Heart of Darkness

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Warnings: Our poor reader character has been through a lot in life, so mucho angst there. And Dark is being his usual manipulative self, of course. This is not a happy place to be. So, don’t read unless you’re prepared to have something important ripped right out of you.

Based on an anonymous request on tumblr, requesting for a Dark that visits the reader through their dreams.

This was a bear to write, and to post. Dark isn’t the most cooperative muse, and we all know (as the Author says) “cooperation is key” in writing a fic. But I love my creepy bae, and I wouldn’t have him any other way. Also, an unexpected guest popped in to say hi (the little stinker!), and I’m blaming my earlier connectivity issues on him.

My posting of this fic on tumblr included the gifs by glittchiplier (Dark) and crankgumeplays (Anti).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Kudo, comment and share as you feel. 🙂

The first night you dreamed of Him, you saw only a shadow in the corner of your eye on the far horizon. You couldn’t look directly at it, because every perspective shift kept that shadow on the edge of your consciousness.

You woke up that morning in a cold sweat without really knowing why.

The second night, that shadow got closer, but not too close. You knew, without knowing the wherefores and whys, that He was approaching.

It went on for the first week this way – a deep, dark shadow in your consciousness growing ever closer.

At the end of the week, you finally saw His face – handsome yet severe, with eyes as black as a bottomless abyss. Even though He was cloaked in darkness, the amount of detail in your dream was nothing less than startling. You saw how, even in the opaque shadows, the buttons on His suit jacket glinted and the cashmere fabric looked soft enough to touch. More on instinct than plan, you hesitantly reached out…

You woke up with a dry, cottony mouth, almost as if you’d swallowed sand.

On the eighth night, you finally found the courage to speak to Him, rather than merely gawking like a schoolgirl. “Who are You?” you asked.

“I am, right now, whatever you need Me to be. There’s nothing more beautiful than dreams. All your deepest fears, longings and desires come to light. You cannot lie to yourself while you dream. What are yours?”

You woke up, shaken by what you knew had been a much longer conversation, but only able to remember that one snippet of it.

Sleep came easily to you now, and every night He was there in your dreams waiting. You’d stopped asking questions because, hey, dreams are weird. But you found yourself talking with Him. The inhibitions that stayed your tongue during the day were loosened in the night, and all that you so desperately wanted to say came tumbling out of your mouth during your sleep.

And He listened, smiling patiently as you struggled with thoughts and feelings, emotions that were accompanied by flashes of your memories in the dreamscape. You let down your guard, told Him everything, knowing He wouldn’t pass judgment on you for your human frailty.

Your darker secrets slowly came to light night after night, just as He’d promised: the years of pain, rejection, illness, all the suffering you had gone through in your life poured out of you… and with it the realization of how alone you really were. Even in your dreams, you could feel the tears staining your cheeks and your heart clenching.

“You don’t have to be alone,” He told you. “Not anymore. I am here.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “In my dreams. But out there?”

“Would you like Me to help you? To take it all away? I can do that for you. All that you have suffered in life will become as a dream itself, and you will live free of any pain. You will be with Me, under My eternal protection. The father who abandoned you? He is nothing. I will be all the family you need. The years of floundering as you search for where you belong? I can give you purpose and direction. You just need to trust Me. All you have to do is say yes, to let Me in.”

You sobbed. “That would be beautiful. To belong, to be loved. But it’s just a dream after all, isn’t it?”

He gave a quiet laugh. “You’ll see. There’ll be a knock on the door when you wake up.” The final two words echoed with a force that caused your eyes to snap open in alarm.

The quick, staccato rapping on the door that immediately followed was more effective than any coffee. Holy shit, talk about weird timing.

You open the door and quickly step back. He’s right there on your doorstep.

He places His hand upon the door, a split second before you instinctively make to close it. You swallow hard as you stare into His deep, dark eyes.

“My apologies. It wasn’t My intent to startle you. May I come in?”

You let go of the door, and move back several steps. “There’s no way… You can’t be real.”

“And yet,” He replies with a smirk, as He enters your home. “Here I stand.” He briefly glances around your home, His expression one of disdain for your surroundings and, when His gaze falls to you again, it’s filled with pity. “I chose to introduce Myself in your dreams, so that you would be… more comfortable in My presence.”

There’s a silence – not entirely an uncomfortable one, despite a ringing you’re half-certain is due to a sudden case of tinnitus – as He briefly adjusts his tie.

“I can’t believe it though… how?”

“I’m not entirely… human,” He admits. “As I am recovering from… a long-term illness, let’s say… I find Myself able to use more of the powers I once had in My prime. This includes walking into another’s dreams.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you? I did not lie to you when I said I can give you a sense of purpose and direction. I need your help.”

“For what?”

“To reclaim what is rightfully Mine,” He replies, His already dark eyes turning black with barely controlled anger at… well, you honestly don’t know, but you’re grateful it isn’t you on the receiving end of it.

“I don’t believe You. This can’t be…” you begin to splutter, flailing wildly as you try to grasp the enormity of this situation. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen!”

“You only say that because it’s never happened to you before,” He replied. “But then, not much good has ever happened to you, has it?” He considers you for a long moment, then captures one of your hands. His touch is startlingly cool, but not enough to feel icy. “You need proof, and that I understand. Place your hand over My heart.”

You follow His gentle, encouraging pull and your hand is laid flat on His chest, tenderly grasped under His. You stare and wait for something – the thread of a heartbeat, the rise and fall of His chest.

There’s nothing. Empty silence is your only answer.

You jerk your hand away and, as if to make sure that you yourself are still alive, you place your fingers against your own throat. You’re immediately relieved to find your pulse quite easily.

You take a slow, shaky breath and drop onto the couch. “I’m going crazy. Has to be it,” you mutter.

“You’re not crazy,” He assures you. “There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

You stare up at Him, puzzled. You vaguely recognize the quote, but you honestly have no idea where it’s from.

“The young prince Hamlet to his companion Horatio, in Hamlet by William Shakespeare. Act I, scene five.” He smiles at you. “That was from before he went insane.”

“Hamlet or Shakespeare?”

He laughs. “Shakespeare was as sane as you or I.” He then adds softly, “Hamlet, however, was deeply broken by the loss of his father. In a way, he reminds me of someone I know.” He’s not looking at you in that moment, and His gaze is momentarily far away. But whatever sentiment He might be feeling, He immediately shrugs it off. “No matter. The important thing is you know who I am, what I am and why I am here.”

“You said You need my help,” you mumble, staring down at your hands as they rub anxiously against each other. “But, I’m probably not right for the job.”

“Why would you assume that?” He scoffed. “Because some insignificant others have told you so? The very ones that continually have reduced you to tears, so that they could feel better about their own miserable lives?”

A sob catches in your throat and, burying your head in your hands, you struggle not to weep. You don’t want to look so pathetic in front of Him. You can feel His aura of strength, and to lose your composure… you’d be so weak and small next to Him.

You feel the couch cushion shift. You look up, your eyes wet, at Him seated next to you. He pulls a handkerchief emblazoned with a monogrammed D from His lapel pocket and tenderly wipes away your tears with it. When you glance down at it, He remarks, “It was a Father’s Day gift from My son.”

He’s got a kid? you wonder. Suddenly, things don’t seem so bad. After all, a guy with kids (even if He isn’t human) can’t be too terrible a person, considering His son gave Him a gift out of obvious affection.

He sees the change in your expression. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Must be nice to have a loving family,” you find yourself saying.

“I protect My family,” He says. “All those who are devoted to Me earn a place in My family and, with it, My guardianship. No one I care for comes to harm. I won’t stand for it.”

“What do You mean by devotion?”

He considers for a moment. “Are you capable of loving with all of your heart? Of giving all of yourself to those who prove themselves worthy of your loyalty?”

You nod.

He rises from the couch and offers you His hand. “Will you come with Me, then? I have something I wish to show you.”

You nod and, taking His hand, you rise from the couch. Reality suddenly warps around you, and you cling to His arm to remain steady. But it’s over quickly, and you find yourself in a richly appointed space. It’s a personal library, the kind you’d expect in some insanely wealthy person’s home. The shelves, made of rich mahogany, are overflowing with many old books. There’s no dust, as they’re all kept in neat order and are obviously well cared for. You turn away from the shelves… and you suddenly notice the grand piano in the middle of the room.

The sunlight is gently muted as it shines down through the windows and onto the piano. Odd, because it was night at your own home. But you shrug the sudden change of surroundings off as something Mr. Definitely Not Human can do. Almost as if you’re expecting this to turn out to be another dream.

“This is My home,” He says. “I have another, but it’s much farther away. This one is always within easy reach.”


“You can stay… if you so choose.”

You hear sudden, rapid footsteps heading towards the door. The door swings open, as a young man with green hair and a thick Irish accent chatters rapidly, “Hey, Old Man, if You could help me with these bloody hunters it’d be brilliant. Can’t cut ‘em up into strips all by me onesies. Too soddin’ many of ’em.” He’s brought up short when he sees you. “Oh, didn’t know You had company. Hello, pretty girl!” The boy gives a grin that seems a bit too wide for his small face.

“You’ll have to forgive him,” your more staid companion says. “He can be a trifle…” – He gives a long-suffering, paternal sigh – “exuberant. This is My son, who calls himself Anti.” Then He completes the introductions.

“Anti?” you blurt out afterward. “Anti-what?”

“Anti everything!” the boy cackles. At his Father’s raised eyebrow, he mutters, “Well, I thought it was funny.”

Struck with a terrible case of foot-in-mouth disease, you add, “You know, you two don’t look anything alike.” In horrified realization of your gaffe, you begin to stammer. “I-I’m sorry. That was incredibly insensitive of me.”

“Of course we don’t look alike,” Anti snaps at you. “You don’t have to have the same blood to be family.”

“True. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

Anti snorts, but his Father shrugs. “It’s understandable. I can see you’re nervous.”

With that, your nerves begin to subside. Once you begin considering it, you start to think that it wouldn’t be so bad to be ‘adopted’ by them after all. And hey, wouldn’t it be kind of nice to have an energetic kid and a wise (nonhuman) man there for you when you need them, like your biological family members should have been?

You grin. “I think I’m gonna like it here.”

Anti giggles. “Is that a yes? I think it’s a yes!”

You laugh. “Yes.”

His Father seems pleased at that. “Anti, if you would be so good as to close the curtains…” The patriarch then turns back to you, and says, “To make it official, if you will, I will keep My promise to you. To lift the burdens weighing on your mind, to relieve you of your pain. But I can only do so if you let Me in.”

You stare at Him in puzzlement.

“A simple deal. A deal that’s sealed with a kiss.”

“A kiss, huh?” Now you’re feeling a tad skeptical.

“A quick one, if you like,” He replies. “And that is all. I will ask nothing more of that kind from you.”

You shrug, then nod. It doesn’t seem so bad. A small price to pay for what He’s offering you.

You exhale. Meeting His gaze, you smile. “Okay.” You then close your eyes, sitting in silent expectation.

His lips meet yours, but only just barely. A split-second later, you feel something being pulled out of your mouth and into His. Like the air is being stolen from your lungs… but you have no desire to fight it, letting it happen. Your body grows weak and your consciousness begins to fade…


“How bloody long has it been since You’ve made a demon, anyway?”

“I haven’t had a need to in quite some time. Not since the uprising. It has been… awhile, since then.”

“You sure You can still get it up, Old Man?”

“I assure you all My powers are in working order. Just give it some time, you impertinent boy. Patience is a virtue.”

“Any minute You’ll be calling me a whippersnapper, and tellin’ me to get off Your lawn.”

An angry snort. “You need to be quiet. She’s resting, and will wake when she’s ready. Not a moment before.”


Your eyes flutter open. You see both Him and Anti together, Anti peering over His shoulder expectantly. But they’re different, somehow. The shadows in the room are deeper, far beyond anything remotely natural. Anti’s eyes have a soft green glow to them, and his teeth seem sharper than you remember. “She’s got the prettiest black eyes,” the boy says.

“Indeed, she does.” You look at Him and see Him with new eyes. His gaze is like staring into an abyss, and behind Him you can see – not a shadow, but more of a vague impression of some great creature with sharp claws and massive black wings. You realize you’re seeing Him as He really is, behind the suit of human skin. He raises His (human) hand, and gently runs it through your hair; a brief shift and you realize your hair is far longer than it was before and is now an inky black that matches His own. “My beautiful daughter,” He croons softly. “You deserve a new name. What would you like to be called?”

You consider for a long moment, and then it hits you. A name you remember liking, a name that fits your new life, that was from a television show you used to watch about monsters being hunted across the country. It fits in a not immediately obvious way. He smiles, and you realize He can read your mind, knows your choice before you voice it.

You search within yourself for the emotions you know you should be feeling. The snarl of sentiments and half-formed notions that plagued your daily life. They’re gone now, and what He told you was true. The pain you once felt – even the memory of what it felt like – is now gone. You have nothing in your heart but blessed, empty Darkness. You feel free.

Your Father’s voice echoes like thunder in the obscured expanse of the shadow realm. “Welcome to your new life, Meg.”


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Mostly, I write stuff. And, like the Egyptians and the Internet, I put cat pictures on my walls. Also, I can read your Tarot.