#bartprompts23

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. 

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.

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.

best creature!! my fave!!

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...

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 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.