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May 10, 2025

Loki series rewrite; one-shot

Based off this post.

Not proofread. Not polished. Probably not necessarily coherent. Mostly a bunch of ideas poured into a document bc I wanted to do something with them.

Cassia wakes in an unknown timeline. Something is amiss. Fortunately, it seems like her father is here to give her answers...

~~~

It came back to Cassia in bits and pieces. Fractures in the ground under her feet, spilling out a golden-green light that grabbed her and held her in place. Flashes of masked figures, one on either side of her, grips closing on her arms.

Her father pelting towards her, so desperate that he wasn’t even illusioned or disguised, screaming her name. He reached out.

Cassia tore her arm free from her captors and reached back to him.

His hand closed around hers. Then the world closed in around them, a sensation that Cassia had never felt before.

Silence. Darkness.

Another flash of memory. She had been exhausted, like she’d been drained of all her strength, and it took so much effort to open her eyes and try to understand what was going on around her: someone’s hand touching her cheek, gently; the glint of golden armor, high curved horns that she recognized. A half-familiar smile, but somehow colder, and a voice that she knew, speaking to her.

“Welcome to the home you deserve, my daughter.”

More silence. More darkness.

Now, she was laying on something soft. That was the first thing she realized. She opened her eyes, and the room was a haze of bright light that made her wince and shut them again. It took a few moments before all her senses came back to her. Softness beneath her, something light and smooth over her. Was she in bed? Was that her blankets?

Her father must have caught up to her, rescued her, taken her home.

…No, that couldn’t be right. Her room wouldn’t be so bright as the room she was in now.

A medical bay, then. Had she been hurt? She didn’t feel hurt.

She could hear something. Faint music. That didn’t belong in a medical bay.

Officially unable to figure out where she was without looking, she carefully opened her eyes again.

It was bright, and she found the source quickly: windows along the wall. Covered with gauzy drapes, letting a soft cool light spill into the room. The room itself was – not a medbay. Her bed was the only one there, so it was a bedroom.

The bed was massive, almost three times the size of her bed at home. The headboard was carved white wood, inlaid with gold; enameled engravings spelled out her name in runes, so clearly it was hers. The covers laid over her were silky, turquoise blue with purple and gold embroidery.

Cassia sat up. Above her was a high, arched ceiling tiled with abalone and gold. On the wall opposite the windows was a grand wardrobe and a mirror and vanity. There were bookshelves – mostly bare, but with some books. On top of one of these bookshelves was an old-fashioned music box, the source of the music she heard. The floor under her bare feet was cold stone paneling.

Most importantly, she didn’t recognize this place. It was entirely unfamiliar.

Searching for some answers, any answers, she went to the windows and pulled back the drapes.

Outside was a city… a city she only half-recognized. She’d adjusted to the city of New York, staying in Avengers Tower while her mother was on a couple of missions, but the city outside her window was still wrong. For one thing, while it was night over the city, the skies above were filled with stars, a million pinpricks of cosmic light, along with the purplish-green smear of a galaxy she’d never known. There was no way that New York, with all its light pollution, could see that many stars.

The skyline itself was wrong. Sure, the placement of buildings wasn’t so wrong, but the shape of them seemed… off. There were curved angles that ended in sharper points reaching up to the sky, and every building was capped with a small golden peakstone.

In fact, her first impression was that it was a city of gold-tipped claws reaching up towards the skies.

There was a soft knock on the doors behind her. She let the drape fall and spun around as one of the doors – a pair of ten-foot-tall polished wooden panels inscribed with more golden runes – cracked open.

A woman looked in – an adult with a gentle face and light grayish hair pulled up behind her head. She saw Cassia by the windows, and smiled. “You’re finally awake, Princess! Your father was starting to get so anxious.”

Cassia glanced around. Princess? Was this lady talking to her? “Where am I?”

“Oh… I don’t think that’s for me to explain,” said the lady, stepping into the room. She wore a simple, but elegant, gown of deep navy-blue. There were little golden pins on each of her shoulders. “Your father will explain it all when you see him. But you can’t see him dressed like that!” She added with a glance to Cassia’s clothes.

Cassia glanced down. She was wearing her leggings and tank top that she’d been wearing under her dress and jacket when she’d been taken. Someone had clearly undressed her, partly at least, while she was out, and she didn’t like it.

The lady walked to the wardrobe and pulled the doors open. “Come on, now. It’s best not to keep your father waiting.”

Only then did Cassia realize this lady was talking about her father – three different times. He was waiting, he was impatient, and he’d been worried about her. “My father is here?”

The woman smiled, but there was something in that smile that wasn’t so truthful. She was holding something back. “Of course, Your Highness. Where else would he be?”

Your Highness. Cassia took note of the term. The lady had also called her princess. Why would they call her these things? She was a Princess of Asgard by technicality, but held no genuine ties to the throne. Besides, this place couldn’t be Asgard. She would know if it was.

But clearly this woman in the navy gown was not interested in explaining.

Cassia folded her arms tightly and crossed the room, keeping an eye on the woman as she approached the wardrobe, ready to dart away and send out a spray of ice shards if the woman made any kind of move she didn’t like. The woman seemed to know this as she kept every movement swift and careful around Cassia, no abrupt motions.

In fact, Cassia noticed as the woman reached into the wardrobe to retrieve one of many gorgeous gowns there, her hands were trembling. Alongside the sideways glance she gave Cassia, the girl realized something else.

This woman was scared of her.

She wasn’t the only one. As the woman worked, brushing Cassia’s hair, two more people stepped into the room. They also wore the deep green, almost black, same color as the woman, and they kept their heads down, not even speaking to Cassia. They went to the bed and started to pull the blankets and sheets straight.

Cassia almost protested. She was not a child, and she could make her own bed. But the way that these people acted, she thought that if she spoke to them, they might just flee from fear.

None of this made sense. Sure, Cassia was a fierce fighter, but who in the Nine Realms would have such reason to fear her? Aside from the Muspels, but even hostilities with them had been smoothed over after the demise of King Skorchyr. Cassia considered herself on fairly amicable terms with the Frost Giants, especially with King Firrunen, and her grandmother Morn. And while she hadn’t interacted with some species, like dwarves or elves, these weren’t dwarves or elves. These were humans, Midgardians like her mother.

So why were they afraid of her? She’d done nothing but defend Midgard – against the Flame Giants, the Kree and the Skrulls, and so much more.

If the woman who was now doing her hair spoke the truth – and Cassia knew she did – there was only one person who could answer these questions. So Cassia sat nicely with her hands nicely folded in her lap, letting the woman and the other two – servants? – do their jobs.

A few minutes later, Cassia found herself dressed in a floor-length gown of deep turquoise with tiny crystals that formed intricate patterns on the bodice. She’d never touched a dress that felt so expensive in her life, and this was one of the less elaborate gowns in the wardrobe. But she kept her mouth shut and didn’t say a word as the servants – gods, she hated thinking of them with that term – led her from her room.

Glancing back as the door closed, her bedroom doors also had her name on them in runes, along with some bind-runes that she faintly recognized as protection for something very precious.

The halls of this place – castle, tower, wherever – felt like a labyrinth. Many times, they passed other servants, who all kept their heads down and didn’t look at her, only faintly bowing to her as she passed.

Even more that wasn’t right. Cassia did not like being bowed to. People of Asgard acted respectfully towards her, but they had never bowed. It was even worse when they came to a line of six servants stationed right outside a pair of carved golden doors, who all bowed more deeply than the rest.

Her skin crawled. She tried not to shudder, clasping her hands more tightly than before. She walked past them, and the servant who had attended to her in her room also hung back. The golden doors opened. Clearly, that was where she was meant to go.

She walked through.

The doors shut.

~~~

It was a throne room. Cassia realized that the moment that her eyes were drawn to the throne at the farthest end of the space, and she approached it.

It was almost entirely golden, inlaid with enamel, and green silk. It was carved with interlocking curves and triquetras, something she’d seen commonly on Asgard. But what was an Asgardian-style throne doing here?

Behind the throne was a tapestry map of the Nine Realms, with Midgard at the center – and whoever sat in the throne would block Midgard from sight, effectively putting themselves at the center of the universe from this angle. Quite a bold decision, Cassia thought, especially when she looked for Asgard and found that it was one of the lowest and least respected realms by this map’s design.

Well. Someone clearly thought highly of themselves.

Cassia backed away from the throne. More and more wasn’t matching up, here. She went to the windows and looked out.

Yes, it was still New York from this angle, too. Except it was a halfway-familiar sight, one she’d seen before… from Avengers Tower.

…Okay, she officially liked none of this. Just as she reeled back, feeling a little unsteady, the doors opened again behind her. She froze in place – a panic response – and didn’t need to turn around to know that a presence of some sort had entered the room.

There were footsteps. The doors shut.

Then a voice said, “Cassia.”

Relief washed over her. That was her father’s voice. “Dad!” She whispered, turning around. “I –” She froze again.

The man who stood close to the doors was undeniably her father. That was his helm with the curved horns; his armor, black and gold leather with emerald-green cape; his face, with a half-familiar smile. But there was something wrong with it all, and for several moments, she didn’t understand.

“What’s going on?” Cassia said.

“You’re finally here,” he said softly. He stepped forward, approaching her with smooth, careful strides, but all the while his eyes never left her face. “It was so difficult to reach you… I had almost begun to give up hope.”

Cassia’s fight or flight senses finally caught up to her. The only reason she didn’t lunge at him – or turn to flee – was because he was her father, and beyond the twisted familiarity, undoubtedly he was prepared for either of those actions. So she made herself stay still. “Given up… hope of what?” She said.

“That I would finally have you here,” he said, finally stopping in his tracks just a few feet away from her.

So clearly he knew where they were, Cassia thought. Then he must know what was going on, right? “Where is ‘here’?” She asked. “You mean, Avengers Tower? Or New York?” But she didn’t actually think either of those options would be right.

A flicker passed over his face, a faint sneer, like she’d just offered him a bad joke. “Avengers Tower. Is that really what they called this place?”

He should know that. Cassia and her father weren’t permanent or even frequent residents of the tower where the Avengers based their operations; but they’d visited, and stayed once or twice during instances when Geneva rejoined her sister and her old team for the odd mission here or there. He wouldn’t question what the tower was called. He was the one who ribbed Tony about what a blow to his ego it must have been for the inventor to take the name STARK off of the tower in the first place.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Of course,” her father said. “I’m sure by now you’ve noticed some of the differences between here and your old home.”

“Gee, I never noticed.” This time, her words came out with a sharp jab of sarcasm, one she instantly regretted. With how her father was acting, she didn’t want to come across as disrespectful.

Instead, however, he looked amused. “There’s a very simple explanation, I promise you. I… am a superior version of your father.”

Her brain stalled on the word superior and then, like a lag response, the rest of the statement registered to her. Except somehow that order of words made no sense, like he’d said something completely absurd. “What?” She said.

“He failed,” said her father – or, whoever this was that looked like him but apparently wasn’t. And he spoke in such a succinct, matter-of-factly, and scornful tone. “I did not.”

Failed? Failed at what? Cassia didn’t consider her father to be a failure at anything. Sure, some tenets of life on Midgard were mystifying to him, like parent-teacher conferences at her school, and capitalism, and submarines; but he was adaptable, and Midgard was Cassia’s world not his, so he tried, and that wasn’t a failure by any stretch of the term. He could still blend in almost imperceptibly, and yet make trouble as naturally as ever.

He wasn’t a failure of a father either. Once he’d found out about her existence, once he’d had the chance to be a part of her life, he never failed to be there for her if she needed him. He might not be a great help with homework, friendship drama, or any of the other common matters most parents of teenagers probably faced, but she could always rely on him. He’d even give her the space she asked for if she demanded such a thing for any reason.

His relationship with his adopted family on Asgard might have been… tenuous, but he was careful not to let any tension from that situation slip into the life he led with Geneva and Cassia. He could even stand in the same room as Thor without significant hostility beyond a sly comment or sarcastic remark. Once again, no sense of failure… not by Cassia’s standards, at least.

But then that made her thoughts turn to what perhaps her father would define as a failure… for which he had several, she supposed. Schemes that had never come to fruition, long before she had come to be. Such as when he first took the throne of Asgard during Thor’s banishment, and then, when he came to Midgard –

As if a switch had been flipped in her mind, puzzle pieces clicked together. She was standing in a warped version of New York, in what she knew as Avengers Tower, with a version of her father who claimed to be ‘superior.’ Who claimed that he had never failed.

Her heart sank. Was this why those servants had called her “Your Highness,” like some kind of princess?

She looked out the windows.

“Do you like our kingdom?” The stranger wearing her father’s armor asked.

She looked back to him. Had she heard that right? “Ours?”

“Yes,” he said serenely. “Ours. The world I conquered. The world that I can offer you.”

Oh, she hated hearing that. Cassia actually backed away from him. She hated showing such fear and vulnerability, especially to someone who was so much like her father – undoubtedly a master manipulator – but at this moment, distance between them was the only defense she had. Well, short of putting up an actual barrier of ice. She almost did that, too.

And this stranger… let her back away. He didn’t step forward, or even reach out to stop her. He watched her for a few seconds, seemed to realize that he had overwhelmed her, and took a step back himself. A golden, shimmering light surrounded him – Cassia recognized what it was. Illusory magic, the same that she and her father used.

A moment later, standing across from her was so clearly her father – no longer with his helm and cape, and still much more gold on his armor than she was used to. But it was him, without illusions, and she knew it.

His eyes were colder than the father that she knew. But it was still him.

And he was the only person who could offer her answers.

“I don’t understand,” Cassia said, hoping that her voice wasn’t trembling as much as it felt it was. “I need more answers than you calling yourself superior, and saying that you conquered Midgard. Because none of this makes sense. Before I blacked out, my dad was right with me, trying to help when those things grabbed me –”

“Yes, I know,” said her father. “Those were my minions, sent to retrieve you. And you have nothing to fear. The inferior Loki can’t reach you here.”

Cassia’s fists clenched when she heard those words: the inferior Loki. Her father was not inferior, how dare he –

“Where is here?” She managed to ask without significant hostility in her voice.

“You’re on Midgard,” he said, “in a timeline in which I won the – what does your world call it? ‘The Battle of New York’? They make it sound so noble.”

Once again, her attention got stuck on one word and had to race to catch up with the rest. But he’d been patient enough with her thus far, she risked voicing her curiosity. “Timeline?” She echoed. “What do you mean by ‘timeline’? How… how many timelines are there?”

His smile turned warmer, a bit more genuine, more like the father that she knew. “How many? Millions, and more. Every choice, every change, can create a new timeline, and together, these timelines form the Multiverse.”

“The Multiverse,” Cassia repeated, not as a question but simply to say the name for herself. “And the timelines can… interact?”

“Not usually,” said the stranger. (Cassia was having a hard time of thinking what to call him. ‘Father’ or ‘Dad’ felt wrong. And calling him by his name? Forget it, Cassia wasn’t one of those kids who felt comfortable calling their parents on a first-name basis.) “Getting to you took a great deal of planning, and so many failed attempts…”

Getting to you took a great deal of planning. This, all of this – her room, her clothes, her presence here – was intentional. All of this new information felt like it might be giving her a literal headache, and Cassia was immediately even more anxious.

She moved away from the windows, not wanting to see the city outside – or wanting to stand rooted to the spot, dazed and bewildered. She had to be quicker than that, especially when she was on her own. She didn’t even have her bracelet, the one that could turn into Jormungandra at a moment’s notice. All she had was her powers – the ground under her feet was coated with a fine layer of frost with every step – but even that felt like no reassurance.

She looked around as if she might by some miracle be able to spot a way out. The throne room’s walls were decorated with tapestries between the windows that looked out over the city. She didn’t recognize any of them aside from thinking that she’d seen very similar ones in Asgard.

A second later she realized she’d just fully turned her back on an enemy. Her father would be so exasperated by her lack of instincts right about now.

This stranger who looked like him, however, stayed patient. “There is nothing for you to fear here,” he said, and Cassia wondered if he could somehow understand her thoughts. “No one will hurt you. Anyone who might even try will answer to me.”

Cassia faced him once again. He was still the only one who could offer her answers. “You brought me here.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?” Cassia demanded.

He didn’t even hesitate. He offered the answer so swiftly that she almost believed it was wholeheartedly the truth. “Cassia, in all the Multiverse, there is only one of you,” he said, still with his eyes locked on her face. “In no other timeline do you exist. That makes you the most precious being in the Multiverse.”

Cassia already knew how precious she was to those who loved her, none of whom were around her now. “So you sent your minions to break into another timeline to get me?”

“I did more than that.” Now the stranger’s smile was completely familiar. It was the same expression her father wore when he was supremely proud of the chaos he caused. “I broke the Sacred Timeline itself for the chance to find you.”

More clearly-important words that Cassia had no clue what they meant in this context. “The what now?” She said, exasperated with all of these details.

“Before the Multiverse, there was one timeline. The so-called Sacred Timeline,” said the stranger. “One timeline of choices, causes and events. What a boring way for the universe to exist. There was no way that I could claim my rightful victory and have you here with me…”

Cassia understood. “So you shattered the Sacred Timeline and created the Multiverse… just for me to exist?”

The stranger’s eyes gleamed. He didn’t say anything, but his expression confirmed what she thought.

Her heart raced. “What about my family?” She said weakly.

“What about them?” He said, sounding almost genuinely curious, but there was a cold edge in his voice that Cassia could read well. “What have they done to deserve you?”

Family isn’t about deserving. Cassia almost snapped at him, what have you done to deserve me here? But held her tongue.

“What has my inferior self done, to earn what I have always wanted? Why should he have an heir when he has nothing to offer you? I can offer you a far greater world than the one you left behind.”

I didn’t leave it behind, you took me! Again, she managed to hold her tongue.

“In this world, you don’t have to play pretend with your school full of heroes –”

Cassia balled her fists. There was no pretense about it. She loved her school, her classmates, everything she learned day after day.

“The mortals’ fear and love is all the same,” said the stranger. “Do you know what that feels like?”

Cassia looked back at him silently. She’d never wanted to know. She’d grown up raised by a mortal, surrounded by mortals. They were her equals. Some of them loved her, and she never wanted to experience their fear – because by principle, to her at least, it was not the same. He couldn’t convince her that it was.

He smiled again. She hated that familiar smile. “They will love and fear you, too,” he said. “Their new Princess of Midgard.”

Somehow that cemented a name for him in Cassia’s mind: King Loki.

She would be lying if she said she’d never once thought about, imagined even, a world in which her father won the Battle of New York. And… she and her father had even talked about it once or twice, late-night talks when Geneva was away on missions and the two of them sat together by the windows of Avengers Tower, looking out over New York. But it was exactly that, imagination. Cassia’s father himself admitted he’d had no real idea what he intended to do if he’d won New York. It was no secret that he’d also been under the influence of the Mind Stone at the time.

She’d never wanted to actually see that kind of world for herself, especially not on her own.

“Princess of Midgard,” Cassia repeated aloud. “Well, I guess you should know, I can be a prince sometimes, too. Hope you’re cool with that.”

King Loki looked amused. “Suppose I should have expected that. Of course.”

Cassia mirrored his smile, then quickly threw his arms around this stranger and hugged him, the way she would hug her father.

The king’s response was slower and more tentative, but he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead.

Cassia shut her eyes.

He’d offered her all of these answers willingly, without tricks. He wanted her to know how precious he thought her to be. He wanted her to know what he’d done to bring her here, all the effort it had taken to splinter the Sacred Timeline, to find a way to her.

And Cassia was willing to bet that meant that her father, the so-called ‘inferior’ Loki, wouldn’t rest until he got her home where she belonged.

She just had to play along until then… and maybe see what kind of trouble she could stir up in the meantime.

#me: wow that was a lot. wonder how much i wrote.... *looks at page count* 9 PAGES???????!#anyways. here.

dani-luminae