#interrealmal

[pctaldrunk]

"...L.an Zongzhu." Hands overlap in impeccable if STIFF acknowledgement. She inclines, equally stiff despite grace, gaze upon the palms of her hand. There weren't MANY elders of the mortal cultivators a Saintess of the Holy Realm really needed to bow to, as dictated by politesse. She is thousands of years older, despite not looking like it, and yet - the G.usu Lan have always been a sect she respects from the bottom of her heart, over the years since its conception. "As you know, we are not permitted to interfere in affairs that does not require inter-realm jurisdiction, so I...cannot say much of the present circumstances." Destruction or glory - it did not matter. She cannot interfere overmuch with FATE, and the way the cultivation world is headed, even if the tales of Q.ishan she has heard on her journey made her - frown. "But should you ever need it - Yedu extends its hospitality to you."

@hetaoren liked for a starter from An Obscure Internet Novel Muse from Ro's Collection feat. X.ue Y.u

[scalproie]

imagine having one of the worst day of your life when you finally rebel against your tyrannical father, fighting everyone who sees you, and nobody in the kingdom wants to form an alliance with you and as if this wasnt bad enough, the fucking black dragon shows up

yeah good call. sadly we know its not going to fucking work

[lonelynight13]

Kung Lao's birthday 14/04

His Lore in MKATUS

Kung Lao hailed from humble beginnings, born into a struggling family where he stood as the eldest among his two siblings. The burden of their financial hardships grew heavier with the arrival of his youngest brother. To alleviate their plight, Kung Lao was sent to train as a novice at the Shaolin Temple, where he forged a lifelong bond with Liu Kang, who became both a cherished friend and a brother to him. His formative years were spent in rigorous training until a pivotal event at 16 years old altered his path, leading him to discover his signature weapon, the razor hat, and vow never to assume the role of a teacher. As a Shaolin master, he crossed paths with Haruka/Lin, on her deathbed which makes him reluctantly accept her as his first student, a journey fraught with grappling his past and embracing his new role as mentor. However, fate dealt him a cruel hand as he met his demise during the interrealm tournament, only to be resurrected as a revenant under dark sorcery for many agonizing years. Trapped in a body he didn't recognize, he wrestled with disillusionment and despair until the unexpected intervention of the 2 gods sacrifice restored him to the realm of the living. Despite his miraculous revival, he found himself adrift in Outworld, wandering aimlessly until his nephew's intervention rescued him, allowing him to finally embrace the remainder of his days.

[alleesaur]

Thank you for your last answer, I absolutely adore Memodro just doing silly little things!!! Although he does do a very good job of just looking pretty too

You mention they're all members of the council of realms, I'm curious as to what the council itself does!! (And also if they all treat Trichinosis Felinis like a house cat that ljves in the office!)

The council was formed to have some degree of communication and unification of the different realms that comprise of the 'outrealms' which are spaces that exist in between the mortal and celestial planes

They discuss interrealm threats, trade, regulations, mana levels, and other boring stuff.. often squabbling without too much being done tbh politics ew but fun surreal fantasy so a bit better

And yes! Trichi is quite the adorable one that walks around and gets random pets (old art so no crown here)

[worstloki]

interrealm gossip that definitely went around:

- "Asgard cut off contact with Jotunheim and Muspelheim because of their fragile masculinity. They couldn't stand being shorter than the other races"

[theelderhazelnut]

Ombra's Biography

Warning: mentions of trauma, death, mental health problems

The image on the left is made with X-girl maker and the one on the right is made in artbreeder.

General Information

Full Name: Atoosa Aryan

Name Meaning:

Atoosa - Daughter of the Cyrus the Great, bestowing very richly

Aryan - Relating to or denoting peoples speaking Indo-European (or specifically Indo-Iranian) languages

Nicknames/Alias:

Ombra - widely used by Metalrealmers and her allies

Boss - given by her comrades

My soul - given by Quan Chi

Age: 33

Date of Birth: November 26th

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

MBTI: INTP/INTJ

Sex: Female

Gender: Demigirl

Pronouns: She/They

Sexuality: Demisexual

Species: Half-human, Half-Metalrealmer

Race/Ethnicity: Iranian

Country of Origin: Iran

Current Place of Residence: Metalrealm

Physical Appearance

Skin: Normal. and smooth. Pale ivory.

Height: 5'10 / 178 cm

Weight: 149 lbs / 68 kg

Eye Color: Abnormal light gray

Hair Color: Dark brown

Hair Texture: Thick, almost curly

Body Type: Muscular, hour-glass figure

Prominent Features:

Square face shape

Iron-jaw

Thick eyebrows

Broad Shoulders

Clothing Style: Ombra’s default outfit includes a black overcoat with a black vest which is secretly bulletproof, black pants and bottom-up shirt underneath the coat, and knee-high punk boots. These items can vary in their gothic and steampunk elements. In general, she prefers her outfits to be gender neutral.

Personality

Positive Traits: Mature, intelligent, understanding, patient, confident, logical, calculating

Negative Traits/Flaws: withdrawn, stoic, bloodthirsty, vengeful, gloomy, impious, stubborn, controlling, easily annoyed, remorseless, radical

Hobbies: playing chess, reading, traveling

Likes: playing chess, solving mysteries, studying, traveling

Dislikes: 98% of the people, dancing, singing, children

Goals: destroying the Cult of The Elder Gods, solving Falkus’s mystery

Fears: losing her political position and power in Metalrealm, losing Quan Chi

Health

Physical Health: Ombra has had an eye surgery as she used to be short-sighted. A few years ago, her jaw was severely broken, so instead of fixing it she replaced it with an iron one.

Mental Health: Ombra embodies symptoms of OCD, depression and ADHD. Due to her past trauma she gradually became murderous and bloodthirsty. Almost everyone is stupid in her view, so that’s another reason, beside being an introvert, why social interactions are usually intolerable for her. Since she was contanstly under control from both her parents and the society in her past, she eventually became a controlling adult. Ombra was born and raised among religious people and in a society ruled by religious beliefs, so the traumas turned her into an impious person who thinks religious people are stupid and close-minded.

Phobias: Thalassophobia

Professional Life

Education: Ombra was close to earning her Ph.D in psychology when she left to live in Metalrealm.

Professions: The president of the Interrealm Forces in the MRD Organization

Fighting Attributes

Abilities/Powers:

Ferrokinesis - Ombra has the ability to manipulate anything of iron or has iron in it. This includes distorting the shape of those materials, and creating iron out of thin air.

Heat and electricity manipulation (very limited) - iron is a heat and electricity conductor, so if Ombra turns her limbs into iron, she can manipulate them to her advantage.

Sound manipulation (very limited) - sound can travel through iron, so Ombra can sometimes make a use of it.

Blood manipulation (very limited) - due to iron existing in blood she can manipulate it to her advantage.

Skills:

Using melee weapons

Using rifles

Martial arts and self defense

Strengths:

Close-combat

Negotiable

Weaknesses:

Ranged-combat

High electricity pressure

Extreme heat

Strong soundwaves

Magnets

Weapons:

Melee weapons she created with her power

A gunblade

Relationships

Family:

Unknown father - deceased

Unknown mother - deceased

Older sibling: Gizem - alive

Friends/Allies:

Quan Chi

Gizem

Shinnok

Kano

Erron Black

Kabal

Noob Saibot

Havik

Shao Kahn

Menace @bisexualjohnnycage

Andrius Nils @scentedcandleibex

Sienna @loverofthewindgod

Zoe @zoetheneko

Dia @darialovesstuff

Enemies:

The Elder Gods

Hanzo Hasashi

Varian Hasashi @middlechildwhoescapedthebasement

Kuai Liang

Jax Briggs

Jacqui Briggs

Nightwolf

Kotal Kahn

Love Interest:

Quan Chi - lovers

Alternate Universe:

Lady Xuna @bisexualjohnnycage

Huepazu @huepazu

Valerie “Gorgon” Watson @poisonedtruth

Leila @takiisieju-moved

Alex Demir @chadillacboseman

Backstory

Centuries ago, Delia had a vision about a woman dressed in all black outfit who was slaying the cultists one by one, threatening the Elder Gods themselves. She couldn’t discover her name, but one thing was certain about her: she was a half-Metalrealmer.

Atoosa Aryan was born in Hamedan, Iran among religious people whose lives were ruled by a religion centered society. Atoosa's family was considerably functional. She was a gifted kid who gradually became a perfectionist, and also a people pleaser thanks to her controlling mother who cared a lot about what others were thinking about them. Atoosa's powers were revealed when she was a toddler. Her powers were extremely weak, yet her mom constantly warned her to conceal it.

Atoosa used to be a cheerful and quite energetic child, but growing up in an extremely male dominant country which was also torturing its people with poverty and increasing number of crimes, turned her into a reserved and stoic adolescent with a pretty low self-confidence.

In order to escape, save herself and create an ideal life Atoosa emigrated to Turkey. She studied psychiatry in university. She was one year away from graduation and earning her PhD when her parents decided to pay her and her older sibling, Gizem, a visit. But the airplane was targeted by two rockets. Atoosa swore to find and punish anyone who was behind that incident.

Meanwhile, without her knowing anything, Metalrealmers were searching the universe for that certain half-metalrealmer to kill her. Metalrealmers believed that their gene must not become impure as they wanted to preserve their magic. Raiden was also aware of this, so he also began to search -as his duty to preserve the cult- only to find out that she lives in Earthrealm, and as its protector it was easier for him to uncover her identity. Raiden saw a great potential in her, yet he was quite afraid of her and what she could turn into, so he decided to offer her a place in the Sky Temple. He wanted to keep a close eye on her and make sure that she never gets the chance to gain power and become that monster in Delia’s prediction.

Eventually, Atoosa reluctantly trusted him only because she needed some help in order to survive. She moved to the Sky Temple, and began her job as a maid. She was miserable. She barely had time to focus on her studies and dreams.

A complicated relationship was formed between Raiden and her. Atoosa needed him, yet she was mad at him for putting her in so much misery. On the other hand, Raiden didn’t want to see her suffer, but he had no other choice.

Atoosa’s depression got worse, and suicidal thoughts began to lurk in the back of her mind.

Then Falkus came to action. He knew about Atoosa, and had discovered her location. He wanted to use her as an intelligent weapon to destroy the cult, and gain his freedom. He made contact with Atoosa, and tried to talk to her, and technically, brainwash her to believe in what he believed. He wanted her to escape Raiden on her own. Falkus told Atoosa about the cult, and that her parents’ death was their fault. He reassured her that if she came with him, he’d protect her from Metalrealmers and give her all she needs to take her revenge.

Atoosa didn’t want to trust anyone ever again, but she had nothing left to lose after all, so she only pretended that she trusts him, and moved to Metalrealm. She had other things in her mind. She must be the one in control this time.

She started her training in the MRDO, and focused more on her psychology studies. Without Falkus’s knowledge, she took every opportunity to earn a higher place in this organization. She helped the chiefs and soldiers in numerous missions by her strategic mind and great knowledge in psychology. Eventually, she achieved her goal, and also gained the nickname that almost replacedher real name: “Ombra the Ironhead”.

Ombra became the chief of the Interrealm Forces. She arranging her own plan for the revenge on the cult. She wasn’t under anyone’s control as she desired. She told Falkus that she was merely his ally, not a servant or a weapon.

Now Ombra wants to unleach her wrath, and destroy those who took away her innocence, childhood and dreams.

[butter3pie]

Okay I have some thoughts about the Gossamer Line. I am not really thinking that Ezra made it anymore. I mean in first book Jupiter said that Gossamer Line was a by product of interrealm exploration made by the Leauge of explorers thirteen or fourteen ages ago. I dont really think Ezra even lives that long. Did he lied or maybe Jupiter was wrong? Or maybe Ezra used to be in the leauge of explorers and Gossamer Line was made by him?

[preservationofnormalcy]

For Knight:

Is O-Sec working with RCOE on that Roadqueen Gwyneviere situation up in Canada, or is that kind of just an RCOE thing that the Office put a bulletin up for? Or is that more something that the Rangers/Recon would work on?

Currently have the situation under surveillance. Waiting for further intelligence from RCOE on it, but if they need help, we're parking parkas and headed north. They'd do the same for us. Same with SER. Some of those SER guys are scary.

Something like that and our friend the Thrashwizard is a bit....big. Big enough that we'll share intel and open it to the public for tips. We don't get interrealm visitors much, out and out criminals even rarer.

Kind of unprecedented. Hope she comes down here, though. Would love to have a shootout with someone like that.

Knight.

Not like that. Not my type.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Sometimes you gotta deal with weird world-building problems.

Like sometimes one of your characters is a spider shifter and you've decided that it would be cool/go with his vibes/be logical for him to spin silk into fabric in his free time. It's extra tough and can be sold to mages and adventurers to make light-weight armor. Cool. World-building. Plan on him making 1-2 bolts of fabric a year because it's just a side hobby for funsies. The average bolt of fabric is around 100yards. Okay, that's kind of a lot. Decide to look up how much silk normal spiders produce.

600-2000feet. Normal spiders. Small. Your character is a 6ft tall man. Grapple with the reality that if he dedicated his time to spinning he could destroy the global and interrealm economy in 1 year.

Revise so he makes 12 bolts a year, but doesn't do it full-time because his passions lie elsewhere.

[the-lady-amphitrite]

— A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING | chapter 10

a fate already affixed

pairing: Loki / f!half-Asgardian!Reader word count: 5,043 summary: the time for your Weaver's Reading has arrived, and Skuld tells you what she can about your future in this chapter: references to Laufey's death & Odin's past removal of one of his eyes, reader feels so 15 bc of her attitude in this it hurts, blood magic & non-descript references to blood, very blatant canonical racist attitude about Frost Giants, lots of Skuld being cryptic author notes: hello everyone, i return once more after dragging myself out of bg3 hell long enough to finish polishing and uploading this! this chapter concludes what i like to think of as "act one" for AFB (with all of the setup about soulmates, glimpses at interrealm politics, and a look at how people get their godnames in this AU), and the next chapter kicks off "act two"! i'm really looking forward to posting the six chapters that make it up; it's honestly my favourite thread of this whole AU.

( previous chapter | read on ao3 | series masterlist )

You yawn at the stars as you lean against the front side of the karvi as it sails along Yggdrasil’s branches. The bright, distant stars are nothing more than blurred lines as they fly past the ship. They remind you that (despite not being able to tell yourself) this ship moves faster than even the racing skiffs on Asgard.

The ship — you remember someone had referred to her as the Grey Wolf — arrived on the shore of Asgard this morning, spearing through a dense fog in such silence that it left you in awe. The sun had yet to crest above the horizon when the karvi docked, there only to pick up you and your mother to head to Gymirsgard.

Sleep still clung to you like the mist of a light, drizzling rain when your mother dragged you from bed to get up and dressed for this trip. Your birthday party had run late into the previous evening, even though the celebrations had started from the moment you walked into a private breakfast with your family. Even Volstagg, his parents, and his sister Birsa (who just returned from her Valkyrjur trials), were all invited to the family breakfast. It was the first of many surprises for your fifteenth birthday.

Fifteen.

A smile works its way onto your tired face as you remember once more. You’ve looked forward to today for as long as you can remember. You can’t count how many times you’ve dreamt of your visit to the Weavers of Fate over the years. Of facing Skuld before Mímisbrunnr.

Skuld reveals one moment — just one — from a Drekasál’s vast future when they visit her after they’ve turned fifteen. A moment that you’ve been told again and again no dragon ever reveals to anyone else. Not even their soulmate.

A thrill of anticipation sings its way through you, winding through your limbs and rattling your breath. To keep something so close, so secretive, must mean that it’s a moment of unparalleled importance to a dragon. You’re meant to be able to tell your soulmate everything. You’re meant to trust them with the best and worst of who you can be.

Your imagination runs wild with a dozen ideas of what could be so important, each one spilling across your thoughts like a overflowing bottle of watered-down ink on heavy parchment.

You look behind you at the three dozen other drekabǫrn on the karvi. More than half a dozen conflagrations are on this ship with you and your mother. Each of them a different size, and from a different realm. Dragons from across the Realms of Yggdrasil, all headed to speak with the Weaver of Futures.

It’s painfully obvious how much you stand apart from the others. They came with their conflagration; you only have your mother at your side. For the first time since you met him, you can keenly feel the two year age gap between you and Gauti. Too young still to receive his own glimpse of the future, Gauti waits back on Asgard with the rest of your family.

In some ways, you suppose it’s a bit silly to only really feel that age gap now. In all the years you’ve known him, the only lessons you’ve ever shared with him are the Drekasál ones. He’s a child of the Court of Asgard like you are, but he’s also in the class below yours, so you’ve never shared those lessons with each other. Still, watching how close the other drekabǫrn are with their conflagrations reminds you of Gauti. And not just of Gauti, but of Loki, Thor, Baldr, and Volstagg. Part of you yearns to return home already. To the familiarity and warmth of your friends.

Soon. Soon you’ll head home. You just have to get through this visit to Gymirsgard, and then you can return home.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Your first glimpse of Gymirsgard comes as you approach the realm, the excited gasps and chattering from the other drekabǫrn drawing your attention from the distant stars.

The blue star of the Jǫtunheimar system blazes brightly in the distance — though for you, it just appears white. You only know that it’s blue because of your lessons about the various star systems of Yggdrasil.

In the open space before Jǫkullknǫttr — the star — sits Gymirsgard in all its wondrous glory.

Unlike Asgard’s unique standing as a small, flat realm, Gymirsgard is a round planet, its only edges that of its atmosphere. Truthfully, for a realm, Gymirsgard is on the smaller side. Yet it not only houses more Drekasál than you can imagine, it’s also the same realm your mother and uncle were born to. For decades — centuries even — Gymirsgard was the only realm they knew. It was the realm they called home before home became Asgard.

You eyes quickly shift away from Gymirsgard to look at the vast, open space that occupies most of your view, scanning for the one other planet of this system with sharp eyes. The realm forbidden to all — and for good reason. After what happened to Princess Laufey, to High Lady Dagmær, to your uncle, and to so many other Drekasál and Asgardians there, no one should step foot on that accursed realm.

Jǫtunheimr. A realm full of icy darkness and ravenous monsters. A realm that will rip the life from any who dare venture to it.

You don’t see the ice planet though, wherever it is. Good.

Your attention shifts back to Gymirsgard as you approach the realm. Second by second, the realm swallows up the view in front of you, until the karvi is descending through the atmosphere, and the stars are swallowed by the sky and the clouds.

Your mother leans against the side of the karvi beside you as the starship breaks through the heavy clouds hanging over this part of the realm. She peers out over the vast, forested land below with a fond smile. Shifting her gaze, she points towards a seaside city in the distance, a wide smile you don’t see too often on her face.

“That’s Krossavík,” she tells you.

The name strikes a familiar chord in you, but at first you can’t place the name. When you do, it’s like a strike of lightning zips through you as you remember where you’ve heard it before.

“The city you grew up in?”

“The very one.” Her hand falls, and her smile fades a little. “It’s quite strange. Sveinn and I are from the same city, and yet we spent so long trying to find each other after our Soul Awakenings.”

“How long?” you ask, leaning your chin against your crossed forearms as you stare at the city. In the distance, you can see a few dragons in flight, returning from the sea to Krossavík. From here, you can’t hear the beat of their wings, or make out anything that makes them stand apart from other dragons. They’re just dragon-shaped blobs of grey, soaring over the grey sea.

“A century or so. Your uncle is only a little more than a decade younger than me, but I was gone from Gymirsgard by the time his Soul Awakening happened. We only met because I came home to see my mother.” The smile on your mother’s face fades further, becoming softer, sadder.

“Will we see here while we’re here?” you ask, excitement bubbling in your chest. You’ve never met your grandmother, and your mother rarely speaks of her. Photos of her are even rarer.

“No, no, she won’t be at the landing ground, my star,” your mother says. She reaches out, placing a gentle, comforting hand on your shoulder. She knows you’ve always been curious about your grandmother, what with how you prod about learning more about the dragon you’ve never met whenever your mother or uncle brings her up.

You pout a little at her words. It’s followed by a soft chuckle from your mother, and then a kiss placed atop your head.

“You’ll meet her someday, I promise,” she vows.

“But when?” you ask, impatience threaded in your words even as you keep them hushed so as not to draw the attention of the other dragons. You draw away from her, standing tall and looking Kára in the eyes. “This is the first time we’ve left Asgard. And we’re here, Mamma. Why can’t we just go see her?”

Kára looks away, but you continue to stare at her. She closes her eyes, shaking her head. She says, “It’s a lot to explain, especially now. I would love for you to meet her, it’s just… not the right time. Not with everything else.”

Everything else. That mysterious phrase is the bane of your existence. All you’re allowed to know is that phrase has something to do with her Weaver’s Reading. Something she can’t tell you. Something she is never allowed to tell anyone.

You let out a frustrated breath, leaning against the side of the karvi again, your back to her. You don’t look at Kára. Instead, you watch the land that passes below and the other drekabǫrn as the conflagrations mingle with each other. None of them come near you, though you can see the way their eyes dart to stare at you for a few seconds now and again.

Neither you nor Kára speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t even look at her, ignoring her presence the best you can.

When the karvi lands, it’s in a valley to the far north of Gymirsgard. A narrow stream flows out from the mouth of a cave at the end of the valley, the bubbling sounds of it lost beneath the flurry of activity of the conflagrations jumping over the side of the ship. You sigh, then heave yourself over the side of the ship, landing in the soft, crunchy layer of snow that barely covers the top of your boots.

You watch as the different conflagrations separate from one another entirely. The vængforinginn of each conflagration checks that their drekabǫrn are accounted for, and the adult dragon with each one merely hovers nearby.

There’s another crunch of snow beside you, one that causes your eyes to dart over before they shift towards the drekabǫrn once more; Kára hopped over the side, joining you in observing the drekabǫrn. She places a hand between your shoulder blades after a few second, guiding you forward, and everyone begins the short trek over to the cave.

The drekabǫrn trade glances with each other — and with you a few times — as all of you make your way towards the cave. Kára’s pace is swift enough that, soon enough, the two of you are leading.

Everyone is (mostly) silent during the walk. The crunch of snow is the loudest sound in the valley as you walk alongside the river that spills from the cave. Even the birds have gone quiet, the presence of so many dragons setting the forest on edge, it seems.

The conflagrations stop several metres from the cave’s mouth, but Kára keeps walking the two of you forward. You can feel the eyes of everyone drilling into your back, sending waves of unease up and down your spine. Something in your chest claws at your heart and lungs, begging you to pay attention to the danger that lurks at your back. It takes everything in you not to look back at them.

Kára stops just before the mouth of the cave, and you turn to face her, finally looking at her again. Her eyes are focused on the cave beside you. There’s a brief twitch in her jaw, a sign of her unease with being here. It makes you wonder if she’s remembering her Weaver’s Reading once again.

Her voice is hushed as she tells you, “Once you step inside, you cannot come back out until Skuld releases you. No matter what you see, what you hear, you do not leave. Understood?”

Your skin prickles at her words, hairs raising along your limbs and the back of your neck as you realise the extent of her unease.

“I understand.” You step away from her, into the cave itself. The two of you stare at each other for another moment. Then you nod at her before turning away and making your way further into the cave.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Your first steps into the cave are tentative. There’s soft torchlight coming from a few metres in, and you pass by the first of the torches on soft feet. You look back over your shoulder only once, after you’ve passed them. Your mother still stands there at the mouth of the cave, alone. It’s an unusual, unsettling sight. Uncle Sveinn is always with her. Always.

Except for this one time. He wasn’t allowed to come along for this journey. No one would explain why. All they would say is that he had to remain on Asgard.

You face forward again and continue down the tunnel.

Torch after torch, the tunnel turns into an ascending loop. Your footsteps are the only sound besides your soft breaths. Even the torches are quiet, which is far more unsettling than you would have expected. You make your steps as light as you can, your ears straining for any sounds besides your soft footfalls.

You continue your ascension, winding higher and higher with each loop. You’re not certain, but you think the loops are wider now than when you began — not that you can really tell.

When you finally reach the end, you find the tunnel opens up into a wide cavern room. There’s a slow, watery glow to the room as you step past the threshold. Like you’ve walked into a world beneath the waves, despite never stepping foot beneath water. All through the room, you can see stalactites dripping from the ceiling and stalagmites rising up from the unnaturally smooth floor.

“Ah, she finally arrives,” a voice calls out. Skuld’s voice, it has to be. You turn in a circle as you venture further into the room, searching for the Weaver, whose voice echoes all around you. “We have long awaited this day, little drekabarn. We have watched you with great curiosity. Your future is shrouded more than most.”

“Shrouded? What do you mean, Weaver?”

“Just as I said. It’s unusual for one like you. However, it always signals an interesting future as it unravels. Now, come. There is much for you to see and learn.”

Skuld glides out from behind you without warning, her footsteps soundless. You jump at her sudden appearance, wondering where she appeared from. Your back was to the cavern entrance, and you’re positive you looked at every shadow you passed as you stepped further inside. Still, you follow her as she moves deeper into the cave.

It strikes you how little of the Weaver you can see, the same as it did when Loki and Volstagg were given their god-titles. A black shroud covers her face, forbidding you from seeing beyond it, and a black dress that drags soundlessly across the floor, covering all but Skuld’s hands. Hands that you had assumed would be clean and boney, but are actually heavy, worn, and scarred.

As you cross through the cave, you approach a small seating area. Two large, dark rugs with the faint workings of a pattern woven into them, covered in a myriad of pillows, and a small circle of stones set between them. The arrangement is set at the base of what appears to be a well. The source of the watery glow of the room, if the way the ripples seem to fall onto the ceiling above it is any indication.

Mímisbrunnr. The Well of Wisdom.

Awe dances through you at the sight of an object so revered and sacred. Over the aeons since this Well was discovered, so many have sacrificed pieces of themselves just for a bit of knowledge they sought.

All-Father Odin sacrificed his eye to Mímisbrunnr years ago. No one truly knows what he’d sought an answer to when he did so, but it’s easy to guess what answers he likely sought. He sacrificed it to learn how to end the war with Jǫtunheimr. It was where the All-Father went after, appearing on Jǫtunheimr with one less eye before leading Asgard at Eldgard’s side against the Frost Giants once more.

The All-Father ended the war, but the Well had apparently not told him how to win it without losing the one he fought to bring home. Princess Laufey died on that frostbitten and cursed realm, never to know the warmth of Asgard again.

Skuld takes her seat on one side of the Well, gesturing for you to sit opposite of her. Once you’re settled, she reaches across the space between you, taking one of your hands and drawing it closer to her. Flipping it over, she leans forward and raises your palm to her shrouded face. With the index finger of her free hand, she traces lines over your palm — not following the ones etched into your skin, but different ones.

“You are remarkably calm and quiet, for one who does not know what I am doing,” Skuld says as she continues to trace lines over your palm.

“I’m not worried,” you tell her. Her tracing falters for a moment, like your answer surprises her. “I have faith in whatever you’re doing.”

“You have more faith than most. Most curious. Perhaps it is because you’ve been raised among the vættir, rather than the Drekasál,” Skuld says. You don’t say anything, despite all the questions that crowd your tongue because of her words. You have more questions than the Weaver would ever be willing to answer, that much you know.

Upon releasing your hand, Skuld sits back. You draw your hand back, placing it in your lap with the other. Only then do you allow yourself to as her the one thing that begs to be spoken.

“Why would other Drekasál not have faith in you, Weaver? You reveal Soul Awakenings, you tell us what is to come. Should we not have more faith in you than the vættir?”

“How do you break the faith of a people, and still have them seek your mercy?” Skuld asks, her voice suddenly sad and hollow. You can’t see her eyes, but you can feel her gaze as it sits heavy on you.

For several long moments, you’re quiet as you turn over her words, searching for an answer. For her part, Skuld does not press you to answer her, letting you come to your own conclusion about her question.

Mercy. Mercy implies that Skuld has more power over the Drekasál than you thought. That, if she chose to, she could punish your people. But punish them for what? And why, if their faith was broken, would they still go crawling to the Weaver, seeking Skuld’s generosity? What could she have promised —

A promise. Skuld promised them something. Something about the future. Something that they clung to desperately for so long, a hope perhaps, but —

“You promise them a hope they need, but they lose faith in that hope,” you finally say, your words slow and not entirely sure of themselves.

Skuld does not say anything, but she does nod. Something inside you fractures and weeps at the realisation. Skuld promised hope to your people about something, something they once desperately wanted to believe in. A hope they needed to believe in, and yet they have lost belief in that hope ever blooming true.

You look away from the Weaver, to Mímisbrunnr.

Silence fills the air between you both for long minutes. You think Skuld might be letting you process her answer, but it’s impossible to tell. To you, she’s just a shrouded figure, no expression to give away her thoughts. After too much silence, though, you turn back to Skuld, more words dancing sharp and angry on your tongue. Skuld speaks before you can let any of them spill forth.

“Twenty-four.” She says this like it’s an answer. When you look at her with a confused expression, trying to puzzle out the number, she explains. “Your Soul Awakening will happen in your twenty-fourth year.”

That’s nearly a decade from now. You’ve already waited forever for your Weaver’s Reading, and now you have to wait almost as long for your Soul Awakening? Impatience burns inside you.

“Isn’t that a bit old for a Soul Awakening?” you ask her. You can hear the sharp indignation in your words, and you lift your chin in an imitation of your royal friends.

“No. A soul Awakens only when it is ready. Twenty-four is a perfectly normal time for one to do so, drekabarn. Your mother's soul did not Awaken until she was twenty-seven, and her soulmate's did not Awaken until he was twenty-two.” You watch as Skuld stands, leaning over Mímisbrunnr. “I have seen souls Awaken when they are as old as seventeen, and I have seen souls Awaken as old as nearly forty. Dragonsouls are curious in that way.”

There’s the sound of something — multiple somethings being moved through the waters of the Well. The Weaver draws out several small logs from the Well, and you watch with rapt curiosity as she sits down, arranging the logs in the circle of stones.

A firepit, you realise. But the logs are wet. How does she expect to —

“Normally Mímisbrunnr requires sacrifice to learn,” Skuld says, interrupting your thoughts, “but you are not partaking in its waters, and it bends to the will of Yggdrasill, as we all do.”

“What do I need to do?” you ask her.

The Weaver passes you a knife, saying, “Three drops of blood onto the logs with the wish to know of your future. When I light the logs they will show me three things. Your most likely future paths, what your life might be in the more definitive of those paths, and which moment in your future you must hear today.” At the query on your face, she tilts her head to the side. You think she might be smiling. “Have faith, young dragon. The logs will light.”

Faith. You have plenty of that where the Weavers and Yggdrasill are concerned, even if so many other Drekasál do not.

So you listen, grimacing as you carefully make a shallow slice along the tip of your index finger. You hiss out a breath, the sting sharp as you squeeze it, letting three drops of blood fall onto different logs. Once that is done, Skuld hands you a small strip of wet cloth. You wrap it around your finger, hissing sharply at the stinging burn it causes.

Then, Skuld utters a word you don’t understand. You feel the ancient power that surges through the room. It condenses within the logs, coiling tight, then — it snaps apart, and the logs are ablaze.

You lean back on your uninjured hand, the other raised in front of your eyes at the sudden brightness. You expected thick smoke to blanket the room, but none rises from the logs. When you open your mouth to speak, Skuld raises a hand to ask for your silence. It’s only then that you realise she’s staring into the fire. You sit there, blinking as your eyes adjust to the firelight, until it no longer burns them to look at the Weaver.

“Your future is most interesting,” Skuld says. She leans closer to the fire, tilting her head to the right as she does. “I see many points that I could tell you now that will never change, no matter which paths you wander as you head towards your destiny. Most curious for one whose future is still so murky and ever-shifting.”

The hairs on your neck and arms raise. You’ve never given much thought to having a destiny. A future, a purpose to your life, yes, but not a destiny. It’s a weighted word. One that makes you think that, perhaps, you might become greater than you’ve ever let yourself imagine. That, maybe, you might live up to the legacies your parents have left for you to follow in the footsteps of.

And yet, the idea also unsettles you. To have a destiny means great things await you, yes, but you know the legends. The stories you have read, the histories you have memorised, all fall into similar patterns.

Greatness does not come without sacrifice, without pain.

“Weaver, what do you see?” you ask her, your words effused with curiosity about what she is seeing.

“I see many things, drekabarn. Every path that you might walk is open to me. I see wars that cannot be evaded, and wars that might never happen. I see a love that burns as bright and beautiful as the Kveldlagi of nights, and lasts for a lifetime; just as I also see loves that will burn like fires lit on a rainy day. I see death that will consume everything. I see your hopes, and your joys. Your wishes and dreams. Your sorrows and fears. I see the paths that you can walk, and the heartache that will shadow so many of them.”

The fire between you burns lower, barely more than embers and small puffs of flame compared to the small campfire it was just moments before. Skuld waves her hand over the embers, the fire banking until it is little more than glowing embers. The Weaver waves her hand over the fire again, and the embers begin to shift and glow in new patterns.

“I know which moment I must tell you. Are you prepared to hear?”

You suck in a breath and nod. Your heart thunders loudly in your chest. Anticipation chokes your limbs and shortens your breaths.

“Yes. I am prepared, Weaver.”

“Then listen closely to what I have to tell you, young one.”

Skuld gestures to the embers. You watch as they begin to glow in a way that forms the shape of a person. Her hand is outstretched, reaching for the hand of someone you can’t see, the image cut off. All the embers show of the other person is their hand, the details lost on you.

“This is what you must know,” Skuld begins. “You were whispered to my ancestors by Yggdrasill. Foretold by It to bring change to a great many things across Yggdrasil’s many branches. You will grow into a power that few will rival, blessed by beings far greater and more powerful than the vættir.

“Your path begins with this moment: on the day of your Soul Awakening. Much of your fate shall be sealed in the days after, for on the day of your ceremony, you will find the soul that the Voiceless One has bound you to in this life.”

You straighten up, mouth dropping open at Skuld’s words. You look at her with open awe. Warmth and giddiness floods your veins, and you don’t even attempt to hide the happiness this brings you — not that you could if you’d tried. To have your path align with your soulmate so early on? It is nothing short of a blessing by Yggdrasill for the bond the Voiceless One wove you.

You wait with bated breath for her to tell you more. To reveal any more scraps about the day of your Soul Awakening Ceremony. When she doesn’t say more, you hesitantly ask, “What else can you tell me, Weaver?”

Silence permeates the cavern, broken only by the sounds of breathing, of your heart thudding loudly, and the faint sound of trickling water. Finally, Skuld speaks once more.

“There is nothing else that I can tell you. That which I find worth telling you I cannot, for it might change the path you walk currently in ways that cannot be undone.” You bite your tongue, stopping yourself from pleading with the Weaver to reveal more to you anyway. If Skuld is concerned about changing the path you walk, then you must heed her. She's directing you towards the future you should walk, in the only way that she can in this moment. It surprises you when she speaks again. “Though, I can say this, for it is but a simple reminder. Protect your soulmate. Stand by them through all hardships, and always live for them. The Voiceless One chose this bond for a reason.”

“A simple reminder,” you murmur.

Tucking the words into your heart, you silently vow to never forget them. You’ve heard similar variations to that reminder before. More times than you can remember, your family has told you the Voiceless One chooses each bond for a reason.

It reminds you of when Frigga told you that the soulmate bond is a mixture of soul and blood magic. Of when you worried and wondered about if the bond was truly a curse in disguise, and how Lord Ivarr and Lady Tryggvadóttir’s interactions as a newly bonded pair banished such an idea. That afternoon showed you how well the Voiceless One chooses the bond for each of her children.

After all, how can something so effortless and comforting ever be a curse?

You do your best not to remember your exchange with Loki in the garden. Or the heavy, unspoken distance that lives in so many of the silences between the two of you these days in the presence of your conflagration.

Skuld stands without another word, beckoning you to follow her. You stand quickly, trailing after her as she returns to the mouth of the cavern. She stops before the mouth, and you step to the other side, but stop so you can turn and look at her. You place your left hand over your heart, bowing to the Weaver.

“Winds favour you, Weaver Skuld,” you tell her. Skuld pauses, as if your gesture has surprised her, and then copies you.

“Winds favour you, Lady Kárudóttir. I look forward to our next meeting. It will not be long now, before the vættir know your name.”

A shiver of excitement works its way down your spine. Skuld’s words promise to you that your godnaming will be soon. You smile, bowing to her once more. And then you turn around, and head back down the tunnel so you can return to your mother.

Each step is another one towards the destiny that awaits you.

( next chapter )

@ladydracona @huntress-artemiss @sarahscribbles @mischief2sarawr @pbs-theundeadmaggot @loki-cees-all @bitchy-bi-trash

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[autisticdoomslayer]

It's ridiculous that there's so little Johnny angst when there's so much untapped potential. MK9, he was lied to that everything was a movie set and had to come to the realization himself that he was in the middle of an interrealm war; he watches a bunch of people die and then his home realm gets invaded and heavily damaged. MKX, he almost gets turned into a revenant and later gets tortured by D'vorah and Shinnok (and I haven't seen it talked about). MK11, his ex-wife who he was starting to get back together with dies on a mission and then 10 seconds later a younger version of her that remembers him as just some asshole materializes and he has to deal with that (and it's barely addressed). There's also MK11 Aftermath but nobody (including me) wants to get into that.

There is so much untapped angst potential why is there nothingggg

[whoreible-angel]

Guys please, can we not commit interrealm crimes for five minutes

[dotglobal]

my profile picture is a clear vinyl copy of my 2021 INTERREALM CLASSICS album

only a few copies left but u can get it on my website @ https://www.ndx.global/merch/p/intrrlm-classics-vinyl

much luv!

[atlasofthestaars]

whoops chapter taking long to type so here's an excerpt

chapter 12 content below the cut

“Feeling better?” Kenshi inquired, peering over to you. His voice was discreet, trying not to clue in the others on your conversation. You looked at him, raising your eyebrows as you tried to interpret his question. When you continued to stare at him, he let out a small sigh. “Your headaches yesterday.” He told you, and you let out a small “oh” at the realization. “You seemed better at the banquet yesterday.”

“I am feeling better, I suppose I just took the whole interrealm travel worse than the rest of you.” You said, which was not entirely wrong. It was a little ironic though, you reflected, how you a supposed Edenian struggled the most in Outworld. You paused for a moment as your mind lingered on his last comment. He had noticed how you were at the banquet yesterday? Last you recalled, he had been eating at an entirely different table. The attention he had paid to you made you feel…touched. Your smile grew just a bit more. “Thank you for worrying.”

“It’s nothing.” Kenshi dismissed, nodding. His lips curled into a soft smile before it fell as he set his eyes upon something just past you. Raising an eyebrow, you turned to look at who or what had caused him to lose his little smile. 

Ah. Johnny Cage.

“Man, I know we woke up early at the Wu Shi, but did we really have to wake up at the crack of dawn for this?” Johnny said as he joined your little group. You watched as he expertly snatched a few breakfast hors d'oeuvres from a passing staff member. He shouted out a causal thank you before turning to the group. “A man like me needs some beauty sleep, you know.” He complained before popping some food into his mouth.

“Empress Sindel would like the tournament fights to happen earlier in the day so the rest of the day is free for you all to explore and mingle with others.” Liu Kang explained, eyeing Johnny Cage. His hands folded together neatly. “I too, encourage the rest of you to explore Sun Do and its wonders. Just remember to not get too drawn in.” 

“Got it, chief.” Johnny Cage nodded, though his eyes were clearly somewhere else already. You sighed and sent him a glare to get him back in line. “Hey, I’ve been sticking to my word, teach!” His hands flew up into the air. “I’m allowed to admire the merchandise, aren’t I?” 

“I think you’re doing more than just admiring, Johnny.” Raiden pointed out, looking over to Johnny. The rest of the group seemed to agree, leading to the actor rolling his eyes. 

“Everybody’s a critic…” The American mumbled as he sulkily turned away from you guys. You let out a small laugh as you pat his back to comfort him. You received a pout in return, though you could tell that his pout was more so on the playful side.

[talesfromtheasterism]

Journey

Ah, the true city of the Void. Its ensconced world of stained glass lamps and audacious scouting guilds are mere legend to many. But yes, I am proud to say I have Journeyed a handful of times, as they insist on referring to the arduous trek; some of my most profitable expeditions, in fact. Visitors are rare, but interrealm smugglers are almost unheard of.

There are an endless array of horror stories on what lurks in the Deep Void, but mine is peculiar. For my first visit, I traipsed for two and a half hours, perhaps, from a wide berth around the Commune to Journey, onwards as the trains coast. And through all that time, into parts shunned and feared, I saw nothing. I heard nothing, as the echoes of the outlands were strangely quiet and unthreatening. I saw no other travellers, which is little shock, and I ran into no tangible issue with my travel. Before me, nothing happened.

By a keenness of perception deeper parts of us hold while our conscious minds do not. The way the light struck me. The way that, once or twice, I almost saw it bend around a cliff or a rise to ensure I was illuminated. The way it felt on my skin and in my eyes. It was watching me. I was being studied - intently.

I believe the silence to be its doing. Withholding its terrors until some criterion was met. Perhaps it was regarding my adherence to some unknown rule of law. Was this land of fear, the outlanders, and the witnesses… were they governed by something? And if they are, is it a living consciousness, or simply a lifeless set of rules? If the Moonlight was somehow angered by what I showed it, would it have brought judgement upon me like in so many frightening tales?

I arrived in the cozy kaleidoscope of Journey, shaken and paranoid. They are, as it turns out, a wonderfully accommodating people who could not be more unlike the dead world around them. I spoke of my worry over tea, and they reciprocated with their own fragmented wisdom of the Void.

"We don't know what it is," one said, "but you will be safe as long as you fear it."

⁂

[theelderhazelnut]

Pre-Relationship: 2 General: 6 Love: 9 Domestic Life: 11

for Ombra and Quan Chi <3

Questions

2. What was their first impression of each other?

These two met in General Hotaru’s palace during a ceremony. Quan Chi had heard about the Chief of the Interrealm Forces in Metalrealm and the fact that she was a half-metalrealmer, and once he saw her giving a speech, he was very much impressed. He was then sure that the rumors about her prestige and power are truths.

Ombra, on the other hand, immediately sensed his charisma. She had heard about a necromancer known as Quan Chi, but she didn’t recognize him by his appearance. She was intrigued by it tho 👀. And she immediately loved his voice. “Oh, this is the most ravishing voice I have ever heard.”

And let me tell you, these were observing the shit out of each other that night.

6. How do their personalities complement each other? How do they clash?

These two are have many similarities. Ombra gave him the empathy and understanding he barely remembers the last time he received it from someone. He has never truly felt safe with anyone in the past centuries. And that’s almost the same for Ombra. Quan Chi makes her feel safe and heard. They’re both dominant and are leaders in nature, so they can provide a space for each other in which the other one can give up control and don’t think about anything else. They can both let their guards down without fearing the consequences.

9. What reminds them of each other?

Anything fancy and black reminds them of each other lmao. Whenever Quan Chi sees any psychology books, history books, things related to Persian culture, AND of course an overcoat, he immediately thinks of her. I imagine he steals her overcoats to use them as blankets when she’s not around.

Gothic antique stuff, crimson roses and a certain ring he gave her reminds her of him. Crimson roses are the same color as his eyes, and have a tiny bit of their beauty in them. That magical ring makes her feel his presence all the time, and it also helps him usually pinpoint her location👀.

11. Who hogs the blankets or takes up more than their fair share of the bed? Who puts their cold feet on the other? Who are the big and little spoons?

Neither of them move too much during night. But it’s sometimes Quan Chi who takes up more space when he realizes that she has left his arms. Quan Chi’s body is always warm, so it would be Ombra’s feet which are usually cold lmao. She does to tease him sometimes. For being the big spoon they take turns, but during the night, if they move to either sides, Quan Chi immediately turns to bear hug her. This ends up in her begging his sleepy self to let her go cuz she’s hot.