Work Text:
Shang Tsung had never celebrated Christmas, nor had he ever imagined a reason to. The mortal holiday, with its garish displays and sentimental customs, seemed as distant to him as any Earthrealm tradition could, especially an American one. Yet here he was, sitting in the quiet warmth of his hidden cabin, watching the soft glow of a firelight dance across the room.
It was late—deep into the stillness of a winter night. Outside, snow blanketed the woods in an unbroken sheet of white, muffling every sound. Shang remained awake, as he often did, but tonight, he wasn’t alone. To his mild surprise, Quan Chi sat on the couch, quiet, a peculiar object resting in his hands.
It was a snow globe.
Shang’s gaze lingered on the demon sorcerer, whose crimson eyes were fixed on the glowing little trinket. Normally, Quan Chi would be buried in his fortress of blankets by now, snoring softly and cocooned in ridiculous holiday-patterned quilts. But tonight, he sat upright, his attention entirely consumed by the tiny world encased in glass.
The globe’s base hummed faintly, playing a soft, chiming tune that neither of them recognized. Inside, a miniature Christmas tree spun slowly as synthetic snow swirled in a perpetual storm around it. The light from within cast a warm glow on Quan Chi’s pale features, softening his usual sharpness.
Shang’s thoughts drifted back to the day the snow globe had entered their lives. It had been an ordinary outing, a quick trip to town for groceries. At least, it was supposed to be. As they approached the checkout counter, Quan Chi had abruptly stopped, his gaze snagged on a shelf of impulse buys.
“What is this?” Quan Chi had asked, lifting the box as if it held some forbidden relic.
Shang glanced at it briefly. “A trinket meant to amuse children,” he replied dismissively.
Quan Chi ignored him and placed it firmly in the cart. “We’re getting it.”
Shang had raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. And now, weeks later, the demon sorcerer sat enraptured by the very object he had insisted on bringing home.
The melody shifted to another unfamiliar holiday tune as Quan Chi sighed softly, tilting his head like someone gazing into an old memory. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—just stared at the tiny glowing tree with a quiet intensity that felt oddly out of place.
Shang leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes wander between the snow globe and its unlikely admirer. It was hard to reconcile this peaceful, almost childlike version of Quan Chi with the ruthless necromancer he had schemed alongside with. Yet here he was, utterly still, captivated by something so simple.
There was a serenity in the scene that Shang hadn’t expected, a warmth that even he couldn’t dismiss. Perhaps the bright lights coming out of the glass reminded Quan Chi of something—a moment, a feeling long lost. The thought tugged at Shang’s mind, unbidden and unwelcome.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the cabin in silence. Inside, the glow of the snow globe mingled with the flickering firelight, casting the room in a gentle warmth. Shang sighed quietly, watching as Quan Chi let his head rest against the arm of the couch, his eyes still fixed on the little glass dome.
For all its absurdity, there was something about the moment that Shang found himself reluctant to disturb. So he let it be, his own gaze softening as the music from the globe carried on, filling the quiet space between them.