#Spy Invisible Cheating Playing Cards

[mrgmiami]

The Secrets of Marked Playing Cards: Unveiling the Techniques Behind the Illusion

Marked playing cards have fascinated people for centuries, often associated with cheating, magic tricks, and secretive gambling games. While the concept of "marked cards" might sound like something out of a spy novel or a magician’s toolkit, The methods used to create them. are as old as the game of cards. But what exactly makes a marked card? How are they used, and what are the methods behind their design? In this blog, we'll uncover the techniques that give marked cards their secret power, separating fact from fiction.

What Are Marked Playing Cards?

Marked playing cards are cards that have been modified to allow a person to identify them without relying on traditional visual cues, such as numbers or suits. These marks can be subtle, invisible to the untrained eye, and often require specialized skills or tools to read. While some might associate marked cards with cheating in casinos or gambling games, others use them for magic tricks, mentalism, or card games that require sleight of hand.

Common Techniques for Marking Cards

The methods for marking playing cards vary greatly in sophistication and subtlety. Some markings are so faint that only the most observant or experienced individuals can spot them. Here are some common techniques:

1. Invisible Ink

Invisible ink, or "magic ink," is one of the oldest tricks in the book. Using special pens or ink that is not visible to the naked eye, a card can be marked with a tiny dot or pattern that only becomes visible under a special light source, such as ultraviolet (UV) light. These invisible marks can be applied to the back of cards, hidden in plain sight.

2. Slightly Altered Print

One of the more common ways to mark a deck is by subtly altering the printing on the card itself. This could be done by slightly bending or distorting the lines, such as those that form the borders or images on the back of the cards. From a specific angle, the modified design shows crucial details, such as the rank or suit of a card. This technique relies on an intimate knowledge of the print patterns and the ability to spot subtle differences.

3. Edge or Corner Marks

Another discreet technique involves making tiny indentations or marks on the edges or corners of cards. The idea is to alter the cards just enough so that when they are stacked or shuffled, the "marked" cards are easily identifiable. These marks can be made with a needle or sharp object, but only the person who knows how to read them can recognize their significance.

4. Bending or Distorting the Card’s Surface

This method involves physically bending or curving the card in a subtle way. While the cards may appear normal to a casual observer, the bend or curve allows the person marking the cards to recognize them by touch, even without needing to look at the back. The shape and texture can be almost undetectable, but someone familiar with the technique can feel the difference.

5. Special Coatings or Textures

Some marked cards may be coated with a special substance, like a thin layer of wax or powder,

which can be used to alter the texture of a card's surface. This technique is often used with other methods to enhance the accuracy of identifying a card. The substance is often invisible to the naked eye, but a person familiar with the cards can feel the difference when handling them.

How Magicians Use Marked Playing Cards

For magicians and illusionists, marked playing cards are often used to perform mentalism tricks or feats of card manipulation. The beauty of using marked cards in magic is that they can be used in plain sight without the audience being aware of the trick. Some common ways that magicians incorporate marked cards into their performances include:

Card Prediction Tricks: Magicians can use marked cards to predict the exact card a participant will pick, without ever needing to rely on chance or guesswork.

Mind Reading: With practice, a magician can secretly read the markings on the back of a card and use that knowledge to appear as if they are reading someone's mind.

Sleight of Hand: By using marked cards in conjunction with sleight of hand, magicians can manipulate the deck and create the illusion that they are performing impossible feats, such as making a card appear in an unexpected location.

Are Marked Playing Cards Legal?

The legality of marked playing cards depends on the context in which they are used. In a regulated environment like a casino, using marked cards is illegal because it undermines the fairness of the game. Casinos have strict rules and surveillance systems to detect cheating, and any attempt to alter cards is considered fraud.

On the other hand, marked cards used for magic tricks or personal games are generally not illegal. As long as the person marking the cards is not using them to deceive others in a gambling situation, the practice is typically viewed as entertainment or skill development. Many magic stores sell decks of marked cards specifically for performing tricks.

Detecting Marked Playing Cards

If you're concerned that someone is using marked playing cards, there are a few ways to detect them:

Visual Inspection: Look closely at the backs of the cards for any irregularities in the design. This can include small dots, lines, or changes in the color or pattern that might signal that a card has been altered.

Feel the Texture: If you're suspicious that a card has been marked by bending or altering its texture, you can run your fingers along the back to feel for any inconsistencies.

Use of UV Lights: If invisible ink has been used to mark the cards, a UV light can reveal the hidden marks. This is a common method in casinos to check for tampered cards.

Conclusion: The Allure of Marked Cards

Marked playing cards continue to captivate those interested in card tricks, gambling, and illusion. While they have a notorious reputation for being associated with cheating, they also hold a place in the world of magic and mentalism. Whether used for deception, entertainment, or personal challenge, the techniques behind marked playing cards are a testament to the ingenuity and skill of those who practice them.

Understanding the methods used to mark cards can provide insight into the world of card manipulation, but it also serves as a reminder that the fine line between trickery and skill is often much thinner than we imagine.

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[wolfish-trickster]

One sad story

Loki x female!reader (eventually) Avengers x reader (platonic)

Part 1/2

Word count: 1 272

Summary: you feel like you are unwanted in the team unless you change, but that's hard. The whole team is worried about you, but only Loki managed to do something, for now.

Warnings: sadness, depression. It will get better I promise.

Bring Sally up, bring Sally down, lift and squat, gotta tear the ground. Bring Sally up...

You can't anymore. It's nearly the end of the song but you just can't continue. Natasha on the other hand is doing push ups as if it was nothing.

"How are you so strong?" you asked her, breathing heavily.

"Don't know, might be my training?" Nat turned the video of and started to stretch her arms. You were still laying on the cold floor, cooling your heated body. It would be nice to just close your eyes and forget everything around you. But you have to stretch first, otherwise you might damage your muscles.

After stretching and warm shower both you and Nat went to kitchen.

"Hey Y/N, me, Wanda, Pepper and Maria want to have a girl night, wanna join?"

"No, thanks. I'm too tired. I'll just turn on some movie and fall asleep," you fake-yawned, trying to convince her of your tiredness.

"Alright, do as you wish," said the red haired spy, knowing you weren't as tired as you acted.

You turned around and made your way to elevators. Just as boys were coming out of the gym. All of them shirtless of course. 'Show offs' you thought, rolling your eyes with a smile.

But then, you noticed him. A certain raven haired god was walking quietly after the horde of heroes, wearing a tank top and man bun. You quickly looked away, rushing to your room. You were very closed friends, but you started to distance yourselves lately. In the begging it was just the two of you. Reading in the library until one of you fell asleep, watching movies under the blanket, talking while enjoing a cup of tea. But ever since the rest of the team (mainly boys) started to train with him, talk to him, spending time with him. He just didn't have time on you anymore.

But that's fine. You had time to yourself. You started working out, gaining muscle. You already were an Avenger, now you have to look the part. You were trained to be fast, not strong, that's why you didn't have that much muscle. That's why you looked small and weak and useless compared to your teammates. Gods, assasins, soldiers...

And then you. Ordinary human. With basic training. Without special skills or super powers. Invisible. Unimportant. Replacable.

You sighed and turned your laptop on. Browsing through Netflix until you found The Little Prince. It's always easier to conceal crying when you have a background noise.

-

"Hey, where's Y/N? I thought she'll come," Wanda asked Natasha, fixing her black dress and curled hair.

"I thought so too but she said she's too tired. She was lying, obviously. Something's going on with her, but what?"

"I just hope she's okay."

"Oh please, why wouldn't she be? She's Y/N, the toughst girl I know. Besides, where's Maria? Did you tell her we are leaving at six instead of seven?" Pepper intervened enthusiasticaly. This was the first night off she has had for 3 months.

Girls then heard high heels clapping towards them."Of course they did. It takes time to look this gorgeous" to emphasise Maria threw her hair loreal-comercial style.

"Alright ladies, let's go shopping!"

-

"Does anyone know of Y/N whereabouts? She promised she'll watch that 'movie thing' she mentioned earlier"

"Thor, you've asked 3 times already and for the fourth time: she's sleeping in her room. Let her rest."

"Says someone who had no problem letting her be awake for more than 20 hours straight. We get it Tony, your sleeping schedule is messed up, doesn't mean she has to have it too."

When Bruce entered the living room he was presented with Clint and Tony in the middle of their poker game (playing for cookies), Thor chewing on an apple behind Tony peeking into his cards and Loki calmly reading a book with a steaming cup of tea sitting next to them.

"I can watch that movie with you Thor, if you'd like to. By the way, did you notice Y/N started to act.... a little odd lately?" Bruce swore he saw Loki looking up from his book with his peripheral vision.

"Nah, she's the same as always. Just a little tired. I saw her working out like crazy these past weeks. HEY YOU LIL CHEATER, STOP IT!"

"I'm not cheating bird brains, you just can't play. I'll share if you apologize. But Bruce is right, something's wrong. I mean I'm glad she's getting sleep but something just isn't right" Tony was dragging all of the cookies towards himself, making funny faces at pouting Clint.

"You know what? How about we play for something more valuable?" Clint asked with a smirk.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Sure am fancy tin can."

"POP TARTS!" both of them shouted at the same time. Clint was already making his way to kitchen for the box of said valuable treats when he was stopped by Thor.

"If you are going to play for my loves, you have to win against me too!"

"Thor, have you ever played poker?"

"Of course I have," he haven't, but he's been watching them play for over an hour. How hard can it possibly be?

Meanwhile Bruce sat down next to Tony, opposite of Loki.

"What about you?" Bruce asked Loki.

"What about me?" Loki took a sip of his tea, not looking up from his book.

"Well, Y/N was the first one to convince us you're not as much of a dick as we thought you are and you don't even care about her!" Tony managed to say with full mouth of his prize.

"First of all thank you for not thinking I'm a dick, second of all I do care about her and third of all she's just tired. You said it yourself Stark. I'll check up on her when she's rested."

"Get in line Rudolf. Bruce, do you want to play?"

"Yeah, why not?"

Clint and Thor arrived with two giant boxes of Pop tarts and started to sort it out into four piles.

Loki just rolled his eyes, got up and walked towards elevators.

-

*knock* "Y/N? Are you there?"

Oh shit.

Why was Loki here? Of all people why him? Right when you finally ran out of tears to shed. You didn't even need to look into a mirror to know how you looked like. Puffy red eyes, wet face, runny nose and bird's nest for hair. Just great.

"Yeah, what do you want?" even your voice sounded like you've been crying for two hours straight, which you did.

"Y/N, are you okay? Can I come in? Please?"

"Yeah," you murmured loud enough for him to hear.

He opened the door and walked straight to you, cupping your face, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"Sweetheart, were you crying? Who hurt you?" you could hear the pain in his voice. Why did he care all of a sudden? Did boys ditch him?

"No one, I'm fine. Really. I was just watching a very sad movie and it made me cry, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I mean, have you seen it? I bet you would cry too," 'but you don't have time on me and my silly movies' you added in your head.

"Well, guys are playing cards for sweets and girls are out wasting money on accessories they will never wear and I have currwntly nothing to do. Let's watch the movie that upset you so."

'If only it was the movie that really made me cry' you thought and put the movie on.

[tolstoyamericanrevolution]

Turn Christmas:  Hidden in Finery

A Robert Townsend & Arielle Nathan story I was meant to publish awhile back but forgot about so happy late December 17th!! 

The problem of forgetting you are trapped is when the trap twists itself around your ankle, and you dare to show your distress.                                                     At Rivington’s, she had forgotten about it all, the redcoats and the beatings from Captain Hennely’s wife. In the daze of candlelight and a humorous conversation, she forgot about the war outside her door. She forgot about her role as prisoner & friend, governess & respectable guest she forgot about all the titles given to her when James Rivington made a joke or John André mused a poem out loud.

Arielle forgot about her family being miles away in Philadelphia when Robert smiled at her.

That rare secret smiles that she tugged close to her chest.  Robert Townsend had many ways of smiling- the polite line for drunk customers who ranted about everything and nothing, that reserved smile of amusement when Rivington would refer to him as “Robby Boy” or her favourite- well favourite two.

The sly one that would catch the glint in his eyes when something amused him- genuinely unrefined. It could be a joke or a complaint made by a person, or perhaps it was a thought that crossed his mind. Those rare melancholic free thoughts as he laughed to himself about a uniform three sizes too big on a young officer or the invisible ink debacle. Arielle liked those smiles.

The one she loved, was that gentle smile unaided by a raise of his eyebrows or a slant of his chin. No, instead it draped over his lips in momentary content. His witty smiles were regular affairs that fluttered her chest- these gentle ones; a rarer variety as if budgeted and allotted in his monthly account books—emerging when he felt in control when the world stopped spinning, when everything felt in order- as if Robert had not sacrificed all his prospects in a high stakes gamble. That of a spy; that of life and death.

When he first gave her that smile, her heart melted. She realised that the love she thought she had felt previously was nothing because she wanted to imprint this moment in her very being. She was longing for some reception, for some encouragement. Arielle could still recall the way his eyes softened when the coffeehouse was closing, and he glanced up from his books and smiled—not seeing her as out of place in this world of his but rather a comforting part of it, amongst the candles burning low and the day's numbers recorded.

This sense of belonging was not here tonight. Andre was away at dinner and Rivington was entertaining a table of ladies. The one man she did care about was tending to his wares—streets away which at this table felt like oceans away.

Bitterness coursed her chest, gripped at her tongue, forcing her to taste anxiety in her bones and the resentment of this cage. This cage that had deceived her so well until the cards were laid in front of her. Numbers racked up in debt, the men around her smelt like gin and rum, like a pulsing wound under bandages. Toxic and jaundiced.

Captain Hennely, the fool, was in debt and racking it up fast as he insisted on another betting coin. Arielle watched him with abject horror- leading him to snap at her “Shut your damn eyes constantly!” “Judas of a woman!” the two alternating every two minutes. When he lost a round, he slammed his fist down in front of her. If he chose not to bring it down on the table, he could quickly bring it down on her, to her stomach and thighs, causing her heart to patter in her throat.

Arielle could not just leave, to find another table even when she longed for anyone else's company. For if she tried to move he would snap about having to keep an eye on her. That someone should see his victory should learn the value of coin over-etching it out in budget plans.

The man he gambled against was a wolf of a man. Conniving and greedy for anything that glittered. Rivington once told her that he got violent with anyone who tried to cheat him. Oft, dragging them to the nearest alleyway to crash bone against bone. Townsend’s nod told Arielle this wasn't just James’s typical exaggerations. This man focused his gaze on her neck, on her necklace like a fox upon a goose.

Upon the pearl and aquamarine choker, a gift from her parents, the first necklace of significance she was allowed to own; Not to share the diamonds and pearls with her sister or mother from the family safe. Not the gold chains of girlhood. This necklace was her sixteenth birthday present, a present that told her she was now allowed her safekeeping items. The pearls were small white river pearls that circles her neck in singular role while in the center was a cushion-cut aquamarine secured in gold plated brass while hanging from it was a baroque seawater pearl, with its pear shape, that felt like a tear, the size of her thumbnail- small, delicate yet strong.

This necklace may not have been the most costly, but it had sentimental value, it demonstrated when Arielle has first trusted with value herself and now this man wanted it. Hennley failed his bet and had no money to give. Taking the opportunity, the man demanded her necklace to settle all debt- so he could play another night again.

She began to refuse, this was not his to give it was hers- it was her possession. “I apologise sir but this is mine, it is not for sale”. It was then she realised she was still entrapped that she was the property of the crown, that a last-minute cry saying it belonged to her father meant nothing.

He slammed his hand in front of her, the same way Hennley did. Demanding it outright or else that captain would be no longer, and she wouldn’t want that. Oh, see how I care Arielle thought spitefully, at first. Drag him by his guts for all I care this is mine. Her barred teeth in a snarl meant nothing. For every time, her emotions began to get out of check, that another guest may notice- this same captain pinched her hand. “It doesn't belong to you, it belong to the Crown and as you’re exchequer I demand you hand it over”

Protests died on Arielle’s lips as tears pricked her eyes. Her neck felt cold as her possession was stored safely in the man’s hand. “It will fetch for a fair price” he murmured as he passed her. Straight to the market. Away from her hands. Standing sharpley she demanded a coin- a carriage she was going home. Henley handed her a coin reluctantly “be prudent with your travel” he had such a nerve.

No one met her eye, Rivington continued chatting, Andre was still gone and Robert was far away while she was left feeling like a bartered whore- none of her possessions bound to her by ownership let alone honor. Her anxiety fretted- what else will they take from her?

The accounts were in check, the stock for the Christmastide sales was prepared. When Robert Townsend came back to Rivington’s the following day everything felt alright. He was prepared for last minute officers trying to barter the price of rum. He had everything from second hand goods to newer ones. Abraham often critiqued him for his loyalty to his business. Accusing him of not engaging with the Ring fully in order to save his own income. Fool.

That was the only answer Robert would give to it. It is not like he spent nights awake pondering if there was any merit in his words.

There was one thing out of place, however, Miss Nathan’s regular expression of glee, often smiling with some wit on her tongue. Her choleric rants. Her general ability to hold court in the room. That is what made her and Rivington work so well. He would work one half of the room and her th either. Yet while James was intentional- Robert thought it was just Arielle’s nature to challenge, twist, debate and laugh.

Instead she appeared late; strange. Her dress plainer than her regular vibrant colours or patterns. No jewellery around her neck. The most telling was the way she sulked around the room. Eyes dark refuting anyone who came near her. Watery and untrusting. Perhaps that was what concerned him, Arielle was as volatile as he was. One minute light hearted next minute serious, melancholic then temperamental. While he was private however; her face was a stage informing everyone of her mood. Robert didnt know how he felt about the twisting in his chest when he caught her eye.

It felt strange not to have a presence by his elbow, peering down at whatever he was working on. It was all very strange indeed.

Yet; Mr Townsend could not go and talk to her. Risk showing the world their closeness. No instead he would have to make inquiries. The hint came when Captain Hennley- he never bothered to catch his first name, scoffed past her and she scowled, teeth bare like a fox disturbed.

Pouring a glass of port, he delicately placed it next to the man.

“Gambling good, sir?”

“Could be better,”

“is that so?”

“Aye, some wolf like bastard bet me out of my money” Robert cringed but continued.

“I hope you found a way to remedy it” He tried to sound neutral, not generally given to inquiries.

“Oh I did- he wanted the girl’s necklace, she has been in a wicked temper ever since, the King doesn’t pay me enough for this”

Over the next couple of days, Arielle felt herself go from bad to worse. It was not the material object of the gif that mattered. It was this idea of not having any grounding of being trapped. She suddenly became more aware of her limits, of her confinements. Of how much she missed her family. The necklace was a symbol.

Who was her ally?

The bustle of officers, actresses and curious traders made for decent observing; they were like headless chickens on the 24th. Arielle failed to take notice of the man behind her. His hand dropped to her shoulder, startling her with a squeak. “Hush now” came Mr Townsend’s voice “Do not startle all of York City.”

Even now, she felt herself chuckling. “Come”. He was gesturing to the cellar. Leaving first; curious Arielle disappeared from the crowd into the back. Two seconds later, he held out his arm. “Where are you escorting me to, Mr Townsend?” “You will see.”

Robert guided her to his room and with the wit she had left she turned “Now this is not very proper”.

“Look what is on the bed.”

There was a small brown paper package wrapped neatly in twine. It was not very thick, and she could tell there was cloth under it. “Am I to open it” “Well it is a gift, I believe that is what you do with them” Too curious to retort Arielle undid the tie and noted underneath one of his handkerchiefs- the one subtly embroidered with white cross-stitch. Unfolding it, she felt something cold. By God, it was impossible.

Sparkling back at her was her necklace.

“It is not a replica; it is the same one...I traced down Captain Hennley’s contact and made some inquiries the man he sold it to is in debt to me for sharing stock so in exchange for settling our debts I got it back” Robert explained, each word gave her this urge to embrace the living daylights out of him and never let go.

“Before you ask why you were far too miserable for this establishment and I could not have it affecting business” “business? What one?” “the one of my mental state.”

So he was concerned about her. She had an ally.

“I suppose it is a Christmas present.”

“Don’t tell any of the other Quakers” Robert cooed with an amused expression.

“Now, let me put that on for you” gently moving her hair out of the way he clasped it around her neck, his breath warm against it. If Arielle could have melted, she would have. Then he knelt down placing an intense, warm kiss to the back of her neck.

The gesture made her think of customs. In Sephardi culture, a groom as a sign of engagement would gift anything of value, a coin, a ring or a necklace. It was a sign of the marriage that he could support them. It was not limited to the Ashkenazi ring or coin. It could be earrings, or it could be the hunting down of the string of pearls around her neck.

“I won’t tell the Quakers if you won’t tell the Jews.”

With a grin, she added “or else we might be engaged.”

Startled, Robert sharply inhaled before laughing “I think I could think of worse things.”

“Run along, go light up the room again.”

Instead of moving, Arielle sprung up and embraced him. Her head in his shoulder, arms tight around him. Robert’s arms were soon around her. A quiet, warm embrace. Murmuring a thank you,  she caught the sight of him.

Robert Townsend was smiling, gentle and unaided.

[a-actionspycards]

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