Title: The Pop-Tart Genealogy
The hum of centrifuges and the occasional beep of monitors filled Jane Foster’s lab at S.H.I.E.L.D.’s mobile research unit. It was late afternoon, the kind of hour when sunlight slanted in golden rectangles across the stainless-steel countertops, catching dust motes like suspended stardust. Jane, elbow-deep in spectral analysis of a leftover Asgardian energy signature, glanced up when the door slid open with a soft hiss.
Darcy Lewis sauntered in, balancing a clipboard, a half-eaten blueberry Pop-Tart, and a permanent marker in one hand. She plopped into a swivel chair, kicked her boots up onto a spare stool, and began scribbling on the clipboard with intense concentration.
Jane squinted. “What are you doing?”
Darcy paused mid-chew. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I think we can all agree things on the Norse side of our… friendships are getting confusing. So I thought I’d try to keep track.”
Jane leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “You do realize they probably have a family tree already? I mean, they’re thousand-year-old gods. I’m pretty sure Odin could draw it in runes with his eyelashes.”
Darcy waved the marker dismissively. “And? Just because they have one doesn’t mean it’s accurate or accessible. Have you ever asked Thor for a family diagram? He starts talking about ‘the days of Yggdrasil’s full bloom’ and then gets all misty-eyed over a goat named Heidrun.”
Jane considered this. She remembered Thor’s last attempt to explain genealogy—something about how Loki wasn’t technically his brother but also more than a brother, which had then spiraled into a passionate defense of metaphorical kinship and the sacredness of shared mead-drinking rituals.
She exhaled slowly. “...Please continue.”
Darcy grinned, tearing off another bite of Pop-Tart. Crumbs scattered like breadcrumbs on a divine trail. “Okay, so—bear with me. You remember the original Norse mythology? Back when it was just… mythology? And you know, not trying to destroy New York and eating all our Pop-Tarts?”
Jane rolled her eyes. “Yes. They got some things wrong.”
“Some?” Darcy scoffed. “Jane. Some? They called Thor a thunder god. He’s a thunder prince. There’s hierarchy involved! Plus, they made Freya sound like a single mom with a falcon coat, when in reality she once challenged Odin to a riddle duel for custody of her magical necklace. She won, by the way. Three out of five. She’s intense.”
Jane sighed, smiling despite herself. “Fine. So what’s your version?”
Darcy flipped the clipboard around with a flourish.
Taped to it was a large, hand-drawn family tree—drawn in rainbow-colored markers, with tiny doodles in the margins: Thor with a hammer-shaped halo, Loki with cat ears (because “he’s always plotting”), Odin missing an eye but wearing an eyepatch that said “I ♥ Valhalla,” and Heimdall as a giant pair of eyes with wings.
At the top, in bold red letters: THE REAL ROYAL LINE (as best as I can figure)
├── Thor (son, adopted Norse traditions as lifestyle brand)
├── Baldr (deceased, tragic, very nice, everyone loved him)
└── Loki (complicated. adopted. also a Frost Giant. also Thor’s emotional support demon sometimes?)
Then, in sparkly blue ink:
Technically son of Laufey, King of Jotunheim → stolen as infant by Odin during peace treaty confusion → raised as Asgardian prince → identity crisis ensued. Also, father to:
Fenrir (giant wolf, currently in time-out in Asgard)
Jörmungandr (Midgard Serpent, lives in Earth’s mantle, sends postcards)
Hel (ruler of Hel, wears all black, goth phase never ended)
And at the far right, a separate branch with a dotted line:
└── Rumored romantic entanglement with Thor (pre-Jane). Status: complicated, possibly on hold since she punched him during that diplomatic incident with the Dark Elves.
Below it all, in tiny letters: Note: Valkyries may be in the family but we haven’t gotten clear answers. Also, there’s a thing about half-elven cousins? I’m still checking.
Jane stared. “You’ve included the World Serpent in Thor’s family group chat, haven’t you.”
Darcy nodded solemnly. “He’s a surprisingly good texter. Mostly just sends memes about tectonic plates.”
“Heidrun? She’s not blood-related, but she’s in the extended circle. Like that aunt who shows up at Thanksgiving with goat cheese and stories about the old realms.”
Jane rubbed her temples, but she was laughing now. “You know, if S.H.I.E.L.D. ever needs a cultural liaison for interdimensional diplomacy, you’re weirdly qualified.”
Darcy leaned back, sipping from a can of soda she’d apparently smuggled in. “Tell Fury I accept payment in Pop-Tarts. And maybe a portal pass so I can fact-check Hel directly. I have questions.”
Just then, the lab door whooshed open.
Thor stood there, golden-haired and broad-shouldered, holding two mugs of something steaming and suspiciously mead-like. “Friends! Have you seen my brother? I believe he has hidden my helmet again—”
He froze, eyes landing on Darcy’s chart.
“...Is that me wearing a halo?”
Darcy didn’t flinch. “Artistic interpretation.”
Thor squinted. “And why do I have a tiny Sif with a frowny face?”
Thor scratched his head. “But we resolved that misunderstanding! I apologized for stepping on her boot during the parade!”
“Emotional scars, Thor,” Darcy said gravely. “They linger.”
Thor looked from Darcy to Jane, then back to the chart. He took a thoughtful sip of mead. “You know… for a mortal, you’ve captured the spirit of our lineage.
