#magic trick

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I befriended a boy who had to do a magic trick in front of my principal who was also queen Victoria to not be executed. For that trick he needed the permission of a ghost, so I turned into one because apparently that's what I do. Anyways, he did the trick and was allowed to live. Then he gave me a high five and queen Victoria ordered cake.

[psuedofolio]

Don’t worry folks, just part of the show.

[youryurigoddess]

“The farthing… has vanished”

Remember that line from the Nazi Zombie Flesheaters minisode? Sick and twisted. And we need to talk about the reason why, even though the magic trick in question is nowhere near as spectacular as the Bullet Catch. Let’s start with a quick recap:

The farthing was a British coin worth one quarter of a penny, discontinued in 1961 due to its plummeting worth. The reverse featured the image of a wren, one of Britain’s smallest songbirds with plumage in rather drab shades of beige and brown. Reminding you of someone?

A popular design of a sixpence, the bigger coin in this set, minted in the 1920s and 30s depicted oak branches with acorns. Which means that seen from close quarters, so basically Crowley’s perspective, Aziraphale’s vanishing coin trick leaves empty branches with no bird in sight.

As if that image wasn’t traumatizing enough for almost everyone in the Good Omens fandom post S02E06, the etymology of wren’s name in most European languages refers to royalty in some way. Like a literal king or otherwise supreme bird. That’s why killing a wren or harassing its nest is traditionally associated with bad luck. In certain parts of France it’s still believed that the robbing of a wren’s nest will render the culprit liable to be struck by lightning.

In Irish the wren is called a trickster, which connects to the ancient (as in: mentioned by Aristotle, Aesop, and Pliny) fable on how wren became crowned in the first place — by proving that intellect beats strength:

On one occasion a general assembly of birds resolved to chose for their king that bird which could mount highest into the air. This the eagle apparently did, and all were ready to accept his rule when a loud burst of song was heard, and perched upon the eagle’s back was seen an exultant wren that, a stowaway under its wing, had been carried aloft by the kingly candidate. The trickiness angered the eagle so much, says one tradition, that he struck the wren with his wing, which, since then, has been able to fly no higher than a hawthorn-bush. (Ernest Ingersoll)

In art and folklore this little bird symbolizes rebirth, immortality, protection, and the promise of spring. As a luckbringer it was supposedly present at the stable in Bethlehem when Christ was born; and and Irish proverb runs: “The robin and the wren are God’s two holy men.”

But there’s also a catch. According to legends, it was the flapping of the wings or the song of the wren that betrayed the first Christian martyr, Saint Stephen, while hiding from the mob, and led to his stoning by the Sanhedrin — the highest tribunal consisting of the Head Priest and the Jewish elders.

That’s why December 26, his remembrance day, is celebrated in the UK and Ireland as Wren Day. Its highlight was a traditional bird hunt, where the wren as king of the birds was hunted and subsequently paraded through the town and rural areas on top of a pole or holly branch, decorated with ribbons and colored paper, as a substitute of the ancient human sacrifice of the Year King for winter solstice. The wren boys still travel from door to door singing, dancing, and playing music, demanding money to “bury the wren”, but fortunately no more animals are harmed in the process.

With Aziraphale being chosen as the new Supreme Archangel and literally disappearing from the face of the earth in the season finale, his becoming a scapegoat or a sacrifice to a greater, communal goal might be a real possibility when something goes wrong with the Second Coming. The good news is that this level of danger should be enough to get the Ineffable Husbands back on speaking terms.

[viejospellejos]

¡Magia!

[zee-rambles]

@sariphantom

Can’t say I will get ALL of these done…But I’m willing to try.

[nemfrog]

18th century magic trick. Het verbeetert en vermeerdert natuurlyk toverboek. 1739. Pulling tobacco smoke from water.

Internet Archive

[kevinbparry]

Perspective illusion :)

[pratchettquotes]

"And that's why I don't like magic, Captain, 'cos it's magic. You can't ask questions, it's magic. It doesn't explain anything, it's magic. You don't know where it comes from, it's magic! That's what I don't like about magic, it does everything by magic!"

"That's the significant factor, sir, there's no doubt about it," said Carrot.

Terry Pratchett, Thud!

[eliseamann]

Dialog options I wish I had in bg3 - Part 2 „The magic trick“

I accidentaly nearly romanced Gale in my playthrough, because I clearly missed what he meant with that „Magic trick“… Also I had that ridicolous wizard hat and I‘m still mad I could never use it like it was clearly supposed to be used! … I also NEED more interactions with Scratch ❤️

Part 1 and Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

[creatorping]

Another snippet of my huge doodle page post!

( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ Ron does little magic tricks when he’s in the mood

[shirohige-pirates]

Magic Trick

Marco x afab!reader

Word count: 3,902

CW: fingering, oral (receiving), rough sex

Summary: You've had a crush on Marco for a while, and you decide to take the plunge and shoot your shot.

Blame @zoros-sheath for inspiring this one-shot. And honestly, you can probably blame @cyborg-franky @standfucker for even causing me to look over at this blorbo for long enough that I got thoroughly caught up in him.

18+ only

You tested the size and balance of Ace’s hat medallion a few times, working it through your fingers and slowly working up the speed needed to make it disappear. Your hands were barely big enough to manage it but after a few minutes you were twirling it around easily.

“If I’m working with something like this, I’d make sure I was wearing something baggy.” You admit as Ace eats next to you.

“You made it disappear a few times. I admit, you’re good at it.” Ace says, shoveling another large bite of food into his mouth. “You should do a trick like that with Marco.”

You grunt, but don’t say anything else.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Paradise doesn’t exist, that’s the problem.” You sigh, tossing his hat medallion at him. Ace nearly drops his plate to catch it, but manages to get a hold of both.

“There’s no way he dislikes you.” His voice is full of disbelief. “I’ve caught him staring.”

“Maybe I’m being too subtle.” You admit, laying your head on the railing of the ship, looking over at Ace. “Or maybe his non-answer is the answer.”

“You’re being awfully soft with this.” Ace jabs you in the side with the handle end of his fork. “You’re usually only subtle when you’re scouting. Why’re you playing this so cautious?”

“Because I -!” You straighten up but stop talking, realizing you were starting to shout. “I don’t want him to turn me down.” You admit quietly. “I really like him.”

Ace’s eyes go wide for a moment, and then he beams. “Do one of your magic tricks then.” He says.

“Pulling a quarter from his ear isn’t going to tell him anything.” You grumble.

Ace shrugs. “Can you pull a condom or some underwear out from behind his ear?”

You smack your forehead and groan. “Yes, Ace, that’s certainly not subtle.” You sigh.

“You’re just going to chicken out then, huh?”

“What?” You bite the word off in a snarl, eyes sharp.

The devilish grin on Ace’s face is enough to make you realize you waltzed right into the trap. “If you’re not, then do it. The celebration’s tomorrow, right? Pull something out from behind Marco’s ear tomorrow that doesn’t leave him any wiggle room.”

“… Live or die in front of the entire crew, huh?”

Ace shrugs. “If you get rejected, there’ll be plenty of booze around to soothe you.”

You cross your arms, pouting. “There’s not enough booze on this ship to soothe me, Tinderbox.”

“I’mma let dat go,” Ace grumbles through a half-full mouth of food. “You’re taking this pretty hard.”

You put your hands over your face and muffle an aggravated scream. “What kind of moron falls for their division commander?!” You growl. “If I say anything and he rejects me I won’t be able to avoid him.”

“If you don’t say anything you’re going to explode in the middle of a battle or something.” Ace teases.

“Worse,” you huff. “Teach caught me grumbling and offered to soothe my aching heart.”

Ace laughs. “Poor Teach. He’s a hundred years too late.”

You snort, leaning against the rail, staring out over the sea. “Better to regret the choices we make, than the moments we let go by, right?”

You sigh, letting the day slip into night. You don’t rest well that night, but you get some sleep. Nerves, of all things, keep you awake. You hadn’t been nervous for years – a side effect of being a pirate. You’d been doing reconnaissance and theft for the Whitebeard pirates for the last six years.

Repayment really, for having robbed half the crew blind when they were on your island. Once you realized who you had stolen from you were pretty sure that you were just going to be executed. The Whitebeard pirates were as close as the Grandline got to heroes for some people, but they were still pirates.

In the end, you were offered a spot on the crew, under the First Commander no less.

You’d only gotten better at your craft, you’d be taught about haki, and you’d become a formidable member of a well-respected crew. It was hard to say when Marco started to catch your eye. When he went from pirate to commander to brother to crush.

In the end, the details didn’t matter. You were where you were, and you felt what you felt, and it was going to be easier to move on if you were rejected than it would be to just sit on the feelings and dwell.

Once the festivities started the next day, you let yourself enjoy them. Food, song, dance – it was a celebration for every crew mate with a birthday that month, one big feast was easier than several smaller ones, and it was always good fun.

The food and chatter gives way to music and dancing, and pockets of crew members enjoying booze as the sun sinks lower and lower. By the light of the dying sun you wander over to where Marco is, sitting with Thatch who is enjoying a late dessert, and Izou, who’s enjoying a bottle of wine. It’s impressive how Izou can make drinking straight from the bottle look so graceful.

You had agreed with Ace that subtle was going to need to be thrown out the proverbial window and so you make a little bit of a show of things as you draw nearer, sighing heavily and looking completely disparaged.

“What has you so down?” Marco asks, setting his mug of ale down and leaning back.

“I’m having a hard time finding something.” You admit, giving him a cheeky grin. You can tell he knows you’re baiting him into something, but you’re not sure he’s aware exactly what it will be.

You may be a little notorious for doing random magic tricks for the crew, but you’re usually light on the theatrics.

“Oh? Something important?” He muses, giving you an easy smile. You struggle not to just bite your lip and tackle him, that easy smile is killing you.

“In a way.” You admit, stepping closer. Even with Marco seated and you standing, there wasn’t much height difference. He wasn’t nearly the tallest on the crew, but at six foot nine inches he wasn’t anywhere near the shortest either. “Want to help me out?”

Marco’s grin doesn’t change. “Of course, yoi.” He says, leaning forward, and staying seated as you draw even closer. “Where do you think-?”

He stops as you reach past his face, fingers brushing against his ear.

“I’ve looked just about everywhere.” You say, shifting your gaze down to catch the bright blue eyes looking back up at you. Marco looked amused more than anything else, but it was hard to get emotions other than calm and neutral to break across his face.

You pull a black lacy thong from behind Marco’s ear, eyes on his, sure grin on your face. “Oh, there they are.” You say, running your tongue over your lip a little. “Seems they prefer to be wrapped around your neck than around my thighs.”

Marco’s eyes are as wide as you’ve ever seen them, blush creeping into his fair face. You hear a clatter, looking over for a second to see that Thatch has dropped his plate, and is completely agog. The usually suave cook is beet red and looks to have been caught completely off guard.

You lean closer when Marco doesn’t say or do anything more, and whisper into his ear. “Perhaps you’d rather my thighs around your neck instead.” You offer, suppressing the urge to leave a soft kiss against his neck before leaning back.

Marco swallows thickly, pulling a few berries from his pocket and handing them over to Izou without a word. Izou smiles politely at you, tucking the bills away and returning to his drink.

When you look back at Marco he’s composed himself, enough that he at least looks relaxed, even if his ears are still a little red. The easy smile he gives you makes your heart thump in your chest, and after a second he stands up.

“It seems me and my neck have a prior engagement.” Marco says evenly, taking a step or two away before stopping to be sure you were following after him. “Izou, you’ll see to Thatch, aye?”

“Ace and I will at least make sure he doesn’t sleep in that position.” Izou answers with a chuckle.

Marco continues on, away from the celebration, and you follow after. A small knot twists in your stomach – Marco is a nice guy, genuinely nice, especially toward the crew. He could very easily just be leading you away to help you save face in front of everyone else. You hold onto that feeling as you two head toward his room, padding yourself against possible rejection just in case.

He puts his hand on the door handle, pausing for a second. He starts to say something, thinks better of it, and opens the door, stepping back and giving you space to enter.

It’s nearly impossible to read Marco at the best of times, but your own senses are a little frayed right now, and you have no idea what’s going through his mind. You wanted clarification before you walked into his room, because if he was just going to let you down easy you’d prefer to just go to your own room now.

But you didn’t want to ask. You didn’t want to form the risk into words and bring it into the air. You manage a sure smile and start toward the door when Marco finally speaks.

“I can’t promise,” he says thickly, his gaze heavy against you even if you aren’t looking back at him. “That I’ll be any sort of gentleman, once you go in there, yoi.”

A sweet shiver slips down your spine and a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “As long as you don’t mean to use me and then lose me.” You say lightheartedly, stepping into the room.

Marco steps in behind you, smile on his face. “I gave you a few months to come to your senses,” he teases, an easy smile in his voice in the dark room as he closes the door, plunging you both into near total darkness.

“And here you are.”

You turn toward him, words dying on your lips as you see the blue flames flickering off of him. They’re small and brief, illuminating the room like sparks. The dance of light over his face gave the illusion of a fire within his eyes, and the heated look he was giving you had more weight and passion than you had been expecting.

He was always so relaxed and laid back. Seemingly completely unbothered by the world around him. If not for his interactions with the crew you almost would’ve thought him detached. But the man who stood before you now was literally burning in his desire.

“Last chance.” He says, but the tone in his voice is sharp. He doesn’t want you to leave. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware that that desire isn’t just about right now. The warning isn’t just about tonight.

You can almost see the talons closing in around your entire body.

“I didn’t flirt for the last six months to chicken out now.” You mean to sound sure, but there’s a shiver in your voice. Uncertainty, maybe. Concern that you’ve stepped into something deeper than you meant to.

You never feared Marco, and even now that wasn’t the right word for whatever was beating against your bones.

He reaches out, fingers brushing gently against your face. You nuzzle into the action, and you can hear a soft sigh escape him. His fingers shift enough to tilt your chin up as he leans down toward you. His eyes find yours, the sparks are fewer, but there’s enough light to catch one another’s gaze.

The first kiss is almost chaste. The soft brush of his lips against yours. A fleeting warmth that passes between you, and the nearly inaudible intake of breath as that first connection was finally made.

The simple act was like the snapping of a seal. Marco pulled off his shirt as you pulled his face closer, kissing him deeper as he tossed the useless piece of clothing aside. The kiss broke for a second, long enough for you to pull your shirt off and toss it away.

His hand was behind your head, warm and taut and the next kiss stole your breath just from the intensity behind it. You opened your mouth and let him in before he could even ask for permission, and he wasted no time in accepting. Out on the deck you may have had some manner of control, but in the privacy of this room Marco was devouring you.

You shifted easily through the room, and the clatter of objects falling to the floor was the only warning you had before large hands grabbed you and lifted you up onto his desk. Something in the back of your mind marveled that the organized and neat doctor would cause such a mess.

Your fingers trail over him, following his arms, tracing lines along the curve of muscle and tender skin. By the nature of his devil fruit, he bore no scars, no jagged lines for your fingers to remember. You had your share of scars. Marks from learning, marks from work, small lines and stories and near misses etched into the weave of your skin.

Marco’s fingers seemed to pay them no mind, strong hands pulling your shoes away and lifting your hips as he pulled your pants down past the curve of your ass. You pulled the sash around his waist free, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling yourself closer to him.

A soft grunt from him disappears into your continued kisses and his hand nearly slams into the desk as he leans you back enough to break the kiss. He swears softly as you shift your hips against his.

“(Y/N).” His voice shivers and you can feel his body tremble.

“No regrets,” You breathe the words, looking up at him, pulling him back down toward you. “The only issue right now is that you still have your pants on, Marco.”

He grins. “You still have your small clothes on.” He retorts, leaning you back further until you’re laying on the desk and he’s over you, leaning down and kissing you again.

His kisses shift away from your lips, trailing along your jaw and down to your neck. The shivering gasp that escapes you spurs him on, hands grabbing you and roughly pulling the last of your clothes away.

Passion burns in the kisses that press into your skin, sinking into your muscles and sending jolts through your body. Blue flames licked along his back, trailing behind the lines your fingernails were already digging into him. His hands held you still as your body squirmed from the pleasure of his kisses, impossibly smooth and firm and hot against you.

Your fingers move from his back to his shoulders as his kisses burn into your stomach. Pleased moans rattle in your chest as your hips shift, Marco’s lips kissing against your sides as his hands grip your knees and spread your legs wide. Your back arches at the rush of cool air between your thighs, but you barely have a second before his tongue is deep inside you even faster than earlier.

Your hands are on his head as his hands are holding your legs wide, your body jolting from the pleasure even as he holds you in place. You suck in a breath and bite your lip to keep the loud cry from escaping you. You can see a flicker of flames cross Marco’s shoulders and you’re aware he’s irritated, but he’s not stopping.

His tongue and lips suck and swirl against your clit like he was born to please you, and with a little shift you a finger slip into your wet pussy.

“Y-y-you’re guh-gonne mm-maaah, shit! - make me sc-scream, Marc-Marco!” You gasp, wiggling as a second finger is pushed inside.

You look down and see two blue eyes, unnaturally bright in the dark room, looking back at you from between your thighs.

“Indeed,” he says it almost flatly and you realize where his irritation was coming from.

You whimper a little. “The whole ship’ll hear…” You murmur defeatedly.

He hums, eyes still burning into you, tongue slipping up the inside of your thigh. “I warned you, yoi.”

Oh shit.

“You did,” you admit, swallowing thickly, a little concerned about your current position suddenly. “I’m… at your mercy then.”

You can see the grin that slips along his lips, an expression that cuts through your bones and sends a shiver through your body. The First Commander was renowned for his even manner and relaxed countenance, but you had a feeling you were about to see everything that was tucked behind that.

Unlike the flames of his Zoan, this particular flame was for your eyes only.

“Don’t hold out on me, yoi.” He says softly, three long fingers pushing into your tight, wet, needy hole. You suck in a deep breath, grabbing onto the edges of the desk as his fingers curl, causing your body to make a similar motion as pleasure rushes through you.

His breath is hot against your clit as he pulls one of your hands free from the desk, and places it against his head. “Hold onto me, not the desk.” He commands, and your other hand releases its grip on the desk to hold onto him as his tongue goes back to work.

Too much, it’s too much. It’s such a rush of pleasure, you didn’t even know your body could be so sensitive. His free hand kept sending little lines of electricity through you as his fingers moved over your hips and up along your stomach. You could only apologize inside your head as your hands tightened in his hair, your body clenching like iron at the first flood of pleasure.

Little more than a broken swear managed to get past your lips as the orgasm ripped through you. He showed you a small mercy, and didn’t force you to ride out the entire thing, but as he moved you wondered if it was truly mercy that had been given. You were coming down slowly, every twitch and tingle danced along your skin and sunk into your bones.

You could hear the fabric of his pants as you were sure they had been discarded, but in the dark of the room, in the hazy blur that was your muddled vision, you couldn’t see.

But for every sense that was addled right now, your sense of touch was all the more keen.

Hot. It was hot. Marco didn’t run hot normally, not like how Ace did with his fiery body, but Marco was always shades of blue. Calm, cool, collected. But the rigid tip of his cock, pressed against your soaked and trembling lips was hot. Hot, and impossibly stiff. More akin to metal than flesh as far as you were concerned.

“Marco…” You reach for him and he takes your hand in his, kissing your fingers softly before he grips your wrists and pins them against the desk. “More, please.” You nearly whisper the words, moaning softly at the lips that tease your neck while his cock shifts teasingly against you.

“Look at me, (Y/N).” He says, and you focus as best you can on his eyes. “Keep looking at me.” His voice is demanding, low, and husky as he begins to push into you. “I want to see your face as you give yourself to me, yoi.”

The stretch is delightful. It’s been so long since you’ve enjoyed the pleasure of another, but even so, the feel of it as he pushes in is satisfying. It’s your body that gives way, not his, but he fits so well. Your fingers flex, and he adjusts his hands, fingers tangling into yours, holding your hands to the desk instead of your wrists.

“Marco.” His name is gospel on your lips, a soft prayer to a fiery blue demon in the skin of an angel. “Kiss me.”

“As you command.” He almost growls the words, as though he’s struggling to hold something back, and leans down. His lips are against yours, the pressure and pleasure barely registering as his hips met flush with yours.

His hips shift as his tongue pushes into your mouth. He devours the sweet moans that bubble up from your chest, even as the snap of his hips fills the room with the wet sounds of your pleasure and need. You’re caged completely, an odd reversal if you had enough mind to think on it.

“M-more!” You gasp as the kiss breaks.

“Aye.” Marco agrees, letting go of your hands to hook your knees over his arms, stretching your legs back and letting him push a little deeper.

Fire trails along his back as your fingers claw into his perfect skin again. Your gasps and moans come out in thrusts of air as he slams into you, the desk creaking and shifting under the rough pace.

He shifts enough to tease you, his pace slowing only a little. His thumb rolls against your clit, and his lips tease your nipple as his other hand tries to steady you both against the creaking desk. The lessened pace gives you more breath, and the added sensations pull moans and cries of pleasure from you. You don’t want to let go of him, so you can’t cover your mouth. He’s moved away from you so you can’t kiss him to stifle your sounds.

“Sing for me,” he demands, breath hot against your skin before he nips at your nipple sending a zing of pain through with the pleasure.

“Ca-can’t – can’t – Marco! Ma-Marco I’m gonna—hnnngh!” You tense and coil as the pleasure builds and when you move a hand away to cover your mouth he grabs it and pins it down on the desk, picking his pace up again.

“Don’t deny me again.” He warns, teeth nipping at your neck. “Let it out. I want to hear, all the sweet sounds that you can make for me.”

Whimpered tatters of need fall from your lips as the pleasure builds. The more it builds the less you can hold back, and any time you try to hold back Marco pushes more fire and desire into you.

The pleasure crests, and you scream – his name, though the sound breaks as it passes your tensed throat, and then is devoured as his lips cover yours. You moan into the kiss as he continues to thrust into you, his rhythm stuttering only a little as he fills you up, the sensation and the soft grunt from him almost pulling you into a third orgasm, your body tensing and twitching a little.

He gives you both a second to catch your breath, though he’s barely breathing heavy. He leans back down, leaving soft kisses against your lips as he pulls out of you.

“The bed,” he says softly, kissing your cheek. “Should be softer and quieter.” You can feel his dick twitching against your thigh already stiff again. “But you won’t be, will you?”

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was at a music festival and, for some reason, I had to get up on stage and do magic tricks.

[racyne]

Our happy Kaito Kid showing his Meitantei a little card trick! He is very eager to show a trick to dazzle his Tantei-kun. I hope you enjoy my little Art piece of him ^^

[yridenergyridenergy]

Kaoru's pick-throwing shenanigans

[dizzyhslightlyvoided]

Nyarlathotep, in monstrous girlthing form: Greetings, mortal humans! It is I, Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos! Rejoice, for the time of Azathoth is at hand!

Panicked officer: Dear god! Open fire!

(gunfire; the bullets all slow to a stop in front of Nyarlathotep like in the Matrix. Nyarlathotep grabs all of them but one, and puts them all in a pile in its hand. As the terrified and increasingly confused soldiers look on, Nyarlathotep waves its other hand over the bullets, before slapping its hand onto it, doing a sleight-of-hand trick to make the bullets disappear. It then waves both hands, leaving a trail of bullets in a heart-shape. Nyarlathotep then pretends to only just now notice the one remaining bullet.)

Nyarlathotep: Oh goodness me, I appear to have missed one of the bullets!

(the bullet resumes moving, and harmlessly bounces off Nyarlathotep's forehead; Nyarlathotep pretends to recoil, making the Touhou death SFX with its mouth)

[troublerats]

Magic Trick!! (T4T Mystic and Orville)