Disclaimer: I don't own Artemis Fowl or any of the characters involved in the series detailing his career involving the fairies. I own a notebook. I don't own a bag of chips. I don't own the computer I'm typing on... I'm starting to feel pretty poor.


Genius. That was him.

When people looked at him, they did not see Artemis Fowl, the boy who had recently lost his mother. When they looked at him, they thought, There goes boy genius.

That was what he was--all he was--to most people: the boy genius.

Nobody took a damn instant to ponder over the efforts involved in being what they labeled him. He always had to have a plan, an idea, an explanation. It was intoxicating to have people look up to you, but in a way it made him almost...lugubrious. That was it. Even Butler, who had nursed him as a baby, had changed his diapers and listened with patience to his theories as a child, who knew him better than his own parents, did not look at him solely as a principle, or a friend; to those who knew him, 'boy genius' hung over him in red neon letters.

Holly, Mulch; never, ever would they look at him without those fated words springing to mind. Even Julius, when he had been alive, would gnash his cigar and mutter under his breath...those words.

They would never stop to think about his feelings, about what he had felt when his mother lay on the street, dying, slowly dying, about the pain and horror he had felt when the magic he had stolen in the time tunnel was not enough... There was no freezer this time in which he could put his mother, where he could preserve her life until a warlock unit, or, or some fairy with more magic than he did arrived.

Relatives poured into the Manor, comforting, sharing stories, patting his father on the back pretending thaht everything would be all right, when it wouldn't be all right. And he was supposed to be some sort of psychologist, who would comfort everyone and listen to all their troubles and worries... It was times like these when he wished he had been born a normal boy, although realistically there was no such thing a sa normal noy... Then, rather to have grown up one of those idiots who walked around with their iPods and their boxers showing because their pants were falling down. To...fit in. To not be a boy genius, really.

Minrva knew what it was like, to deal with every imbecile relative who wanted to talk to Mr. Genius (or Ms. Genius, she had added) about their problems. But who did the psychologist go to for psychology? Who did the genius go to when they wanted to be listened to?

She could sympathize, and that was what he really needed now that Mother had died. Someone who would listen to him, not the other way around.

Genius to genius was what he needed. Now that Mother was dead.


I wrote this on a whim one night when I couldn't sleep. I was just thinking, 'What would happen to Arty if his mother died?' and I came up with this.

I'm thinking about writing a companion piece to this, from Artemis Sr.'s point of view. What do you think? Feedback is appreciated as if it were a million dollars, although if you'd like to give me the latter as well you won't get no for an answer.

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ano-nimmus