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behindthesoul · 4 months

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Be Silent, Sorcerer

Shang Tsung x Quan Chi

Masterlist

Summary - In the garden of Shang Tsung’s soul, where betrayal sews thorns, a delicate bud emerges. Its unexpected bloom opens a new door for his relationship with Quan Chi.

Word Count - 1,828

Warnings - mental breakdowns

A/N - Takes place after Shang Tsung and Quan Chi find out Damashi’s true identity. Also, thanks to my beta reader Eevee :)

“You are the victim of deceit, sorcerer.”

Even after an hour or so, the words keep ringing in his ears. Each time they repeat, they sting just a bit more. Shang sits in the remnants of his laboratory, a place that once represented his wit and cunning, now a burning reminder of his foolishness. Shang’s eyes are dull, his chest tight. His hands reach up to run through his hair, but only add to the frustration when they get caught in tangles. They then fall down, letting out a sound when they collide with his torso.

Shang had to hold his composure as best as he could. He wouldn’t dare to let Liu Kang and his minions witness a moment of weakness. Why give them more leverage than they already had? As soon as there was a moment of downtime, Shang ignored the faces that looked at him with disgust and ran to his lab. Its smell of death and despair was intense, the cries of prisoners enough to rupture the eardrum; neither managed to register in Shang’s mind.

He storms around the lab, finding himself unable to stay in one place. His mind is scattered across the room; attempts to find it are futile. Shang continues to race around the lab to find the last thing that keeps him together. Quills, scrolls, small miscellaneous items are thrown across the room during his search; no dice. The small items are followed by a chair, a lamp, even one of his examination tables. Shang’s face reddens as his hands tremble in grief and exertion. He inhales, exhales, but his breaths are too shaky to calm the frustration that begins to rise in his body.

A small light reflects in the corner of his eye. It’s one of the many beakers used in his tarkat experiments. Many restless nights were spent slaving over his desk, desperate to find a cure. Shang huffs in bitter amusement at the fact he stressed over this disease for, ultimately, no purpose. If only he could go back in time and tell his past self that he was being played. An invisible magnet draws him over to the object, and he gently picks it up. It’s chipped at the rim, presumably from being thrown to the ground. Dainty fingers spread across the beaker, cold and uncaring; they press against it as if he intended to bring harm. Shang’s breath hitches as his eyes close, imagining that his hands were wrapped around the throats of everyone who dared to conspire against him.

Shang is almost deafened by the sudden footsteps he hears. They aren’t too loud, but the reverb of his laboratory heightens his hearing. There is no need to turn and see who dared to interrupt him. He listens as the familiar legs clack against the ground until they stop in front of him.

“Quan Chi,” he simply states, voice laced with ire. Anger they both shared.

Quan Chi hums, seemingly pleased that he was recognised without Shang Tsung having to open his eyes. “I seek peace, solace from today’s events.”

“And you thought to find respite here,” Shang adds.

“Correct.”

Shang finally opens his eyes to fully drink in the image of his friend. Quan Chi stands tall, a few inches above him, and looks relaxed with his arms behind his back. Shang opens his mouth to say something, but the words are lost on him. He decides to not pollute the air with pointless rambling so the two could share a comfortable silence. Shang watches as Quan Chi walks over to a chair he threw earlier. The sorcerer picks it up and sets it upright before sitting down, sighing in relief after being on his feet all day. Shang takes a few steps back, the added distance giving him the courage to speak.

“I pride myself on my keen foresight, yet I was unable to realize we were just pawns.” Shang’s face twists into a disgusting scowl. It’s an expression that is foreign to his normally smug face.

“The wool was pulled over both our eyes, Shang Tsung.”

Shang shakes his head in anger, the emotions from earlier seeping out of his body. His fists clench and he takes a deep breath.

“Liu Kang will pay for the life he cursed me with. He will regret blessing me with mercy.”

Shang looks over at Quan Chi. His friend’s eyes are laced with an unknown emotion. He silently pleads for a response that would give context to Quan Chi’s facial expression but receives nothing. The two men continue to stare at each other, and Shang can only understand the emotion as pity. Whether Quan Chi truly pities him or not is unknown, but it’s the answer Shang decides to create.

One could almost feel the heat rising from Shang’s shoulders. Its smoke pollutes the air, making it thick and hazy. It suffocates, but Quan Chi is used to poor conditions like this; he doesn’t move at all.

“Shang Tsung,” Quan Chi begins. Shang doesn’t react at all – his eyes are too busy burning holes in the ground in front of him.

No response. The air gets thicker and thicker; it would surely kill anyone who walked in. Quan Chi can see Shang’s nails dyed with blood, a result of digging his nails into his palms. Quan Chi stands and eventually makes his way toward his friend. His efforts to grasp Shang’s attention are in vain, it appears as though there is a compelling force redirecting his attention away from Quan Chi.

Curious, Quan Chi grabs Shang’s chin and forces eye contact.

“Not once have I seen you lose control of yourself,” Quan Chi didn’t mean to offend with his observation, but Shang’s jaw tightens as he feels insulted.

“We were promised the world; instead we received humiliation.” Shang’s voice, once strong and confident, sounds weak and sad. “My wish was to share them with you; rule them as one.”

“And I, you,” comes Quan Chi's soft voice, comforting his companion immediately. Whatever emotion Shang felt in Quan Chi’s eyes is gone; it’s replaced with kinder, softer ones. “We – you deserve much more, Shang Tsung.”

Shang tries to look down but a strong hand keeps his head tilted up. Emotions begin to flood the damaged well of his heart. If Quan Chi wasn’t paying attention, he’d miss the signs of the tears’ arrival: fingers gently shaking, blotches of red attacking his pale cheeks, and torment clawing its way out of his chest. Quan Chi doesn’t know what to do, there’s not much he can do; emotions were never his strong suit. Shang pulls away and starts to pace the room. His hands shake more, and eventually a vase that survived his earlier breakdown is thrown against the wall, breaking and falling in sync with fresh tears. Shang chokes back violent sobs as a table is flipped, a window is broken, and a wall is punched. His poised self is well out the broken window, replaced by a man whose eyes are so bloodshot he looks like a beast.

Quan Chi is silent once again. He doesn’t know if he should calm the man who is now pulling at his hair, or allow him to feel his emotions. Shang’s breathing is rapid; one could almost hear his heart beating out of his chest. Quan Chi didn’t think it possible for Shang to hurt this much. He slowly extends his arms out for a hug, not knowing what else to do. Shang rushes over to Quan Chi and collapses in his arms, the sheer force of his weight knocking them both to the ground. He sobs, almost screams into Quan Chi’s shoulder. Shang’s arms hold the man tight; his fingers digging into his companion’s skin. Both are sure that Shang drew blood, but neither cared.

“I am not sure what to do next,” Shang chokes out, burying his face in his friend’s neck. He feels his stomach twisting. He brushes it off as a symptom of his overwhelming emotions, but knows it’s due to being in such close proximity to Quan Chi. He felt his feelings grow for his fellow sorcerer over the last few months but was quick to bury them. It only makes sense that his desire for the man would return with the rest of his emotions.

Quan Chi lets out a deep sigh of agreement. “Neither do I, my friend.” Friend, that word burns Shang’s chest. “But, hear me, Shang Tsung, when I say I shall face any adversary at your side. Forever.”

Shang slowly raises his head to look at Quan Chi. Shang’s face is wet, but the tears are slowing to a stop. Quan Chi’s hand moves to dry his face and huffs in amusement when Shang replaces the tears he dried with fresh ones. The air becomes charged with an unspoken tension as the two find themselves relaxing in each other’s presence. Their breathing, unbeknownst to them, slowly syncs, creating a harmonious rhythm that resonates with the quiet intensity of the moment. There wasn’t much either man could do other than stare into each other’s eyes. They had always been masters of restraint, keeping their feelings guarded like closely held secrets. Tonight, however, something was different.

As they sit in the laboratory, the echoes of Shang’s anger from earlier in the day linger in the air. The conversation since had flowed effortlessly, each word a bridge leading them closer to a place neither had ventured before. Shang can feel his heart beating a little faster, his palms slightly damp as he tries to navigate the uncharted territory of vulnerability.

Quan Chi, usually composed and self-assured, seems equally affected. His eyes start to hold longing, mirroring the emotions Shang had been suppressing for far too long. The unspoken tension simmers beneath the surface, the magnetic pull between them growing stronger with every passing moment.

A gentle breeze sweeps through a broken window, carrying with it a subtle scent of blooming flowers and the promise of change. The atmosphere seems to conspire, urging them to break free from the shackles of their own inhibitions. The ambient noise of the laboratory fades away as they move closer, the space between them diminishing with each heartbeat. Quan Chi could smell a faint hint of sweat on Shang’s body.

His hand stays on Shang’s face, guiding Quan Chi as he goes in to kiss Shang, the latter slightly gasping in surprise at the movement. The kiss was nothing special; clumsy, unsure lips moving against each other, showing that neither man had much experience in the love department. Their sloppy rhythm slows to a stop as they both pull away. Shang feels dazed. The feeling is welcomed after an hour of rage.

“A friend,” he starts, and Quan Chi listens intently. “You call me a friend, but your actions say otherwise.” Shang grins, “I fear you do not understand what a friendship is.”

“Be silent, sorcerer.”

#mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat fanfic #shang tsung x quan chi #please don’t let this one flop i’m counting on you all

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thewritingisconsumingme · 2 months

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cooking together

summary: shang tsung takes some time to cook with quan chi

warnings: none :)

Shang Tsung hummed as he foraged through the woods. Although he now had everything he ever needed working at Empress Sindel’s palace, he still enjoyed the activity of finding one’s own food. Besides, it provided a good way for Shang Tsung to determine the quality of the ingredients and that there was no poison within the food. The court may be enamored with his abilities and his practiced tongue, but he would be a fool to think that everyone liked him and wouldn’t try to rid the court of him. After all, he did come from humble roots, and some more than others did not appreciate peasant blood.

Picking the last of the mushrooms from the forest, Shang Tsung motioned for Quan Chi to follow him back to the palace. The man followed behind and watched over him. Shang Tsung was more than capable of protecting himself, but Quan Chi always insisted on accompanying the sorcerer on his trips to the wild just in case. And well, it bought them time alone with each other.

The sorcerer entered his laboratory and made his way to the kitchen. Washing off the dirt and grime from the various vegetables he collected from the forest, Shang Tsung passed them over to Quan Chi for him to cut into pieces. They worked together silently, a practiced routine of cutting and boiling and frying, and moved together in the kitchen as one unit. Soon enough, Shang Tsung put the lid onto the pan to wait for the vegetables to steam a little bit, and Quan Chi finished washing the cutting board and knives and set them up onto the drying rack.

Shang Tsung hummed when felt the other man place his head into the crook of his neck and wrap his arms around the yellow robes that the sorcerer usually sported.

“Be a dear and go check on the rice, won’t you?” Shang Tsung murmured as he leaned forward to open up the lid to check on the vegetables. Quan Chi obeyed, pressing a quick kiss to the shell of Shang Tsung’s ear, and went to check on the small pot of rice steaming in the corner. Shang Tsung focused on the pan in front of him, stirring the food around and spooning in an appropriate amount of salt to flavor the dish. Pouring in a small amount of water, Shang Tsung put the lid back on the pot and opened the cabinet above to rummage through the different seasonings. Unfortunately, the sauce he used to flavor just about everything was sitting just a little too deep in the cabinet, and Shang Tsung got up onto his toes, reaching to try and get the container.

A tanned arm reached behind him and pulled the jar off the cabinet, and Shang Tsung turned around to find Quan Chi smirking down at him. The sorcerer scoffed but took the jar from Quan Chi and turned around to hide the blush on his face. Quan Chi loved to flaunt his height over Shang Tsung as he was quite a bit taller than Shang Tsung, and the sorcerer would never admit it, but he loved how his partner could tower over him.

Adding in a rather large spoonful of the sauce, Shang Tsung stirred the vegetables around in the pot and smothered the fire underneath the pot and plated the food. Quan Chi took the jar of sauce and put it away into the cabinet a little higher than necessary and brought over two plates full of steaming rice to eat with the vegetables. They took the food to a small table in the far end of the laboratory and sat down across from each other. They ate in silence but kept their hands intertwined together.

Shang Tsung didn’t have to cook with Quan Chi, but the small moments like these made it all worth the effort.

#fluffuary2024 #fluff #noodle’s writings #mortal kombat #mk #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mk1 2023 #shang tsung #mk1 shang tsung #quan chi #mk1 quan chi #shang tsung x quan chi #quanshang

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