It begun when he was little.

Loki ran down the corridors of his home. A large smile etched on his face as he headed for his father's chamber, a scroll in one hand.

He can't wait. He can't wait to show his father his masterpiece.

It was a poem he worked hard on. He slept through it for weeks, his brows furrowing so much when he composed it he was sure he's getting wrinkles like elder ones.

Loki knew his ability of swindling words. Weaving stories and poetries. He loves doing it. His mother loves it. His brother always wanted to listen to his made up stories.

He wanted to show his father too.

And so after he went through countless of drafts and scribbles, Loki was finally satisfied with his work. He wasted no time to search for his father.

He was humming as he skipped passed the kitchen. The lullaby his mother recently taught to him, one that sounded really pretty to his ears.

It was when he heard the voices.

Whispers.

The chambermaids are chattering lively in the kitchen. Gossiping laughing, Loki was no stranger to such things. He ignored it as he walked when one whispers caught his sharp ears.

They were talking about him.

Unable to gandle his curiousity, Loki sneaked into the kitchen with general ease, for his steps are light and he was truly quiet. His brother praised him as a master of stealth, and so he was so proud of.

And then Loki wished he hadn't hear such things.

They talked of how his father highly dislikes him. Hates him even. That he was adopted for Odin felt remorse of the slaying of his kin. That his brother Thor only played with him because he felt pity. That he was worthless and nothing.

Loki refused to believe it.

He refused to believe his father would say nor do such things. He was his son, his father loves him. Thor loves him. They love Loki.

..Right?

Loki shook his head.

No.

He would never be affected by such gossips between chambermaids. He knew better to doubt his father and brother. Nevermind his mother. They love him. They all do.

So Loki forced all the thoughts of injustice down to the depths of his mind. He refused to acknowledge the fact how his father's eyes glimmered and shobe whenever he saw Thor, and how they become dull when he saw Loki. He refused the fact that he was able to write the poem in peace was because Thor left him for his new friends.

No.

Loki would not believe it.

So Loki went. Unnoticed, for his father's chambers. His heart thumping loudly against his ribcage as he approached the large door. His hand trembling.

Loki took a deep breath and bit his lip. Shaking with barely contained excitement.

He can't wait to show his father his work.

His knuckles rapted on the door. Silence ensues so he ought to try it once more, loudly this time.

A rough voice spoke up,
"Enter."
Loki quickly obliged and he swung the door open. His large eyes landed on his father who sat on a chair, reading a rather long scroll.

"Hello, father." Loki felt proud that his voice was not trembling.

His father looked up, barely sparing a glance at him vefore returning to his scroll.

"What is it?"
Loki tried to ignore the harshness in his father's voice as he held up the scroll he was holding.

"I did this for you father." Loki beamed as Odin took his scroll of poem.

Loki's heartbeat thumped so loud he could hear it when his father slowly unfurled the scroll, reading through it.

Then his eyes narrowed as he closed the scroll with barely any seconds to spare, tossing it aside.

"That's nice."

Loki was no fool. His father's voice was dry and clipped. And he wrote the poem that'll took atleast ten seconds to read, and his father barely scanned through it for one second!

"You had not read it yet."

"Had I?" Odin asked, annoyance thick in his voice as he spoke.

Loki's heart wrenched. He felt tears prickled in his eyes.

"I wrote that."

"So? Anything else I should know of?"
Loki couldn't believe his ears.

He wrote the poem. He used all his mind and all his feelings to it, he practically poured his sould into words for his father. And yet here he was, tossing it aside like it was nothing but a bore.

Suddenly he can't breathe.

"No.. father.." Loki muttered, letting his voice drenched with dissappointment as he hoped his father would hear him. Then perhaps he'll hug him and read through the poem together.

And yet Odin only shot him a blank look with a raised eyebrow.
"Off you go then."

Loki nodded. He took carefully calculated strides as he forced himself to breathe. In and out. In and out.

As soon as he reached the exit and closed the door behind him, Loki ran.

He ran and ran.

He didn't know where he was going. Nor did he know what he was doing. Loki just needed to run.

Ran. Ran.

Somehow, someway, he ended up on the high rooftops of his residence. He was panting for air when he stopped, collapsing to the ground. Coughing and spluttering for air.

He can't breathe.

The air seemed thick. Tears stung his eyes as he furiously wiped it off. Scolding himself.

He is a big boy. He can't cry.

Yet the pain flared inside his chest with burning.. hate? Sadness? Loki wasn't sure.

He just can't breathe.

He remembered when his father was busy. Truly busy. He was holding a very important council when Thor barged in, despite Loki's futile attempts not to disturb their father. He remembered clearly when instead scolding Thor, his father smiled and watched as Thor show his father his poorly made wooden sword.

Maybe the chambermaids are right.

No. They are right.

He was unwanted.

Worthless.

And nothing.

He was a liability.

And nobody needed him.

Since that night, Loki stopped writing poetries and stories, for it seemed to be useless to write things when nobody would read it.

So instead, Loki swindled lies.

And he earned the title Silver Tongue.

There ya go Mossy mossfire946. I hope it's sufficient enough for your angst breakfast club.