A/N no one will ever bother to read: I almost didn't post this. I have another fic I've put on hold for almost a year, and I feel so ashamed for those who had me on their alert lists when I'm posting this fic (which belongs to a completely different fandom), instead of updating the other one. I apologize D: Anyway, I've almost finished this one so I might as well just put it out there for people to enjoy (hopefully).

Warnings: this will be very, very dark (bolded for those who decided to skip this. Ha! I got you to read part of it), also, it'll contain a lot of crack (gotcha again!), crack, crack, everywhere, accordingly to this pairing. So a lot of dark stuff and a lot of crack. M for violence and adult themes and sexual situations and shit. That would be all. You are dismissed, bitches.

Chapter 1

She blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the snowflakes that were settling on her eyelids, but even that was a task by itself. Closing her eyes - if even for a second - was like surrendering herself to the darkness. The whiteness scenery, which comprised the winter sky delimited by the peaks, stung her eyes; the dull pain translating into a headache that throbbed, slowly, connecting a nerve from the back of her head to the bridge of her nose. Still, she couldn't allow herself to blink. Every blink meant subtracting one beat to her heart, and she didn't know how that was even logical, just that it felt true to herself.

She couldn't move, except to force her chest to rise and fall with each breath with so much effort, it was as if an elephant was standing on her diaphragm, constricting it, making every intake of air shallower than the last.

"You will lend me your mind, mortal," said a voice that she heard with a sharpness that was frightening; perhaps, being on the verge of one's death brought clarity to everything.

Either way, she tried to speak, gathering all the air in her lungs to reply to the strange request, but the outburst came in the form of a cough, a choked sob that brought up a torrent of blackness. She had lasted too far now to die by choking on her own blood, so she willed herself to cough out the rest of it that pooled in the back of her throat, her entire body shaking.

A growl was uttered by the owner of that harsh voice that had spoken to her, this time not sounding as crystalline as before. "Behold now, human," he commanded as he stepped until the white landscape was suddenly graced with a tall and lean figure draped all in black, "the last thing you shall see before dying: Loki, son of Odin, immortal of Asgard. I grant you that much." The way he uttered 'much', with sneer and disgust, the word escaping the jail of his clenched teeth, made her wonder whether she had already died and God – or whoever - was giving her some amusement, indeed. A trolling angel, perhaps.

She smiled, and the immortal must have confused it for an expression of awe for he, too, closed his lips in a slight smirk, contented, his eyes growing darker as he watched her with a manic intent.

Suddenly, the dull headache inside her head became a hammering pain, the aforementioned nerve becoming of hot iron needles. She closed her eyes with force, clenching her teeth. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone, and she let herself sigh with relief.

"Nothing," said he with a casual tone. "The impact must have erased your memories. Your mind is now a blank extension. It is fortunate that you should die free of regrets."

Something was happening to her vision because, every time she focused her eyes on something, the rest - the background - became but a hazy grey mist that was born in the borders and threatened to grow until it covered everything and she became blind and, surely, dead, at last.

"It is so dark," she said, focusing her eyes on his hand that was clutching a strange-looking staff, the skin resembling the evenness of wax, flawless. "As if… fa-falling," she managed to croak out, her voice breaking, "I'm falling. Oh, God," she breathed out, as if a realizing, at last, that that was it, she was actually going to die. "I'm so scared," she confessed then, on the verge of tears. "Don't wanna die, don't wanna die…" she repeated until her voice became but a whisper, an infinite prayer. Paths of uninterrupted tears were created from the corners of her eyes just to disappear in her tangled hair.

Was that the death of a human what he was witnessing? Loki had watched thousands die, but watching her, contemplating the fear in her eyes, and the futile effort to cling onto the last rays of light, it was almost intimate. Even if the human healers managed to help her, it would be too late. She lay there, her crushed bones turned to dust, her flesh but a container of broken insides, and the blood that spilled from her mouth tainting the snow-like skin of her face.

And she spoke of darkness as if it was an abysm that rested underneath her. She wanted to avoid that fall.

A quick pang of bitterness hit him, disappearing in a second, distorting his expression into one of discomfort.

And, then, the mortal's face relaxed, as his own did moments before he realized he was indeed falling into that abysm, accepting his fate with a collected calm.

He quickly got down on one knee, taking her hand, raising the broken arm with it. Conjuring magic was like breathing to him, it wasn't about power anymore, but will and whim. She would fall no longer for he would catch her.

I accept glad tidings in the form of reviews and suggestions and flames.