#Sleight of Hand (Asks)

[actiaslunaris]

You're not going to do anything with those notes, right?

[getvalentined]

@skadren tumblr isn't letting me answer your ask no matter what I do so I'm just gonna put it here!

✄ DVD BONUS: pick a fic and I’ll describe or write a deleted scene!

So I actually have a probably-forever-unfinished interquel for Smoke and Mirrors that covers "the 'Vincent Valentine assassinating the board' thing" as it was referred to in the epilogue; the pacing on it is fifty shades of inconsistent, which just one of the reasons it will probably never be finished, but I think it applies in this context since it takes place between the final two installments of the fic!

This excerpt is quite long, so I'm gonna put it behind a cut!

[ for the fic ask game part 2 ]

———

Hojo went down fast.

It was honestly a surprise how quickly it happened, given the time and effort it had taken to arrange for the hit in the first place. He raised his head, blinked, something like recognition flickering across his deeply lined features—and then in a now-familiar quartet of gunshots, he was dead. Strange, that someone who was responsible for so much harm would go down so quickly. It almost seemed…merciful, if Cloud thought about it. Particularly considering what he’d done to the man from whom those gunshots originated.

Cloud holstered his own weapon—a newer model Quicksilver, descendant of the one responsible for today’s carnage—and straightened up from where he’d been lying in wait.

“Smooth,” he said plainly, making his way over and stopping just to one side of the body, putting his hands on his hips. “Almost think it was too fast, though.”

“Perhaps,” came the deep rumble of the aggressor, still standing less than a meter away, having morphed in from the dark in a swirl of scarlet to enact his revenge mere seconds before. “Unfortunately, the more time these things take, the more opportunity there is for mistakes.” He stepped over in one long stride to stand closer to Cloud, the professor’s corpse in a heap between them, and surveyed the body for a long moment. Slightly mismatched and brightly glowing eyes narrowed, tilting his head slightly to one side as he looked for something, Vincent eventually seemed to come away satisfied. He raised his head to look at Cloud, eyebrows arching slightly, expression more open and deep voice a note lighter when he spoke. “You should contact Lazard.”

Cloud made a low noise not unlike frustration. “Ugh, yeah. On it.”

He pulled the phone from the interior pocket of his jacket, flipping it open and typing the number in manually. The device was leagues behind his usual mobile with regard to functionality, but it didn’t need to be anything but a phone, and couldn’t be allowed to transmit any data that could facilitate identification or tracking of its owner.

Two rings before the other line picked up, and Cloud mentally counted down from three before speaking clearly to the empty air on the other side. “Hey, real quick, do you know what time the bar closes?”

Counting silently, Cloud measured exactly two seconds of silence. “If you’re good with a pick, it’s open all night,” came a smooth, familiar voice in response, deep in a way that didn’t even come close to Vincent’s lower register, upplate accent crisp enough to straddle the line of artificial as he flawlessly delivered the counter to Cloud’s own passphrase. With confirmation that both sides of the conversation were secure, Cloud let out a soft sigh of relief in spite of himself. Lazard chuckled in reply. “Relax. How did it go?”

“Smooth,” Cloud said, echoing his earlier assessment. “Quick.”

“Too bad,” Lazard lamented. “You’re professionals, so I shouldn’t have expected anything different, but it’s still a shame.”

Cloud gave a noncommittal hum, internally agreeing but externally leaving Lazard to his own opinions. The compliment to his presumed professionalism was nice, particularly given Cloud’s minimal experience in comparison to his partner. “He’s down, that’s what matters.”

“Of course.” The disappointment in his tone was palpable even from thousands of miles away. Cloud couldn’t blame him, knowing just how much Hojo had to answer for, but it wasn’t Lazard’s decision how much Hojo suffered any more than it was Cloud’s—if there was anyone on the planet who deserved to make that call, it was Vincent, and Vincent had chosen punctuality over pain. “You’ll be all right getting back?”

“Yep,” Cloud reassured, intentionally light on the details. Lazard was in charge of the operation, but it was far more secure for him to leave logistics and movements to Cloud and Vincent; just as Cloud wasn’t aware of exactly where Lazard was, Lazard didn’t know exactly how Cloud and Vincent had gotten into the Drum undetected. The success of this first decisive move in Lazard’s long game to demolish and rebuild Shinra from the inside proved the efficacy of their respective informational limitations and allowed them a level of succinctness that would have been impossible otherwise. “Vincent will debrief next time he sees you.”

“Tell him I’ll be at number eleven.”

“Eleven,” Cloud confirmed, raising his eyes at last in search of Vincent, checking to see if he’d overheard.

What he found was the older man kneeling over Hojo with his armored left hand hovering just over the bloom of crimson in the back of his lab coat; as Cloud watched, a glimmer of green flickered into being around the injury’s exit wound, little sparkles that turned lazy circles as a weak thread of light coiled up between them. The reflection danced up and down the metal of Vincent’s gauntlet as more delicate lines joined the first, coiling up over Vincent’s hand, between his long fingers, up the metal shell covering his forearm.

“Have a good night,” Lazard continued. “Both of you.” With a click, the line disconnected.

The lights playing their way up Vincent’s arm went still for a half-second, shivered in place, then flashed bright red and disappeared all at once.

Cloud flipped his phone shut, still staring at Vincent, who straightened back up as if he hadn’t done anything at all.

What was that?

———

Other issues with getting this written are that a lot of it is...boring? I mean I don't think it's boring, but I think pretty much everyone else would. I have the entire new board worked out, details on how everyone was recruited and brought on and how departments are split up and restructured—which is a big part of breaking Shinra's powerbase, and that's really the point of the story. However I am aware that most people in this fandom aren't really into that kind of stuff in a longform fic, so I figure it's best kept to myself. I'd be happy to answer more questions about if it anyone has them, even outside the context of an ask game, but I'm also pretty happy just chewing on it on my own.

If I did ever actually write it, it probably wouldn't be until after I've finished RTGT, so it'd be a long way out anyway.

[gumy-shark]

i know nothing about mcyt or hermitcraft or the traffic light series thingy. but it gives off the vibes of some kind of period medieval drama only y'all can see. idk like the music and art and metas you reblog are fascinating and then i go to the source and stand there confused bc where...where- how????? lore only you can see with your elf eyes and i am a mere hobbit who has only known the shire and didn't know there were people possible of seeing beyond the horizon

for over an hour now i have been thinking about this ask and trying to figure out how to answer it. bc that’s. thats pretty much exactly it isn’t it. all of the mcyt fandoms are doing this cool art and music and metas and fic and then if you step back and look at it you realize it’s all just Cubes

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Something that most people don't know about you??

At times, I have nonsensical, probably stress-induced dreams.

In total, I've been the murderer approximately three times, endorsed an execution once, was a witness at least twice, and have been chased many more times.

The first murder was shooting some kind of long-barreled gun, perhaps a rifle or something more modern than a bayonet? Who knows? It was vague, and I don't really remember it.

The second was firing an arrow from below at a person descending stairs. The whole dream was very Hunger Games-esque and I had been peering up at my target from a swimming pool set in a ruined patio.

The third time, my murder was unintentional. I tried to help an unknown classmate(?) get unstuck from where he'd been caught under a large stone or snowdrift on the way back to a final exam, before the directions were given, and he just... tumbled down the steep, snow-covered hill? I have no idea what truly happened to him. I think all I had done was tug at his arm. I just ran the rest of the way down, took my seat in time, oddly enough, outdoors, at a table, and was given a paper. I think the prompt my brain came up with, before the hill event, from an earlier part of the dream, was something on environmentalism, or something about conditions shaping a narrative, which made little sense—much different from what the real exam's prompt was. I wanted to wash my hands, so I would stop feeling sticky, and I think I wondered if I had blood on them. A thought I had then or maybe after I woke up was that the prompt wasn't about Lady Macbeth, so why'd all that happen? I also worried over whether I had partly abandoned the poor guy or committed a murder. Yet I don't believe in dream symbolism because it's not fully scientific, and the directions in the dream weren't ever fully explained anyway. In that same dream, I also eavesdropped on someone who might've been my real-life, class dean and some old woman.

The one time I endorsed the murder in a dream, it happened after a whole convoluted, surreal, Coup d'état plot, not even founded in reality. I broke into a library, to catch my foe shortly before they arrived, and asked someone else to get ready. It wasn't just commanding an execution to happen; it was a (magic?) trick I wasn't fully conscious of, despite being the one to ask for it to be set-up and deliver the orders during the all-important moment. A professor in the library, who specialized in firearms, stage tactics, and sleight of hand, fired what seemed to be a blank at the traitor/usurper/criminal. And my criminal got covered in loose, non-compacted, burning gunpowder instead of run through by a bullet. By then, their skin was probably crawling with some sensation of being set aflame—but don't ask me? I couldn't sense that pov. There was nothing gory anyway. But somehow, they tried to shake the powder off, onto me, and I guess I woke up before anything became worse.

In the same execution dream, there were other previous events, and I was a witness to a different murder. That murder was this instance, with cool, Art Deco vibes, wherein, my (non-existent) friend sacrificed themselves for me. I had to lug the corpse through halls and to elevators, and I went up and down multiple times while on the run before I decided to leave the body.

In another dream, what I think was a hanging was visible in the background, but I'm not quite sure about that. It was more of a vague image.

As for the times I've been pursued by figures with unknown intent, one was notably in a labyrinthine place.

Also, to anyone who's read this far: Don't worry. I don't believe I could actually pull off any of these things as I think I’d pass out too soon because I have somewhat weak lungs and not nearly enough athleticism.

[sergeantsporks]

See this super important key

It’s gone now

Evelyn: I have this super important key

Phillip: I think you mean I have a super important key.

[birdhousemp3]

hii brynn xx not sure if you've done this already but if not!! music ask game here ... would lovee to know your top 5 songs + then if u want u can send it on to 10ish other people xx

hiiii ok ok no particular order:

pulaski at night / andrew bird

fast as you can / fiona apple

cornflake girl / tori amos

driving with the brakes on / del amitri

birdhouse in your soul / tmbg

[fruk-choosing-a-username]

making halsin pickpocket a merchant for a shield and armor i can't afford is very funny

[waraxarcana]

@ferromagnetiic asked: ❝ Do ye need yer cards to tell ye if there's a chance of ye takin' a shite, too? ❞ Unprompted

"Hardly. Though I imagine Killer must frequently leash you and take you outside when it's time for yours. You hardly appear housetrained," Hawkins retorted blandly, not even looking up from his cards. He'd heard "jokes" like these plenty, and Kid's opinion of his powers hardly concerned him.

After all, the alliance was Kid and Killer's idea, not his. If they were smart, they'd heed his readings. But they weren't, and Hawkins would not waste his breath humoring stupidity.

[flieslikeamoron]

Hey hey hey, made sure to send this before I succumb to sleep (was so tempted to ask so many of these): 3, 20, 56, 64, 76 (for the obvious one that has me in a chokehold and forever leaving incoherent comments 💕). Have a lovely Saturday

3. Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

Um. I went buckwild on this one. I'm going to do the others in a separate post because this is so detailed and probably not what anyone is interested in. But I save a lot of stuff in cut folders while I'm writing, so here's an example of the process of writing the scene where Eddie takes Steve to his room for the first time.

Normally the first thing is a very basic outline of what scenes I'm trying to put in the chapter. Dabblewriter has a notecard function so it's like this.

And what you'll notice about this is it doesn't have a lot of stuff from that chapter. It doesn't have the almost fight with Billy. It doesn't have Eddie comforting Steve in his van. It says Eddie invites Steve over at the picnic tables, but that happens after the almost fight in the final version. The picnic tables in the final version are Eddie being scared Steve's breaking up with him, and offering to drive him. And the "Steve at Eddie's" part in this outline doesn't include them fighting about "you could be my thing" at all. So this is the starting point, and it's not actually what the story ends up being. Which is usually the case.

Sometimes I can go directly to writing a scene, but most often the next step is making stream of consciousness notes like this until I find the scenario I think will work. Which is honestly just more outlining, but more specific.

Okay, so if you remember the final version of that scene you remember some of this is in there like Steve's playing with the yoyo and touching all Eddie's stuff. Eddie's coming onto him. But he doesn't actually blow him or ride him in the scene. So what happened in between this and the final? Well, another super messy full of notes version but getting closer to the real thing.

So at this point the "tour" and the guitar being "his girl" are in there, but notice I put save the dad stuff for later. And this is because at that point I was still thinking they were going to have sex in this scene. And the dad stuff is kind of a boner killer so it wasn't working to have it in there. You can tell from the first set of notes I thought the scene was about Eddie's discomfort with Steve being in his space and taking control of it with sex. But I had been waffling between Eddie blowing or riding him or both, and here I thought maybe 69ing (which is dumb that wouldn't work in this scene). Usually if I can't settle on something that way it's because it's not working. So it just took me a while to let go of that original idea, and realize the scene is actually about not just Eddie being vulnerable and uncomfortable with it and trying to take control of it. But also about Steve wanting Eddie to be this thing Eddie knows he can't be. (This thing that realistically no one can be.) And the two of them not really hearing each other. And Steve learning from this that Eddie doesn't want him to say how he feels because in his mind Eddie doesn't feel the same way. But even while they're not getting each other, finding that "I'm so into you" moment and taking baby steps toward each other etc.

I had already written "the dad thing" and the "you could be my thing" parts and the "i'm so into you" bit. Or anyway mostly just the dialogue of them. If random bits come to me I just write them, and try to figure out where they go. Sometimes they don't go anywhere, but most of them get used eventually. And those types of things always change once I'm actually putting them in a specific place rather than having them be unconnected snippets. But once I'm actually understanding the basic shape of the scene we're looking at:

Now we're getting there. But keen eyed readers will notice that originally the bit about Eddie's mom and about Steve having taken a few lessons and only getting hard for electric was originally here before I moved it to its own scene. And that the whole upping the ante thing where Steve's still trying to talk about the guitar while Eddie's touching him to turn him on isn't there yet. This almost game where Steve is coaxing more info out of him and Eddie is coaxing him to get hard. So the original idea of this scene of Steve wanting to know Eddie and Eddie wanting to distract him and using sex to regain control is still in that moment rather than in a whole sex scene. But I hadn't figured that out yet in this version.

Anyway there's more of this version and it does have the shape of the final. Like it's got the whole I'm into you argument, but not some of the specific things like Steve sitting up and Eddie holding him down to keep him from leaving. I won't copy the whole thing because it's very long, but here's a snippet toward the end. You can see there are still notes throughout that I have to go back and fill in with the actual words. Please excuse the notes by the way, I don't correct any typos or formatting in them ever because usually no one sees them but me.

So these are just the versions I have saved, not all the ones I went through. And once there's a draft with no more notes, it still needs more editing. But you can see the progression and kind of get the idea. It's truly the most inefficient process. OTOH if I had written the version of the chapter that was in the outline, it would have been worse. And I simply wouldn't have thought of adding the almost fight with Billy when I was outlining. That just comes from the character work. Because I wanted that moment of Eddie saying "he has a ride" in front of everyone. And once you have that happen in front of Billy of course Billy's going to say something. And at that point it's just... Well, this is what these people would do. And sometimes you write all that stuff out, you follow the characters where they're going, and then it's like... Well, yes this is what they would do, but it doesn't add anything to the actual story or I already hit this beat, so you take it back out. But in other cases, it is the story.

So the process for the most part is I just have to try things and write around it until I figure out which parts are working and why and what it's supposed to be. I don't really recommend this process to anyone, but the way my brain works I have to find the story in the writing. And like... It works. It gets results. But man, I would love it if I could just write a thing without writing it 20 times the wrong way first.

[goldenguillotines]

Sleight of hand? <:3c

I think if I told Stelle I shipped him with Julius he'd hit me with a book UWJDOG

[antvnger]

"I've heard word you've become a rather powerful magician these days, Mr. Lang. Where exactly did you received your training?"

"Well, I would tell you, Doc, but you know what people in my trade say. A magician never reveals his secrets, and training is one of those secrets."

"But! If you ever wanna learn one of my sleight of hand tricks, I can definitely teach you sometime."

Oh wow I'm a powerful magician now how awesome is that?!

[daz4i]

"i go to a juggling con every year. we camp in [infamous camping location in our country] for 3 or 4 days. one of the best in the whole world. you know, i went to one in new york, and it couldn't hold a candle to this one. the amount of people who could juggle with 7 balls was maybe, like, 5. and over here you practically enter a gym full of people who can do it" -my brother lamenting over how the war's effect on tourism hurt him personally

[whatsagirltoblogabout]

Hello! In chapter 6 of Crocodile Tears you mentioned that you came up with a way for Neal to have pulled off the switch. I would love to know the specifics if you remember them :D

Hello!!! This is so cool :D It blows my mind that anyone actually cares, so thank you so much for asking!

Okay, first of all, disclaimer: I have no practical experience with sleight of hand, this is all my imagination. That being said, I did read a handful of magic books as a kid, so this isn't coming completely out of nowhere.

The main idea is that the lens of the jeweler's loupe reflects light in a similar way to the crystal. The switch would go like this: he examines the lotus by holding it in his left hand and the jeweler’s loupe in his right hand. When he’s done with the jeweler’s loupe, he fakes switching the items between his hands, actually just palming the lotus in his left and covering most of the jeweler's loupe with his right, so that all you see is a bit of light reflecting off the glass to make it look like the lotus is now in his right hand. Then, he pulls the swap in his left pocket while pretending to put the loupe away, keeping the lotuses hidden the whole time. Finally, he holds up the fake lotus with both hands, hiding the transfer of the loupe from right to left and also hiding the fact that the lotus was in his left hand to begin with. He then moves the fake lotus away with his right hand to “catch the light” and uses that as a distraction to cover the action of his left hand putting away the loupe for real. He says the cue line to signal the team to activate the car alarm, and the rest is history.

Hope that made sense lol. I haven't revisited Crocodile Tears in a while, this was a nice nostalgia trip. Oh, and here's a link to the chapter in question if anyone wants context XD

[mcskedrogue]

Tag Dump

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

Some context: after narrowly avoiding being arrested, we've been told that we are on thin fucking ice and we are having an eye kept on us by the city guard. Implication is that if we're caught with even one toe out of line, we're going to be dragged to the "Reformation Center," which appears to be as bad as it sounds. The very next day, the rogue (who was the cause of our initial arrest and the cause of the town nearly being burnt down because he got greedy about stealing stuff, and who didn't get dragged in front of the town leader to explain himself and we had to cover for him) shows up again and immediately tries to steal the golden holy symbol we found while Wyn was trying to dig up information on the removal of curses. Note: this is not a useful holy symbol. It is not a +1, it's not magical, and it's not for Wyn's god. It just happens to be gold.

Wyn tells him to knock it off and that we're trying to keep our heads down after things went to shit because of what he did. My man decides to STEAL IT ANYWAY, and uses sleight of hand to do it. BUT, OF COURSE, HE ALREADY SAID HE WANTED TO STEAL IT. SO OF COURSE WYN KNOWS WHERE IT IS. So she walks over, grabs his arm, reads him the riot act about how his greed has almost killed us TWICE at this point, and tells him that he needs to put the holy symbol back. She tells him that she's not kidding this time. She tells him that this is his last warning. He tells her that he's not gonna put it back.

So she pumps a 3rd level Inflict Wounds on him and dropped his HP to 4.

Now he has disappeared from the sight of the party, and the last that we the players heard, he was hovering outside of the tavern window, trying to get dirt on the party so that he could turn Wyn into the city guard.

So, you know. Good times.

WELP. UH. WYN ATTACKED THE ROGUE TODAY BECAUSE HE KEPT TRYING TO STEAL SHIT. SO. DUNNO HOW THAT'S GONNA SHAKE OUT. 😬

[froody]

Imagine you hired an obscenely drunk Union soldier in a saloon to kill your husband. He manages to accomplish the deed by removing the bullets from your husband’s gun through a sleight of hand trick before challenging him to a duel. This is somewhat impressive but what is more impressive is his strong work ethic, ingenuity, Irish accent, subtle chivalry and big brown eyes. You marry him and move onto the 15 acres of semi-arid land on the edge of the Chihuahuan Desert he stubbornly wants to farm. He wants to name your firstborn daughter after his cavalry horse in the Civil War and your firstborn son after his commanding officer. He calls you widow woman as a term of endearment. He’s a good shot, he’s a good cattleman, a great husband and a subpar father. But what else can you ask from a man who lost his entire family in the Famine and came to this country alone at the age of 14?

Imagine you are a former Union soldier. You are 22 years old. You were only 19 when you enlisted, an Irish immigrant who worked in a livery stable in Cleveland until the outbreak of the war. You fought valiantly. You survived. In lieu of wages, you accepted a parcel of land in New Mexico territory. You’ve never had anything that was truly your own. Except for, perhaps, your horse. You arrive in New Mexico for the first time in your uniform, your horse goes lame the second you step onto your parcel, it’s so dry and rocky and red and you do not think it’s arable. You have to put down your horse. She dies with her head in your lap and you cry so hard you think you’ll die with her. When you’re done giving her a wake, knowing you have no ability to bury her, you begin walking in the direction of Las Cruces. Maybe you can sell this cursed land. Maybe you can get a job. First, a toast to Lula, the mare, the closest thing to family you have had in this country.

You’re seeing double by the time a little woman with an appraising expression approaches you. She is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, perhaps even better in double. A little older than you. Long, dark wavy hair that cascades over her shoulders, a perfect round face, a warm brown complexion and the most troubled eyes you have ever seen on a woman. What is most miraculous is that she wants to talk to you. You, drunk, sunburnt, covered in dust, the blood of your horse soaked into your pant leg. She motions to your pistol. She says she will pay you to do a job, pay you handsomely, enough to buy another horse. She says her husband is rich, he enticed her away from her family when she was very young, he holds her captive in his hacienda, he hurts her. He must be killed so that she can return to her sisters and live without fear. You will do it, you must do it. You do not care how much of the story is factual. You do not care if she intends to have the sheriff string you up after the deed is done. You do not care if she cannot pay the money she promised. You would do anything to remove the sorrow from her eyes. You kill her husband and sleep fine afterwards.

You do not buy that horse. You stay in the hacienda while she is out selling the bits and pieces of her husband’s life. You meet her sisters when they come, you help her pack away the pieces of her life so that she may start anew. You tell her of your own plans to start anew, of the patch of rocky soil that is your own. She tells you she grew up on land like that, tells you that it has always been her dream to work it. When her sisters leave for the mountains, she leaves with you.