#sbg daniel

[crayfee]

Here's something I wrote about Aiden (and Ben) a while back:

Anger issues was something Aiden was very well acquainted with— sure he personally hadn't felt much of the rising fury in his lifetime but he'd seen it.

He'd seen it in Ben.

He'd seen anger rise until it bubbled over, until it exploded in ways Aiden could never unsee— hidden injuries he spotted at family gatherings, balled fists squeezing tighter and tighter by the second, expressions that screamed so loud Ben didn't need to use his voice to yell— he'd heard of street fights that spread to gang violence cases, to targets put on the backs of those uninvolved, and a log cabin, a home, once warm— the soft kind— with love and care and memories, burnt to a crisp by a harsh fire that never truly stopped.

Then came the guilt. The depression.

Aiden knew the depression. He felt it— sure not the type that Ben faced, not the aching sense of having no purpose after his vocal cords were teared from him, or the loneliness he must've felt being separated from his parents and sister—

Aiden felt a different form, one that ate at him from the inside out, a feeling of worthlessness, as if the world itself had dulled and nothing was worth it. He was never in one place for long enough to settle, and never had a strong enough relationship with his business centred parents.

In a way, he guesses he was lonely too.

Then came the healing. For both of them—

But more Ben than him. Aiden was sidelined, Ben was the main focus, he had to be, it made sense—

Suddenly he didn't just see Ben at family gatherings, suddenly he was a part of the routine— the only good part for a while.

They healed together, side by side.

It didn't matter that Ben didn't know what Aiden was going through— he was there for him and vis versa—

For Ben, healing came in the form of weekly therapy sessions, breathing techniques and travelling the world to find a purpose— accepting his new way of life. For Aiden it came in the form of adrenaline seeking, blonde hair dye and bright red contacts— a big overdue change in attitude.

And the need to be there for his cousin. A mask he'd never let slip, it was for the greater good.

Suddenly, his parents chose a place to settle— Alto Georgia… and that brought him to now— he was new kid, but this time, he figured he'd give this friends thing a go.

And the rest is history...

[a13xandri4]

I'm going to go into a quick ramble about Aiden's eyesight and roots real quick so if I can gain just a MOMENT of your time.

Let's start here. These thought bubbles provide a heavy reminder that Aiden's eyesight is an issue, and I highly believe that is going to be a conflict within season three because of it.

Why else would Red specifically allow that line to stay in after all if it didn't hold at least SOME importance??

Woah that photo was way bigger than I intended. Anyways- I think that chances are, with Aiden's lack of vision, he's going to, in a way, second guess certain things. We also don't know the extent of which he need contacts (it could be severely bad vision or manageable).

NOW let's go zoom back to his childhood.

Look at his face. Notice something? No glasses or contacts. Or maybe he did have contacts. BUT LET'S GO BACK EVEN FURTHER within the comic but not his childhood-

Look at what his dad AND him have. Mhm. Some form of sight-giving items.

I don't know where I was going with this, point is, men in the Clark Family out of Jessica's side have awful vision 👍

[newly-edgy-anon]

Invisible Limits

Aiden struggles with chronic fatigue, leading to being cooped up in his room the majority of the time.

In a small, nondescript town where the sidewalks whispered secrets to the willow trees, Aiden Clark, a young boy of twelve, lived a life of quiet solitude. His eyes, a mirror to the world's weariness, spoke volumes about his unseen battles. Chronic fatigue was his invisible shield, a silent sentinel that guarded him from the energetic chaos beyond his bedroom door.

Aiden's room was his sanctuary, a fortress of solace from the relentless demands of the outside. The walls were plastered with posters of galaxies and superheroes, their vivid colors stark against the stark white paint. Aiden often lay on his bed, staring up at them, lost in thought. His desk, cluttered with half-read comic books and untouched homework, was a monument to the time that slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.

"Aiden," his mother's voice called softly from the hallway, "time for dinner."

He sighed, the weight of his eyelids a constant reminder of his condition. "Coming, Mom," he murmured, his voice a gentle ripple in the sea of silence that filled the house.

Slowly, Aiden pushed himself up and shuffled over to the door. Each step was a deliberate act of will, as if he were wading through a river of molasses. The mere act of existing was a marathon, and he hadn't even left his room yet.

In the kitchen, the smell of chicken and potatoes filled the air, a comforting embrace that didn't quite reach his soul. His mother, a woman whose smile was the brightest light in the dreary world of their lives, placed a steaming plate in front of him.

"Thanks, Mom," he said, his voice a mere echo of its usual vibrancy.

She ruffled his hair, her eyes filled with a blend of concern and love. "You need to eat, sweetie. You're getting too thin."

Aiden managed a nod, his spoon hovering over the food. He knew she was right, but the effort of lifting the spoon felt like a Herculean task. He took a bite, chewing mechanically, the flavors barely registering.

The TV in the living room hummed with the latest sitcom laughter, a distant sound that didn't quite reach him. His father, a man of few words, sat in his armchair, eyes glued to the screen, a silent sentinel to his son's struggle.

After dinner, Aiden retreated back to his room, the sanctum of his solitude. He picked up his favorite comic book, the one with the hero who never gave up, despite the odds. As he turned the pages, the vibrant illustrations danced before his eyes, briefly coloring his world with the excitement he craved.

But the dance was short-lived. His eyelids grew heavy once more, and the book slipped from his grasp. He curled up under the covers, his body a prison to the boundless energy he longed for. The house grew quieter as the night deepened, the only sound the rhythmic tick of the clock, a metronome to his weary heartbeat.

In the stillness of the night, Aiden felt the weight of his condition more acutely than ever. The stars outside his window called to him, a silent testament to the adventures he yearned for but could never have.

The world continued to spin, uncaring of the battles fought in the confines of his four walls. And as sleep claimed him once more, Aiden dreamed of a life beyond the shackles of fatigue, where he could be the hero of his own story.

Word count: 577

[a13xandri4]

Aiden Clark craved his parents attention as a kid.

He got so burnt out trying to impress them.

Becoming good at chess.

Doing good during tests.

He sat too close to the TV, praying for a "Honey, back up, you'll hurt your eyes" from his mom.

Or even just a, "Son, we love you" from his dad while they tucked him in.

But his parents are Jessica and Daniel Clark.

The parents who moved around more times in one month than they had ever shown up to his school awards or events.

The parents who let their child rot in his room and fend for himself while they were out experiencing the views of other countries, even if they were working.

The parents who were neglectful.

The parents who were rude.

The parents who would never admit it, but know they let him slip away too much now.