like basically joke locks, this keyway is evil, i struggled for so long trying to get literally any turning tool to fit, and then i couldn't figure out how the wafers were moving. i miss pin stacks :(

[demigoddessqueens]

Been a bit behind on posting for the days, but here’s a compilation of writings from the weekend and today’s recent update as well (hyperlinks available)

Day 8

You had been sitting by the fire, copying the manuscripts for the Brotherhood. Part of your duties as an acolyte, Basim had said affectionately though you weren't too fond of these tasks.

Still, the menial tasks seemed to drag on more than early morning trainings ever did. At least you could be with your thoughts, the mind wandering to that of the fair-haired warrior who you had been infatuated with.

Striking eyes, a dry wit and the occasional gift that they had given to you from the raids. You smiled fondly at the gestures and memories, wishing Eivor hadn't gone away for such a longer expedition than the last.

As you were going through the last of the paper, something awaited you at the end of it all. A portrait of you, each line drawn with careful, intimate precision. Your eyes were wide and there was a gentle smile on your face. The gesture touched you as you traced along the illustration, memorizing the details that you never thought Eivor noticed.

A word written faintly in the lowest corner that felt intimate to you. Beloved

Day 9

He was awoken by the heat of the sun beating down on his face. Your kisses were the next that roused him more. "Good morning, Jacob."

The tone in his voice stirred your heart, a sweet smile laced with the morning fatigue. "Good morning to you, my love." He leaned up to place a lazy kiss on your cheek before pulling you into him.

You giggled as the scruff from his chin brushed against you before being tucked under his chin. Pure bliss and contentedness overtook you both, your head on his chest. The beating of his heart, rise and fall of his breath, lulled you back into a sweet sleep.

You were infatuated with his voice, but you enjoyed it more in the more vulnerable moments. "Such a nice present for the day. Getting to enjoy this morning with you."

Day 10

It had been a miserable day and a half for you after being held up in bed. You took an attack meant for your fellow brethren, but remained with a nasty wound to the side. Not even wanting to think of how you would be compromised for days, weeks, months, you didn't want to give up your control.

You hated this feeling. Being helpless and there was a pang of guilt as you saw where Connor was sitting, nodding off to the side of your bed. It was a pang in your heart to see such a dear--friend?

You knew that whatever you felt for him grew deeper than friendship. For the longest time, it had been you two rebuilding the Order. He didn't have to say it, but given the years, you would have done anything for each other.

As you stumbled forward towards the table that had a pitcher of water, you felt two hands help you keep you steady. Looking behind with a sheepish grin, you noted the small smile from him.

"You know, you could have just asked. I don't mind.

"I know, Connor, but it gets hard--at times. Having to ask for help."

He helped you back to the side of the bed to rest your exertions. "It may be, but you've always had me. It's ok to let go of what you can't control and reach out."

Day 11

Though the clothes have been different in many lifetimes, the weight of before still bears on the wearer.

It's the robes that Altair dawned when he became Master Assassin. When he creates the waves that resonated within the Order and finds a sliver of happiness within the family he's created, only for a little while.

A father's robes that are thrown upon his second son in a villa, though they're too big at first. Ezio doesn't realize it at first, but it's his way of carrying the three of them with him as he makes his strides.

The robes that are dawned by a man turned pirate who seeks redemption and second chances. Though the tragedy is he would never know whether his son would bear the same mantle, nor see the impact that his grandson left behind.

Desmond is affront to such robes at first, disillusioned at the legacy that his family had woven. Yet when he faces the loss of one he called friend, it's the drive that compels him to finish what he started.

Unbeknownst to a young boy in his home, will he too follow in Desmond's footsteps.

[bread-making-vikings]

what the fuck is that???

[argonphoenix]

This is Thelockpickinglaywer and what I have for you today is something very interesting. As you can tell by the agonizing screams of the damned, I have recently left the mortal coil and, upon arriving at my destination, was informed that I did not qualify for residence. I was taken by an angel of the Lord to the mouth of Hell, and when the angel left, he closed this rather large red door and sealed it with a divine key. Although I’ve never seen this particular model of lock before, I’ve spent some time investigating the cylinder with this small shard of bone. By sticking it in the back of the keyway and slowly pulling it out, I can tell that this is a five-pin tumbler lock, that can easily be single-pin picked using this shed demon scale as a tensioner tool. Let’s try that right now. Alright, nothing on one. Nothing on two. Three is binding firmly, click out of that. Nothing on four. Five is binding, little click there, back to one. Once again, nothing. Two is binding, and we’ve dropped into a false set. Little click out of three. Nothing on four. Little click on one, counter-rotation on two, and we got this open. Okay folks, I think the main takeaway here is that no matter how much faith you place in a mechanism designed to ensure your safety, be it spiritual or physical, there is always a state in which it can fail. In any case, thank you for watching. Memento mori, and I’ll see you next time.

[tdsstina]

Old door

[yuchune]

“Boost Performance and Efficiency: Pinions, Keyways, Winch Gears, Rack and Pinion, CNC Slotting Machines, and Sprockets for Mechanical Systems!” Pinion

A pinion, also known as a gear wheel or gear, is a small gear that meshes with a bigger gear. It is utilized to transfer power or rotational motion between two gears. To transmit rotational motion and power between bigger gears, mechanical systems frequently use pinions, which are small gears. It is frequently used in equipment including industrial machinery, clock mechanisms, and vehicle steering systems.

[steelsmanbroaches]

https://www.steelmans.com/broaching-machines.htm

Best Broaching Machines in India by Steelmans Broaches all tools are available including cutters gears and hobs.

[lillybean730]

ok something abt my wol: originally their design was just kinda based on a cat i knew called "kiwi", so i just stuck an "e" in there for flavor. for a while this led to me pronouncing it as "keyway". at some point i decided to say fuck it and started pronouncing it like the fruit again and it's stuck that way ever since.

but if you'll notice, kiwei is a keeper of the moon and uses the male body type and mostly presents as masc, so really they should have a suffix denoting birth order. i deliberately chose not to bc i wanted them to be more androgynous, but it has ended up playing into their backstory after i fleshed it out more. 2 reasons: they are technically disowned and in my head that means you have to drop the suffix anyway, and they already have younger brothers so changing their name to have a suffix would mean changing their brothers names too which just seems wrong to kiwei.

all of this to say, im actually not sure which i want more: for "keyway" to be their deadname and they just changed the pronunciation, or for that to just be a common mispronunciation that gets on their nerves bc they didn't know how to spell very well when signing up to the adventurers guild

[freemusicdonut]

#avoidplastics#FollowTrafficRules#ourbestqualityproduct#ontimematerialdispatch#bestproducts#goodwillenginnering

#DrugFreeSociety#taperlockbush

which minimizes end disk deflection. However, of all hub and bushing systems, it has the lowest ability to grip the shaft.

Taper Lock Hubs and Adaptors are standardized components that are used to fasten components to shafts using conical Taper bushes. The hubs or adaptors are firmly connected to the component. Once fixed, the component is capable of transmitting torque while being secured against axial displacement.

What are taper bushes used for? Taper bushes are typically used on shafts to mount pulleys, sprockets and sheaves. They are split, flangeless bushings that use screws to tighten on the shaft and provide excellent clamping force.

[demigoddessqueens]

Day 19

Read here

For as long as you could have remembered, Shay was one you held near and dear to your heart.

The stolen moments you both shared as fellow Assassins, both in camaraderie and with kisses in the corners that kept you both hidden.

He stole your heart and rent it when he turned his back on you all, taking his love and the ones whom you called a second family.

The once sweet kisses were poison on your lips and his gentle touches now felt like burns on your skin.

It was almost a pity when you came across him again. As far as any could see, why would you take him back?

He took everything and everyone taken from you. Well, all except for one.

Having nothing, you turned to the Templars and to the arms of their leader. An unexpected love but one that ironically mended the pieces of your heart.

And now it was just Shay who would pick up the pieces of his instead.

Day 20

Read here

For the longest time, it had been nothing but chaos in Connor's young life. The loss of his mother and...what he came to terms with of his father. Too much to lose, and it would always feel too soon for him.

But he still had you. Ever present and waiting in the shadows as you looked out for him, arms to receive him over the immensity of his actions. Even now, he enjoyed the quieter moments with you and away from the chaos of helping rebuild the Colonial Brotherhood.

It felt perfect, perhaps a bit too perfect but he wanted to make the most of it. You had ceased brushing your fingers through his hair as Connor raised his head from your lap. Turning around to face you, hands engulfed over yours before moving to cup your face.

The way you said his name. He could brand it into his memory for the rest of his life. You anticipated what would happen because chances are you wanted to do the same.

Pulling you body closer, you gazed into his eyes to search for a cue. An order that told you to dive off and throw away your hesitations. You closed the minuscule gap, lips finally meeting his as two became whole.

The slightest bit of gasp kept your heart beating fast as you placed a hand at the back of his head. When you kissed Connor, it felt passionate. Embodying all of your heart's content and bliss.

When Connor kissed you, it was a tidal wave that left him renewed. Stripped away from the chaos he once felt, and a resolve that steeled within him. The beginning of a life he wanted to share with you that started when you broke apart.

[spurbleu]

oldman!price x reader angsty (?) drabble

‧︎✳︎༚︎‧︎⁎︎°︎

age leaves john price in tantrum.

he despises what it’s done to his body. the creak in his knees when he walks, the strain in his shoulder when he reaches across the table. steam engine, ironclad and coal hot, neglected the rust on the belly of its stirrups. adopted a sudden fragility he cannot stand.

takes a literal force of nature to get him to retire, and he grieves it like a father. it, in all honesty, was one. taught him how to shoot straight, how to hold his men, how to be without feeling like he’s an imposter in his own skin. forced him to grow up- which is ironically exactly what ended their alliance.

nursed whiskeys, fattened ice kissing the base. smoked like somehow- fossilized in ligero- he’d find his youth again. blistered under reluctant mortality, indulged in fatal vices because if anything is putting him in the grave it’s a gun or a cigar.

a pot never boils watched, yet you stay at your designated post by the doorway while he broods (he’s a dramatic at heart), storm clouds stamped on the collapse of his shoulders.

if you were one of his soldiers, you let him fester.

but you were his wife.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t aged yourself, silver linings sprouting from your scalp, sun spots and bleached knuckles. even so, you found time to pick up his medications, comb through amateur food blogs for gut health and bone pain, roll the aches out of his shoulder before bed. you were kind- and it was insulting.

spitfire catching on the burs of his muttonchops- unfamiliar with dependence. he was a captain for Christ’s sake- alloy lighthouse, built by cement and sheer fucking will. he didn’t need to be hand fed vitamin C and dragged to yoga class. he pitched barbed wire, dug his shallow trench and intended lay in it.

until, one evening, thunder strikes him out of dewy acrimony. he clambers up the stairs, musk of tobacco and spite plants a grimy boot in the oak. he glances over the railing, and stills.

bathroom door, cutting swaddled atmosphere with thin bisque, a pyramid down the center of the hall that created the illusion of darker corners. centered in the odd, domestic scaffolding was you- shower damp and concentrated.

it was like watching a bird preen feathers. tugging at the sags, yanking at the silvers, skin pitching at the nostril and eyes narrowing into thin keyways. and if he squinted, sniper accuracy rendered tears. sallow river bed on your flushed cheeks, clumped lashes, a frown that broke hearts.

“you’re never struggling alone, John,” you had said one evening, when he had been foolishly apathetic, “i’ll make sure of that.”

he hadn’t said anything.

guilt squirms at the base of his neck. the stranger named comfort that swelled within your embrace unnerved him so much he had forgotten to introduce himself. and now, milking moonlit lighting, with a wife who thought he was hiding from her, he called himself what he had never been as a soldier.

a coward.

you were making tea the next morning, windows surrendering a warmth when the day was still docile. it was while you were humming that your husband, sneaky bastard, folds you into the plush of his chest, drowsy lips dragging on the cusp of your shoulder.

“you always look so beautiful in the mornin, darlin.”

and it was true. you’ve never looked better to the old man.

[btsugarush]

GANGSTA | myg [teaser]

summary: rough sex, blood money, drugs, and gang related activity; four things you never predicted to experience in your simple life. not until you opened your mouth and caught his attention.

pairings: gang leader!yoongi x f!reader

warnings: smut, gunplay, drugs, drug addiction, dark!yoongi, drug lord!yoongi, strong language, gang violence, blood and gore, murder, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behavior, abuse, cheating, angst, fluff, dubcon, implied noncon (not from yoongi but within his gang with his knowledge), 18+, minors dni

word count: 931

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you walked the empty streets alone. You were glad to have picked a restaurant that wasn’t too far from your apartment because nothing was scarier than Daegu at night. It didn’t matter if you lived in the suburbs or not. The freaks tend to come out at night.

Bright headlights suddenly beam behind you, flashing on and off as though the driver was trying to catch your attention. “Hey, Y/N!” A familiar voice called out to you.

You stop walking, watching as a black SUV pulls up beside you. Nam-Joon sticks his head out the window, smirking down at you from the truck. You notice in the car with him are three other guys that you recognize from Yoongi’s gang. You suddenly got this uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“What a coincidence finding you out here, doll,” His eyes raked up and down your body. “You shouldn’t be walking alone at this time of night, especially dressed like that. A lot of suspicious characters roam around this time,”

‘Yeah, and you’re one of them.’ You thought.

“Hop in. We’ll take you home.” He offers, but for some reason it felt backhanded. “No thanks,” you decline. “I’m not far from home, I can handle walking.” You turn on your heels, carrying on with your walk. Nam-Joon slowly follows you in the SUV, not taking no for an answer. “Oh c’mon, I’m just tryna do something nice,” He remained persistent. “At least I’m not leaving you high and dry like your boy Jungkook.”

You come to a complete stop upon hearing Jungkook’s name. How did he know you were meeting Kookie tonight? Better yet– how did he know that Jungkook was a no show? You turn to him, your suspicions heightened. “How did you know I was supposed to be meeting Jungkook?” Joon shrugs his shoulders, a sly grin on his face. “Just an estimated guess. I mean, isn’t he the reason you broke it off with the boss?” The question comes off hostile, almost bitter-like.

You swallowed the lump that sat still in the back of your throat, the atmosphere becoming more ominous by the minute. “So, you gettin’ in?” You shook your head. “I-I’m good...” You move forward, picking up your speed away from the SUV. If he and those other men tried anything you were definitely outnumbered by a long shot. You could hear Joon casually whistling in the distance, and as you peer back at the car you see he’s still sitting where you left him.

Relief washes over you as you turn back to see your apartment come into view. You quickly enter the building, practically sprinting down the hall to your unit. You dig through your purse in search of your key, shifting the clutter of makeup around, but had no luck finding the tiny piece of metal.

The sound of whistling swiftly echoes through the hallway, and your heart begins to pound heavily against your chest in a panic. “Come on, come on, come on...” Your voice quivered in fear. “Where the fuck is it?”

Fed up, you flip your purse upside down and shake out all of its contents; a bunch of makeup, your wallet, and pepper spray all drop to the floor. You continue to shake the bag until finally your key falls out with a loud clunk. You snatch it from the floor, shoving it into the keyway so viciously that you thought the end might snap off. You hastily push open the door before slamming it shut, and locking it behind you.

Your head rests against the doorframe as you try to calm yourself down. You were trembling. Who knows what would have happened if Joon got ahold of you, or if you were moronic enough to get inside that car. You’ve seen firsthand what he’s capable of, and that whole encounter was very minacious. There’s a reason he’s Yoongi’s right hand man.

You check out your peephole, making sure he wasn’t standing outside of your unit. It would take nothing for him to simply kick down this door, but at least the ruckus would catch the neighbor's attention. They could possibly call the police, or at least identify him if they witnessed the ordeal.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Yoongi was behind this. He had to have set this whole thing up. You were stupid to believe he would so willingly let you just end your relationship with him, no matter how cool he played it off. You knew what kind of twisted man he was, you’ve seen him coldly take the lives of others without even a blink or afterthought.

You kicked your heels from your feet, before you shuffled to your bedroom. You debated on calling Kookie again to make sure he was okay. You were beginning to get a really bad feeling that something happened to him.

You pull open the sliding door, switching on your bedroom light as it was pitch black. When the room lights up, you freeze in place, as you’re met with a pair of sinister eyes glaring at you. “Did you enjoy your little date?”

“Y-Yoongi…” Your voice hitches in your throat. The raven haired man is sitting on the end of your mattress, his arms rested on his knees. His hair is hanging in his face, almost covering his eyes. The sight made him look even more feral. “H-how did you get into my apartment?” You questioned timidly.

“I’m a fucking criminal, Princess. Did you forget that?”

[overtaken-stream]

Chrollo Lucilfer.. the devil himself

0bserve And C0nnect

Chrollo Lucilfer x F!Hunter!Reader

I'm truly sorry to the person who requested the plot because I've lost the original request, so I have been going off on this from my memory! I deeply apologize! Also it's been a long time since I have watched hxh so if this seems ooc I'm sorry for that too!

Summary: The man feels both familiar and unknown, as if he exists in the space between memories and the midnight, his effortless charm draws you in so that just a single word from him sends you spiraling into a chasm beyond madness, beyond reason—into a place where no words can truly capture what you feel.

Warnings: incorrect mechanical stuff, mild tempering of memories, untidiness.

The door makes a clicking sound as you jammed the key into the keyway, twisting it and opening the gate to the comfort of your own house. Your legs tremble as you step inside the abandoned apartment. Every breath you take is loud in the stillness of the room, like the melodies of bugs in the company of the midnight sky. The planks creak under your weight as you slowly make your way toward the bedroom, if one might call it that. You don't often see the familiar tears of dull wallpaper. Each room is devoid of a human presence. Your absence let the thin layer of dust cover each surface your eyes can see. It's not your main source of worry. The untidiness does not compare to your most shameful traits.

Quiet drips continue to fall on the metal sink, unbeknownst to your consciousness.

Nudging the door open, you're met with the sight of a mattress tossed on the ground, dented in a place where one might sit, the color worn away, just as you'd left it.

On top of it rests a closed piece of technology, a futile computer and you barely take in the sight of a tiny Ladybug USB tossed unconcernedly, the haze of liqour still in your system. The blanket is on the floor, soaking in the liquid leaking from a place only you could find it. Its clear base covering the wooden floor boards.

To anyone else it's a mess they couldn't find the beggining or the end of, to you it's a masterpiece that ever was.

Countless wires lead from it to a wall opposite the bed, and the quiet hum of hard disks and fans fills the air.

You move to sluggishly grab the USB and then take careful steps towards one of the two brains that the computer holds, remaining mindful of the wires you wouldn't want to pull. You've done this innumerable times, to the point that you can do it with your eyes closed. Perhaps a reason for this habit is the fact that ever since you built it you've never tried to move anything out of place.

No amount of intoxication can make you forget the layout of this room.

The soles of your shoes stick to the ground so everytime you take a step you can't help but grimace at the obnoxious and the disgusting sound of two different surfaces seperating.

Drip.

You get in an awkward crouching position next to the core, sticking the USB between the wall and the massive fan inside, your hands instinctively find the hidden opening.

The design of your masterpiece does not need eyes for the builder to use. The hidden crevices between metal and deadly operating systems are your playground, unlike someone who might try something.

Plugging in the USB, you sigh out the air you were withholding.

Drip.

You slugglishly make your way over to where the makeshift screen is, instructing and letting the information be sucked out and stored in the USB.

All it needs is a minute now.

Drip.

You've always known what led you to work in this profession, work in a field next to Hunters and the bottom of the barrel alike.

Every job has it's pros and cons. It just so happened that the upside to being an info-broken is the financial side, a river of money that never truly slows down and only continues forward, info-brokers such as you have to catch each banknote with a rod and a hook.

If you take a gamble you might even be able to pull out a cash strip if you're lucky.

For some, the risk of losing a livelihood is a horrifying thought, and they can't be blamed for disagreeing with the gray morality and equal exchange of this world. For you, though, the risk and money are different sides of the same golden coin.

So why don't people try their luck for once in their miserable lives?

You can't be intimidated by a couple of eyes that follow and observe your every movement, not now anyway. Years ago, you got used to them pretty quickly, made the uncomfortable gazes your turf. You won't be intimidated.

What you're doing now is just speeding up the job, wishing for it to end quickly before the case got too out of your hands.

Drip.

Many long for your sufforage, however they could never murder a valuable source of information such as you.

Including whoever was it that followed you in the bar an hour or so ago.

Drip.

You never seem ready during these situations.

A soft beep makes you snap out from the screen, making your way over to the side and unplugging the USB you let the red colored technology rest in your palm, your eyes squeezing shut as you tightly grip it's surface. You can only hope that the protection the insect symbolizes graces you and the machine you've built.

Listening to the quiet hum of the machine, mouthing along with its robotic voice as it bids you farewell.

"M. O.

N. S.

T. E.

R. at youur servii-ce."

Multi-brained Omnipresent Network System, your masterpiece.

You need a window for your next step.

(It's tough outpacing polished criminals in this day and age.)

Walking out of the room and into the kitchen, listening to the stomach-twisting noise comings from the sticky oil on your shoes, you grab at the handle, pulling back the glass and setting the tiny machine on the glass.

pressing one of the digits on a singular black dot on the USB, you watch as it snaps its wings out of hiding before softly flying to its destination.

It's only a harmless little Ladybug now.

The tap drips as you drag your feet to a wooden chair, the sound echoing in your mind. Now in an almost sober state, you sit down on it with a groan like that of an elderly man. A sigh leaves your lips as your head tilts back toward the ceiling, where the damp patches are still visible. How is it that the neighbor above still hasn't had their pipes fixed, despite it being the subject of complaints for almost a decade before your visits to this apartment became rare?

You'll have to move soon, judging from how much Jenny's one job can get you—maybe a comfortable three-bedroom apartment for you and all the extra projects you can't bring yourself to deem useless. It would be hell to reconnect MONSTER, or to rebuild it in a different house.

"Such a hassle..." Your eyes remain half-closed, the invisible mist of sleepiness overcomes your being.

(This ordeal is no joke. It would have elicited a reaction from you and left you agasp at the hands of those who watched you today, if only you weren't so drained and surrendered to laziness.)

That is, if your goddess of luck blesses you with another day to live after this encounter... Your choice to bring a double aged sword to a gun fight is a miscalculation that makes you regret ever trying the Hunters exam in the first place.

Drip.

Perhaps this is the worst decision you've made, no this is definitely the worst decision you've made. Letting in an unknown man in your house who claims to be called by your neighbor to check out the broken pipes and practically dig your own grave has never felt this stretched out nor this mentally draining.

(Build Yourself A House Out Of Straw)

You're left to watch his back as he meddles with the pipes under the tap. He's built for agility and strength, muscles showing for moments as he moves his arms and therefore flexes his shoulder. He is no pipefitter.

And you are no fool.

Leaning against the entrance with your arms crossed, you answer any questions he may have, keeping your responses brief and tight-lipped under his hidden sidelong glance. The way he talks is interesting, his expressions are unshackled as he touches on the topic of your neighbor.

"How long has this been going on? The leak is quite bad."

"For a while." You haven't been living here, and there's not a single timeline in this universe where your lazy neighbor actually called someone to fix his pipes, and what are the chances that you happened to be in your house when the plumber knocked on the door. The coincidences aren't believable.

He is natural, a professional at his job. Any unsuspecting prey may fall into his trap without even knowing it was there in the first place. He is ordinary to the point of suspicion. He is unnatural.

Thieves aren't known for their patience; you're dealing with someone worse. There's a chance you've already interacted with him, though your gut tells you that you might not have been on the same side.

Your hooded eyes watch as he stands to his feet, turns toward you, and lets you get a good look at his face. The black eyes and dark hair would do him well to blend in with the shadows. The clothes seem ordinary and well-maintained, the kind that no one truly likes to wear. His facial features are as sharp as his jaw, captivating for maidens such as you.

"Would you mind if I take a look at the bathroom?" You squint at the thick wraps around his forehead. Familiar, very familiar. Attractive too.

"Sure." Was any effort put in a disguise?

You're not sure of the reason he'd want to see your bathroom, but what do you have to lose? That room ain't anything special.

You hear his footsteps following as you turn and lead the way. His lack of reaction to the untidiness is another suspicious behavior.

"Have you not been in the house, miss?" You stop in the hallway, lightly turning your head until his face is visible. The man who gave you the probably-false name remains unbothered, unjudgemental despite his question. He seems to be thinking, eyes pointing downwards as he silently follows.

"No, I haven't." You continue to trudge along the familiar walls. He is as quiet as a cat, his footsteps making no noise, similar to the paws of a calculating feline, his eyes ghost over and soak in everything in view. He remains behind you, out of sight.

The man lowers his gaze to a single door that you didn’t bat an eye at, passing by it without breaking your stride. The smell of oily odor is stronger now that he is closer to the source. It’s incredible how you don’t seem to be in hiding. He quickly returns his gaze to your back, he no longer needs to arouse any more suspicion, so he keeps up with you.

The smell is nostalgic, reminding him of the unpleasantness that clings to him and that place from the past. It seems that you are used to the metallic odor, no doubt, spending time with such technology does that to a person, numbing their valuable senses so these meager details. If you knew him, truly had him memorized, prioritized, you would not have opened the door. You would have slipped through the window and ended up in his hands all the same.

The troupe left no way for you to evade him.

There's only one word to describe a man such as him: beautiful. Beautiful in a way one might consider a dark, chilling forest, or a black-feathered crow that brings a bad omen with the flap of its wings. Similar to a redback spider, his beauty is poisonous. His bite is worse than his bark, his venom makes you sweat at the red wound and spill your pain along with your sanity. He possesses all the charm and resources needed to ensnare his victims, leaving them helpless in his web of deceit.

(Let It Be Blown Away By A Wolf)

His beauty is alluring, much like elements of nature that can captivate yet harm. It makes you salvate, the itch that his unassuming clothes leave is impossible to ignore. On the surface, he is naught but a simple worker, one who wishes to get paid quickly as he twist the pipes and steps away from the source of his curiosity hidden behind a washed down door. You're sure he must have his assumptions, however the man doesn't act on it. It's the only fact that gives you some security under his observing gaze.

He's good at hiding in plain sight.

It's exhausting just waiting for him to come out.

You've never been a good host to the guests anyway.

Thieves can only uphold a half-assed disguise for so long before curiosity will get the best of them.

It's unclear even to you whether you expected to be locked in the bathroom. You know that a thief's fingers are nimble and light, it wouldn't take much for him to lock the door handle behind you and disappear into the smoke. They would buy time for whatever crime they're planning to commit. Besides, it's not like you own anything luxurious, except MONSTER. But even then, its system doesn't have gold and emeralds embedded inside, not to mention that you programmed the network to be understood only by you. Whatever information he might be after won't be found because, first, you haven't gathered it, and second, the network isn't designed to retain any digital information for this exact reason.

(And Watch It Be Burned)

If he's not after any information, well, MONSTER is made of junk from that horrid place. You had to rebuild and redesign any purchased parts to avoid raising suspicion. Overall, MONSTER doesn't cost much (technically, it shouldn't cost any money), but if the man decides to destroy it for whatever reason, you wouldn't be too affected. Its messy blueprints are safe and sound somewhere far from this apartment, the heartache would only come from the time you spent building your masterpiece.

But no, he doesn't make his move yet, only staring and meddling with the pipes present, forcing the stillness and anxious mood onto you.

You try not to look too intensely at his face, half hidden by the hair and the bandages on his forehead. It's quite a ridiculous detail that makes him stand out, it makes you think that maybe you are still somewhat drunk, otherwise why would you want to speak more to this beast in here's den?

"Those bandages." He hums in acknowledgement and you can't hold back your smirk, so instead your hand comes up to hide it away.

"You slipped and hit your head or something?"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't." His tone was... Unnaturally lighthearted.

Perhaps you were the one who slipped and hit your head, because this is no place for jokes.

Your eyes glance at the forgotten place, swiftly moving to the mirror before the man moves to stand.

You have to give him credit, because in the aftermath that lasted for only a second, the weak shield you've put up shatters as if it never existed.

He holds the door open before lightly bowing.

"Ladies first." And you turn your back to him, there's no going back now.

There's a sense of dread as you wake, your mind immediately going haywire, searching for the last moments as if the memories have slipped through your fingers as you tried to grasp them. An itch crawls beneath your skin, and the goosebumps make it uncomfortable for you to stand on the thick oil coating the floor.

(Into Ashes)

"Are you aware that the neighbors below have been complaining about a mysterious liquid leaking from this room for quite some time?"

No. No, you are not aware, because you haven't been living here.

The man in front of you has his back turned, staring at your masterpiece, captivated by its brilliance. Yet, despite this, his commanding presence holds your attention, stealing the answers from your mind.

"Such work you've put into this. Neither my abilities nor Shalnark have been able to figure it out."

You can’t see clearly through the numb feeling settling in your gut. You can’t tell if he's caressing the screen or even looking at it—his presence in this room is too confusing, almost as if he doesn't belong.

"Tell me how did you do it?" You try not to get hang up on his tone.

You can't help but feel pride at his fascination. After all this time, you finally have the satisfaction of someone else complimenting your life's work. It brings a feeling beyond euphoria—a sensation like standing in the sunset, letting its warmth wash over you before the sunshine disappears for hours. It's the peace of sitting on a balcony after a long day of research, gazing at the hanging constellations in the dark blue sky.

You search for an answer, your tongue swiping across the inside of your cheek. Yet, as his torso turns toward you, your mind fixates on one thing, or maybe a couple of things, the slick dark hair, the orb earrings framing his long face, and the tattoo of a cross—an unusual detail you wouldn’t find on the average person. His sense of fashion isn't impressive, but his captivating physique makes up for it. Lastly, your eyes linger on his mouth, the corners tilted upward in a quiet smile as he waits for your answer. His smile, you'd say, is beautiful.

"How did I do it?" you repeat, but he doesn't confirm.

"... Why don't I..." Your tongue tastes iron as you swallow nervously, flustering you further. Your heartbeat quickens as you open your mouth again.

He seems like the kind of man who would enjoy a cup of tea.

"Inform you of that... on a date?" You can tell he wasn’t expecting it. No normal person would expect such a question at this moment, though he shows no visible surprise.

"I'll tell you everything about it."

You eyes gloss over a crushed red bug held between his middle finger and his thumb.

Covering your red cheeks becomes the priority.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

As a longtime fan, I’ve noticed that your characterization of Tom has changed over time (Tom in Amulet and TMWWBK resemble each other greatly but not so much the Tom in October or to an even greater extent Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus)

Is that the result of the various AUs you guys have built? Or is it that your interpretation of Tom has changed as you’ve worked with him?

Both?

The thing about Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus especially, well, all fics then (Androids, October, etc.), is that they were intended to be extremely AU.

In Lily, right away we're told this is a parallel universe that has marked differences, and that Tom Riddle is not acting like the Tom Riddle that Uncle Death was more familiar with. He had a different number of Horcruxes than expected, he had a radically different childhood in keyways, he's recognizably Tom Riddle but supposed to be very different. This is also why Lily is, and you note it is, the radically different child over there (though even there, modern fic Tom Riddle and Wizard Lenin aren't all that dissimilar for all they look like it on the surface level).

October and Androids are similar, where I had "giant justification of why characters are different don't bother me, readers" and then we went on our merry way where Tom Riddle had enough of a different past or enough of a different something that he wasn't supposed to be canon.

They're vastly AU fics and intended to be vastly AU where I run around waving "this is not canon" flags.

But at the time, most of my thoughts on HP were, "I like the idea of X thing, canon was weird about it, I will make it even more of X thing and justify myself so readers don't bother me". I hadn't gotten into the heretical weeds yet.

More recent fics there's definitely been both a) years worth of thinking about this entirely too much in the backdrop b) a shift in priorities writing where I no longer give a fuck about being complained to by readers because I didn't match fanon or accepted canon.

This means that in The Man Who Would Be King and the like @therealvinelle and I think a little more in lines of "how would Tom as we understand him respond to X, Y, and Z" while also not having to either devote or drop things that "readers will question why things aren't explicitly how we expect them in canon and if Tom doesn't have at least one 'ew, love' speech then I will get annoying reviews".

So, it's a mix of everything you mentioned, thoughts changed, thought about this way too much, priorities changed in writing and what I want to focus on with characters, and the examples you give are either very very AU things in which crazy things happen that drastically change a character or else slightly more in line with canon if with strange things happening.