A/N: if Thor: Love and Thunder doesn't have Loki in it,, we're suing Marvel. I don't make the rules

Word count: 1.3K

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑰𝑽 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:

✧.*༄ WE'RE FALLING APART,
STILL WE HOLD TOGETHER

Thor hadn't yet figured out your "corner store" excuse, which was one of the only things you could use to get outside. The first few times you really had gone to the store, but then it became only a phrase. You could use it for about a year before it was figured out; Thor was always more on the gullible side when it came to your father's illusions or your own. It was merely bad timing.

You were just returning home from a walk along the beach that you had taken to rejuvenate yourself. As you gingerly opened the door, you were met with the face of your uncle. "Dear (Y/N)? And where have you been?"

"...The corner store."

"That's strange. You were there just yesterday if I do recall."

"Uncle Thor, how reliable do you really think your drunken memory is?"

"It's not as bad as you deem it to be."

"I really think it might be," you countered. "Your condition in its entirety is rather concerning. I'm just worried."

"Let's not forget the subject, though— we were talking about you." He motioned his beer glass towards you to emphasize, making you roll your eyes. "Now, why would you feel the need to go to the corner store almost every day?"

"Well, I—"

"You use it as an excuse to get out of my sight. Hmm? How about that?"

"I need the items for my new spells. This Midgardian, Wiccan magick requires certain materials, so—"

"And you think I'm not aware of your other magic? You could create anything you wanted."

"Alright, so maybe you're correct. But I don't need your constant supervision, Uncle Thor," you groaned, nudging past him to head to your room. He grabbed your shoulder before you could leave. "You're the one I should be looking after, in all honesty."

"I do it for a reason. I do this because you're the only person I have left," he whispered. "I can't lose you, too."

Obviously, you felt great sympathy, but his reasoning and his habits and his watchfulness were all piled up onto you, so you had to speak of it. You tried to keep a thoughtful tone, but anger could be hard to conceal. "And that makes you the only one I have left, as well. It's not dangerous outside, in case you hadn't gathered it. The Asgardians' days of bloodshed and glory are over. Right now, this—" you grabbed the bottle of beer— "is doing more damage than me stepping out of the house every once in a while."

"Dear (Y/N), I say this with great respect, but who are you to comment on my lifestyle?" Thor asked, taking back his poison.

"I am the highly intelligent child of your brother. What exactly were you planning on doing just now, anyway? Surely not going for a harmless walk like I was. You were planning on retrieving some more beer, which is not a lifestyle but an addiction."

"You know what? I'm the king. I can choose what we import and I don't want to hear anything about it from you. It's not even as bad as you may think."

You stole the bottle back from him before he could take a swig. "Uncle Thor, this is no acceptable way to cope with your loss," you snapped. Maintaining your chastising glare, you dropped the bottle and let it shatter on the floor. "It's not going to help you."

"Well, neither is you making a mess, now, is it?" At that, you sighed and waved your hand, sweeping up the remains of the glass and the dreaded liquid. "I'll be back momentarily."

"Fine." Overwhelmed by emotion, you trudged to your room and dug around for your grimoire. You needed to write to your father.

You expertly flipped past pages until you reached the next blank one, tensing upon catching a glimpse of one of the Wiccan entries. It was the depression banishing one that you had tried over the course of the last year. You weren't sure if these new spells were working or if Thor had caught onto you trying to help him. He wasn't fond of the realization that you were making for him.

Dismissing the page with a shaky breath, you materialized a pencil to start a new entry. Your hand moved in a frenzy.

Dearest Father,

I don't even know where to start. Uncle Thor just keeps getting worse and worse with every passing day. He refuses to acknowledge my warnings. I feel so helpless being unable to do anything for him.

This Midgardian magick... I'm unaware of its effects. I just want to help him, but I'm sure he's denying my efforts. He blows out the candles. It's as if he wants to submit himself to this life of suffering.

I often believe that I should suffer, too. I just can't bring myself to allow it. I try so hard to be strong. I need to be; I'm a support for those around me. Uncle Thor needs me. My people need me. I'm sure even you need me to be strong. You wouldn't want such pain upon me, and, for that, I'm incredibly sorry.

I've bottled these feelings for far too long. It's only now that I've come to realize that that is not what defines strength. I need to let them go even if it hurts me. The truth is often painful.

I just feel so weak. I'm nothing. I'm inadequate, I'm unworthy of my title, I'm a disappointment, I'm weak. Why couldn't I have died when Than—

The pencil lead snapped.

A cry fell from your lips.

Tears gathered quickly and slipped into reality. The broken pencil laid on the open book after leaving your shaking hand.

You let out all of your hindered stress in a series of sobs racking your lungs. Thoughts invaded you.

Weak. Gods don't have fears. Useless. Evil witch. Gods aren't supposed to have fears.

Worthless.

You're not supposed to be afraid.

You held your head between your arms, absolutely dreading how vulnerable you were. You kept crying. You kept sobbing. You kept dreading the feeling that smothered you.

But you couldn't stop it.

Those emotions were too overwhelming and too consuming and too unbearable and too—

The sound of the door swinging open interrupted your misery and indicated Thor's return home. Although you had cut yourself off in a hurry, you were afraid that he still heard your crying.

He made his way over and peered into your room. "Dear (Y/N)? Are you alright in there?"

You were quick to recompose yourself, not wanting your uncle to realize that you were in such a pitiful state. You were quick to try to pull yourself from a bottomless hole of torment. You tried to be inconspicuous about steadying your voice. "I-I'm fine."

The door swung closed slowly with a spell, giving Thor time to move away. "Are you sure?" he asked from the other side, "I—"

"I'm fine. U-Uncle Thor, please just... let me be." You remained silent after that, reducing your cries to sniffles and wavering breaths. You didn't move until you heard Thor's footsteps wander away from your room. Reluctant but fading.

Only then did you pick up the pencil again, repairing the tip. Scribbling pursued— concealing but not removing.

I'm sorry.

You wrote it. You said it aloud.

"I'm so sorry, Father. My best... it may not be enough."

The entry: "Another Apology."