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carryonthroughtheages · 3 years

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Hello everyone!

Another year of Carry On Through The Ages is over and done! We have emotions and exhaustion, but we're so happy that this year had the hype and excitement that it did.

Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, to all of the AMAZING creators who spent the last several months working away at their historical content!

Thank you also to the hard-working mods: @bazzybelle, @giishu, @palimpsessed, and @xivz . This fest would not have been as successful as it has been without you!

We encourage everyone to look under the page break for all the fics and art. They're all fantastic!

Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: Carry On Through The Ages 2021!

Thank you all, and until next year! 🧡🧡🧡

MONDAY:

1) sun on the sea (T) - @trenchcoat-moth : AO3 // Tumblr

Tensions run high in England, and Malcolm decides it's for the best he sends Baz to live with Fiona, where he'll be safer.

That is, until Baz's ship is attacked.

2) The Words I Long To Say (M) - @bazzybelle : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow was dead.

Baz Pitch was sure of it. Simon had gone away seven years ago to fight a war in the jungle and he hadn't come home.

So, when Simon shows up in Baz's club, investigating a string of brutal murders, all Baz wants to do is hold him close and never let him go.

But these aren't the same boys from 1960 and Baz has a lot of processing to do before he's ready to believe in Simon again.

3) we are slaves to gods, whatever gods are (M) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 // Tumblr

I don’t fully understand what plagues him, but I know it’s bad, and I know it goes deeper than guilt. He didn’t want to kill his father, not really, but we were instructed to do so by Apollo. Cleanse the house of its sins, dispose of a murderer to set things right. It was only right that I join him; he was avenging my mother as much as his. Clearly, Apollo didn’t seem to consider that such an act would make Simon a murderer in his father’s place. It seems I got off fine, but as far as Simon is concerned, the vengeful spirits that once spun and danced on the roof of the palace now hunt him down, determined not to stop until he rids the world of himself.

4) World War II Era Art - @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr

TUESDAY:

1) the art of loving you (E) - @one-more-offbeat-anthem : AO3 // Tumblr

1955. London. Young love.

Forbidden love.

A year ago, starving artist Simon Snow met Baz Pitch, son of a wealthy art patron, at a party, and their days (and nights) together have been a wonderful secret.

But Simon is tired of being a secret and knows it's time for things to end.

(Baz has other ideas.)

2) Reliquary of an Arsonist (T) - @tea-brigade : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow grew up a ward of Watford Abbey, but when his magic manifested in an explosive accident as a child, he became the Abbey’s anchorite—never to leave Watford’s walls, for his own protection. That is, until Abbot David sends him on an important errand…

Basilton Pitch paints portraits for his patron, Lord Grimm. But he’s never forgotten the magic he learned from his mother—nor the men who condemned her to death as a heretic. When Simon arrives and offers Baz a commission from Watford Abbey, he sees his chance to avenge his mother once and for all...and he’s willing to burn down everything in his path to that end.

But it was no coincidence that pulled these two unlikely souls together. Something more sinister is underway at Watford Abbey, and only Simon and Baz can uncover the truth before everything goes up in flames.

3) Westward Son (E) - @aristocratic-otter : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon and Baz have found each other again, but there's nowhere in Brooklyn or Virginia where they can safely be together. So now, they venture the hazards and struggles of the Oregon trail, to perhaps find a little homestead in Oregon of their own.

4) A Way Out (T) - @lying-on-the-sofa : AO3

I frown at him..“You don’t know me.”

He offers his hand. “Simon.”

Simon. I feel the name around in my mind and assign it to his face. Simon. I don’t shake his hand. They’ve still got my arms pinned. “Basilton.”

Simon nods at me. “Now we know each other. Let him go.” Very casually, he takes his other hand from behind his back. A sword, flashing. He leans on it and smiles invitingly. “Let him go.”

This time, they listen.

Simon Snow has been trained for years to become a tribute—one of the fighters Athens sends every ninth year into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. He wants to know the way out, if only for Penny’s sake. Luckily for him, Prince Basilton of Crete also wants a way out—off the island, where no one will know he’s the half-brother of the Minotaur.

Unluckily for both of them, they don’t exactly form the most agreeable pair.

WEDNESDAY

1) long is the road the leads me home (G) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 (Version 1) (Version 2) // Tumblr

Baz has a rather unremarkable life, and he's fine with that. Running his late mother's beloved inn with his temperamental aunt, estranged from his father and step-siblings, he's successfully convinced himself that he's better off without attachments.

Then Simon barrels into his life, guns blazing and rapier drawn, and Baz is swept up in dramatic plot he never bargained for.

Worse still, he finds he quite likes the thrill.

2) New Romantics (T) - @ninemagicks : AO3 // Tumblr

Basilton Pitch, twenty-two years old and a famed poet of the Romantic era, has fled to the countryside. In Mummers House, the fabled haunt of literary greats, he sulks himself into oblivion and awaits a sad, disappointing end to his brief years of brilliance. The cause of his downfall? None other than Simon Snow, the so-called “bad boy of English poetry”, breaker of rules and eternal thorn in his side. Baz hopes that Mummers House might mean an escape from London, from Snow and his increasingly virulent popularity... but the rain that comes has other ideas.

3) thnétos (T) - @snowybank : AO3 // Tumblr

thnétos: subject to death, mortal

a retelling of Apollo and Hyacinthus

4) A Medieval AU art piece - @thewriterxj : Tumblr

THURSDAY

1) From Eden (E) - @orange-peony : AO3 // Tumblr

I wonder if his skin is warm or cold to the touch. I tell myself it’s simple curiosity, that I’m an artist and capturing things on paper or canvas is my way to make sense of the world. That drawing him feels so natural, so I should just follow my instincts. Ebb used to say it all the time. Follow your heart. It knows where you’re supposed to go.

I wish I could. I wish I had enough money and freedom to just draw what I want. To paint him in his unattainable beauty. To draw him the way I want to. Naked and vulnerable, raw. Without frills and expensive suits.

Just Baz on paper, my fingers tracing his delicate and beautiful lines with simple charcoal.

2) Slings and Eros (M) - @palimpsessed : AO3 // Tumblr

Young god of love Simonides is tasked by his father, the god of war, to bring about the ruin of a mortal prince to punish his blasphemy. However, once Simonides sees his intended victim, he begins to have misgivings. Prince Tyrannus might have offended the gods with his very existence, but all Simonides can see is how beautiful and lonely he is.

Or, a very loose interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth.

3) I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire (M) - @knitbelove : AO3 // Tumblr

September 1940: Going back to Watford feels different this year, and not just because England is at the brink of war with Germany and Italy. Penelope seems unsettled by everything, and Agatha is distant, and Baz is … simply not here.

What if Carry On but during the Blitz?? Yeah.

4) A Fool's Oath (M) - @thewriterxj : AO3 // Tumblr

A simple soldier is invited to join the ranks of the royal guard. He and his appointed mage arrive at the royal city to find themselves at the mercy of an unmerciful court. As he struggles to find his place in this foreign environment, he also finds himself entranced by music that only he seems to hear that floats out about the city. He makes an oath to wed whoever makes such beautiful music.

Too bad that person is the crown prince.

FRIDAY

1) Stranger Tides (T) - @tea-brigade & @xivz : AO3 // Tumblr

“If some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I will endure…” Captain Simon Snow of the Chosen One is many things—cunning, handsome, ruthless. Greedy. It’s no surprise that Snow finds a way to piss off the God of the Sea, he always manages to get himself into some type of trouble. This time, however, he’s not the only one who will suffer the consequences. Poseidon promises to not stop his pursuit until Snow and all of his men are dead.

Enter Basilton Pitch—rich, beautiful, mysterious. Suspicious. He offers the crew of the Chosen One a hefty sum to take him back to Europe from the Caribbean. And who is Captain Snow to refuse so much coin? After all, Greek gods aren’t real.

Right?

2) The wayward heir [comic] (M) - @letraspal : AO3 // Tumblr

Like a folk song, our love will be passed on. Simon Snow wants to be an artist. He used to live in Fiesole where he worked in the wool shop of his good friend Ebeneza Petty. He has now chosen to return to his native Florence in order to participate in an art contest hosted by the Pitch family, the most important bankers in all the three continents and Simon’s last chance for an art patronage. No matter how much he hates them.

But being back in Florence also brings back the memories Simon wanted to leave behind : his days as an orphan, the mystery about his mother, and once more being under the inquisitive eyes of his godfather, the new archbishop Davy. The archbishop is very same man who would never forgive him for dropping out the priesthood and ruining his secret plans against the Pitches.

The last thing Simon needed was an unbearably handsome jerk getting him into trouble on his very first day in Florence. How can focus when this man is the most annoying person he has ever met and yet his major source of inspiration.

3) Prohibition Blues (T) - @heyyyandrea : AO3

Simon Snow is a baker and aspiring playwright in Prohibition Era New York City. When he meets a handsome man at Shepherd's speakeasy who is interested in his work, he can't help but think it feels too good to be true.

4) Earth Below & Sky Above (M) - @phoxphyre : AO3 // Tumblr

In the depth of the palace of King Minos of Crete lurks a creature known as the Minotaur.

Baz, prince of Athens and chosen of the god Poseidon, has heard the stories. And now he’s volunteered to come to Crete as one of the annual tributes—to dance with the king’s bulls and fulfill his destiny. He just wants to survive the bulls, protect his people, and go home.

But what if the Minotaur isn’t a monster—but just a boy? And what if instead of slaying him, Baz fell in love with him?

A Carry On retelling of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, set in Bronze Age Crete.

5) A 1980s AU Art piece by @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr // Instagram (Slightly NSFW)

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seekerandthewizard88-blog · 6 years

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The Other Side of Fear

(This was originally written in July...)

by Kat

I’ve been hunkered down this past week…. in the mouth of a lion.

I chose a moment like this once. I walked willingly into it, acquiescing to my ex’s daughter who pleaded with me to share the moment. I knew I wanted a lasting memory with her for many reasons, and I didn’t know when the next opportunity would be… Her bright eyes were so full of wonder, excitement, and life- mine, as usual, so cautious. I remember every second of those few minutes. Terror has a way of burning timeless, hyper-detailed memories into one’s mind. I said yes. There would be no going back. It was only a rollercoaster.

I can hear each click of the belt, the angle of ascent getting steeper, and how my organs felt pressed up against the inside of my ribs. I remember gripping her little hand and searching it for safety. I can remember how a laugh looks when you use your whole 11 year old body, at the inappropriate words coming involuntarily out of my mouth. I can remember trying to decide if it was better to close my eyes since we were being pulled backwards and I could almost calculate how perpendicular I was to the ground if I kept them open. I remember my heart beating ferociously in protest when I closed them. I remember when there were no more ominous clicks… when it stopped being impending as the belt released and suddenly there was no tether any longer, just dead weight and gravity. I remember the roar of the wheels against the futility of my most primal screams into the air and the moment after I could no longer hold on tight- my muscles going flaccid from a combination of sheer exhaustion and hormonal overload.

I closed my eyes as I was flipped upside down for the first time, not knowing what to expect. Then something happened in that loop as I was carried by the experience. I remember being surprised at how easy it was to slip into the feeling of surrender. I suspect it had been there that whole time, waiting for me to notice. I became aware of the cool breeze on my face as we whooshed through the air. I was nowhere else in the world. And then, just as I was enjoying this new feeling, I felt the car slow to a crawl as we docked. I laughed. It was over. I had survived what I had deemed earlier as certain death. As I struggled to regain voluntary control of my legs, I remember my spritely companion whipping around to realize that I was lagging far behind in a daze. She skipped back, beaming, to collect me and guide me back to the group. I can’t recall what happened after as I had probably used all my mental storage for the day in those 5 minutes. I only remember how happy she was that she got to be the one riding next to me.

There was a moment looking back when I realized I was on the other side of fear. How many rollercoasters have come and gone since that time? Even still, I get stuck in the moments of rigid muscles and primal screams, protesting the inevitable…. This past week was one of them.

Wednesday afternoon, sitting in class, and suddenly I’m on a rollercoaster. That’s what panic attacks, or whatever this is, are like. An involuntary amusement park ride anytime, anywhere. I excused myself into the hallway to regain my composure and prevent my passing out in front of the whole class. I had also convinced myself that I could talk myself through it without resorting to Xanax and its zombie-like effects.

I finally broke down Thursday night. I hadn’t slept since Tuesday night and I had missed school, missed a final, went to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, still no answers, mind going a mile a minute about what it could possibly be… and in the ambulance, all I could think was- how can I relate my symptoms in such a way that they’ll do this or that test to see if it’s what I think it is this time. Something was obviously very clearly wrong, and I’m a very rational person. But, having to carry it all on my shoulders, the phrase "no cure." FUCK. 5 hours of sleep in 36 hours. Delerium. Consulting all the people. Friends, energy healers, doctors, acupuncturists… Maybe it’s ascension symptoms. Maybe it’s my thyroid. It's EBV. It’s a possible heart defect. It’s liver overacting on spleen. MAYBE it's fucking Maybelline at this point. But why won’t any of these doctors listen to me? The panic/anxiety is the branch, not the root! Last month I was certain it was a kidney stone……….. but they are fickle things. Perhaps I passed it. I never saw anything. But I can’t trust these doctors to care. No one these days is out for our own good. (Interesting point of view, aka, POV). Clearly I have trust issues at play…. is the world trustworthy?

Sigh. Reading that last paragraph is a fraction of the frustration I felt living it.

I think it was wednesday that I looked down randomly at my tattoo. I only have one. It’s in sanskrit and it means, “the path to God through surrender.” I thought to myself, how can I surrender to a terminal diagnosis? How can I surrender to pain and unbearable insomnia in the midst of such visceral suffering? How can I surrender to what I thought was certain death? Ahh… the illusion of the rollercoaster. What is really here? What is the shape of the face of this demon that I had been avoiding since over a year ago? How could I know if I never looked? How much of the suffering was my own creation?

I still can’t tell you the meaning of certain things months, years, or decades after they happen. Can you imagine a perspective so vast it encompasses the wisdom of everything that has ever transpired throughout time and space? I’m lucky if I can notice my surroundings as I walk lol… Sometimes I get a glimpse of a piece of a speck of a thing inside this galaxy. A real glimpse. And in a microcosmic way, I think... maybe this is what it's like to be Source. Except it's like that simultaneously with every speck everywhere. Omnipresence as they call it. Mmm.

Would I have gone on the real rollercoaster alone? Absolutely not. Did sharing the experience make it any safer? No. But the perception of it was different. The meaning of it was different. And so the spirit had a different experience.

Forgive the chaotic juxtaposition of the fibers I am weaving throughout this tapestry. The connections happen too fast to adequately explain the pathways it took for me to arrive at my next thought.

My mother has been staying with me this past weekend. Terror hasn’t changed except for that I chose to share it. And in so doing it has taken on a different meaning. Since she got here, I have been able to sleep. I still get symptoms, but I feel safe because I know I am loved and supported. There are countless people who have showed up for me during this difficult time. Ones who stayed up 8 hours on the phone while I tapped my collar bones and forehead while singing row row row your boat in harmonious rounds. Ones who have seen me through some really hard times over the years. Ones who know some of the scary paths I have had to walk down. Ones who gently suggested that I see a therapist. The ones who know me, who see me, who care to tell me the truth as they see it. The ones who have lived through their own rollercoasters. The ones who are happy to be the one who gets to sit next to me for the ride.

I have always felt like if I can’t help, the least I can do is to not add to the collective shit pile. I didn’t ever want anyone worrying about me, especially not my mother… not in her state. It finally took a few trusted friends telling me their experiences (after getting over their shock that I hadn’t told my mother what I was going through) - one said that she wished she had a mother like mine, willing to rush to my aid and be a mother at the drop of a hat, and another who related that her mom is her rock, always the first one she calls. Both of them said that I can’t stop my mother from worrying… I realize now that they were right. She’s always going to feel how she’s going to feel. But I deserve to feel loved and supported, and I have only myself to blame if I isolate and push that away, whatever avenue it tries to come to me from. You can’t cut yourself off from help like that and expect it not to change you and how you view the world. No one is meant to go through this life alone. I thought I was “helping” by keeping quiet, but what I was really doing was devaluing myself. So in effect - deep down - I was saying, “my pain doesn’t count,” and all sorts of pathology stemmed from that belief, with its heavy roots running deep into my subconscious layers.

I don’t know how I end up with the perspective that I do. I’m grateful that terrifying experiences end up gifting me these life saving gems of wisdom. Honestly, I can’t take credit for any of it… it just comes to me like a whisper as I sit and observe with an open mind. What I’m hearing lately over and over is- my pain counts. Speaking my truth has to become the foundation for my life. Support is available always. I am so protected and guided it’s ridiculous. I have always had everything I needed. Now I choose to use what I was given without hesitation or guilt. No longer will I glorify the struggle, carrying all the weight of the world on my shoulders. We all end up in the same place, at least according to my friend who is a medium, so why not let it be easy? This life is hard enough. If you are lucky to have friends and family who care for you, let them. Let them build you up and give you strength so that you can pay it forward with your beautiful mission. Let love inspire you and you will create something greater than you could have ever hoped to all by yourself. As you continue to live life, it means more. With each passing day, everything is more. The fear is more, but the love is also more…

I am sitting in my fold out chair facing the ocean. My mother is off to the left in front of the receding tide collecting rocks… only the whitest, roundest rocks to put in her potted plants back home. She doesn’t get to the beach often. She looks so small crouched there in the sand. I used to collect rocks as a child, and still do the very same when I am at the beach. I have never been more her daughter than now as I’m watching her from my perch. She has been cooking for me and learning all my food allergies. I have been warning her about the implications of drinking milk when you are lactose intolerant. The other day I got her to drink some celery juice. Yesterday she gave me a ruby ring that belonged to my grandmother. I feel my ancestors around me. I have been wearing my hair down since I haven’t been much in the mood to style it, and also it has gotten quite long since I haven’t had a chance to trek up to Meriden amidst all the health issues going on. I realized I don’t wear it down more often because it makes me look more asian and feminine… as I reclaim my strength these past few days I realize I can think of no image of strength more profound than the sight of my mother standing at the sink washing the last of the dishes instead of sitting down to put her feet up. But then I think about another kind of strength- the strength it takes to say - I need to sit down. I think about telling her to rest because we already had to stop and get Advil due to her back hurting. I really couldn’t be more like my mother if I tried. The two of us have been stubborn, giving to a fault, and worrying about everyone else but ourselves... and this has been going on in our family for generations. A fighting spirit, never giving up, but not knowing how to slow down and recharge.

As I continue my education, the theme of balance persists. We will not be able to control when the rollercoasters come, how big, how many… but we can learn in those moments how to adjust so that our suffering is much less. What I’ve learned is that work can wait. People are more than happy to help and understand when you speak from the heart with authenticity. We all struggle. If we can learn how to connect to each other from that space of understanding, then there is nothing to worry about. Whatever brings us more stress in those moments needs to be examined. And if it cannot be altered, then perhaps it is time to let it go. Nothing is more sacred and more valuable than our well being. It needs to be something we are committed to guarding and defending as if our lives depended on it, because it does.

I have missed work and school, but as I’m getting closer to figuring out what helps me feel better, I’m more able to figure out what direction to go in next and what immediate next steps need to be taken care of. All I can say is- honor your path, honor your struggle, and honor each other. I’m re-inspired to regain voluntary control of my legs because I know now which way I need to go. I am surrounded by people who have helpful information and I know it is only a matter of time before I pull out a victory. And I will be very eager to share that with all of you! ......

Endless gratitude and blessings,

The Wizard

#Self love #Self work #Self help #self awareness #Mindful living #Mindful #gratitude #growth #change #Choice

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