According to Plan (A Loki x Reader Fanfic)

Midsummer

New Asgard was finally going to open its borders for visitors.

Special visas would be granted to a select number who applied - as many as the new community could handle. It would all be in time for New Asgard's Midsummer festival. There was no shortage of applicants - everyone wanted to party with gods and heroes under the midnight sun.

There were structures to be erected, inns to organize, businesses to prep for the onslaught of visitors who would be expecting conveniences like credit card payments and wifi. You were given a respite from Avengers work to heal your wounds and took a dip back into your old life becoming something of a brand manager for the whole midsummer event. There was a beautiful, functional website, graphics designed for sings and pamphlets, guides to the town and surrounding landscape, a press release, concocted social media strategies, and even, inevitably a hashtag. Most of the Asgardians understood, after time, the nuances of event planning on Earth, but Thor still needed some explanation around "Hashtag Asgardian Midsummer" and how, exactly, it related to electronic mail. He was hopeless but enthusiastic nonetheless.

There were so many delightful things that you were learning about New Asgard in order to make the event and the tourism industry a success. You spent a day being misted by sea spray on a fishing boat documenting the Asgardians reeling in nets full of cod, halibut and mackerel. You watched them work, blending their old ways with their new reality of what was available on Earth. You listened to them tell salty tales of fishing on their lost world - inconceivable species swimming on a body of water that emptied into the vastness of space.

Another day was spent with beekeepers and the meadery. You watched the keepers tend to their buzzing flocks, and you saw the great casks of sweet fermenting honey bubble away into the delicious, coveted beverage. You listened to them describe the Asgardian wildflowers from which bees would make their honey in the before times. You learned all about the unearthly fruits that would have been used to flavor the beverage. You heard tales of legendary batches, aged for centuries in Odin's cellar, and of the epic celebrations that they were opened for.

You spent many days like this in the weeks leading up to the festival - with bakers, cheese makers, builders, leatherworkers. They were all eager to tell you of Asgard, of how much they missed it, yes, but also of how much hope they had in starting over. You found yourself documenting these stories. On your phone, recording them, writing them down, collecting images and scraps of paper. Yggdrasill, they mentioned, the world tree, the tree of life, the branches breaking and dying and turning to soil from which new growth could rise. This wasn't the end of Asgard, but instead a rebirth.

Perhaps this was what you were thinking of when the Valkyrie came to tell you of her idea. A plan she had conjured with the help of Bruce Banner. The idea was to find others. The idea was to find more like you, if there were any. Bruce had isolated a sequence of your DNA that had been awakened, all those many months ago, when you had first arrived in New Asgard. When you had first been in the presence of concentrated Seidr. That sequence of DNA could be traced - it could be searched for in the DNA of anyone who had ever taken a genetic test - anyone who had ever been sequenced. If Banner was right, there could be thousands of Asgardians out there on Earth. A new life for Asgard. She wanted to know what you thought. She wanted to know if you would help usher in an unexpected generation of Asgardians.

Of course, you had told her. You thought it was a brilliant idea.

You suggested she call it Project Yggdrasill.

The rebirth of Asgard. It would be announced at the midsummer festival for all to hear. Then work would get underway in earnest. There was so much hope in New Asgard those days. So much to look forward to. It was easy to forget the troubles of the past few months.