#this comic is also known as ‘wordless communication: how well your family knows you’

[roppiepop]

Who’s coming to the cookout?

[puttingfingerstokeys]

stork and starshine

in which New Kang (her first appearance is in Storm Over Function) asks where babies come from and I once again refuse to fuck with spaces or italics because--say it with me--I’m fucking lazy! I had intended this to be sillier than it is, but as always the muse takes me where it wants me and it wants me to be a fucking hallmark channel tearjerker bullshit screenwriter so here, have some ancient queens being dads (okay Shang Tsung isn’t ancient--this will be like, idk twentyish? years before the... third MK tournament?? I dunno man I’m making this up as I go along. I have no kontrol. Any writer who says they do also likely has a bridge to sell you). 

Warring Exes 

restored timeline

A light tug on the arm of his luxuriant vermilion robe drew Shang Tsung’s attention up from the swooping strokes of his quill upon parchment. He regarded the room in an almost comically oblivious way, even going so far as to shade his eyes from some bright light, as if it was difficult to see. The tug came again and once more, he scanned the room.

 “Baba, here, I’m here,” said a voice which was more like birdsong than speech. Shang Tsung laid his quill aside then and turned to face his daughter, a girl of six with hair as dark as the depths of night before dawn and vivid, hazel eyes. She reached out toward him with small hands and he sat back, a stern look upon his face.

 “Liu Kang,” he purred, “we have spoken of this many times; when you desire something, what do you do?”

 “I take it!” She was very proud of her answer and he smiled, gesturing that she should go on. Her face screwed up, lips puckering in thought before she continued, finishing strong. “Or find someone who can give it to me!”

 “Indeed, and how do you communicate this desire?” The greed sparkling in his obsidian eyes was lost upon her, a child who had just learned self from other, but the pride was not. It sparked a fire in her the likes of which he had never seen and which he appreciated greatly. She would grow to be a wolf, not a snake.

 “I say it!” Everything from a child, it seemed, had to be delivered upon the wings of boundless enthusiasm. The girl had adjusted her posture, straightening and standing erect, a pose which showed nicely the fine clothes she wore, perfectly tailored to her tiny body and mimicking that of her opulent “Baba”. Her dark hair was glossy under the lamplight of Shang Tsung’s study and the gold and baubles in it caught and reflected that warmth. She was a stunning child and he could see even now that she would grow into a beautiful woman. He had no intention of allowing her to traverse the realms without knowing who she was. That would be her most powerful weapon of all, to say nothing of the sorcery he fully planned on teaching her.

 “So, tell me, what would you like?” He leaned upon one arm of his chair and watched her, luxuriating in parental bliss. He watched her eyes dart about, watched her cheeks go red, watched her little eyebrows pulling together at the center of her sweet, smooth forehead, one he had kissed more times than he could count.

 “I um… I want to know how people come into this world.” Liu Kang spoke each syllable with meticulous care, knowing how much was expected of her and wanting only to please. Shang Tsung’s face softened and her posture slackened with it. She was not a child in want, but she was not spoiled—per se. Her lessons were difficult and Shang Tsung would bear nothing less than perfection from his darling girl. But he was a good teacher and surprisingly patient. It pleased her to please him and he was pleased when she strove for this. They were well-matched.

 “You desire knowledge, my daughter,” he offered, opening a hand and conjuring a few shapes for her amusement—and his own, if he was being honest—before straightening and standing, pushing his chair away from the grand mahogany desk with the backs of his knees. He offered her one of his gilded hands, rings adorning his fingers, instead of golden claw gauntlets, his bracelets jingling as he moved. She took that hand and held it tightly, and together, they moved toward his library. “I will never deny you knowledge.”

 Shang Tsung’s study was a warmly furnished, dark room, lined with books and lit by braziers and enchanted objects wherever he desired them to be. Those books were his favorites—special editions, old manuscripts, things which were unattainable to others… But nothing could escape his grasp once he had set his mind upon it. The tomes he sought, however, would not be in that collection. 

 They stepped out into the library proper, a stone room cut into the very mountain of his keep and equipped with protective ventilation, enchanted barriers to ward against moisture and rot, and sconces every few feet, illuminating the vastness of it. She had come careening through here—there was no doubt in his mind that careening had been her method of travel—a few minutes before, just to come find him. He wondered if she had known he would be here, or if she had been sent.

 “I know you have said I was a gift, but I know the gifts people bring you,” she said, her voice grave with the knowledge of six accumulated years. “Did someone bring me like that?”

 Shang Tsung considered a moment, his hand upon the spine of an Earthrealm biology book, bemoaning the absence of an Edenian scroll or volume of the same subject. One finger ran down the title and publisher absently as he considered how he would answer this. He had never hidden anything purposefully from her, and the story of her arrival was a good one, a fascinating one, in fact. Still, he was unsure if the timing was appropriate. After a moment’s thought, he withdrew from the shelf and, still holding her hand in his, dropped to one knee before her, the light catching the gold in his hair as it caught in hers.

 “I will tell you the story of your arrival, Starshine, but not yet.” He touched her nose, a sweet little button of a thing. “We must find your father first.”

 She brightened at this and reached out to touch Shang Tsung’s nose in the same way. “Follow me,” she bade, tugging on his hand. He stood and she pulled, his heart swelling with pride. She was intelligent, perceptive, beautiful, thoughtful—everything a parent could want in a child. For a brief moment, he considered how little he deserved her. As she pulled him relentlessly through the winding halls of his castle—their home—he considered what, precisely, he had done in his entire life to deserve such an immense gift, something which could sate his greed once and for all. He had not known in his younger days that such a thing could be possible. He had thought the well of his desires endless. The thoughts banished themselves as she, with her tiny hand, and a bit of his sorcery, pushed her way—their way—through the last door to his throne room.

 “Father!” Her shrill, bird-like voice called out toward the balcony behind Shang Tsung’s opulent throne. On the balcony, a figure stood, facing the misty sea beyond the island. The fog had cleared this night and one might see for miles, study the stars, see many moons and skies of different realms. “Father!” She called louder this time and the figure turned. 

 The shoulders were broad, the stature gargantuan, at least seven feet tall, perhaps more, and, though light-colored robes and white hair were tossed about ceaselessly by the wind, a hat, in the simple style of a rice farmer—though far more lavishly adorned than a rice farmer’s had any right to be—stayed perched on top of the tall man’s head. Gentle, dark blue eyes caught the light of some moon or other as he moved forward to receive his daughter’s affection, dropping to one knee and opening his arms to catch her as she leapt into them.

 “Liu Kang,” rumbled Raiden, his voice the distant murmur of thunder, “you have found him for me. I am so proud.”

 “She is an adept sorceress,” Shang Tsung said, stepping out onto the balcony. “I have taught her well and will teach her more.”

 A shadow passed briefly over Raiden’s face as he remained on one knee, the girl in his arms, but it disappeared as suddenly as it had emerged. He was no fool. Liu Kang could not enter the world—any world—without defense. He could teach her no sorcery, could not even gift her with divinity which he no longer possessed. It was a wise path, if a dangerous, serpentine one. His consolation was that Shang Tsung would allow no harm to come to his precious girl—their girl—while under his tutelage. This was his greatest gift, this all-consuming, nearly-obsessive adoration. The way Shang Tsung’s face lit up when he observed their daughter was a balm for Raiden’s scarred, mortal soul.

 The sorcerer approached and, joining his family near the fine stone of the balcony railing, bent forth and grasped Raiden’s chin, delighting in the fine bones of his face, the set of his lips, the nobility of his nose. With his free hand, Shang Tsung removed the hat so that the moonlight could lay its silvery elegance over the former god’s features, illuminating them, highlighting each perfect imperfection, each part of him that had likened him to humanity, even when he had been divine. With Liu Kang caught between them, he brought their lips together, long and slow, the child wrapped in Raiden’s arms—he was helpless to resist, but it had been much time and more since he had wanted to do so.

 Only her muffled shouts stopped them and they pulled apart to her flailing protests. “Baba promised a story!” Her declaration was loud, almost thunderous. Shang Tsung’s serpentine smile at her demand mirrored Raiden’s soft grunt of incredulity, though this too was followed by a smile.

 “A story,” he echoed, “of what, I wonder?”

 Their eyes met over Liu Kang’s head and wordless knowledge passed between them. It was time she knew whence she came. Raiden’s nod was minute as he stood, Liu Kang in his arms, Shang Tsung before him, the strangest family in any realm, every realm… but happy, for all that.