simon the magician

birthdays in Carry On

Let’s talk Carry On.

Let’s talk birthdays.

So we know that Simon’s is the summer solstice in 1997. So, June 21st. (Did I look this up specifically for the year? Ahem. Shh.)

But Baz’s? Penelope’s? Agatha’s?

If the cutoff for starting school is “birthday before September first” (and assuming that none of them started school a year early or late) then that means they would have been born between September 1996 and August 1997.

Penelope is younger than Simon – she says her mom was pregnant with her when the first dead spot appeared (ch 46, p 251) – so her birthday is some time between June and September of 1997. And she says she was 11 when Simon first went off. (“Most magicians can remember exactly where they were that day. (I can’t. But I was only 11.)” ch 23, p 131) Which was in August of 2008. 

So her birthday is sometime between June 21st and the middle or end of August, in 1997.  

He was five when the Watford tragedy happened, on August 12, 2002. So he was born sometimes before August 12th, 1997. (Probably, I would guess, not in the week or two before, or he might have said something like, it was just after my birthday. Seems like something a five year old might remember.)

So – sometime between September 1996 and August 12th 1997.

Also, it seems logical that if Baz’s birthday were at the beginning of school/pre-Christmas (especially while he was missing) that Simon would’ve mentioned it. (In fact, I would venture that it is CERTAIN, Mr. I-mention-Baz-literally-773-times, thank you @thepessimisticasshole for your work collating those numbers. Though I suppose it’s possible that Simon just isn’t very good with dates.)

So I’m guessing sometime between late December/January and August 1st/12th, 1997.

For Agatha we don’t know anything more specific, I don’t think, than “between September 1st 1996 and August 31st 1997.” (Again, unless she started school a year early, or a year late, for some reason.)

But the same goes for Agatha – surely if her birthday were between September 1st and Christmas, we would’ve heard SOMETHING about it, because it would’ve happened during the story. So, I’ll guess sometime between January and August 1997. (Then again, maybe it did happen between Sept-Dec, and no one paid any attention. There’s a fic for you.)

If I’m missing any text references, fellow Snowflakes, please please tell me!

And @rainbowrowell – can you tell us? What are Baz, Penelope, and Agatha’s birthdays? 

simon and tHE MAGE!!!!!!!!!!1!

Things That Should be Rendered into Anime Battles: Simon the Magician vs the Apostle Peter

“The Apostle Peter goes to Rome and challenges Simon to a magical contest. Simon conjures up huge dogs that rush towards Peter, but he makes them vanish by holding out a loaf of holy bread. Simon then levitates himself, and flies out of the window; but St. Peter falls on his knees and brings him down with a well-aimed prayer. Simon dies of two broken legs and Peter is thrown into prison by Nero.”

- Colin Wilson


- Fell in love, didn’t you? (Snowbaz playlist)

  • Breathing underwater - METRIC
  • First day back - Townhouse Warrior
  • The sound - The 1975 (Baz sees Simon)
  • Drumming song - Florence and the Machine (Simon sees Baz)
  • You’re the one - Charli xcx
  • Symphony - Clean Bandit 
  • Things we lost in the fire - Bastille
  • Lover, please stay - Nothing but Thieves
  • Powerful - Major Lazer
  • Bite down - Bastille
  • Still into you - Paramore


The End of The Chase

He pulls back. Then he looks at me. I just look back, not sure what else to do with myself. “Crowley,” I breathe.

- or where Simon finally catches Baz coming out of the catacombs, and doesn’t turn him in. (1.5k)


I look for anyone wandering around as I exit the catacombs, then step all of the way out. I turn and almost go to walk away, but a voice interrupts me. “I knew you go down there at night,” I freeze in my spot. I don’t know whether to turn around or whether to run, but either one isn’t going to get me anywhere good.

“What do you want, Snow?” I turn slowly, dreadfully.

He stands there a few feet away, awkwardly, his arms hanging by his side and his feet almost crossed. It looks as if he’s holding in his piss, but from knowing him for so long I can tell that he just stopped walking at a weird angle. It’s always been as if he couldn’t control his own feet, or else he wouldn’t be standing like an idiot.

“I…” he looks down for a split second and fixes his footing. He looks at me, but not at me. His eyes won’t meet my own, and I can’t tell whether he’s scared or nervous, but it seems to be one of the two. “I saw you eating… a few nights ago, uhm, in the woods,” he looks to the side.

I stammer on what I want to say. It’s the one thing I never want to do, beg to Snow, but it’s the only thing I can get out. “Don’t tell,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, “I… you can’t tell anyone,” I sigh, trying to stand taller than I am to keep some of my dignity.

He furrows his eyebrows, his mouth fishing open and closed. He brings his fingers to his lips, pinching his bottom lip. “Have you ever killed anyone?” his voice is quiet, and he seems fearful. I don’t like it. “You know, to, uh, drink their blood?” he’s so uncomfortable with the question, and I don’t blame him.

I shake my head, rolling my knuckles together. A nervous habit. “No. Only animals.”

Snow builds up the courage to look me in the eyes, and once they’re locked in he doesn’t look away. “Would you? Ever kill someone, that is?” I must give him a nasty look, because he mutters a quick “sorry” to me.

“I- no, god no, idiot. The only person I would ever kill on purpose is whoever killed my mother. I… I’m one of them , but I’m not a monster.”

“A vampire.”

I want to roll my eyes. So bad. So so bad. “Yes.”


“But you’d never kill a person,” I say.

Baz nods.

I furrow my eyebrows, chewing on my lip.

I always knew it. I’ve called it for years, and whether or not people believed me or not, they never said anything.

Baz is a vampire.

But he’s not what everyone says he is. What they are. Who they were. He’s a vampire, sure, but he’s no monster.

I give a slight shrug and push my fingers through my curls, “Then there’s no point,” he stares at me, “there’s no point in turning you in,” I look down at my feet.


It seems like whatever he’s going to say is going to kill him to admit, but he says it anyway, “I always knew. I guess, kind of. Not for sure, but I had my evidence and reasons. But I… I wasn’t ever going to actually turn you in and have you killed, I don’t think. We have this stupid hate game, but the moment one of us wins, it’s over, and then you realize there’s no point in it. It’s all about the chase, you know?” he wears a broken smile, “so, I wasn’t ever going to turn you in for real.”

I don’t know what makes me do it. I feel like an idiot (I am an idiot) when it comes to this kind of thing. My thoughts are running and jumping up the fucking wall.


He’s looking at me like he always does. Intensely and like he wants to lunge at me. Except the only scary difference is that for once it doesn’t look like he wants to hurt me, and I don’t know what to do about it. He looks soft, which never happens, and it makes me want to slap away all of the near-death experiences we’d put each other in in the past.

He takes a few steps forward. Small ones. My hands are shaking. I’m desperate to know what he’s thinking.


Fuck fuck fuck. I don’t know what I’m thinking, or doing, or… why I moved three steps ahead. Why did I move? Do I really want to make a stupid move and ruin my life? Do I really want to humiliate myself? Do I even get a say in what I’m doing right now? (It’s a no to that one)


I’m holding my breath. Baz is scaring me. But not in a way that makes me think he’s going to hurt me. He’s scaring me because I feel like I know what he’s going to do, and I don’t know how to go on with it. I don’t know if I want it or if I’ll like it or if I’ll be able to even handle it.

He’s closer than I think we’ve ever been without hurting each other. His face is closer than I can deal with, and when I catch him glance at my mouth I want to run away and push my body at him all at once.

He pulls back. Then he looks at me. I just look back, not sure what else to do with myself.

“Crowley,” I breathe.


He barely speaks.

I let out a breath, and pull him to me by the neck. I kiss him.


He’s kissing me.

My eyes go wide before I shut them, and I’m not sure what to do with my hands, but they automatically go to his chest. My fingers curl into his shirt, gripping it tight. Our lips are slotted, and it feels like forever before Baz moves his mouth. It doesn’t even feel familiar. The times I had kissed Agatha, I was “in charge”. But this is all Baz.

His hand is on the side of my face, and he tilts his head. My back is arched a tiny bit, and even though he’s not, it feels like he’s bending me over from how forcefully he’s pushing his lips onto mine. I try my best to keep up, but eventually I pull away, breathing hard. My hands are shaking, and have somehow made their way to his face, how his had been on mine before, except now his are on my waist and my back. My thumb is on the corner of his bottom lip, and he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s different. So different. But it feels good, and if it’s wrong, than I’m fine with not being right for once.


I can feel the heat radiating off of him, even after he’s pulled away from the kiss. I’m scared to open my eyes. Scared that none of this is actually going to be real when I open them, because let’s be honest, Simon Snow and I have not always been on good terms. No matter how long I’ve loved him.

“You’re cold,” he whispers.

I want to put my forehead on his, even with the height difference. I want him to tuck his head into my neck. To sink into my arms, as stupid as that sounds. I want him to come to me, want me. All the cooped up feelings are begging to barge out, but I won’t let them. (Not yet at least)

His curls hang over his forehead. I push them out of his eyes with my finger, and when I bring my hand down I put it on his waist, where his trousers meet his shirt. I want to put my hands on his bare skin, and feel the heat of his body against the coldness of my own.

“I’m dead,” I tell him.

Fuck. Major mood killer.

He looks up at me. His eyes scan over my face, at my hair, that he pushes back as he bites his lip on instinct. “That’s the dumbest bloody thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he looks frustrated, “I- and that’s usually something you say to me,” he purses his lips, his finger curling around the cloth of my top, “and you’re not dead, arsehole… You wouldn’t care enough if you were.”

“You’re going to get hurt kissing me,” I mumble, “one day. Maybe not today, but one day I’m going to accidentally hurt you,” I tell him.

He dismisses it, “Crowley, shut up, Baz, I honestly do not care right now. I… I’m not saying you’re not going to hurt me, because sure, maybe it could happen, but right now I could care less.”

I’m not sure what to say. Whether I kiss him again or keep talking. I don’t want things to get awkward between us, not that they would, but I’m at a loss. “We should go back. To our room,” I glance at the Mummers House, or the back of it, really. He does too, for a second, then nods.

“Okay,” he lets his hands fall to his sides. My body itches to feel him against me again. “Kiss me tomorrow, please,” he starts walking. I can tell he wants to look back to see if I’m coming, so I jog up and spell fire into my hands for light, keeping my pace behind him and thinking of all the ways I can kiss him tomorrow.


Lowest aspect of the Creator God, The Monad, in Gnostic myth who fell from the fullness of God, Pleroma, for either trying to separate from God or trying to act without her male counterpart that was interconnected with her. In her attempt to return to the Pleroma, her feelings of fear and anguish created matter and souls, thus bringing about the beginning of creation.

When she wished to create something free of God, she birthed the Demiurge known as Yaldabaoth who was a monstrous being. Ashamed of her own creation, she abandoned him leaving him on a throne of clouds. Because the Demiurge could not perceive her or any other aspects, he came to believe that he was The One True God and eventually created the world, trapping all souls within it.

She was later taken back to Pleroma by an incarnation of Christ, though she continued to exist in the hearts of all living things as the divine spark.

According to the Hebrew ‘Book of Proverbs’ the counsellor and workmistress of God, Wisdom was female. This being was adapted into Gnostic mythology as Sophia where she lived above the world and below the Pleroma. The seven Archons sang her praises because she was the highest ruler they saw.

She was also known to the scholar Irenaeus by the name, Prunikos and to Baruch-Gnostic’s as Edem, wife of Elohim, who birthed twenty-four angels and had the lower half of a snake.

The religious figure, Simon the Magician, stated in the ‘Ennoai’ that she was destroyed and the reborn in the world in some form of punishment for her falling.

Other tales state that Sophia was destroyed and her soul split into every being on earth. Later texts found in Nag Hammadi said that some people believed she would eventually obliterate the Demiurge and his Archons from the world and rescue all souls.

It was also common to depict Sophia as the Holy Spirit and the female counterpart of Christ, whom she may have married especially in some Christian beliefs like Sophiology. She is also worshipped in some modern wiccan and pagan traditions as a goddess of wisdom.

How the American Political Establishment Views Christianity

Republicans are Simon the Magician: blinded with ambition, they think they can buy the power and authority of the Church with their money (Acts 8:18-24).

Democrats are Judas Iscariot: sinister traitors who claim they can care for the poor better than the Church, all-the-while being liars and thieves who want the money for themselves (John 12:4-8).

fifth year
  • simon: I think Baz is planning something.
  • penny: that's what you always say.
  • simon: no but this time it's definite. he's been staring at me all the time, especially when I sleep.
  • penny: ...
  • simon: penny he's trying to exploit my weaknesses. he's trying to study me so he knows the best way to break me.
  • penny: simon -
  • simon: I know what I should do! I'll beat him at his own game - when he sleeps I'll thoroughly study him and then I'll be able to predict his every move. he won't know what hit him.
  • penny: *sighs*

“At Watford, magic is just the air we breathe. It’s not what separates us from each other; it’s what keeps us together”

It took me a few days but CROWLEY I love this book. HA, see what I did there? Anyways, I’m so in love with this book. Rainbow always knows how to include everyone and just makes me happy to know stories don’t always have to be common with the same plot.


The Last Magician, by Lisa Maxwell

On Sale Date: July 18, 2017

**I received this as an e-galley from Simon Pulse through Edelweiss in return for an honest review.**

My Rating: ★★★★★ (4.5 out of 5 stars)


Stop the Magician.
Steal the book.
Save the future.

In modern day New York, magic is all but extinct. The remaining few who have an affinity for magic—the Mageus—live in the shadows, hiding who they are. Any Mageus who enters Manhattan becomes trapped by the Brink, a dark energy barrier that confines them to the island. Crossing it means losing their power—and often their lives.

Esta is a talented thief, and she’s been raised to steal magical artifacts from the sinister Order that created the Brink. With her innate ability to manipulate time, Esta can pilfer from the past, collecting these artifacts before the Order even realizes she’s there. And all of Esta’s training has been for one final job: traveling back to 1901 to steal an ancient book containing the secrets of the Order—and the Brink—before the Magician can destroy it and doom the Mageus to a hopeless future.

But Old New York is a dangerous world ruled by ruthless gangs and secret societies, a world where the very air crackles with magic. Nothing is as it seems, including the Magician himself. And for Esta to save her future, she may have to betray everyone in the past.

My Review:

Keep reading


Prince Simon Snow has been struck down by an inevitable curse, only reversible through true love’s kiss. But when his betrothed, Agatha, is unable to break the spell, all measures are taken- including calling in renowned magician Basilton Pitch.

Basilton arrives at the castle.

one two three four

The outfit they’d stuffed him in was itchy and uncomfortable, and it was far too short in the trousers, so he kept feeling like he needed to pull the ankles down. He knew he looked good, though, posh even, which was both a happy memory and a terrifying flashback. He hadn’t worn clothes this nice since the fire. He looked so nice, in fact, that when the king came out to see him, he’d had to introduce himself (humbly, of course. King Davy had been known to be quite cruel at times). Davy had been looking for a peasant, and what he found looked like something entirely different.

“Basilton Pitch, your highness,” he bowed before the king, his dark hair spilling over his forehead. He tried to hide the tremor in his hands.

“I’ve heard, Mr. Pitch, that you’re a fantastic magician and doctor. Renowned, even. Is that true?” Davy’s words held a biting edge, and Baz hesitated before answering.

“That’s what people say, your grace.”

“And are you skilled in dealing with curses?”

“Depends on the type of curse, I suppose.” Baz bit at the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit.

“Sleeping curses?” The king was fully glaring at him now. Baz felt like he was trembling in his boots, but he held his ground as best he could.

“Yes, your highness, those are quite common, especially in-” he stopped in his tracks. “You mean to say that the rumors are true? About Prince Simon?”

The king’s stare intensified. His eyes were ice-blue, and they looked mean. Baz felt sorry for his servants. “Show him to the prince’s room,” he motioned to one of the attendees, who took Baz by the arm and began to lead him out. “And Mr. Pitch?” Baz looked back over his shoulder at the king.

“Yes, your majesty?”

“I’ve heard other things about you, as well, and about your romantic escapades. My son isn’t… like you. If you try anything with him, the outcome won’t be pretty.”

Humiliation colored Baz’s cheeks a deep rose. He nodded and turned back to the attendant, shuffling out of the room as quickly as possible.


For all intents and purposes, the prince could have been dead. Though when he’d first fallen asleep, he had looked bright and youthful like always, now the color was beginning to drain from his cheeks, and his usually golden skin had a pallor that suggested a far worse sickness lying beneath the surface. The first thing Baz did was check for a pulse, which to his relief, he found quickly. His heart was beating steadily and strong, and now that he looked closer, Baz could see the faint movement of breath under the heavy quilts.

He reached his hand to Prince Simon’s forehead to check for a fever, but he was actually quite cold, his face covered in clammy sweat. His curls were limp and his pink mouth seemed too brightly colored for the rest of him. “He seems to be in good health,” Baz said to the servant. “But he’s too thin, and he’s dehydrated. He needs to eat and drink. It would probably be easiest to sit him up and see if he’ll swallow things when we put them in his mouth.” The servant scrambled to help Baz prop the prince against the backboard. His head lolled to the side. “Go get some water, at least,” Baz told the servant, who rushed off eagerly.

There was no doubt that all the stories about the prince were true. Even in his death-like sleep, he was one of the most beautiful boys Baz had ever seen. His hair was made of messy bronze curls that reflected light like precious metals. His skin was smooth and creamy, dotted with freckles and dark moles. He was tall and broad shouldered and had round, full lips that were parted slightly to reveal obnoxiously straight teeth. Baz resisted the urge to reach out and tuck his unkempt curls behind one ear. It was easy to imagine a lazy smile playing along those lips, and bright eyes (he’d heard they were blue) dancing with mirth.

Breathless, the servant ran in with a pitcher of water. Baz carefully tipped the prince’s head back and poured a bit of water into his mouth. A bit dribbled down his cheek, but when Baz shut his mouth for him, he swallowed. Baz breathed a sigh of relief- he could drink, at least, which was a good sign. As long as he wasn’t asleep for too long, he should be fine. “I’ll need to know the details of the curse, of course,” Baz said to the servant after a quarter of the pitcher was gone. The servant looked uneasy.

“I’m not sure it’s really my place,” he wheedled.

“Look at me,” Baz said quietly, drawing himself up to his full height. The servant glanced up at him in fear. “If there’s any hope of me saving the prince, I’m going to be made aware of every detail, no matter how small, pointless, or secretive. Unless, of course, you’d rather he dies. In which case, I can leave right now.”

“N-no, no, I’ll go inform the king.”


Baz sat, tense and uncomfortable, at the long mahogany table. It wasn’t quite large enough to be used as a dining table, and it was too low to the ground for his long legs to fit underneath without being cramped. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the wood, waiting for the king to arrive.

The room was obviously used for meetings. It was sparsely furnished, with only a few tapestries hanging on the walls, clean and simplistic. In the corner was an easel-type stand with a pad of parchment paper on it and an inkwell in a small stand beside it, presumably for note-taking. There were no windows (privacy and all), but an oil lamp hung on the wall, emitting an incense-like smell and giving the room an eerie glow.

The door swung open and the king entered, looking harsh and untouchable as always. “You requested to see me?” He asked, gesturing to his servants to leave. Making sure the door was shut tight, he sat down across from Baz.

“Yes, your highness. I thought you would be the most appropriate person to talk to about the details of the case with the prince.”

“And what details will you be needing?” A slight edge gathered in King Davy’s voice. Unease, Baz wondered? Or simply hesitation?

“Everything possible, your majesty,” Baz replied in a firm tone. “Whatever ails Prince Simon, it’s not to be taken lightly.”

King Davy sighed heavily. “Very well. But just know, Mr. Pitch, that there are dire consequences if any of this is to leak to the public. I can make your death look like an unfortunate accident.” A shiver ran down Baz’s spine.


“You killed her! You bastard!” Davy struck the old wizard across the face, his wrinkled skin swelling up and purpling on contact. His teeth were bared, his breathing heavy. “I’ll kill you, I swear to Merlin I’ll have you killed!”

“If you’ll simply wait-” the wizard began, but the his words were drowned with another blow from the fuming king.

“Do you know who I am? Do you know how easily I can ruin your insignificant life? Bring her back this very instant, or I’ll-”

“Your highness, if you’ll just listen-”

“I won’t listen to a word that comes from that grimy mouth of yours, you pathetic old numpty!” Davy spat. He swung once more, but the old wizard caught his wrist with incredible agility. Shock ran across Davy’s face and was replaced instantaneously with fear as the old wizard opened his mouth and began to speak. His voice was clearly thick with magic, and his eyes blazed with a thousand-year-old fire that struck Davy to the core.

Listen here, and listen well,“ the wizard began, tightening his grip on Davy’s forearm.
Not even royalty can escape my spell
Your cruelty and rage has sparked my own
And through these words my revenge is won
A lovely wife you now will lose
Whom you would have had with a moment’s pause
A beautiful son is yours to keep
Until a spindle puts him to sleep
On the sixteenth day of his sixteenth year
A death-like sleep, his greatest fear
Will come to be, and then you’ll see
The true meaning of misery
His light will be forever missed
Unless he’s awakened by true love’s kiss.”

The wizard’s grip on Davy’s arm slackened, and then he was gone.

In case you haven’t noticed, there is still magic in this world, but it’s a little bit different then in Carry On (and Simon isn’t a magician). Enjoy! :)

@thecruciblegavemeyou if anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know)