#bartprompts23

[tarragonthedragon]

hello everyone! it's bartimaeus sequence server prompt week time again, and we're super excited to see what people come up with :)

any kind of fanworks in all their wonderous forms are welcome, no matter how loosely you interpret our prompts! it'll be running from monday the 6th to sunday the 12th of march, and these are the prompts, which this year were inspired by the release of Lockwood&Co

Monday 6th: Haunted

Tuesday 7th: Best creature

Wednesday 8th: Fright

Thursday 9th: Academia

Friday 10th: Flight

Saturday 11th: Investigation

Sunday 12th: Rebirth

make sure to tag all your contributions with #bartprompts23, and have fun!

[dykemcqueen]

i. haunted

you wear his body, his hands. run your fingers through his curls. in this long-forsaken place, dark lashes and sun-burnished skin are the closest you will come to feeling at home. sometimes it’s like joy, like he’s living again. there are moments you feel almost buoyant. put his body into sneakers, sweatshirts. walk briskly. wink at girls. smother his soft laughter behind a small, soft palm. 

then you pass by a bus window, see his face, and suddenly you feel your age in its entirety: fallen cities, crumbling walls. what is this, really, but a dead boy? what are you doing, really, but grasping at dust? 

it’s a silly, self-made masquerade. come to think of it he never winked at girls. come to think of it, do you even remember the sound of his laugh. 

you turn away from his black eyes. let your essence pool into a bird, a bug, a wisp of smoke. anything but a ghost. 

[innerpeacemanor]

Long time fan, first time posting. Prompt week March 10th - flight, any excuse to draw B in wings. Hope I did this right!

[fauna-a]

III Fright

Set between Golem’s eye and Ptolemy’s Gate

 «Change it!»

I turned around, mildly baffled. I had barely heard my master’s footsteps, while I was waiting for him in the circle, as he had ordered me.

I stared at him. «What?»

«I said, change it! Change shape!»

I was really surprised, now. In our acquaintance[1] never my master had expressed his opinion about the shapes I took, first of all because my shapes are always beauty and grace incarnated,[2] and then because… well, he didn’t care, I think. Like all the magicians with some power, he knew that appearances were just that: appearances.

So, I guess I may be excused when the first thing I did was blurting out «Why?».

I was an imp, for your knowledge, just an imp, with shiny eyes, a long tail and a snout. Even in the half-dark of the Summoning room, I could not seem horrible or whatever. Even a child wouldn’t have been scared.

But Nathaniel was paler than usual and held the door handle like he wanted to rip it off. Or to run away.

«Change it!» he said for the third time, and something in his voice made me obey. It wasn’t angry or harsh or despotic, quite the opposite: a scared child in front of a terrible jackal surrounded by flames.

Ptolemy twirled around. «Better now, o master?»

The magician gave a curt nod. «I don’t like that type of imp» he muttered.

Well, I couldn’t really disagree.

[1] Now, regrettably, long.

[2] Except when I had to scare the hell out of someone, as you sometimes have to.

[hurrgghh]

best creature!! my fave!!

a messy faquarl that i finished just on time to post!!

[nadiajustbe]

Day 2

Best Creature

Creatures. Spirits, demons, foliots, djiini, marids... They all swirled in the universe that the great scholars of the past called the Other Place. A universe that made every self-respecting magician feel nauseous and lose his appetite at the thought of it. Something mysterious, scary, and deadly to the average person. That's why Nathaniel had always perceived it only as words encased in spell runes, a tool needed to chain his servants in his magical chains.

That's why, of course, he didn't divide them - they are all bloodthirsty and dangerous, ready to kill and harm you at the first opportunity, at the slightest mistake. That's what his mentor had once said, that's what the echoes of voices in the cramped, closed office had once whispered in his ear. And Nathaniel really thought he had never questioned it in all his years.

One clear algorithm - summon, give a well-worded order, wait for the proper result, let it go. It makes no difference whether it is a weak foliot, a boastful djinni, or a powerful marid. And Nathaniel really thought he was doing everything exactly right every time.

However, all his confidence was shattered by one silly exception: Bartimaeus. Of course, Nathaniel found a reason for this - because as a young boy he had made a mistake when this demon learned his true name. From that moment on, such a great power became even more difficult to control, to keep in check. And that's why he singled him out among all the others, why he kept him two full years on the Earth, why he felt an unpleasant tugging in his whole body at the thought that one day Bartimaeus might be summoned by someone else. Of course, there was an explanation for his behavior. An absolutely understandable explanation, quite natural for a magician.

He wanted to believe it.

But when the window pane shattered in his mind with an unbearable crash, when his eyes seemed to be unfocused, and the words ceased to have their former meaning. When, amidst the confusion of his thoughts, he was able to grasp only one clear thought...

Then Nathaniel realized that all he had ever really known how to do was deceive himself.

[csmelody]

academia

Read on AO3.

fandom: Bartimaeus Trilogy

rating: I hesitate to call this M but some might

pairing: definitely bartnat 100% cannot be read otherwise

day 1 - day 2 - day 3 - day 5 - day 6 - day 7

Day 4 — academia

Books do not a scholar make.

Nathaniel knew this, despite having collected hundreds of tomes for his personal library over the years. Despite spending half his life with his nose in a book, trying to discover yet another solution his seventeen-old self shouldn’t have to deal with in the first place. Despite them all being fascinating subjects, from History, to Maths, to Sumerian.

But the most fascinating one couldn’t be contained in a book. Nathaniel preferred a hands-on approach, bearing the curse of a scientific mind with diligence and perhaps a little pride. It was surprising how much one could learn by using their senses. And Nathaniel stored away every new piece of information in his prodigious brain, having no need for notebooks and pens. After all, passion is a great motivator for learning.

And Bartimaeus was nothing if not vocal.

“I will pull out your nails one by one.”

This hissed threat was met with a chuckle. Ivory fingertips grazed down trembling tawny skin, a path travelling agonizingly slowly from ribcage to hip. In the unscented candlelight, Nathaniel’s study could be called eerie, but not tonight.

Tonight, there were no wisps from incense smoke, nor sage and rosemary and thyme polluting the air with their oppressive smells. The only runes were shaped by the twists and turns of his fingers. Nathaniel took his studies very seriously, and they required the very best environment to thrive. In this case, a djinni sprawled on a cedar wood desk. No silver, no iron, no herbs.

“What should I do with you, then? This?” Pink lips brushed against an earlobe. Bartimaeus leaned into the touch with a gasp, stubble rubbing against Nathaniel’s jaw. Mouths tentatively closer.

Nathaniel kissed the corner of his lips, his own whispering down from jaw to clavicle, tongue finally making an appearance at the end of the journey. The sound wrangled from Bartimaeus’s throat made Nathaniel’s toes curl.

“And I will cut out your tongue.”

“Mhm,” Nathaniel conceded, hand gliding under the knee and upward, mouth sliding lower over hills and valleys. Brain storing away every sound, every quiver.

Nathaniel stopped, taking note of his own galloping heart, the thrill of having Bartimaeus completely at his mercy. Of discovering tiny new ways of driving him crazy, including exactly this—stopping (“I hate you”). Bartimaeus thought that every new guise would present different challenges. And they had, but Nathaniel had uncovered some universal truths as well.

For example: Bartimaeus always shuddered when Nathaniel kissed the inside of his elbow. His form always blurred when Nathaniel tugged at the hair in the back of his nape and licked a path from the base of his throat to his earlobe—bonus points if his teeth contributed. And he always cursed—without fail—when Nathaniel’s mouth reached its destination.

All in all, these were the most rewarding study sessions he’d ever had—Bartimaeus’s boneless body underneath him, glazed amber eyes shining as they met his.

“Where in the world did you learn to do that?”

“Practice.”

An unmissable flash of anger in his eyes.

Nathaniel huffed out a laugh. “Jealous?”

“Not in a thousand years.”

Nathaniel allowed Bartimaeus’s eyebrows to crinkle for another beat. “With you, you impossible, nonsensical, possessive ninny.”

When the kiss came, it crashed like a tidal wave against them both, robbing Nathaniel of his breath, stealing yet another moan from his djinni’s throat. Bartimaeus’s kisses were pure magic. One moment Nathaniel thought he had himself under control, the next, he was burning—a being of fire and air himself.

Bartimaeus enjoyed studying him too.

[saint-oleander]

Like silt in a pond

Back in Prague, tetička Pauline used to tell them about the golem. Queezle, who at the time was still Kveta, had been so scared by the tales of the giant of mud. It was scarier than ghosts for her and the other kids, because ghosts could be fought and kept at bay with their iron tipped spears. But the golem was unstoppable.

Or, Queezle's life, before and after

Written for #bartprompts23 - Day two “Best Creature”

READ IT HERE ON AO3

[neathrablog]

In which Nathaniel's parents meet, fall in love, have a baby, engage in some light maiming, and eventually stop a coup. Not that they'll get any credit for it.

For Bartimaeus Prompt Week 2023, Day 7: Rebirth

[asexualreptile]

Day 7 Rebirth

This turned into an essay, bear with me.

It's part of a wider set of thoughts I've been rolling around in my head about death and the Ultimate Freedom in the context of spirits.

Because, sure they have survival instincts and want to live but I keep circling back to "what for?". If I'm not mistaken, we are told that spirits aren't sentient or sapient before they are Named and summoned for the first time. When they return to the Other Place, they typically return to this state of mind (or at least something close to it). Kitty's consciousness during her visit is intrusive by its very nature and Bart taking a specific form and focusing to interact with her are considered unnatural and unwanted.

So what that means is, the only time that a spirit is conscious (alive in a way) is, when they are in earth: in an unnatural state, in pain and not truly in control of even their bodies. So what /are/ they living for? Spirits can't die of natural causes, they are either killed in a mission or as the ultimate punishment. Nothing can convince me that suicidal inclinations don't exist in spirits, not after living in actual slavery for a time span that humans can't even fully grasp. (And I fully believe that some of those basic runes or charges for every initial summoning prevent them from (un)intentionally dying/letting themselves be killed.)

So what are their thoughts on death? Surely, there are different mindsets that change depending in a spirit's age and kind of experiences. I wonder If they pick up beliefs around death from the human cultures they spend time around. Though I can imagine a predominant belief or wish to simply return to their natural, pure and painless state of unconscious existence.

For this prompt, I entertained the belief in rebirth and chose Queezle because I adore her.

It is inspired by the music video "The Willow Maiden" by Erutan on YouTube and I will briefly explain the parallels:

The story is a metaphor but I will stick with the obvious story layer for now: A man (magician) comes across a forest dryad (spirit) in the woods (Other Place) and is overcome with the desire to have (use) her. When she doesn't cooperate with his wishes, he forces his will onto her and drags her from the forest into his world. Leaving the forest weakens her and she dies, robbing him of his trophy. She turns into a flower. "He could not take from the forest what was never meant to leave."

It's bittersweet because while he doesn't get what he wanted, she pays with her life and he gets away without actual consequences. But isn't that what most spirits' lives are like? With Bart, we are mostly shown the exception, but spirits typically don't get to take revenge in any shape or form. They have to count on the fact that it is more /economically/ reasonable for their master to make sure that their slaves survive, aren't captured or tortured. The best that they can realistically hope for most of the time is, that they get through their mission and are released for a time. There is no true escape from their servitude as long as they are Named except for their actual death.

We view Queezle's death as something sad because we really like her and we know that she was scared and (most likely) did want to live. But isn't she at least free now?

The flower that I chose for her rebirth is the Peace Lily. They are associated with peace, innocence and purity, hope, healing and rebirth among other things. Because I wish her to have all of these.

[fauna-a]

II Best creature

Pretty little one, they say to her, wear the pink dress, yes, that one, because today is a special day: you’re gonna be a magician.

And she wears it, because she likes pink and she knows she’s pretty.

 Girl, says her master to her, stop wearing those ribbons: do you think a magician has to look pretty? She says nothing. She shakes her head.

 Girl, says her master, now you have to be at your best: we’re going to the Parliament, to hear Deveraux. Do not put shame on me.

The girl, Jane now, knows she can’t be pretty: she has to be beautiful.

 Every day, now that she’s a magician, she has to be beautiful.

 When the blood fills her mouth for the first time, the wolf-girl is not pretty and is not beautiful. 

And she loves it.

[csmelody]

flight

I thought I’d do something sort of light-hearted today for a change. I know. Who am I?

Read on AO3.

fandom: Bartimaeus Trilogy

rating: back to squeaky clean teen

pairing: could be BartNat, could be Bart acting like a little shit

day 1 - day 2 - day 3 - day 4 - day 6 - day 7

Day 5 — flight

Nathaniel hated airports.

To anyone who’d listen, he’d complain about the chaos, the time wasted waiting in lines and going through security, the hassle with the bags and liquids, having to eliminate all traces of magic from his clothes and himself. “And it’s all so expensive!” he’d whine, accepting a steaming hot pretzel, peeling open a fragrant baklava, tongue burning from a velvety espresso, mouth covered in flaky chocolate éclair.

But he always stopped to listen to a new language, ears practically perking at the foreign sounds. Some he knew. He’d smile, as if let in on a secret, before catching me looking and turning away, beet red.

“I have to go. The gate will open soon.”

“What—no goodbye kiss?”

Nathaniel’s face scrunched up as though he was trying to expunge the idea from his brain by sheer will. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

I sighed. “I know. Eternity. How will you ever survive that long?”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes—something he had picked up from me, mind you. “Why do you always do this?”

I smirked, allowing time to stretch, holding his gaze. People parted around us, buzzing about like busy bees, suitcases and children dragged behind them. The world’s flavours were advertised in neon signs behind him, the flight board hovered over me. To the left, the exit. To the right, the way to a new country. Sweden, this time. Uppsala. Inconspicuous enough to pass right under his pursuers’ radar. And interesting enough to keep Nathaniel’s brain engaged.

He looked away first, cheeks dusted pink, and cleared his throat. “Like I said, I’ll summon you once I arrive. Meanwhile, say your goodbyes to Riga. I know you enjoyed the city.”

“You mean that time I had to grab you directly from the shower—clad in nothing but a towel—while we were chased all across the city by an army of horlas? Yes, it holds a special place in my metaphorical heart.”

Nathaniel dragged both hands down his face, taking a tiny turn around his suitcase. “You promised you wouldn’t speak of it! I promised not to force you into it!”

“Yes, to anyone else. You failed to mention yourself.”

“I’m mentioning it now.”

“Too late. This contract doesn’t allow amendments.”

“I don’t know why I bother—Goodbye!”

My chuckles punctuated his hasty retreat. Shoulders hunched, case in a white-knuckle grip, Nathaniel joined the sea of people making their way to the security gate. He paused halfway, turning around to steal a glance at me. I gave him a cheeky wave, prompting another injection of red to his face. More determined than ever, Nathaniel resumed his march away from me. A sigh escaped my lips as he disappeared inside.

Maybe one day he would stop running.

[hurrgghh]

rebirth

so ive been obsessed for years with the idea of faquarl somehow surviving at the end of PG and having to live life as hopkins and learn how to be human and stuff. because i think he deserves a redemption arc! but he's also sad 😥 and it's hard to adjust, so sometimes bart takes him out for coffee

[csmelody]

haunted

Welcome to my (mad) attempt at finishing all the prompts for Bart prompt week 2023. These will all be drabbles because I am married in all but proper paperwork to TLA. Also, I’ve never read or watched Lockwood & co. Please don’t spoil me, I’ll be forced to haunt you for life.

Read on AO3.

fandom: Bartimaeus Trilogy

rating: teen

pairing: bartnat if you squint

day 2 - day 3 - day 4 - day 5 - day 6 - day 7

Day 1 — haunted

Thorn Manor had long ceased to house mirrors.

The master and mistress of the ancient London home, motivated by a scare with scrying mirrors a few years back, had decided to take the drastic approach and save themselves the trouble in the future. Built for intimidating whoever dared to stand at the gate, the estate donned watchful gargoyles, black iron gates and fences two metres tall, trees with gnarly branches, unkempt bushes filled with blood-red roses clad in thorns.

So it was no surprise that rumours of a haunting presence began circulating soon after the scrying disaster.

At night, while master and mistress slept, a lone human figure could be seen strolling—nay, floating—from third to first floor before it again vanished from sight. Every night the same. Some claimed it had to be the ghost of a child, somehow forever trapped in this mysterious building. Others would swear it was too big to be a child—a young man seemed more likely. As the living occupants of the house were rather tall, or not the right species at all, they were quickly discounted.

Regardless of how often and however Mr and Mrs Thorn attempted to dispel the rumours, they had taken a life of their own. But neither believed them. And neither was bothered. Magicians attracted too much attention; it was a profession with high social demands. Having to entertain fewer guests was not much of a loss. And managing to survive in a haunted estate did wonders for their already healthy reputation.

On it went.

As the clock struck twelve, as the human residents dreamt, and as the hearth drew its last breaths, the cat jumped off its place on the windowsill. But paws never landed on the crimson carpet, only two bare golden feet, held by knobby knees and thin thighs. Two moles on the thin neck, two otherworldly amber eyes. A faded scar cutting beneath the chin. Dark hair fashioned in a style long forgotten. The boy padded across the room, a slim, bony hand turning the copper doorknob.

And the ritual began.

I moved through the long corridors of Thorn Manor, dim light casting long shadows. Varnished banisters and carpeted stairs awaited. Past windows I strolled, past dozens of dark oak doors left unopened for many a decade, ancient dust clinging stubbornly to every nook and cranny of the estate.

In the morning, the rumours would reignite. But the night was mine alone.

Thorn Manor had long ceased to house mirrors. Yet, a magician must always be prepared. Some creatures would only be defeated by a reflection. Others needed it to stay.

One room held them all, from the tallest, full-body piece to the tiniest hand mirror. Oval, rectangular, round, or square-shaped, with simple wooden framing, or the most intrinsically complex metalwork. The room vibrated with their biting coldness, hints of incense, rosemary and thyme still claiming this space as their own, where magic had once bled from every wall. But master and mistress seldom visited anymore. The summons could be done elsewhere.

I matched my footsteps to those on the floorboards, dust and cat hair delineating the day-old tracks. The lithe body was ideal for moving between mirrors, feline reflexes keeping me from touching any of them. In the centre, a circle. Or rather, a faded pentacle outlined by inward facing mirrors. And in all of them I saw him.

Pale skin, raven hair, thin body caged in a black suit so tight it would have asphyxiated a less stubborn man. The magician in the mirror adjusted his cuffs, blood-red lips set in a stern line, brow permanently vexed. Deep burn blue and a signal fire in his eyes. And a voice that had been silenced five decades prior.

“Hello, Bartimaeus.”

[nadiajustbe]

Day 5

Flight

Human thoughts are always confusing, always incomprehensible, always mysterious. They create stupid, incomprehensible theories based solely on their own stupid dreams and ideas.

They cannot accept anything. They can't imagine what it's like to just exist, without meaning, purpose, or specificity. Or not to exist at all. This is their stupidity. And that's why they have shrouded the image of death in so many meanings. They invented concepts of life after it has ended, without the desire to accept their fate of endless oblivion. Throughout the ages, their words contained everything: bliss, dreams, clouds, heaven, earth, executioners, autumn leaves, illuminated paths, and staircases of fire...

Spirits don't die in the human sense of the word, and I'm not stupid enough to even think about such a limited existence. If you ask me, the best ending for a respectful djinni is to disappear, to dissolve in the winds of time, leaving behind bright traces of majestic deeds and accomplishments.

But there was a Tibetan monk whose opinion differed from the generally accepted one and, I won't lie, sometimes popped into my head during particularly bloody battles.

"Death is flight, my servant," he said one day, just after coming out of his usual meditation. - "Flight, and nothing else."

At the time, I thought he was a silly joker-these people have always been known for their strange traditions and preferences. However, I had never heard such a simple statement about such a simple end to human existence.

Flight is an absolutely crazy element that can neither be stopped nor tamed. It is fast and inevitable, like a feeling of triumph that spreads through your entire being, making you feel like a part of the sky and the stars.

These feelings, unfortunately, have been very aggressively destroyed by one of my stupid masters over the past few years. Here he is, terrified and bewildered, clutching at the gargoyle's stone hand as if it were a life preserver, while the red flames burn mercilessly behind us.

There he is, a few years later, with the same form - I grab him like a doll unable to move, while my whole essence burns unbearably hot.

One of our last terrible adventures, I had to carry him on my back in my human form because he clung to my hand and wouldn't let go. Afterward he would tell me that he was quiet and dignified, but I know that he screamed worse than the morning roosters tied to the poles of Malaysian killers.

What pleasure can one have in soaring freely through the sky when he clings to you like that, pathetic and frightened, as if he is about to slip into the darkness of green forests and nighttime neighborhoods, as if this world were too unstable for him and I was the only support, the only bright spot in it?

***

In the end, I realized that I would never experience this pleasure again, no matter how much it reminded me of home.

When he, now only he, alone, left me to the discretion of the next thousand years, destroying us more and more with the words of magic runes. When I hold on to him, as he once held on to me, unable to touch his hand, to grab it, to somehow stay here for at least the last few seconds. And when the universe begins to blur in front of me, the lights flicker and the light hits my eyes, I manage to see him absorbing the blackness, dissolving in it, like a free bird among storm clouds.

Only then do I realize that the monk's thought was the only true one.

Death is a flight.

[fauna-a]

V Flight

This is a What If in which Nathaniel behaves himself at the end of Golem’s eye. I’ve written another story based on this concept but there’s not a real link between them.

Hey, wanna hear a joke? It goes like this: a magician, two commoners and a djinni walk into a bar.

Okay, it wasn’t a bar, it was some hole the girl has taken us to, and, clearly, it wasn’t a joke, even if I found all this pretty funny.

The fall of the mighty John Mandrake had begun even before his rise; but, for once, I couldn’t really say anything to the boy: because, for the first time in his miserable life, he had done something right; not right for himself or for his Government, but just right. He had made a promise to Kitty Jones and he had kept it, or at least tried to. I was surprised, I have to say: less surprised to see him regret it the moment he spotted the sphere spying on us and understood he was well and truly compromised.

Luckily for him, he had a djinni who was an authority in fleeing dangerous places and people; less luckily for Kitty Jones and Jakob Hyrnek, that were now on the run with a dead weight behind.

«We don’t trust you» the girl had hissed at the end of a long hide-and-not-be-caught game, away from the Government and what remained of golem and afrit.

Hyrnek didn’t say anything, but, by the look on his face, he would have liked to strangle my master.[1]

Nathaniel tightened his lips. «We are all fugitives» he said. «We’re all in the same situation».

I coughed delicately and he glared at me. «You are still bonded to me. You still have to obey me».

«We had a pact, master. Six weeks».

Then, the boy burst out a joyless laugh that could have get us caught, if it wasn’t for Kitty, who gave him a good shake. «Are you mad? Quiet!»

Nathaniel ignored her. «Six weeks?» he repeated, trying to catch me. I was a swift little mouse, and I wriggled out easily. «You want to tell everyone my name? Fine! See if I care. I’m already an enemy of the State!»

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

«We should leave the country» said Hyrnek to the girl. «I have some family in Europe, they could help us… the two of us» he underlined. Well, rude.

My master didn’t say anything.

«You should leave, too, but I’d wait one year. Or two» I commented. «You two should wait, too».

«Bartimaeus is right. They are probably already monitoring every station, every port, everything: they have our names, our faces, and they know I have a dem- a spirit with me».

«Oh yeah, you know all about this, don’t you? You were the one pulling the strings!» said Hyrnek tartly.

«Yes, I know all of this! And maybe, if you had some brains, you’d use this! We could help each other!»

«He’s right» muttered Kitty. «We have little option left, Jakob».

There was a tense silence. Then: «Fine. But the demon…»

«The demon, I mean, Bartimaeus is useful. I need him».

«Well, I’m touched, but I’m right here: stop talking about me» I stepped in. «And I really don’t want to be dragged in some fugitive thingy. Been there, done that. I’d rather go home». Even if I was a tad curious about what Nathaniel would have done next.

The boy in question sighed. «What do you say about a revision of our terms? I… we…» I spared him from telling the truth, which was that without me they’d have ended up dead within one day.[2]

«Fine. Let’s negotiate, like good old days. We have audience too, just like in the suq».

[1] Understandable.

[2] And I am being generous.