#magic con 2023

[seidenbros]

Kit Young looking for you and sending love, once you've signed the petition

[tough-n-dumb]

question asker: "what is your character's go-to karaoke song?"

freddy: "total eclipse of the heart"

kit: "you always have an answer to this question like that ... how often do you think about it?"

freddy: "it's my roman empire"

[zoyalaisobachka]

🖤🖤🖤

[sashasactivities]

hello fellow tabletop gamers. ive made a magic quiz!

quiz made: november 2023

[overleftdown]

saltburn and lo real maravilloso

bare with me.

lo real maravilloso, in its direct translation, means "the marvelous real." in english language, this is more commonly said as "magical reality." magical reality is (arguably) a genre of fiction.

lo real maravilloso is a genre which defies definition. it is the inexplicable, the absurd, the ironic, the whimsical, the manifestation of dream and abstraction. lo real maravilloso is also the mundane. if this is confusing, that's entirely understandable. let me quote alberto rios; "first things first. nothing so important and nothing at all unimportant." this is the essence of magical realism. the absurd and unbelievable in a constant dance with the mundane, creating nothing so important and nothing at all unimportant.

to quote un señor muy viejo con unas alas enormes (a very old man with enormous wings) by gabriel garcía márquez, "his huge buzzard wings, dirty and half-plucked, were forever entangled in the mud. they looked at him so long and so closely that pelayo and elisenda very soon overcame their surprise and in the end found him familiar." in the story about un señor muy viejo con unas alas enormes, the absurd and unbelievable (a winged man crashing to the earth) becomes the mundane (the winged man is flightless, and those that found him are quickly annoyed by his pathetic presence). a winged man becomes nothing so important, and the drag of every-day life is nothing at all unimportant.

now, saltburn. i'm fascinated by emerald fennell's choice of using the aristocratic english as her metaphor for the untouchable. in a lot of ways, i'm grateful this is what she chose. while the ultimate inspiration for saltburn was less the materialistic class commentary that it came to be, the aristocracy becomes so many things throughout the movie. what i wanted to talk about is how the aristocracy, the cattons, are lo real maravilloso. the essay i quoted before by alberto rios is spectacular, because it delves into not just the ironic nature of magical realism, but the rhetoric, as well; what it means to think we understand something, how language deludes us into believing we know something, how our own reality is mistaken for reality itself. saltburn and the cattons live in their own reality, which to the outsider, is absurdity. when watching the film, what we find ourselves thinking throughout it is essential to understanding the rhetoric of the movie.

when we see the grandeur and wealth and think how impractical, how unreal, how hilarious. the humor that saltburn taps into is near-identical to the core of magical realistic irony. "to use classical terminology, tone so often derives from the delivery of the narrative as litotes—understatement—in the middle of hyperbole-- overstatement. If it is not humor, then it comes off as flatness of treatment, non-reactivity, deadpan almost, which is the great comedian’s trick..." (rios). think back to the casualty of the cattons' absurdity. the sincerity in which elspeth delivers the most appalling, unreal anecdotes and additions. magical realism places culture, sincerity, normativity uncomfortably close to what we could hardly fathom. a winged man falling from the sky, kept in the chicken coup because it is quickly understood that he is hideous. finding your winged son dead in the middle of an elaborate maze, sprawled out beneath a minotaur statue, and the knowledge that lunch is about to begin.

the longer we experience the world emerald has created, the more we understand the reality in which the cattons live, the more we find it familiar. the absurdity is forgotten, until it's once again realized, until it's once again forgotten. this is the act of interacting realities; ours, and then another, and then back to ours. what's so fun about exploring wealth is this clashing of reality. believing that it's so absurd to be so rich, then succumbing to the normativity of richness, then once again finding yourself laughing at the idea of it. "what do you mean it's almost lunch? how could you say that? your son is dead. and beyond that, he's dead in the middle of a maze. he's dead in the middle of your estate maze, with your estate statues and your 179 bedrooms, one of them being the king's." and when lunch begins, we're dragged back into foreign reality. we feel the grief that pollutes the air, pulls at each of the cattons. we understand that our reality is not reality, nor is their reality. we're submerged in the tone of the film, the tone of the writing. a well-written character is a character who has their own reality; not that they're right or wrong, but that they are.

there is also the clashing of culture. the aristocracy is more familiar to the english. the emotional repression visualized throughout the movie is more familiar to the english. the culture of british boarding school is more familiar to the english. the longer we experience, the longer we stare at the unreasonable, the more familiar it becomes. our reality is not reality. we stand amidst billions of others, who have millions of preconceived notions, derived from millions of alternate cultures, experienced through thousands of languages, interacting with another billion people. what this all boils down to is how little we understand.

how does oliver interact with this foreign reality? how does farleigh? how are felix and venetia interacting with each other, as well as this life that so little experience? how do we understand it? how do we react to it? how do we react to the sex throughout the movie, which exist in its own absurdly real world? at what point in watching saltburn did you forget how stupid it was? at what point did you forget that having a maze in your backyard is ridiculous? having gargoyles? having footmen? having 200-person parties in your own house? at what point did you lose yourself in this foreign reality, and when did you remember that it's all ridiculous? have you remembered? have you realized that the sex was absurd? have you realized that felix catton is absurd? have you realized that oliver is blind to the absurdity as well? hm. hmmm.

[someawesomeamvs]

Warning: Potential spoilers, flashing lights

Title: From the Grave to the Stage

Editor: Winterblade AMVs

Song: Lifetime Achievement Award

Artist: Lemon Demon

Anime: Zombieland Saga

Category: Comedy

Awards: Naka Kon 2023 - Best Comedy Nebraskon 2023 - Spirit Award Sakura Con 2023 - Fun and Play Finalist ACEN 2023 - Freestyle Finalist Tokyo in Tulsa 2023 - Special Category (Magical Girls vs Zombies)

[deanwinchesterswitch]

yo, @wayward-and-worn!

Tom Ellis photographed at Magic Con 2023 by Daniel Dornhöfer [x]

[solemnpancake]

Okay, Wonka being a musical and damn good are surprises in of itself, don’t get me wrong.

But the real surprise is that it’s also a gentleman thief/heist movie.

[fuckyeahelijahwoodfan]

Wooden wisdom played Bilbo song at magic con Barcelona party so happily 😊

Credits to the owners

[squeemcsquee]

Anime Magic 2023: Sunday

So I never got around to writing up Sunday. Pregnancy has a way of making you forget things, and then being a new parent...anyway, it's been actual months. But let's see what I can remember, shall we?

Sunday started with breakfast, packing, and cleaning the room. Spoiler: we did not win. We did a walk around the gaming and exhibit areas again, for those last-minute cosplay photos, seeing if any of the machines had Magical Drop (I can't remember), and of course, last-minute impulse buys. Then it was time to find the panel room that held all of our Sunday panels - the Special Guest Room. Which just felt sort of tucked out-of-the-way in a hallway not far from the Main Events stage, but not super populated or trafficked.

Our first panel of the day was "That Doesn't Work How You Think It Does: Cosplay Supply (Mis)use with Pros & Cons Cosplay"

I remember being very entertained during this panel and finding it highly informative. But since I'm doing this Sunday August 2023 writeup in May of 2024, I can't add more than that. Really, I'm doing this in part to ward off the "missing ACen" blues, as unless there's a last-minute lottery win or something, we won't be attending even a single day of ACen 2024. Being a parent is a big responsibility and has been an incredible joy, but it also means tightening the belt a bit and so it may be some time before @lechevaliermalfet and I do big cons again. We're probably sticking closer to home with the smaller stuff for at least the next 6 months, likely longer.

We followed up this panel with Oriana's Sailor Moon panel. In which Sailor Moon was lovingly roasted. And I do mean lovingly - none of this was done from spite. It was just fans acknowledging the quirks of their chosen thing.

I'm pretty sure there were some technical difficulties during all the panels in this room, whether they were screen issues, mic issues, or whatever. But I could be just inserting that into my memory because of the fact Anime Magic has been known to have tech issues. I'm too lazy to try to search my posts in the ACen discord to verify (the AM one didn't exist yet during the 2023 con, so lots of us were posting about it in the ACen "Other Events" channel in their discord).

And finally, we wrapped with Cosplay Horror Stories, again with Pros & Cons Cosplay.

I do remember sharing the story of accidentally ruining @shbumi ' s cosplay during our first ACen in this panel. I also don't remember if it was this panel or their first panel on Sunday in which my experience as a Security guard came to play, because I can't remember the story that prompted me to share the knowledge that using spray paint indoors can set off a building's fire alarms. But yes, folks, that can happen. Not totally ready to say goodbye as yet - and I'm going to guess because I knew that this was probably going to be my last big con for a while - it seems we wandered a bit more, as I have photos of that empty Sunday feel. It really is a lonesome feeling as a con empties out, especially in this space, when I've seen it so packed before, for so many other cons.

But there is my far too overdue post to wrap up Anime Magic 2023.

All Anime Magic 2023 coverage

Anime Magic 2023 cosplay

Anime Magic 2023: Friday

Anime Magic 2023: Saturday

Anime Magic 2023: Sunday (current post)

[noraqrosa]

JOIN US AT FLAME CON 2023!!

@izukuleeyoung, @kirlian-light and I (as well as a friend of ours) are here selling in the Artist Alley at Flame Con, izu & I for the second year in a row🥰

We're at Table PR12, located adjacent to rows C and D along the perimeter. To easily find us, enter the Artist Alley (second floor) through the doors behind the info desk (toward the right side of it) amd walk gayly forward as far as possible and you'll see us toward the right against the wall!

Stop by, say hi, maybe buy?

[idrawsometimes]

Linktober Day 26: Overgrown

Shadow has never cut his hair in their life. And it grows... a little faster than your average person's.

[thelusciousdevil]

[sapphireginger]

Peter & the Sunflower: Chapter #1 | 1900 - London, England

Summary:

Little Panteleimon slowly sat up and stretched, his ruby red and obsidian black wings unfurling much like the petals of the Helianthus had. His chestnut brown hair, shimmered with obsidian and ruby sparks and his eyes faded from their pre-birth obsidian to a warm amber color, one akin to melted gold and liquid honey.  His body was bare, his height no taller than that of a mouse on its hind legs and he bore no shame or self consciousness for his nakedness. His skin was cream colored, like milk mixed with drops of the sun itself and from head to toe he was adorned with a smattering of light brown spots, known as moles or freckles to most that looked as though they had been painstakingly placed one by one. 

AO3 Link

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Self-Harm

1900 — London, England

In the early hours of the year 1900, just as spring began to fade into summer, a Helianthus, more commonly known as a sunflower, began to unfurl. Its long petals, golden and bright in the sunlight, were ready to reveal their precious cargo, worth more than any jewel or wealth known to man, woman or beast.

Helianthus Fields was a valley of flora just south of the grand city of London, England. It was a valley that stretched as far as the eye could see, especially if you were standing at the crest of the hill to the north of its center. Many knew of the field but very few, almost none, would ever be able to find the grove within the valley where this brand new Helianthus, this brand new sunflower, was blooming. It was a sacred grove, one that housed, one that possessed many secrets and protected its inhabitants. 

That day, May 7th of 1900, just after the turn of the century, as the Helianthus fully stretched its petals, a small being got its first glimpse of the world. This little being was known as a Sióg, or a Fá. In the tongue of those that dwelled in London, the species was known as the fae or fairy. 

Now, these weren’t fairies like those in fairy tales or legends so much as those stories were the ones that had been told by the Siógs themselves to lead the focus away from their people. They were a private and secret race of supernatural beings, and it was imperative that no one ever learned of the truth behind their existence.

The little Sióg born that evening just as the moon took its place amongst the stars, was named Panteleimon. He was known as a hatchling Sióg as that was what they called the newest members of their clan.

Little Panteleimon slowly sat up and stretched, his ruby red and obsidian black wings unfurling much like the petals of the Helianthus had. His chestnut brown hair, shimmered with obsidian and ruby sparks and his eyes faded from their pre-birth obsidian to a warm amber color, one akin to melted gold and liquid honey.  His body was bare, his height no taller than that of a mouse on its hind legs and he bore no shame or self consciousness for his nakedness. His skin was cream colored, like milk mixed with drops of the sun itself and from head to toe he was adorned with a smattering of light brown spots, known as moles or freckles to most that looked as though they had been painstakingly placed one by one. 

Panteleimon’s lithe little body was smooth. The only hair he possessed was that which covered his head, and he was, in a word, breathtaking. There was a reason many did not know about the existence of Siógs and one of them was the allure they held, their beauty far beyond mortal comprehension or witness.

Ready to take a look at the world for the first time, and ready to meet his fellow hatchlings, Panteleimon quickly stood on the Helianthus’s center and peeked to his left. What he saw, what he scented, quickly stole the fresh pink flush from his cheeks, dampened the fire of life in his chest, and stole his strength to remain standing. He collapsed, dropping to his knees as he began to sob. 

As far as the eye could see, which was pretty far for a Sióg like him, there was nothing but ash, smoke and the overwhelming scent of death. The only color that remained in the valley was the lone Helianthus that Pan had just hatched from mere minutes before. Though he could see the golden petals of the Helianthus, it somehow seemed muted when cast alongside the gray, black and barren landscape. 

He shut his eyes, his small body shaking with agony, grief and horror. His small fingers gripped the Disc florets, tightly, praying to the goddess that it was all a nightmare, that he would wake up and see his parents, and his fellow Sióg hatchlings. Alas, when he opened his eyes, the scene had not changed, and he could not help the drooping of his wings or the way their shine began to dull.

Pan remembered the sounds of his parents laughing as he grew closer to his hatching day. They sounded so happy, and he couldn't wait to meet them. He loved hearing their voices and could so clearly recall them even now. They would talk to him every day and he remembered listening to every word even if he didn’t yet understand what they were saying. He remembered the sound of their voices, his mother’s soft cooing and his father’s protective cadence and then he remembered the silence. 

At the time, he did not know why they were silent but now he knew, now he understood, for when he hatched from his sunflower, he saw the husks of a thousand flora that never bloomed. Those husks, thousands of them, husks that had held other Sióg hatchlings, were nothing but ash now. The destruction nearly eradicated an entire species and only one sole Helianthus survived the flames. As Panteleimon shed his tears of pain and grief he saw how the charred remains of the other Helianthus blossoms had become tombs for the other small Siógs, his brothers, his sisters, his friends, his family, all now nothing but ash and dust. He ached and part of him wanted to fade away to ashes and dust himself. His wings began to dull as he considered his pale skin and the crimson waves beneath it. Siógs had claws, thin and needle like, that he could use. It would be quick and then he’d be with his family, his friends, his brothers and sisters, with his kin again. 

The lack of support, lack of fellow hatchlings was why Pantelimon was so much weaker. Siógs were not meant to be alone after their birth. The new hatchlings were supposed to group together and only break off when they felt a pull toward their new home. Death sounded like freedom, but he didn’t think he could actually do such a thing. It would be dishonorable and cowardly. It was just that now, Panteleimon didn’t know what would become of him, nor what his fate would be. Siógs weren’t meant to live in isolation or solitude, but what choice did he have? 

✨ 🍃 🌻 🍃 ✨

It took nearly a fortnight for him to gather enough strength to start his journey. He couldn’t stay no matter how much he wished he could. As soon as he was able to stand, he tried to fly and when he finally began to hover, he began his search for a forever home. Ever since rising high above the Helianthus field, his wings fluttering and buzzing faster than a hummingbird’s wings, he had tried to feel the goddesses’s magic, praying that it would guide him to his new home. His search lasted much too long, using too much of his strength but he pressed on. He could rest later and without knowing whether or not the world held other Siógs out there, he realized he may very well be the last of his kind. He had to find someplace safe to call home, someplace he would be safe. 

As the week grew to a close, the crisp midnight air, chilling his unnaturally cool body, he was almost numb with exhaustion, hunger and his energy was nearly depleted. His eyes began to droop by the time he came to the first star to the right. His light was nearly snuffed out, his wings barely shimmering or fluttering anymore as the magic used up the last of its reserve. 

If a Sióg’s laughter was like bells, then their cries were like a snare drum bang, though softer coming from such a small being. Panteleimon didn’t want to die. He hadn’t truly lived yet. Still, amber eyes were drifting shut as his wings stilled and he began to fall. Perhaps, it was meant to be this way, for him to try and to fail. Perhaps the goddess had deemed it time for the Sióg species to end. Why Panteleimon alone survived, he did not know but he surrendered to the endless sleep and welcomed death with open arms. 

[rainbowdelicsunshine]

2 More Days until I go to ComiCon that's going to be taking place locally (where I live)!

Hopefully there will be pictures and details to be told after the event!!