I think it would be cute if he like, recited poems or some of his favorite fairytales in his sleep. It’s the only time he lets he guard down- let the boy be silly for once, even without meaning it.
(Also, because I have to be that person: he’d probably talk a lot during his nightmares too).
Alex is beginning to understand what others mean when they describe Artemis as ‘unearthly’- how anyone can ever do so in insult, however, is beyond him.
———————————————————
The sun shone glaring and white through the windowpane, dust motes spinning lazily in the air, their movement as slow and drowsy as Alex himself felt. Spending his afternoon stretched out on the sofa wasn’t exactly a productive decision, but days off were a rare treat- it felt wrong not to savor them in relaxed fashion.
It was the height of summer holiday, and with no MI6 beckoning for the time being, he had plenty of time to sit and recuperate from his latest mission. It would have been the perfect time to study, if he was being honest, but upon finding himself temporarily released from duty (something about a ‘management error’), he had hurried to invite Artemis over. It had been difficult for the two to see each other recently- the last he had heard from the other boy, there were ‘outside obligations’ that kept his clever friend away.
Whatever it had been, it seemed to have finally released its hold on Artemis- he had eagerly welcomed Alex’s suggestion of a weekend away from the Manor (an offer he was sure Artemis appreciated- apparently, the twins were ‘quite the handful’). It had been merely a matter of hours for them to reunite, and just like that, the two fell into their easy rapport once more. It was quiet and it was comfortable- Artemis, for all his criminal reputation, was a peaceful soul at heart, more inclined to study than the thievery for which he was known.
However, Alex was beginning to see what others meant when they said Artemis Fowl was ‘unearthly’- and anyone who had ever breathed the word in insult must have certainly been some kind of deceiver.
With the window behind him, the light framing his features, reminisce of a halo- it called to mind the mythos from which the other boy derived his name. Alex was no mythology buff, but even in the most devout nonbeliever, there were some sights that inevitably cemented themselves in the mind as ‘holy’- of a radiance so bright that any description less than sacred ought to be a sin. Right then, with a shining ring of gold around his head, cerulean eyes gleaming, Artemis looked nothing short of divine.
I feel like the books never explored how weird it must have been for Holly to have a movie/tv franchise dedicated to her and her adventures. Does she make any profits from those movies? Do people in Haven have fan accounts dedicated to her? There's so much to unpack from the few throw away lines that reference this piece of lore.
My contribution to the wing au. I’ve been loving everyone’s really thoughtful takes on it, so I decided to do… not that?
Artemis is a crow because crows like shiny things. I thought it would be hilarious to see Artemis hopping around a shopping mall parking lot picking up shiny trash.
In hindsight, Butler should have realized it would only be so long before his charge grew bored with life within the manor. Artemis Fowl I had made sure the Fowl estate was well stocked with the finest things their fortune could afford: the kitchen had aromatic spices from every inch of the globe; the library was practically bursting with esoteric texts; the walls were adorned with beautiful tapestries and paintings. Artemis Fowl I had beaten the world down so that it fit within the stone walls of Fowl manor, and in theory, his wife and son had to want for nothing. When Angeline had been younger, Butler remembered her leaving on weekend trips to visit her family or friends, but after her son was born, it seemed like she was content to retreat into the beautiful dollhouse her husband had fashioned around her. Perhaps the reality of who her husband was and where she lived had finally sunk in, Butler mused, carrying the tea tray. At least inside she didn’t have to think about the sectarian violence broiling in Northern Ireland, or the heating-up Cold War, or the vile things her adoring husband had done to pay for their life in the manor.
Butler poked his head into the Fowl study, rapping a hand against the door frame. At the desk inside, Artemis Fowl II was curled up in his father’s ornamented leather armchair, nose buried in a book. The boy’s ears perked up at the sound, but he didn’t look up from his reading.
“You weren’t at lunch,” Butler remarked, stepping inside.
“I apologize,” Artemis said, his young voice cold and clipped in a way Butler had never stopped thinking of as strange. “I was busy.”
You’re seven years old, Butler thought, setting the tray down on the mahogany desk. Busy?
Myles occasionally wished that he was more comfortable with the rough-and-tumble play that Beckett preferred. As finely honed as his scientific mind was, however, he could not determine a pattern based on the settings and situations where he had these feelings of longing.
(That was not entirely accurate. The pattern was strikingly obvious; he simply refused to acknowledge it. When Artemis was physically well enough to scoop Beckett up in his arms and chase him around the room, Myles felt that desire to join, to be closer to his older brother, the smartest person he knew and the only person Myles had met who understood the way his mind worked. But Artemis was a simpleton, and Myles had standards.)
(Also Artemis made him confused in ways that he didn’t want to examine. Like when he smiled at jokes instead of being visibly annoyed. Or when he wore long skirts that swirled with fascinating patterns instead of the crisp suits he wore in Myles’ memory. These data points formed some sort of pattern that Myles genuinely could not decipher yet.)
You know how in The Time Paradox, Artemis’ hair grows long when he travels back in time and briefly ages? When he gets older (18-21ish), I feel as though he’d grow out his hair again (roughly shoulder length or so, perhaps) as he figures out for himself what strikes a nice balance between “casual” and “business” presentation.
“Mother? Father? Can you two come here for a minute?”
Artemis hated shouting- it was unruly and loud, two things he disliked in the extreme. But when you lived on grounds as large as those of Fowl Manor, sometimes you had to compromise in order to achieve results.
In this case, he needed Mother and Father, who, as usual, were nowhere to be found.
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