slot wheels

Aesthetic & Mechanics

Originally posted by xosavageexo

In this post, I’m defining aesthetic as the what of my practice and mechanics as the why and how

In other words: Aesthetic is what it looks like and Mechanics are why and how it works.

For a very long time, I was a witch and a pagan with a strong set of mechanics, but I was weak on aesthetic. I chose not to have a consistent aesthetic because it felt stifling to me. 

(It can go the other way too, for the record. I could just as easily have had a very strong aesthetic without much sense of mechanics. For example, if I’d been a green witch who knew what herbs to use for which purposes, knew how to combine them into certain formulas, but didn’t know why those herbs are effective or how they work once they’re deployed.)

The thing is, aesthetic and mechanics can and do inform one other.

I do have a very strong aesthetic now, and it evolved directly from the way I thought about myself as a witch and the way I thought about magic and the way it worked. 

For me, these things were representations of the way the universe was created and how I fit into it, so naturally, a space aesthetic started to develop. Water and the ocean followed suit, bringing their influence to my aesthetic based on the way they fit into the mechanics of my practice. Finish that with a layer of the underworld (or otherworld, if you prefer) and now everything is tied together.

They coalesced into an aesthetic I generally refer to as “Queen of the Void” which is, simply put, star maiden meets evil queen.

You can see the Queen of the Void aesthetic at play on my tumblr @glowingnowhere

Originally posted by rebelartssociety

It works the other way around as well. Aesthetic began to create practices and mechanics once they were put into play in my life.

My Queen of the Void aesthetic is actually slightly more complicated than star maiden and evil queen. I turned several aspects of my beliefs and practices into “characters” that allowed me to easily codify their aesthetic.

So when I say “Evil Queen” what I really mean is, this is magic, this is cursing, this fear, this is rage, these are wounds. 

When I say “Star Maiden” what I’m getting at is, this is hope, this is a piece of the whole, this is a seeker, this is a calling, these are wishes granted.

Of course I’m also saying the same thing each time.

“This is power. This is power. This is power.”

I knew that all these pieces I had made fit together, and I understood they were all just different facets of the same whole practice, the same whole worldview, simply broken down into the media that best expressed their individual function.

I didn’t realize how connected they were to each other and to me until I realized that I was playing out the same cycle in my own life that I had put into theirs. 

Originally posted by mrtykom

Each part of my aesthetic filled a slot on a wheel and then I realized, oh. I’m on that wheel. I’m in that cycle

I suppose my aesthetic actually created a kind of personal mythology for me, and that allowed me to see where I was in my life and what role I was playing, and where I needed to go.

Not only did this give me a deeper understanding of my own aesthetic, but relating to it in that way gave me the tools and the steps that I needed in order to begin healing myself.

In other words, my aesthetic directly led to the creation of new mechanics in my practice and my life.

This is power.

i. Lakshmi opens a casino resort in Macau, builds it higher
than the moon and covers it in gold disguised
as glass and steel and polished wood:
things that whisper ‘wealth’ in quiet tones. She plays the game
better than ever; her worshippers number the thousands,
praying nightly at altars of slot machines and roulette wheels,
all of them chanting her name,
the threads of their fortunes sliding through
her hands like the red watered silk she wears.

Vishnu stands to her left and lets his touch linger at her waist,
plays with the lotus in her hair;
she thinks she’ll let him catch her this life, and smiles.

ii. Ganesh writes code in San Francisco,
wears elephant shirts to work,
spends his money collecting what passes for modern art—
mostly Cubism and Andy Warhol, though he has a few framed
photographs of tasteful nudes, and of course he can never
resist stealing statues of himself from West Coast art museums—
but only the ones that were stolen first (which is most of them).

He writes letters to his father on Fridays,
talks with his mother on the phone every night,
and lets his brother sleep on his couch, still high on adrenaline
and likely sporting a black eye or broken jaw.
They don’t really talk, but Skanda ruffles his hair as he walks past,
and Ganesh rolls his eyes.

Some things will never change.

iii. Sarasvati sings on street corners, writes poetry for strangers,
trades thoughts for coins and coins for thoughts,
spends all her evenings performing on half-lit stages
and half her nights talking of art, history, philosophy—she
giggles until she snorts when most of her audience
thinks she’s spinning lies. That’s not how it happened, they say.

Of course it was, is her reply. I was there.
I am always there.

iv. Brahma teaches at a local university and thinks,
I am too old for this.
But he writes books anyways, corrects dissertations,
delivers lectures in a smooth, modulated voice,
looks awkwardly away when his students come to office hours to flirt,
ignores Vishnu when his friend shows up beneath his window,
serenading him with a wine-tinged voice (still fresh and sweet
despite the centuries).

Come on! he shouts ‘til he’s blue in the face. Live a little!

You are spending too much time with Shiva, Brahma answers,
still prim and proper after all these years.

But he leaves his door unlocked, doesn’t say a word
when his wife comes home smelling like smoke and
half-forgotten secrets, her eyes bright with new knowledge.

Guess what I learned tonight? she says, and shows him,
and he thinks he’s living quite a lot, thank you very much.

v. Ganga swims the English Channel,
floats in the Dead Sea,
takes a barrel down Niagara Falls,
smuggles contraband on the Nile,
spends a year, then two, then twenty in the Amazon.

She enters the Olympics once—water polo, not swimming, does
she look like a bitch to you ? (Nobody asked you, Parvati.)
Her teams wins a bronze medal, and she goes home and tosses
it in her river, watches it sink as she tongues the new gap in her mouth,
wonders if her sons have been born again,
wonders if they need their mother to drown them.

vi. Kali dances ‘til the soles of her feet blister, 'til her toes ooze
blood like carmine paint, macabre patterns forming
on her soul-black skin.
She dances in crowded clubs, chin tilted up,
eyes wide open, screaming, screaming.
She gets up in the morning, hunts down men-turned-monsters,
mouth grinning, screaming, screaming.

Her teeth are stained red (like her hands, her feet).
She is always hungry.

vii. When strangers come to her temple and ask her how
she finds the modern world,
Devi throws her head back and laughs and laughs
until she can laugh no more—the sound of it a monsoon,
the sound of it a cracking of mountains.

“The world has always been modern,” she says, smiling.
(do not say she smiles like a tigress; the tigress smiles like her)
“How do I find it? Simple. I keep my eyes open, and there it is,
mine for the making.”

—  they build temples on every shore | a.s.c.
MTG Price Spike of the Day: Wheel of Fortune, EDH Hell

Aaaaaaand there goes my dream of slotting a wheel into every EDH deck I own

Oh, and Invoke Prejudice spiking. Again

Thanks 93/94 speculators……

Also, semi-serious note, should I go back to posting regularly again? I’ve slacked off over the last couple months due to personal troubles, but things have cleared up since and I feel like I’ve neglected this blog.

Those ‘Keeping It Together’ background sheets reminded me how hard I cracked up during like the first commercial break of that episode (before everything went to hell) imagining the circumstances of Pearl taking over the chore wheel


‘Amethyst the wheel says it’s your turn to wash the dishes’ 

‘Yeah I know I’m gonna do it later today’ 

‘But why not now’ ‘I’m taking a nap now’ ‘But couldn’t you wash the dishes now and take a nap later’ ‘No’ ‘Why not’ ‘Because this is the order I want to do it in’ ‘But…all the dirty dishes are out, the whole kitchen just looks so…dirty’ ‘Well, come back and look at it later today after I’ve washed the dishes’ 

‘….I don’t think I can take it that long’ 

‘okay do it yourself then’

‘but…steven said the one who’s name’s on the wheel has to be the one to do it’

‘it’s not like…the law, pearl, you can just do it’

‘but it’s like…a rule’

‘i promise you nobody’s gonna care’

‘but…i’ll care’

‘then stop complaining about the dirty dishes jeez for crying out loud’

‘can’t you just do it?!’

‘NO either skip my turn and do it yourself or just leave it’


‘are you okay’




‘then DON’T GOSH’

*stands there for like a full minute feeling conflicted* ‘I’m just gonna write my name on your slot on the wheel’

‘oh my god’

*looking for pens* ‘I’m just gonna do it I’m just gonna fix it’

*amethyst picks her head up off the couch to watch her* ‘how do you live like this’

*furiously writing on the chore wheel* ‘it’s not easy’

Every so often I catch myself thinking about what MatPat could do with the remaining two slots on his -Theory wheel, and I think I’ve finally found the answer

Literature Theory (or Lit Theory, but he’d probably be making constant “lit af” jokes and I’d rather avoid that) for books, comics and other written works that aren’t explicitly adapted into film or television forms

And Stage Theory, covering both music and theatre, like how the guy who wrote Chronicle made a whole website dedicated to finding a consistent narrative throughout all of Carly Rae Jepsen’s music (which, if you ask me, is much more entertaining than Chronicle was)

  • Prompt: I’m an immortal who just woke up from a ‘nap’ what the fuck is this what the fuck is that au

Bellamy woke up in darkness. The lastthing he remembered was falling asleep in 1662. He remembered going to theshore, watching the sun set one last time before the angry citizens of Salem,Massachusetts located him.

They had discovered his gift recentlywhen a large beam fell from the rafters of the partially constructed barn, landing on him. It had taken four strong men to lift the beam from Bellamy’s body and when they saw he was completely unharmed, rumors began to circulate through the town and soon enough the mob had formed.

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, ordinarily Bellamy would have run to the nearest town stolen a horse and run till he didn’t know the scenery or any of the people, but this time the mob managed to corner him on one of peninsulas that lined the shore.  Bellamy knew that he had only one option. He found a system of caves, said goodbye to the sun and the shore, and disappeared into the darkness. There he’d slept for who knows how many years.

Now he was awake. Stretching his aching muscles, Bellamy stood up, brushing off the earth that had begun to embrace his body. Feeling around him, he located the torch that he’d brought with him and fumbled for the flint in his pocket. Lighting the slightly damp torch took some time but eventually he managed before winding his way out of the cave’s twisting passages.

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USUK XMAS Card Event(14/25): London Date (Now Boarding AU)

A/N: An AU to Now Boarding since in that story Arthur actually agreed to go with Alfred and meets his bro and that’s how that story continues, but since I got this prompt, the idea of what would have happened if instead Alfred had stayed in London with Artie so yea! You don’t have to read Now Boarding to read this you just have to know that Alfred and Arthur met over the years three times in airports and airplanes always at the wrong time until they finally got it right. This is an AU of that aftermath!

It was mad! Completely and utterly mad the whole lot of it. Yet Arthur couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear as he walked into the blistering cold of the London night, Snow had started and it brought the coldest temperatures with it. Arthur’s cheeks hurt from the unnatural smile on his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to care or even feel the cold. His insides were all turned around and their was a heat coming from his heart that stopped everything as he looked into the sweet baby blues of the Alpha holding his hand tight and warm.

Keep reading