What's a scarier thing to say than 'I love you?' - DPXDC Stillborn Au Ficlet
Danny doesn't believe in the words "I love you".
People always say it's one of the scariest things people can say to another, because it lays them bare in front of the one they say it to, revealing their vulnerabilities and true thoughts and feelings to the world like an open wound. Telling someone you love them is the bravest thing you can do.
He thinks it's a load of bullshit. He's had two of his foster parents tell him they loved him, only to turn around and stab him in the back days, weeks, months, minutes later. Anyone can say they love you with nothing more than a sweet smile and a dagger hidden behind their spines. 'I love you' is an empty phrase, one that makes his heart beat unpleasantly in his chest and his palms sweat as he waits for the other shoe to drop.
'I love you' is a ploy. A plot. A lie. It's a coward's way out. If someone loves him, he wants them to show it, not say it. Because if 'I love you' is such a scary thing to say, it should be easier to show it in their hands, in their actions.
Wanna know what he thinks is the scariest thing in the world to say? What most people hem and haw and try and avoid? Try and deny, deny, deny?
The words, 'I hate you'.
There, that's the scariest thing in the world to say. Everybody can say 'I love you' and say they mean it, he's found that nobody wants to say 'I hate you' and say they mean it. That's a phrase everyone gets uncomfortable with, that everyone doesn't want to believe no matter how much you insist it.
Danny wonders a lot about why that is. Why everyone can love everyone, but nobody can hate anybody.
He thinks it's because hate can be personal in a way that's too similar to love. You can hate in a lot of ways, just like you can love a lot of ways. But in order to hate someone, really hate someone, in a way that's not far off and distant like distaste, but truly personal, burning and all-consuming loathing, you need to care about them in some way.
To hate someone implies an investment in their well-being in a way that mirrors love. It indicates a level of importance that person holds in your life that exceeds beyond simple indifference or disgust (an emotion easily mistaken for hatred despite its fleetingness).
To hate someone and to say you hate someone means that the thought of them fills you with a fire that carves into the marrow of your bones. That you think of them, even if it's not in a good way. To hate you need passion. To love you need passion.
To look someone in the eyes and say you hate them, and truly, really mean it, that is something that takes courage. That is something that requires you to lay your soul bare and reveal your vulnerabilities like an open wound.
But he supposes he can understand the confusion.
Hate and Love are not opposites after all, they're siamese twins.
Nobody ever wants to say they hate someone. Everyone wants to say they love somebody.
He wishes his foster parents had just said outright they had hated him, he wishes they hadn't strung him along with calorie-less love. He wishes they had just left him alone rather than sat him on the rug they were gonna pull out from under his feet. The ones who said they loved him hurt worse than the ones that never said it at all.
At least the people who said they hate him are honest about it.
What was he doing again?
He curls tighter into himself, his arms squeezing around his legs as burning magma flow spills over his shoulders and cocoons him away from the chill of the living. Danny's hair had broken out of its braid some time ago, and he'd burned off the excess lava and thrown it to the side to get it off his back, but it never takes long to grow back longer.
It's fine, it's fine. It's letting him hide.
Danny's not sure how long he sits there, stewing in his own heat and hurt, but it's long enough that he forgets why he's even there in the first place. It's long enough that the terrified fury lashing out in his core like a solar flare cools and settles, and then forgets why it was even lashing out at all.
It's long enough that he falls asleep.
Long enough that when he wakes up, it's to the feeling of a hand pushing away his hair like one pushes back a curtain in order to peer at the sunrise behind it. Fingers, sharp, clawed, brush over the bridge of his nose and his cheek in order to tuck the magma out of his face.
There's only one person capable of touching his hair -- made of magma and always burning, reflecting his own feelings, untouchable to the living -- without melting their hand right off. Danny peeks open his bleary, tear-sore eyes, and sees Vlad Masters, as Plasmius, kneeling through his lashes.
He's too exhausted to be angry at his appearance. Danny goes to say something -- to ask why he's here, why he's bothering him -- and all it comes out as is incoherent grumbling. Plasmius breathes out through his nose, a soft little sighing sound that follows with a smile shadowing over his mouth.
It's terribly fond, it's terribly foreign, and it sparks terror in Danny's heart.
(Sam compared him once to a traumatized alley cat, she wasn't that far off from it.)
"There you are." Plasmius says, voice terribly soft and just the slightest bit chiding. He brushes more of Danny's hair out of the way, thumb brushing over his brow bone, affection that he acts as if it's so easy to give. As if it’s so easy to extend to him, like he deserves it. Affection that Danny is so horribly starved for that the feeling makes him both nauseous and ravenous. "Your little friends were worried about you. When they couldn't find you, they called me."
Again goes unsaid and un-lingering, but it still pierces guilt through Danny like a shot to the head. It's not the first time this has happened, and he doubts it will ever be the last. He squeezes his eyes shut in shame, and ducks his head down into his knees like a scolded child.
Apologies come easy, like an automated message machine, even if it burns and thickens the back of his throat. Danny swallows the heat in his mouth and reaches for something even easier to say; "Go away."
Plasmius clucks his tongue, completely unaffected, and his hands move to gather the magma spilling over Danny's shoulders into his palms. "And leave you alone? I'm your archnemesis, little badger, I'm afraid that's not allowed."
Danny tries to glare at him even if his core swells with a feeling he can't name, a burning, gelling feeling like a bubble in a volcano about to burst. He tries again, and bares his fangs for good measure, "Fuck off."
His voice breaks, trembling like a little kid, and lacks any sincerity or bite.
Again, Plasmius just looks terrifyingly fond, if a bit exasperated, his eyes rolling despite the lack of visible iris. Danny watches from the corner of his eye as the man's hands begin to superheat against his hair, glowing bright and brighter until it would've been blinding to anyone who wasn't dead, before yanking.
The magma disconnects from his head painlessly, and his hair is short once more. Plasmius tosses the excess off to the side with the rest, and sizzling fills the room as the lava sinks into the ground.
Plasmius' hands finds his face again, tucking his hair behind his ears before pulling him forward. Danny lets him move him bonelessly, fingers curling around his cloak as he sinks into the embrace. It's embarrassing how routine it is, how easy it is for Vlad to tuck him under his chin like a child. It's mortifying how easy it is for Danny to cling onto it.
He's terribly warm, and Danny is always so fucking cold. He doesn't know how to keep all the heat he gives off, and so he's always shivering. Vlad's hand smoothes down the nape of his neck, over his spine, and not for the first time, Danny wishes he was living with him instead.
He hates that he wants to live with Vlad instead of the Fentons. He hates that he can't. He hates that Vlad is so kind to him when they're not fighting. He hates that Vlad is the only other dead-alive person in the world and Danny can't go to him like he wants to. He hates that he wants to even despite it. He hates that Vlad insists on killing his foster parents. He hates that Vlad wants to avenge him. He hates that Vlad cares enough to want to. He hates-- he hates--
Danny breathes in thick, shaking, and hides. "I hate you."
Vlad rumbles low, laughing, and rubs circles between his shoulder blades soothingly. "I hate you too, Daniel."
He hates that Vlad knows what he means instead.
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ok so i grew up with autism and adhd so obviously the new mythic quest episode hit home today so here are some thoughts
-young poppy’s actress (isla rose hall) was PHENOMENAL in terms of casting and acting and just generally replicating charlotte’s mannerisms? wth???
-also i love me some wasian representation yas
-the scene where ian was talking about how he’s dumb is just SO adhd. i feel that exact same way all the time. it’s tough to be the ‘wrong’ type of smart.
-his relationship with his mom is absolutely crushing, she seems so supportive at first and it’s like wow i would’ve loved to have a parent that encouraged my differences! but then it becomes clear that she’s probably bipolar, clearly neglectful etc and just OUCH
-how something so positive to ian becomes bad so fast
-also this is an ian’s date HATE CLUB. FUCK THAT MAN. also the casting and acting for ian’s dad was amazing and you can really see how ian kind of inherited his dad’s mannerisms.
-another thing that i related to a lot as a neurodiverse bitch was how poppy’s special interest in gaming was discouraged by her parents! when her dad asked her why she couldn’t put as much energy into practicing piano as she could into gaming, i was devastated! i was always told stuff like this as a kid: ‘if only you could put as much energy into schoolwork as you can into creative writing/dnd campaigns/analyzing tv shows/researching psychology’!
-poppy being autistic is so real and so important to me. she’s audhd fr. she doesn’t know what a joke is. her attempts to make a joke fail horribly. who needs friends when you have your special interest. god she’s so me
-and ian’s 2009 beard is shit
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