#bartimaeus
the requester on this one didn’t specify type of relationship so YOU GET MOIRAILS CAUSE THAT’S MY FAVORITE
One of my favorite parts of this series is that whenever Bartimaeus describes Kitty or Ptolemy, he says things like “Pretty” “Handsome” “Elegant” “Good-looking” but any other time he’s like “I was summoned by some putrid sweaty abominable horror and oh wait that’s Nathaniel”
i love the bartimaeus trilogy because it’s like. a demon, a corrupt politican, and a terrorist. these are your heroes.
reminder that penis candle
no one ever draws khaba or ammet so i drew some really serious fanart
“It’s already past midnight and neither of us has seen anything. On every occasion when this thing has attacked, it’s done so by midnight. Your only fear should be the boredom of a long, tedious vigil.”
Finally done with animating another Bartimaeus gifset. Several people suggested a Bartimaeus and Queezle scene, and since I’m very weak for those two I couldn’t resist.
“Well, it was my first time as a raven. And I’d had to alter in the dark. What did he expect? But it wasn’t the time or place to argue. I changed the beak.”
Bartimaeus and Faquarl as ravens. Based on a scene from The Amulet of Samarkand.
This took me forever to animate, so I hope you guys enjoy.
johnsegbert-deactivated20140211:
25 Days of Fic | Day 1 - Mistletoe
[I’m loath to do author’s notes, but here’s a quick one — I thought this looked like a great deal of fun, so I thought I’d try my hand at it! It’s more than likely going to include a number of pairings as opposed to just one, but this one’s Bart/Nat some time post-Golem’s Eye. It’s also my first attempt to take on Bartimaeus’s first-person narrative, so any notes on that would be much appreciated! Enjoy!]
I had never been much of a fan of tradition — a couple millennia of the same old ‘enslavement-and-tortue’ bit can make you a bit wistful for a change of routine — but my first right-and-proper London Christmas made a rather valiant argument as to why not every pretentious piece of ceremonial fluff was a bad thing.
You see, magicians worship the stuff. Not the old beard-and-hat bag, granted, but enough to make a progressive a tad uncomfortable. It’s like this: they make their name by crafting and polishing one concrete public persona, whittling away at the outward mechanics that would put them in a bad light, and any sudden experimental shifts can fell an empire (or, worse, their careers — or in Mandrake’s case, his hair). So they cower away from change and cling to the security blanket that tradition offers, crossing their fingers and clutching their horseshoes in hopes that no such shift comes along. Not that it matters; a high enough fall will crack even the hardest marble.
Which is how British Minister John Mandrake found himself in the unenviable* position of being stuck under the ceremonial piece of mistletoe at the Prime Minister’s Christmas party with yours truly.