#loki and jane | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skylarstark4826 · 3 months ago

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There had been nearly too much footage to ever be watched, but time, as it was, worked differently in the TVA. Loki leaned heavily over the little desk he had laid claim to, however long ago it had been. Alone in the theatre room, the harsh overhead lights fading to red at the edge of his vision. One hand fiddled with the controls, the other rested under his chin, long fingers tapping slowly on his cheek.

All of it blurred together, so many variations of himself, different in so many ways and all the same in many others. Timelines that grew and were forgotten, pruned and shaped back into submission. When he’d seen his fill of failures and alleged crimes against the timeline, he assumed he had started the entire collection over again.

Loki rubbed at his eyes, the red light starting to become a headache, when a sharp change of scenery in the footage cleared his mind.

The palace of Asgard, in all of its glory. Bright and bitter to his senses. The lead Loki in this production stood in one of the many alcoves in one of the many hallways. This was not entirely unusual, Loki thought, as he watched himself lean around the gilded pillar and spare a glance in each direction. He turned back to the alcove, shielding something from view, and this was where it began to be interesting.

That something, was a someone. Smaller than him and easily hidden. Standing close, with hands held like a bowl before her, was Jane Foster. Loki drew closer to the image, leaning nearly out of the chair. Dressed in borrowed finery, the jewels and silver threads paled in comparison to the brilliance of the smile on her face. This Loki’s hands curled around hers, and the soft green glow of his magic wove between them, and in the center of her palms a tiny galaxy sprang forth. The stars and planets spinning wildly.

“How?” Jane breathed, her eyes barely leaving the uncharted glimpse of sky long enough to look for Loki’s.

“It’s only magic, Jane.” Was his reply, the expected bite in his voice nowhere to be heard. The words rounded into softness in this hidden moment.

A loud chorus of laughter from somewhere else, broke the spell of their strange moment together. Jane moved her hands apart and the illusion unraveled. Grabbing Loki’s hands, she used them to pull herself to her full tip toe height. Kissing him quickly. On his cheek, but so near to the corner of his mouth that had the other Loki turned his head just a heartbeat faster than he did, the kiss would have landed true. She steps back from him, and with a last look over her shoulder, mouths “later,” and hurries off. The Loki she left places a hand over his heart and bows only a little before straightening to watch her go. He blinks out of view, and Loki lets the reel come to a complete stop, paused on the empty alcove.

“Well. That wasn’t there before.”

Loki, trapped in the mess of this place around him, watched just one more time. Delighted by the novelty of the scene before him now that he is no longer caught by surprise. If time indeed worked differently here, then certainly there was no harm in watching again.

He tries starting it a third time, before the lights cut out and the loud hum of power returning rattles his skull.

The ringing in his ears fades.

He didn’t find her. Loki’s keen eyes hadn’t seen her, ignoring the shouting and the blur of a portal always just behind and in front of him. He had hoped, and he had jumped, and ran and argued and fought. Trapped, alone with his thoughts was almost as harsh of a punishment than any of the collars that had been put on him. At least this time they had left him his voice. He closed his eyes and tried to remember anything at all from the time before, of the Other and the great machine he had commanded before that. About her.

The great lengths that were taken to heal her, and the feel of her anger when she finally looked upon him. She struck him, and he tried to make his reply as sinister as possible, but he knew the laughter in his eyes betrayed him. She saw it, looking carefully at every inch of his face as the others talked around them. For better or for worse Loki liked her. He stared just as intensely, right until they had to move, and the gravity of the situation shook them from their secret moment. Not for the first time he wondered how his fate would have changed if so many things had simply gone according to his designs. Everything hurt, and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until they watered and he had to blink back the red sparks that filled his vision.

An idea came to him, and Loki scolded himself for not thinking of it sooner. It may involve begging, no, asking nicely. He could easily conjure up an air of remorse believable enough to grant him access back to the theatre. He made far worse plans that had worked. Hadn’t he? Loki called out for Mobius, and began pleading his case the moment the other man finally opened the locked door.

“But one more look? What harm can be done now, surely, with you as my constant shadow?”

“You know I’m starting to think you’ve mistaken my kindness for stupidity.”

“I did slip away so very easily, twice.”

“Not making a good argument for another lookie loo. Come on Loki, what are you getting at here?”

Loki clenched his hands into fists before slowly unfurling his fingers, he tapped his hands against the table once before turning his palms upward, no more tricks, the gesture said.

Hopefully. “There’s a woman-“ He began.

“Oh there’s a woman now.” Mobius interrupts, pulling at the cuffs of his suit jacket.

“-And she appears on one of the recordings and none of the others. If I could only just,” He cuts himself off, the laughter from across the table worsening his already sour mood. “This is humorous to you?”

“Hilarious actually. I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around this new story you’ve given me. I’ve read your file, there’s no mystery woman Loki. You’re so focused on getting back out, you still can’t see the forest for the trees.”

“I have seen more than you ever will in your pathetic lifetime! Locked away in here at the beck and call of what? Some higher power?” Loki snarls, the pleasant, asking for another chance act burned away quickly by the heat of his temper.

“Hate to repeat myself, but you’re in here too pal. So what’s the move now Loki?” He leans against the wall next to Loki’s chair, and put his hands in his pockets.

Loki runs both hands through his hair, taking a deep breath he turns to look at Mobius, one arm draped across the back of the chair. His expression is tight and closed off, while the other man just smiles back, unbothered it seems by the whole situation.

“If this is something you haven’t seen, perhaps there is a file on the woman herself yes?” He asks, still frustrated but still working on a plan, trying to stay two steps ahead as he usually was. Had always tended to be at least. “What I saw must be somewhere. The TVA seems very fond of records.”

“What good would it do? Won’t change why you’re here. Heck, if it’s going to put you in more of a bad mood I definitely don’t want you to see it.” Mobius laughs under his breath waving a hand in Loki’s direction. He adjusts his tie, red fabric dark enough to be brown and Loki holds his next arguing point to stare at it. The color pulls at something in his memory and he looks around the room, searching for something when he hears his name, repeated, but the sound is too far away to be clear.

Mobius pulls the tempad from a coat pocket and Loki reaches for it without a second thought. He fumbles in his haste to set a location into the stolen, borrowed really, infernal device. Every time he landed somewhere new they were on his trail half a second later. He thought of Jane, the answers to a question he had never thought to ask calling him forward. If he could only move faster, outrun and outwit he could learn them all. He needed to have them all.

The device obeyed him and produced the glowing red pathway to his destination. In his haste he stepped through before his mind caught up with the warning that the portal had been wrong. The TVA portals were orange.

There had been nearly too much footage to ever be watched, but time, as it was, worked differently in the TVA. Loki leaned heavily over the little desk he had laid claim to, however long ago it had been. One hand fiddled with the controls, the other held up his chin, fingers tapping on his cheek. It was maddening, repetitive in a way that felt almost…

He straightened himself quickly and twisted his long body around in the chair. He had been here already. A woman’s name came to his mind, and he lurched forward away from the desk in an embarrassing tangle of limbs and table. He could fuss about his wounded vanity later, he needed to find her file, all of her records. If he could just see again what he had glimpsed for a moment. It was so at odds with everything else, he had to get his hands on it, get control of it and pluck the answers out as swiftly as he could.

He will go to Heimdall and demand he, no, no that isn’t right. He could force Selvig to, and Loki shakes his head. No, that isn’t it either. His memory tying itself into knots over where he is and which one is he, really?

Loki steps forward and he is face to face with her, as much as he can be, standing over her as she bends her knees slightly, hand outstretched into an open space within a massive, dark tower, reaching for something. The sky is dark, whatever she seeks is pulsing with light, out of place in this ruined place. It is alone.

“Jane Foster.” He exhaled, surprise and fear stealing his voice away in full.

She turned her head the opposite way of his voice, still moving to reach the hidden thing. What was this? A sharp pain in his head had him seeing the flashing red lights again and it swarmed behind his eyes. Loki regained his wits, he did know of this place even if he didn’t fully know this moment. He had listened with a detached curiosity to the clumsy retelling from Thor, more focused on what could be done with it now that it had been brought to Asgard. Yes, of course, it couldn’t be more clear, now that he was here and it was within his grasp. She was within his grasp.

“Jane Foster!” He called again with remembered strength.

She finally turned towards him, her expression frightened, and then confused. At the same time their eyes met she must have made contact with what she had been reaching for. Her eyes widened and he watched her body almost fold completely into itself, a fragile, mortal creature. A fine red mist wrapped around her arm. A page from a lost story book, he remembered clearly now, and he stood frozen, as a blinding flash of something older than magic enveloped them both.

The desk, the footage, the flickering lights and the horrid little chair he was told to stay in. He stood quickly, with more grace than the last time and took two quick steps in a direction decided on only in this moment. He had no device but still he stepped through something, and into the same place as before. She was there again, nothing changed, still reaching for the aether. The rush of adrenaline in his body carried him forward, seeking to pull her away before she could be infected.

“Jane stop!” He grabbed her shoulders and she twisted awkwardly in his tight grip.

“What-“ She began, a look of recognition flashing in her eyes before the pain pulled her features into something terrible. The second, or thousandth time her hand strays close enough to be ensnared. The fine red mist shrouding her, but this time it covered Loki as well. His vision narrowed into darkness before expanding to the cosmos. His stomach churned and he feared that he had been lost once more, falling endlessly through the nothingness that connects everything and all time.

It feels like waking up, awareness filling his body once again. He is lying on his back, and he knows his head is next to hers as she lay the opposite way. Two hands on a clock that has long since stopped spinning. Close enough to touch, Loki can feel her presence more solidly than the fine strands of hair that tickle his ear. A small breeze with no beginning or end, passing over them.

“Could you have loved me? If it had been you first, instead.” She says plainly and with such ease that it is jarring against the void above and below them. Or perhaps his eyes are closed, he can’t remember either way.

“They way Thor did?” He asks with only a little anger behind it. His brother’s feelings were easy to manipulate, that woman he had yelled, goading him into another fight. He had succeeded, but lost it all just as swiftly. The chill of the building Bifrost on that day creeps along his fingers, and then fades with the memory.

“No. Not like that. In your way.” Jane replies, same matter of fact tone.

“I don’t suppose I know what way that would be,” He pauses, “but you didn’t love him in the end, so what does it matter?”

Loki was tired. Heavy with the weight of so many memories, and places he needed to be, and things to do. How close was he to being swept up again by the changing reality around him? What could a little honesty hurt, when it could all be lost in the blink of an eye. When you were regarded as the God of Lies it was important to understand the worth of small truths, here and there.

“It’s not the same though. It’s the difference in the way I love a song and the way I love the stars.” She must have shaken her head, more of her hair brushing against him softly. “Thor didn’t love me he loved the idea of me and that’s different. You even said something like that once, don’t you remember?”

“I remember many things but not every mean spirited response I’ve given.”

Jane laughs, and it is loud and lovely to his ears. “Who knows, really, maybe I wouldn’t have loved you either.”

Loki was strangely at a loss for words. He didn’t know why he would have any interest in where the affections of a mortal found purchase, but it was the greater strangeness of what he had seen that urged him to speak through his hesitation.

“Would it have truly mattered?” He asked again, “I know you to be considered highly intelligent for your realm,” at this she scoffed but he continued, “Why do you ask this of me? Do you believe you could have changed me the way that you changed him?”

“Thor changed himself and no I don’t believe I could have changed you either. I’m only asking a reasonable question considering our circumstances.” She answered him again so readily, so passionately, like she had had the time to think about this in the same way she seemed to consider all things. Himself included.

“Which are?”

Jane reaches up and brushes the crown of his head with the back of her fingers, softly curling the dark strands through them. “Am I dead? You feel so real. I dreamed about you and now we’re here but it doesn’t feel like the right order you know? Everything feels different, my mind feels different.”

Without thinking too far ahead, he brings a hand above his head, not to stop her, but to see if she too feels real. His fingertips warm as he touches hers. Loki doesn’t take her hand in his, only lingers alongside it. Slow, tiny movements keeping them connected and then drifting apart. So small and delicate next to his. Even though he has seen the little marvels she had created with them. Felt their strength when she slapped him. Fragile mortal hands, on a woman he had, almost, given his life to save. Is that one of the things she remembers? She hasn’t moved to assault him, again, maybe luck is on his side and she recalls him fondly. Enough so to be thinking about him, at least, reaching out for him in the same curious way he reaches out for her.

He thinks of the TVA and smiles, “I do know, yes.” There is a weightlessness in this place that seems so far away from anything else. They could be on the furthest branches of Yggdrasil, a haven tucked away where no one would think to look, or some new, unexplored place altogether. He turns his head towards her, remembers to open his eyes, and sees her face. Bright, illuminated with a warm light that makes her eyes shine. Brown hair shimmering with a soft red glow.

“What did you dream Jane Foster?”

She tells him. In her clear, bright voice, a story of another Jane and another Loki. It began with a storm, instead of thunder it had been a freezing wind, and her hitting a long dark shadow that fell from the sky with her beaten up van.

Do me a favor and don’t be dead.

The tall man with raven hair, yelling names and curses at the sky. Reserved and prickly, he didn’t say much at first and Jane had called it ‘moping’. He followed her around town, glaring and muttering under his breath like a child would. When Jane confronted him about it, he stared at her in genuine surprise, as if it was the first time anyone had ever called him to task on his behavior. After that he disappeared and then came SHIELD. When he finally came back he took one look at her, furious and pacing, and he proposed something wild. She followed him into the desert, watched him sneak into restricted areas and waited as long as she could for him to come out. She had to leave or else she’d be caught too. Spying on a top secret base wasn’t going to look so good after her heated words with the agents at her lab. Jane hoped he would make it back out.

Loki eventually found her on the roof, looking mildly worse for wear, but he presented her the stolen notebook without his usual snide commentary. She threw her arms around him and his body locked up so tightly, mechanically raising a hand to pat her awkwardly on the back before she took pity on him and let go. Pulling him into the chair next to her, Jane opened the well loved pages and showed him exactly what he returned to her. He laughed at the drawings and equations she showed him from her work on the Einstein Rosen Bridge, and then corrected her with the thin patience of an elder conversing with an excitable student. She reached over and punched him softly on the arm, and Loki pulled her chair closer to his. Bifrost, he said, nearly losing Jane with the word magics, but then he began to talk about the stars. The realms, and the pathways, science she said and it was his turn to laugh. Time spent here was going well for Loki, he was beginning to enjoy this hot, barren place until the day a loud banging on the glass walls of Jane’s laboratory heralded the arrival of Thor.

Thor and his easy, natural charm and Jane’s flustered laugh in response to his introductions. The test of keeping himself calm and collected was a heavier burden than the arrival of the Destroyer. A trial from the Allfather, she told him now, another flash of red light before his eyes and Jane’s voice fell away. Gradually coming back along with his sight.

“We keep being pulled together. Like planets in orbit. Or moons.” Jane held a well worn notebook in her lap, carefully adjusting the telescope she was looking through.

“Moons.” He repeats back to her, deadpan. Looking around for a clue to where they were this time, but it was only Midgard’s stars, and the cooling concrete underneath him. It could have been anywhere.

“Yeah but which one of us has the bigger gravitational pull?” She continues on, unbothered with his tone, it was second nature for him to whine and needle her and it was familiar. Comfortable, when so much had stopped being so. He was still here, pulled along just as she was.

“Surely you don’t think yourself as important as a God.” He snickers, “you should be kneeling, you were born to kneel.” The words would have seemed cruel, if he hadn’t been lying with his arms crossed beneath his head, feet crossed at the ankles. Looking for all the world to be asleep.

“Well your ego is definitely big enough for its own gravitational pull.” She fires back, looking down to her notebook and then back to the telescope. “Okay here we go!”

When Loki opened his eyes nothing happened. All was calm. Then, a light fell across the sky. Red tail trailing behind it like fire. The stars were always visible in Asgard, and at any time he could see whichever of them he liked. He dimly remembers Jane seeing them once, and it had been a petty thing to hold his knowledge over her but the sparks of curiosity in her eyes, so many questions that she wanted answered stayed with him. After all this time. The satisfaction of seeing her realize that he, and not Thor had the answers, was an unexpected boon in the chaos of her shocking arrival.

Red light danced over Jane sitting still as a statue, she closed her eyes and tipped her face towards the light as if it were the same sun she was familiar with.

The second story she told was stranger than the first and Loki listened just as intently. She should have been a Norn the way she spun her tale, each one stretching reality as he knew it into something wild and unknown and he held on to every word. Loki would have been closer to her then, for far longer than this short time.

“This is so stupid.” This Jane said for the hundredth time, climbing down the steep walls of the impact crater. “I’m going to die for science. That’s it, that’s my whole life isn’t it?”

She only had a small window of time between “the event” as she was calling it, and the men in suits that would soon start crawling all over the place. Something fell in the middle of the desert, and she was going to see it first, document it and lay claim to its study, and probably not die from exposure or get a concussion from losing her footing. When she finally made it to the center, camera in hand she snapped a picture of…a hammer. A hammer? This was a joke, someone had been her before her and left this instead of whatever extraterrestrial artifact had landed. There were patterns in the dirt, no footprints except hers, nothing at all to explain what was in front of her. Jane took pictures, walked around the ridiculously large item of unknown origins a few more times trying to rationalize what she was seeing.

“I’ve come this far right?” She said aloud. Shaking her head she reached out and wrapped her hand around the handle. The sound of thunder swept through the desert and over Jane. She lifted it so easily, and moving by instinct she held it high over head, pointing to the stars and beyond.

Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor

“The Mighty Thor.” She said a little wistfully, “I could fly and everything.”

Loki laughed softly underneath his breath, he would have enjoyed seeing that. He tried to imagine her in plated armor with winged helm sparkling in the flashes of lightning she would wield. A sweep of red cape behind her. Selfless, radiant, glorious.

The third story she told, was considerably more familiar to him. Another Jane, at another desk, and seemingly too much footage to ever be watched. Her nexus event had been ripping a hole straight through the sacred timeline with a machine built far away from the eyes of SHIELD. Going farther than any of the places she knew of from her time with Thor, with the Aesir, and the dark Elves.

“It was awesome. I kind of, maybe miscalculated the power output though.” She’d added, the smile in her voice infectious. Loki also would have liked to see the buzzing of the TVA agents as she committed her time crimes, but then he remembered the judge’s room, the pruning sticks, and he brushed his fingers against hers intentionally as she continued, unbothered by what could have happened. He hoped they hadn’t reached that point of the lecture during her stay.

Something happened, Jane didn’t know what, and she was led to the archives and told to stay put. She waited for what she guessed to be ten minutes and then snuck into an empty time theatre and watched everything she could. So many possibilities, the theory of a multiverse playing out right before her eyes! Records upon records of proof! She desperately tried to commit them all to memory, the beautiful and the ugly, even the plain and unsatisfying lives. One hand fiddled with the controls and the other covered a yawn, when something flashed across the screen that had definitely not come up before.

It was Asgard, inside of the palace sometime before, well, everything. It hurt Jane’s heart to see it bright and shining. She saw herself in the gifted Asgardian clothing, skirts held high as she ran down one of many long hallways. Quick as a snake a hand reached out from the shadows. It caught her arm, and pulled her into an alcove. Jane watched the unfamiliar scene with a flutter of anticipation building in her chest, this one seemed happy, the other Jane looked untroubled. This definitely didn’t happen while she was there.

The hand it turned out, belonged to Loki, not Thor, and Jane watched herself be pulled further into a corner with his lean body keeping her out of view.

“Running through the blessed halls Lady Jane?” He asked with a disapproving tone that didn’t match the happiness in his eyes at the thought of her doing just that.

“Trying to scare me Loki?” This Jane tried to frown but couldn’t hold it long enough to even finish the question.

He took one of her hands in his larger one and brought it to his lips to brush them against her knuckles. Lowering it just enough to murmur, “Did it work?” And she slipped out of his grip easily.

“Hardly. I followed the directions on the note but this isn’t the library.” She let Loki take both of her hands this second time and arrange them to make a bowl held in front of her.

He stepped backwards to look around a gilded pillar before turning his attention back to the Jane standing with him. This Loki, the one she didn’t know, curled his hands around hers, and the soft green glow of his magic wove between them. In the bowl of her palms a tiny galaxy sprung forth. The stars and planets spinning wildly.

“How?” She breathed, her eyes barely leaving the uncharted expanse before her to look for Loki’s. As Jane watched, she was just as taken in as the variant of her, she had seen many strange and unfortunately unexplainable things, but the simply beauty of what Loki was creating for her was unmatched.

“It’s only magic, Jane.” The familiar bite to his words softened in this hidden moment.

A loud of chorus of laughter from outside their view broke the strange moment. Jane pulled her hands apart and the illusion unraveled. Grabbing Loki’s hands she used them to pull herself up to her full tip toe height. Quickly she kissed him. On his cheek, but so near to the corner of his mouth that had he turned his head a heartbeat faster than he did, the two would have kissed true.

She pulled away and with a last look over her shoulder, mouthed “later” to him and hurried off once again, this time leaving her skirts to twirl across the floor around her slippered feet. Loki placed his hand over his heart and bowed only a little before straightening to watch her go. He blinked out of view and Jane stopped the footage.

She stood to find that Mobius guy for answers but when she took that first step away from the desk the TVA disappeared all around her, and she was back in the darkness. Reaching out into that open space within the tower, and if she could just get closer to that something, hidden inside she could get home. Home? She had to get back to the TVA didn’t she?

The sound of her name being spoken from nowhere, fuzzy and far away. The fog of distant memories creeping in and blurring her focus. Too many times to keep count the aether took hold of her, many times it led back to Earth, back into Thor’s arms and carried away in a great peal of thunder to the rest of the story she knew best. Mostly knew. The variables however, in all of her known equations were always a Loki. She heard his voice first, and eventually saw his face, and sometimes he tried reaching for her, the look of wild desperation on his face achingly familiar. After an eternity of being consumed by the monstrous force it, alone, the red creeping through every cell in her body, he finally made it to her. It consumed them both.

The longer Jane spoke the more tightly woven their fingers became. Laced together in the small space between them. Even as their stories became tangled and picked apart in the breaths it took to dream them in this strange place, with the memory of red just at the edge of her and Loki’s awareness.

“Tell me what you saw.” Jane said softly and it was more of a question.

Strange circumstances she had said then asked one of the most absurd questions he had ever heard. Could he have loved her?

He started with the TVA, more or less, and the same stolen scrap of quiet they had both seen in the palace halls. He told her of a chance first meeting at a place near the edge of the universe. A time he had cradled her in his arms, traveling one of his hidden pathways as he brought her to be healed in the blessed realm. Sent by Thor and chafing against his brother’s orders as he continued to serve penance for actions he was not wholly responsible for. Of a Jane that rivaled him in cruel pettiness, and in the end their hatred for each other almost destroyed them both. He was wretched and she was wrathful, and it was a glorious trail of fire left in their wake. She was quiet after the last story, wiping away the tears that had fallen. Jane tightened her grip on his hand, saying nothing.

There was perhaps a seed. A seed of something that could possibly grow into love, or at least what Loki thought might be love. He held devotion, and longing, enough times over the long years. Grasped them both firmly and held them deeply enough in his heart that when it inevitably cracked and shattered the pain was something he could bury swiftly. Even if the pieces cut his fingers before the task was finished.

When he took more than a dismissive, passing look at Jane, added it to what he knew and what he had seen, maybe it was less of a seed and more of a spark. A bite of something that wasn’t fire, but even frost could burn swift and fierce. He hadn’t dreamt in the way Jane had, but he saw many flashes, fragments of growth into a different ending. It was near enough to the way the visions from the tesseract had dug into his mind that the discomfort of seeing too much at once, was pushed aside and he focused only on what he wanted to see.

“Who knew I would finally be able to see the universe and all it took was getting cursed. Or dying. I still think that’s a possibility.”

Loki made a choice, he might not have a right answer for her yet, but he had at least, an answer that felt like it could be true.

“Jane Foster I would tear the skies apart and rebuild the universe so that it could be made with the sole purpose of being seen by your eyes.” The words were heavy, and they startle her so much that she laughs.

She slaps a hand over her mouth to cover the sound, her shoulders shaking. After she calms herself down she untangles their joined fingers and pushes his soft hair back from his forehead.

His face twists into something like a pout, if it were anyone else, and he looks so much younger.

She feels so much lighter. How long had it been? In and out of time, and they still hadn’t settled on which one belonged where and when, but it seemed that now at least that this Loki belonged with this Jane. Even if it was only once, it could be enough. After all, what’s one more set of collapsing stars at the end of everything?

“I just asked if you could have loved me,” she laughed again, “most people would have just said yes or no!”

“Is that what you want to hear?” He reaches out to touch her lips with his long fingers, they were still lying next to one another, looking at the other from opposite directions. “I thought you knew better than to trust such a simple answer.” He pushes against her skin gently, pulling her lips apart as he drags his fingers down her chin and across her neck. Feeling her swallow whatever reply she had ready, keeping his hand there he can feel the soft flutter of her heartbeat.

“I would have liked that. My own stars.” Jane says, and she remembers the first dream, and how she kissed him, and she feels a sharp tug in her chest that tells her she wants to again.

“I would have liked the chance to give them to you.” Loki answers, and it also sounded true. He remembered as well, the dreamy, shared pathway that led them both through the twisting powers of the aether to find each other.

Jane arches her neck back so that her mouth is next to his, and this time he moves quick enough to meet her. It was soft, and the angle wasn’t right, but it was a kiss. She scrambles to bring herself upright, but Loki is faster, and he pulls her towards him, his large hands cradling her face like he is afraid she will disappear like all the others had.

Everywhere Loki has seen and lived, and they all pass him by. Even Jane slipped though his fingers however many times before now. He kisses her a second time, a hard slant of his mouth over hers, and then releases her and his hands find her hips and drag her into his lap.

She grabs at his dark hair, curling it around her fingers behind his head and holds his gaze. Something flickers across his face that gives her pause. “Hey.” She whispers, “It’s okay. Just you and me, none of the other stuff.” If she needs some reassurance too, he doesn’t need to know. He only needs to hear her say it. It’s a simple thing to want, but everything else is, and was, complicated.

He might have felt angry at once more getting what Thor had cast aside, and she might feel like she owed him something for saving her life on a half forgotten memory, but if two broken things had a chance to feel whole then what did it matter? Minds, and possibly hearts, had sewn, and unstitched reality long enough that none of it mattered anymore. Because there could have been a them, together, and there could have been something like love.

“I’m not sorry I slapped you though. By the way.”

Loki laughs, slow and deep, “I knew I liked you.”

Jane smiles so wide it crinkles the corners of her eyes, but Loki’s mouth hides it away from anyone else but him. His hands splay across her back. She wants to touch more of him. She lets go of his hair and runs her hands down the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw. Down his neck and pushes underneath the high collar he’s wearing. His tongue pushes into her mouth and she grips him tightly, fingernails scraping against leather but catching on enough of his exposed skin for him to hiss against her lips. Loki grabs her hands and moves them away from his neck.

“Sorry!” She says, but he only shakes his head at the apology.

“I would take you somewhere else, to bed you properly.”

That sends a shiver down her spine, and she knows Loki feels it too, grinning like a madman up at her. Holding her tightly he stands with ease, stepping forward with the intention of leaving this place. She wraps her arms around his neck and hopes they can leave together the same strange way they appeared.

“Worth a try.” She murmurs and as soon as the words leave her mouth Loki’s next step brings them into an entirely new place.

Ornate sconces line the walls, burning with steady but dim, light. Heavy curtains and tapestries close off the large space from the outside world, and at first glance there are no windows or doors. A forest, or maybe a dark ocean of greens breaks her fall as Loki drops her onto the bed without warning. Eyes wide with surprise she looks up at him ready to say something and stops, realizing he is in his Asgardian clothing. Not his armor. Looking down she is too, and she plucks at the silky material, it isn’t the golden gown she was gifted before. It is the one from the footage from the TVA. Bronze fastenings and adornments, green slashed with black. The same vision they both saw and chased after. All around them the light is suddenly brighter, the wrong color to be by Loki’s power, and too red for natural fire. Jane looks away from the intensity, but it passes quickly and doesn’t happen a second time.

His eyes follow hers, to their clothing and then to the walls. “Certainly past time that worked in our favor isn’t it?” She pushes herself up to rest on her elbows, pulling a leg up the bed towards her and it brushes against Loki’s. He places a hand on her foot, sliding it gently away from him, raising her knee higher. He runs the backs of his fingers up her ankle, bringing the hem of the dress up and over her knee. Loki turns his hand so that his fingertips can trace the same path backwards. Jane takes a deep breath, and clutches the rich fabrics of the bed.

“May I?”

She nods, her entire body tight with anticipation. She watches him unlace her delicate sandal, eyes not leaving hers as he tosses it somewhere behind him and moves her other leg into the same position. He starts on the other sandal and discards that as well. Loki stands now between her legs, towering over her, unfastening the hidden catches of his vest and tunic. The movements are practiced and efficient, but not so fast that he is without the opportunity to enjoy the weight of Jane’s gaze darting over his body. From collar bones, to the top of his hips, he is lean and strong. A fighter and a weapon, she knows this but in the warm firelight the harsh angles are softened and he is all the more handsome for it.

Loki leans over her, placing one hand near her hip, the other resting on her knee and brings his face down to hers. He brushes her nose with his, Jane closes the small distance between them for another kiss. She sets the pace and he follows along, she touches her tongue to his lips he opens them to her. The slow rhythm, his willingness to follow her lead, at least for now, starts a steady warming low inside her. It spreads through her limbs, languid. She feels for his hand blindly, wraps her fingers around his wrist and tugs gently. Loki breaks the kiss first, moving a hand to the inside of her knee and guides the leg down to the bed. He breaks her hold on his arm easily enough and cradles the back of her head with the newly freed hand, and pulls her under him. With the other arm to support himself his body covers hers, and the weight of him is a welcome feeling. He kisses her cheeks, and nose, under her jaw and along both sides of her neck. She breaths his name, and the kisses stop.

“Again.” He commands, and teeth scrape the place where her neck meets shoulder.

“Loki.” She moans as he bites down, it’s over just as quickly and the feel of his tongue running over the sensitive flesh is worth the small pain. She feels a palm running over her calf, it’s cooler than his fingers were and she shivers all over again and he laughs against her shoulder. Kissing it as well just to be thorough. His hand wanders along her stomach and he brushes against her ribs with his thumb. Loki repeats the movements again, then moves off of her and the bed completely.

He drags a thumb along his lips, “Back against the pillow, please.”

Jane shuffles backwards into the mountain of padding behind her and stops, laying half upright. Loki places a hand, then a knee on the bed and moves towards her, Jane starts untying and unlacing what she can reach of her dress. Loki watches her hands intensely, his hair falling across the side of his face and smiles wolfishly. He stops before her, kneeling now and pushes her skirts farther up around her thighs and the first wrappings fall from Jane’s shoulder. She arches her back off of the bed and unwraps the soft leather belt and tosses it onto the floor. For a moment she holds the dress up around her chest with one arm but Loki’s expression softens and he tilts his head to the side, cautious.

“Second thoughts? I assure you my reputation-” Jane holds up a hand to stop him, pointing a single finger, “I swear if the next thing out of your mouth is about your silver tongue I’m putting this dress back on and leaving.”

“Lady Jane, I’m hurt. Truly.” His smile is anything but.

“Yeah I’m sure you are.” She snorts. Laying her head back, she settles herself a little further into the plush softness behind her. Jane beckons him to her, curling the same finger in a much more welcoming gesture.

He anchors himself with her hips and balances a whisper away from her mouth, “Don’t be afraid to call out to your God Jane, I do enjoy hearing my name on your lips.” Loki kisses his way down her body, lips meeting skin and fabric and Jane watches appreciatively as the muscles of his shoulders move.

His dark hair is loose and wild around his shoulders, and it brushes her skin whenever he turns his head. His steady hands push aside the fabric that has gathered and folded at her hips and traces the curve of her thighs inward. He glances up at her, fingers so close to her center but she says ‘please’ and then exhales a breath so close to a moan when he runs his fingers along delicate skin. He watches her mouth for every sigh and intake of breath and how it matches the pulling, and circling movements he performs. Studying her with delight, until he removes his hand and puts two fingers into his mouth, bringing them out past his lips slowly. He licks his thumb as well and Jane hears his own intake of breath as he connects with her, sliding his fingers in up to his second knuckles and touches another part of her with his spit damp thumb. She closes her eyes and arches up into his touch and he lays his palm low on her stomach, fingers spread wide to hold her gently down. Jane closes her eyes, grabs at the bed, at her dress, and settles to rest one hand on her own hip.

“Here.” It’s a soft command, and she opens her eyes. Loki releases his hold on her and lifts the hand from her hip and guides it towards him. He adjusts himself lower over her and kisses her palm before placing her hand around the back of his head. She has just wrapped her fingers through his hair when he covers where his thumb had been with his mouth.

“Loki!” She cries out.

He hums in satisfaction, lips and tongue and fingers working together to completely unravel her, and the tighter she holds on the more she hears his muffled sounds of pleasure. Jane is still breathless when he removes his hand to only use his mouth. Tongue curling and twisting in a way his fingers could not and she repeats his name over and over like it is the only name she has ever spoken. She begins to shake and he holds her thighs firm and fills himself with the sounds and taste of her release. He kisses her one last time, wraps his arms around her hips and lays his head on her stomach. He holds her close and she runs her hands through his hair gently.

They are together, soft and quiet, but Jane wants more. Needs to hold him against her again for as long as they can. It isn’t the same desperate relief she has needed before in her life, it is the feeling of a final stitch pulling them together. She needs Loki, and she knows that he needs her.

“Come here, please?” She asks, and Loki’s look of open adoration for her steals her breath again.

He moves back up the length of her, buries his face between shoulder and neck and whispers her name against her skin. Jane’s hands wander down his chest and stomach and brushes against the lacings of his soft breeches. Loki adjusts his knees to bring his hips closer to her hands. He speaks lowly, urging her along, every word interrupted by a kiss. He helps her rid himself of the last barrier of clothing, tossed and forgotten with all the rest. She touches him firmly but gently, coaxing small noises that she promises herself to remember after this is all over. Loki pulls her hand away from him and holds it over her head. They wrap themselves around each other, held safe in this lover’s embrace. It is physical, and lust filled, it feels good. Loki moans and growls each time he pulls back and then enters her. Deep, shallow, deeper and Jane responds with wet, messy kisses on his chin and lips. Murmuring words of encouragement. It is restful, all of the running and learning, and existing put aside for just a moment and it feels wonderful.

Loki pulls back to look at her again, opening his mouth to ask something but the words don’t form as easily as one of his illusions. Whatever it was, he thinks Jane understands anyway, as she holds him tightly until they are both panting. Her nails dig into his shoulder, a final flare of passion igniting within her and Loki grunts without words, movements losing their rhythm as he slowly expends his passion as well.

He adjusts his arms on either side of her, resting without putting his entire weight upon her. He once thought about all of the things he could do with the stolen power that was running through her veins. Listening to her breathing now, feeling his own heartbeat slow to a normal pace, he thinks about it again. The give and take, the aether trickling between them both, on its own destructive. Together, it builds, it reinforces something inside of him. Inside of them all, each Loki and each Jane.

He knew it wasn’t going to last, it was borrowed time at best, stolen at worst. Already below him, the red light has returned to wash over Jane’s body. He looks her over quietly, following the ebb and flow of power like a tide upon her skin. Loki wonders what it looks like to her, what she has named the pattern that his eyes cannot see.

“Hey.” Jane says firmly, holding his face again, running her thumbs over his eyebrows and down his cheeks. “It’s going to be okay.” She kisses his forehead, brushes his nose with hers to get him to look at her.

“Will it?” He asks, eyes closed he puts his forehead against hers.

“It turned out alright this time didn’t it?”

He hums, but doesn’t answer.

“Whatever can happen, will happen if you try enough times. That’s fact. De Morgan said that.” Again she is so confident, that Loki has to smile. She is incredibly strong willed, and it’s hard for him not to accept what she says as absolute truth. He doesn’t know who she is speaking of, but it doesn’t matter because she believes it and that is enough for him to maybe believe as well.

The two of them arrive at the same conclusion that it’s time to get up, time to go. They have been laying together long enough that they are no longer joined, and Loki moves away easily, kneeling next to her he takes a handful of blankets and cleans her body gently before helping her up to sit next to him. She thanks him quietly and wraps both of her arms around one of his, keeping this version of him for another minute. He kisses the top of her head, memorizing the way she smells and the exact shade of her hair before she pulls away to find her clothes. She has the dress slipped over her head and arms but not fastened, shoes in hand. Jane looks around for his clothes when the lights dim and brighten, repeating, more electrical than the flicker of firelight would be and Loki calls for her. Tries to grab her and he knows he wont be fast enough. If he could only do one more thing, help, one last time but it’s not meant to be. Jane sees it, and she reaches back for him but without the haste, she knows too.

The red, humming glow, the feeling of falling through the cold emptiness yet everything that has been made. The time, and lights, collars and chains. Meetings, not hellos and rough goodbyes. Stars, and Loki, and Jane, something given and received and weighty, but not too much to shoulder.

There had been nearly too much footage to ever be watched, but time, as it was, and as he remembered it now, worked differently in the TVA. He knew it, and he could wield it. There were problems, and solutions, and running. A Loki so separate and entangled with everything and everyone around him. Variants all connected by the same roots. A new and glorious purpose.

The stain of red on everything lifted until it was almost nonexistent. What is one new sprout in a garden that blooms infinitely.

In the tangle of green, there was a heartbeat, a lay line, running though all of it, shaking the leaves left in its wake. A breeze where there should be none.

He watches it, as with all things now within his domain and after seconds or centuries it winds through one of the branches close to his throne. He turns his hand, palm upwards and moves his fingers in and back out again, calling it to him. Cheeky little thing, it should not be here in this place so far outside of its own timeline. Wherever and whichever one that might be. A scrap of aether curls around his hand. A reunion perhaps, or maybe he had carried a little of it within him along with so many other little things he had collected without knowing. The tiniest portion must have lived within her after everything, how else would they have been brought together, and apart in a repeating pattern until finally their time had run out and that power faded back into the tended, but natural order of all things.

Just outside the curtain separating him from the rest of the great and beautiful tree, there was a slip of a shadow. A trick of the light. The memory of each life that touches ours for good. Jane he remembers. Here and then gone, an echo. A shiver of a familiar hand trails along the foundation, the gift for all of them built with his magic and his choice. The perfect place to view the entirety of it all, the universe torn apart and remade by his hands. She would think of the perfect bit of mischief to undermine his noble sacrifice in being alone, inviting herself to this place. Called to him, answering him. What was reality for him anymore, for all time on his throne tending Yggdrasil, and of what importance were the plans of a God to a woman who knew without any doubts, that she would understand all the workings of the universe and beyond if only given enough time? Loki had time to spare.

#Lokane #lokaneedit #loki laufeyson #jane foster #loki x jane #loki and jane #Lokane jotun #jotun!loki #jotun loki #jotun!jane

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polarisbibliotheque · 7 months ago

Note

Hey Polaris, hope this helps as a vent piece:

Anger is one of the main traits of demons. Everyone's anger has manifested outward at least some point yet, one person keeps it under Heavy lock and key, Dante.

One day, the anger manifests in its destructive, gruesome and targeted anger in his Sin Devil Trigger as it manifests when that last patient strand snaps.

So here's the prompt:

As Reader wakes up from a hard hit, once fully back to full consciousness, they witness that destructive rage that Dante kept under lock and key. Nearby, Vergil is protectively standing in front of Reader but something's wrong, his hands quivering as he keeps Yamato out in front of him. The real question now pops into Reader's head, how do you calm to a blazing inferno that's unrestrained and now in full swing?

Dante going on a full Sin Devil Trigger rampage (or, very angry Dante)

Pairing: Dante x Reader

Summary: Vergil wasn't one to fear easily - but one thing he would always dread to see; and that would be Dante losing his humanity.

Trigger Warning: Reader stops breathing and is seemingly dead for a while. Lots of blood, lots of anger, lots of self-loathing on this one (they all need therapy)

Author's Note: Oh boy, this was a conversation I was having with dear Fury: how Dante is 10/10 the scariest when he's mad because he keeps his demon on a leash *cough* Subhuman *cough* and he's the one everyone should fear when going berserk, not Vergil. With all the requests I'm having, currently, Fury decided to leave this suggestion out until I had a little more time to write...

Fast forward a few weeks, I'm having issues with a couple of ~friends~ and, honestly, I haven't been this angry in years. To the point of trembling, laughing like a maniac, and wanting to fistfight the gods. Hence, Fury sent me this vent piece so I could satisfy my wrath in a more ~healthy~ way. Hope you guys like it, though, Dante needs a big ol' hug and someone to openly cry too, not just Vergil.

Again, they all need therapy

Not many things could stir fear in Vergil’s heart.

Mundus’ voice, silently taunting him in the back of his head, the memory of everything he had been through in Hell was one of those things. The other one was his twin’s fury.

It was a rare thing for him to grip Yamato with an unsteady pair of hands, putting a lot of effort and strength for them not to tremble – but the sight of Dante completely lost in his bloodlust was not to be trifled with.

The first time Vergil saw it with his own eyes was in Hell, when he and his brother spent a considerable amount of time to cut down the Qliphoth. Vergil was used to the taunts of demons and Dante was as well… Or at least he should be, at that point in their lives.

But the taunts were many. They had been running through the fields of fire without sleep for a couple of days – in the human world, probably, as time had a different flow in Hell – killing everything in sight; and hearing every kind of putrid taunt they could.

What made Dante snap, though, was a simple implication: that it was Dante’s fault that Vergil fell and got subdued by Mundus, suffering endless nightmares for years to come. A strange glint sparked in Dante’s eyes at that moment. The scream that rumbled in his chest was enough to be heard through many layers of Hell.

It wasn’t Dante’s fault, Vergil knew that very well. He had refused to hold his brother’s hand, there was nothing Dante could have done. It was Vergil’s choice, and his sin only. But… For the first time, he saw how much his brother blamed himself for that. How much Dante had suffered, all those years, alone in the human world.

As above, so below… Dante suffered alongside Vergil all those years.

And all of that because of a stupid, childish decision from Vergil’s part. He observed Dante in shock as that realization came down on him – and as he watched the prized human heart of his twin brother seemingly disappear, giving place to a blind, bloodthirsty demon in full Sin Devil Trigger fashion, killing everything in his path.

Vergil stayed away from the destruction, always keeping an eye on his brother… If he could call him that. Dante – the foolish, laidback, talkative, jack of all trades, witty and quippy brother he knew – seemingly was nowhere to be seen. He was gone, and everything left was his demon, with a never-ending thirst for blood.

Not that Vergil hadn’t had moments like those, but he was always alone. He would always find the end of his rage on the floor, exhausted, weak and cold. And so, he waited for Dante’s wrath to wear off – patiently, observing with a heavy heart, sorrow and guilt.

He didn’t enjoy seeing his brother like that.

That was the reason why, when Nico put to vote who was the scariest when angry, you threw your vote at Dante. You and the rest of the crew, except for the Spardas, decided to have a night out at a local diner, just to wind down and have a bit of fun – that sort of talk was a given when you were together.

“Dante, really?” Lady raised one of her eyebrows, staring at you with nothing but doubt in her multicolored eyes. “He can’t hurt even a fly!” When she said that, though, all of the eyes of the group turned at her in disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been hunting with him for a while. Dante can be a weapon of mass destruction, but he just… He doesn’t have that heart.”

“Hmmm… I think I have to agree with you on that one.” Trish slowly stirred her chocolate milkshake as Lady thanked with a sip of her vanilla one. “Look, I saw him killing Mundus. I saw Dante fighting the greatest and worst of Hell. He can be dangerous, but his human heart doesn’t let him be scary.”

“That is exactly my point.” You were ready to defend your thesis like a lawyer at court.

“Then why the hell would you vote for him as the scariest?” Nico didn’t have a cigarette on her hands because she had been forbidden to smoke inside the diner, but if she had, she would have been pointing at you with it. “Big flamin’ demon got nothin’ on Vergil, that one’s got the eyes of a killer. Got you chillin’ just by lookin’ at you.”

“Vergil doesn’t control his anger that much – I go as far as saying he doesn’t control himself as much as Dante.” And with those words, you won all the shocked looks you could at that evening. You would count that as a feat. “Is Dante a fool of a Tûk, as my dear Gandalf would say? Yes, he is. Is Vergil a walking death omen? Yes, he also is. But, I have talked to him about Dante being angry, and Vergil gave me enough hints to make it very clear Dante doesn’t let all his feelings out – he chooses to pass as a very aloof himbo of a man, but he is far from that. I’ve been his partner for enough time to say I agree with Vergil.”

“You might have a point.” Kyrie took a sip of her strawberry milkshake, as you let a triumphant smile take over your lips. “Dante might be playful, but we all know he has very deep emotions underneath that. It’s just like with Nero and his punk attitude.”

“But instead, he’s a cinnamon bun on the inside.” Nico topped Kyrie’s phrase, provoking some laughs on the group. That was the most accurate description of Nero if you had ever seen one.

“Dante loves his human heart, but he has a certain beef with his demonic one.” You wouldn’t say to the whole group you went as far as to believe he actually loathed his demonic heritage, as that was something too personal, but you had a hunch they all had some suspicions of that deep inside. “He keeps it in check, hidden, tamed. He lashes out when it’s a good time to do so – when fighting demons.” As you started getting some hums of agreement, you sneakily took Trish’s milkshake. “We have never seen Dante actually angry. And I don’t think we ever will.”

“Oh, now you’re makin’ it difficult.” Nico had to ponder those words, even if she couldn’t really see Dante being as dangerous as you said.

“Eh, not for me. I’m still going with Vergil.” Lady shrugged, firm on her opinion as always.

You took a little longer to get to the final vote – discussing what you had just said, as Trish called you out for stealing her milkshake and having it back, only to share it with you – but the answer was almost unanimous: the scariest one on a fit of wrath was Vergil.

Almost, because you kept adamant in voting on your red devil.

Vergil never came to know about all of that, but if he did, he would have agreed with you – not publicly, as he would hold his new title with pride, always content on inspiring fear as a way to keep himself and his loved ones protected. He would, however, agree with you privately, remembering Dante’s display of wrath in Hell.

That was the reason why his hands trembled on Yamato during your latest hunt together – the one where everything went wrong.

If only you would wake up. Maybe he could save Dante’s soul.

It all happened so fast, Vergil didn’t even see how things ended the way they were at the moment. On one second you were fighting by their side, on the other, you were tossed on the floor, soaked in your own blood, chest immobile. Not breathing.

“Y/n! No, y/n!” It was the very first time Vergil saw Dante dropping everything to run towards you. His brother let go of his sword, ignored all demons around and ran as if you were the only being in that godforsaken place. Vergil had to put himself between him and the demons, keeping them at bay as Dante quickly made his way to you. “Y/n! C’mon, babe! Y/n!”

Dante’s knees hit the floor with a loud thud as he dropped all his weight by your side – not feeling anything at the moment, but it would certainly leave a couple of horrid bruises. As his sky-blue eyes met that harrowing sight, desolation filled his face; Dante forgot how to breath for a split second, barely feeling his very own hands, legs tingling as his body seemed to sink in the ground even further.

Vergil stated the very same thing his brother did – and he never thought he could feel that way with the thought of losing you; but there was Vergil, with numbness on his fingers and a sickness in his stomach. You were the little light that Dante had found in his life, one of the only good things that had happened to him during all his damned years of living. Vergil knew how important you were, how only you could make Dante smile with a sincerity he only had seen when they were kids. What would be of his brother – his foolish, stupid, beloved brother – if he lost you to demons as well…?

The answer would come very soon, but not without a fight from Dante’s side.

“C’mon, y/n, open your eyes…!” Dante’s voice trembled, in a way Vergil had never listened to before. He watched as his twin brother desperately tried to bring you back, heavy hands massaging your chest, followed by breathing inside your mouth, and repeating once more. “C’mon, babe… Don’t leave me here…!” Those words were a whisper as he trembled trying to make your heart beat again, giving his breath to you once more so you could also breathe.

The realization washed Dante’s body as a cold wave, as he slowly felt he wasn’t in his body anymore – his body feeling your weight on his hands, but his soul completely out. Maybe flying away to meet yours wherever you were.

But then, a twisted symphony of distorted cackles and mockery ripped through his ears – the realization also came to the demons, and now they gloated with their first victory. Not only that, but humiliated the son of Sparda for losing his own beloved just like his father had lost Eva.

Vergil was ready to unsheathe Yamato and unleash all his fury to cut those demons in million pieces for that lack of respect – and to allow his brother to mourn properly. He himself had to mourn: you were too precious at the Devil May Cry for Vergil not to feel your loss.

But he wouldn’t need that. A deep growl grabbed the Dark Slayer’s attention, making him immediately turn to his brother. Dante got up from the floor with nothing but rage in his eyes bleeding tears, bare teeth as his demonic heritage boiled to rip through his skin and unleash all its fury on his enemies.

If only Dante had waited a single second, he would have realized what Vergil did. He would have heard a faint heartbeat – trembling, but fighting to survive. He would have seen your broken body trying to breath underneath the blood.

Dante killed the first demons with their own weapons, running towards his sword with a scream that only grew in strength. Vergil kneeled by your side, checking your pulse on your neck, staining his hands with your blood but stating what made his heart beat faster: you weren’t lost. Dante had to know.

The floor rumbled. As Vergil turned his attention towards Dante, he immediately turned back to you to protect you with his body. Dante’s scream thundered through the floor, as if it came from the deepest pits of Hell itself – and a thousand degrees exploded in sparks and molten lava as his Sin Devil Trigger took the place of the man who stood there before.

Vergil was used to the flames of Hell, they would not hurt him. But he wasn’t used to the wrath of his brother – and that might be something none of you would be able to recover. Vergil could take the heat of the explosion that took down many demons in its wake, but your human body couldn’t – and that was the reason why he had to do everything in his power to protect you.

Those silvery eyes turned back at Dante, still keeping a protective arm above you. Usually predatorial, now Vergil had nothing but worry in his gaze, watching with desolation as his brother became the bloodthirsty ruthless demon he never was.

In that state, Dante could make mistakes. He could hit you without even realizing. A misplaced use of his power, a wrong swing of his blade, another explosion of million degrees into hellish flames… Vergil could survive, not you. And, if Dante, who hadn’t realized yet you weren’t lost as he thought you were, ended up being the real reason of your demise…

Vergil didn’t even want to think what would happen.

For all he could see at that moment was a demon fiercely fighting other demons – or, better yet, easily subduing and mercilessly slaughtering all of them. And that was something that was so intrinsic to Dante’s heart: his mercy. Having Dante without his mercy, his kindness, his gentleness, his love, was the same as not having him at all… That was the source of his power, like rage was the source of Vergil’s power.

Watching his brother lost in wrath was heart wrenching, but knowing it could get even worse if he was to completely lose his soul was even more harrowing. Dante’s eyes bled his pain, even in that form, as he soaked his whole self in the viscous blood of his enemies – a monster beyond salvation, a creature without a soul, a lover without a heart. A man with his fragile hope crashed into pieces, abandoning everything that made him who he was, to allow himself to find some comfort through burning his own wrath.

For the first time, it downed on Vergil his brother might not come back. If he lost you, if Dante fatally wounded you, Vergil would never have him again – for Dante would lose the very last brink of humanity inside of him; a brink that Vergil couldn’t even see at that moment and didn’t even know if it was still there. Dante’s eyes were red, his growls distorted and animalistic, his power… Greater than Mundus, greater than even Sparda.

If Dante approached, Vergil would have to fight him. His brother wasn’t in a leveled state of mind to see logic – and he could hurt you, even if Dante would never do that. With all that blind wrath, though, Vergil didn’t even know if his brother would answer if he called.

Holding Yamato with a stronger grip than usual, Vergil stood in front of your body, guarding you from whatever harm that could come your way – be it in demon form… Or in his own twin brother form.

The cold hand of fear, though, slowly crept into his heart and held it on its stark clutches. Yes, Vergil spent his whole life sparring with that fool he had to call his brother – hearing Dante’s taunts and impossible physics, as if he didn’t even make an effort to make Vergil look like a complete buffoon during the fight, no matter how much technique and skill he had – but never Vergil imagined not having that.

Having Dante was a given. Fighting him was a given. Bantering, arguing, sparring, behaving like the bickering old set of twin brothers that they were. Vergil could say he wanted to defeat Dante, but he never wanted to get rid of him. What would his life be without his stupid brother?

Empty. Silent. Cold. Devoid of color.

Dante couldn’t go. And, most of all, he couldn’t go by Vergil’s hands. But if he was too much of a lose canon, if he was too far gone in his demonic frenzy, Vergil would have to put a stop to it…

Like Dante did with him as Nelo Angelo so many years before.

Vergil had to hold the cry that seemed to want to force its way out of his throat – holding back the tears that now glistened in his eyes. He was the most foolish of all… He was responsible for putting Dante on the same situation he found himself in at the moment – and just now he understood how harrowing, how painful and how much of a hell Dante had to go through.

Alone. Just like Vergil was alone in Hell – as above so below, the twins mirroring each other’s fates, on their realms and heritage of preference.

They weren’t so different after all.

As you started to hear the chaos around you once again, your head was spinning viciously and the pain that spread inside your lungs made you think you were going to explode. With an almost inaudible moan, you felt tears streaming down your eyes as you tried to open them, seemingly inhaling blood and pain every time you tried to breathe. You could feel you were covered in something wet and sometimes sticky, but it took some time for you to raise a trembling hand in front of your barely focusing eyes to realize it was blood.

Were you dead…? What had happened…? You could barely remember. You didn’t even know what hit you: suddenly everything turned black and now you were feeling like a bulldozer went over your body and somehow you managed to survive. Perhaps you didn’t, but if you were dead, you wouldn’t be feeling that much pain… At least, that was what people always said that happened after departing from the human world.

Plus, you could still hear the demons – but now, screaming in fear and trying to run away from something that was growling in such an inhuman tone, you wondered if you guys had accidentally summoned something bigger. By the noise, it had to be. The likes of Mundus and the other Kings of Hell – Vergil being the smallest of them, but still as deadly.

Perhaps it was Vergil…? To be fair, though, he never went all out without a really good reason. Maybe he thought you were dead? He appreciated you as much as a brother would appreciate his twin’s partner, but you didn’t expect him to have such a visceral reaction to your death; Unless…

You widened your eyes as your whole body seemed to be washed by a cold wave followed by a lightening that made you tingle from head to toes. Your heart sunk in your chest and the painful breaths you tried before were all but gone. Vergil would have a visceral reaction if he lost his brother. And that, you couldn’t even fathom: life without Dante didn’t exist… Or, at least, it would be something you wouldn’t want to go through.

You forced your body up, slowly turning to one side and barely using your arm to keep your weight as you tried to see what was going on. You had to find him, you had to find Dante. You would crawl to his body, you would shake him around as you could, you would give him your breath, you would give him your soul – but you would try everything to bring him back. You would hold him as tight as you could, you would cry over him, and there wouldn’t be a living or dead thing in this world that would be able to part you from him.

You widened your eyes once more when you saw Vergil keeping your body as a guardian warrior and the source of the chaos and destruction was your beloved red devil – lost in a frenzy, dripping with blood, eyes melting like lava and nothing of human in them.

You had never seen Dante like that.

“Verge…” You tried to cough the word out, but it was nothing more than a dying whisper. You couldn’t see how the blue devil furrowed his brows, thinking he might be hearing things – until you allowed a harsher breath to hurt your lungs so you could try to raise your trembling voice higher. “Vergil…!”

He turned his head enough to see you in the corner of his eyes – doing his best to still keep Dante in his sight. A wave of euphoria washed through Vergil’s body as his hands seemed to get steadier around Yamato: he was right, you were alive. As the fighter you were, the survivor you were… You were breathing and doing your best to get back on your feet again.

“Y/n…” But he couldn’t even talk: the floor rumbled again and Vergil knew what was coming. You placed your hands on the ground, widening your eyes and furrowing your brows, having never felt that before.

For a split second, you caught a glimpse of what was going on: Dante harnessing his power, ready to explode. You had never saw that. You had never saw his eyes devoid of his humanity. You had never seen your Dante as a complete demon like it was happening at that moment.

And, something that you had never been conscious to witness, Vergil threw himself over you to protect your body from his brother’s wrath. You had to cower behind his frame, gripping Vergil’s coat lapel for dear life, but still feeling the burning of a thousand degrees engulf you.

The blue devil didn’t even waver – but both of you had something in your eyes… The dread of the harrowing knowledge that that was Dante. All that destruction, that chaos, that blood… It was all Dante.

You were right, after all. His rage was the scariest to see.

“I need t-…” Your voice was raspy, having to stop mid phrase to cough some more blood that needed to come out of your lungs. “I need to talk to him.” You tried to take a deep breath, but once again it just stopped with a harsh sting on your chest. “He needs to know I’m alive.”

“Hmmm.” Vergil agreed with his head, but you knew he was still pondering what you had said. He helped you up on your feet – doing more of the work than you, easily lifting your body with his strength. “Dante isn’t himself at the moment…” Again, Vergil stood in front of you like a guardian, gripping the Yamato with both hands as soon as he saw you could stand by yourself. If you faltered, though, he was quick enough to hold you. “You must keep that in mind.”

“I know… And I am scared.” You answered in a whisper, looking over Vergil’s shoulder only to see Dante mercilessly slaughtering the last unlucky demons. “But it’s still Dante.”

Vergil didn’t know what to do, if he was being honest with himself. He could have held you back and kept you safe, as his demonic side told him to do, but something inside told him he should let you do what you had to do. Those silvery eyes watched as you bravely walked in haste towards danger; towards hell and doom, ready to embrace it… And willing to make it stop.

“Dante! Dante, love!” You kept calling, but, as Vergil feared before, his brother didn’t respond. He was too far gone, too lost in Hell to come back that easily. Vergil followed your steps slowly, lingering like a shadow behind you… Ready to do whatever he needed to do if Dante’s demon didn’t even recognize you in that blind rage. “Dante! You can stop now… Dante!”

With all the filthy bloody corpses piling up on the floor, that flaming red-hot demonic figure slowly turned its head towards you. Covered in blood, sword dripping with red, molten lava eyes raining all its hollow pain. Expressionless, as he always was on his Sin Devil Trigger, made of fire and coal, hate and rage.

Did he recognize you…? Did he understand what was going on…? Vergil’s grip on Yamato got stronger, ready to unleash a blow on his brother in order to protect you. What you were doing was a gamble – and one with not so nice odds to you. There was a reason why Vergil let Dante’s anger wear out when they were in Hell: he knew there was a good chance Dante wouldn’t even recognize him at the height of his wrath, just like it happened with Vergil on those situations. So, to say the moment at hand was dangerous was a serious understatement.

But humans would always be fascinating, wouldn’t they…? At least, that was what Vergil thought. That towering demon with a flaming chest and leathery wings turned towards you, carrying his huge sword dripping with demonic blood, doing nothing but heavy breathing – and you decided to fearlessly walk towards it.

Humans.

Vergil kept his distance, watching it all unfolding with a weary heart and a trigger hand at ready to fight his brother – to death, if he unfortunately needed to – in order to protect you. He couldn’t have the certainty you had, as your steps kept going in Dante’s direction.

Your legs were shaking, your knees were trembling, but… It was your lover. It was Dante. No matter how much he was lost into his frenzy and wrath, you had to believe his heart would remember you. His soul. It all happened because he thought he had lost you, he had to come back upon knowing you were alright.

It didn’t matter how horrid his wrath looked like, you knew he was in there somewhere.

“Dante… It’s me, I’m alright…” Your voice was still a whisper, unable to speak too loud, but also trying to soothe the anger in his heart. You hesitantly reached out to him, making a growl rumble inside his chest and your steps stop for a while – with Vergil half-unsheathing his sword, ready to fight. “Love…” You called again, breathing as deeply as you could, resuming your walking and extending your hand towards him. “My Dante…”

You were finally at arm’s reach. Vergil held his breath, eyebrows furrowed, silvery predator eyes fixated on what was supposed to be his brother. You raised your hand higher, resting it on Dante’s face.

His Sin Devil Trigger form was nothing but rough. His skin seemed like hard leather and rocky coal, burning so hot it could almost hurt your hand. You wouldn’t back down though: compared to him, you were soft and cold, too fragile and breakable; but you wouldn’t leave. You caressed his rough face, fingers feeling the sharp teeth, the spiky crevices, the unwelcoming features of a face made in Hell.

You felt, though, an unlikely moisture reaching your fingers: a droplet, running from those fiery, empty eyes – those inhuman eyes. You looked at it running through your fingers to the back of your hand, looking back into those frightening eyes that had nothing of a soul in them…

But he was there, wasn’t he? It was him, a part of him that Dante always fought so relentlessly to keep hidden, to keep on a tight leash in the deepest corner of his self. You could see Dante in those eyes – and, as soon as that realization washed through the demon’s body, his head leaned into your hand.

With a flaming spark, the red devil was gone and you had the man back: tired, desolated, falling apart. Dante still leaned his head into your hand – now with soft skin, smooth lips, closed eyes and flowy white hair – almost like an animal that had never been touched with kindness in a whole lifetime. As he opened his eyes, you could see the redness of his tears crowning those sky-blue tones you always loved so much… And there was nothing but fragile vulnerable humanity in them.

“Hi, cowboy…” You whispered with a shadow of a smile on your lips, while your very eyes poured tears – you didn’t know what kind of tears, though, if of happiness, sadness, desperation, pity or love. Maybe all of them at the same time: it was inherently human to feel more than words could describe. You caressed his face as Dante himself started to pour all of his feelings out – this time, not in a fit of rage. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I thought I lost you.” His coarse voice came through as if Dante had been weeks without speaking and his very own vocal cords were barely working. You didn’t doubt his body would be in pain after all he had been through during… That. “I thought… You were gone. I’d never see you again, you were… Like… Like…” Dante closed his eyes again, head hanging low. He could barely breathe as the words fought to get out of his chest and stop suffocating him. His tears hitting the floor while you took his hair out of the way so you could see his face – there was nothing but pain; a pain that hadn’t been healed since he was a child. “Like everyone in my damned fuckin’ life; those things… I thought they had extinguished… Your light, like everyone… Like everyone eventually does… By my side…”

That was rare. Very rare. Dante was very honest with his feelings and usually didn’t hide anything from you, but not to that point – the point where he would honestly and openly say how much he thought he was the thing that doomed everyone else who decided to live with him or be friends with him. That loathing he had inside his heart, that he hid so carefully, it wasn’t something he would say out loud – it was something you knew because you always understood him so well.

You let go of his hair and locked your arms around his large frame, resting your head on his chest – you could hear his heart beating, his human heart. Dante hesitated for the very first time in his life, keeping his arms by your side for a split second, his teary eyes shocked with your reaction.

After all, you had just seen his absolute worst. All the things he always smothered so much inside himself, keeping them on check, always so controlled. You had seen it in all its spiteful and horrid glory – and your reaction was to embrace him instead of running away. Dante expected you to run, it would honestly be the logic and most human thing to do after seeing all of that.

But you walked towards him with your heart beating in fear, touching his face to grab him out of the pit of wrath he was buried into, holding him tightly in your arms as he broke down in all his anger, misery, trauma and self-loathing.

It lasted a split of a second indeed – for soon Dante’s strong arms were wrapped around your fragile body, keeping you close and safe from harm… As well as having his face buried on your neck, crying all that smothered pain inside of his heart out. Your bodies were too exhausted to keep standing for too long – so when your knees wavered, Dante did the same and you kneeled on the floor, never letting go of each other; Dante holding you as tight as he could, promising himself he would never let go.

Vergil could finally put Yamato to rest. When they were in Hell, he allowed his brother’s rage to wear off while observing from afar. This time, he could do the same: guarding you and quietly keeping you both safe and sound.

A sad ghost of a smile graced the Dark Slayer’s lips as he calmly observed you. Maybe his brother was right after all, and he could only wish someday he would be as strong as Dante to carry such power.

A human heart.

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