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yiga-hellhole · 3 months

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TFTK BONUS CHAPTER 5: DEPICTION OF THE DEMON LORD

sorry for the hold-up! i totally forgot to make a teaser illustration. anyway, a little bonus chapter to keep you all company while i work on the behemoth that is chapter 20. this one takes place between the events of chapters 11 and 13. say, didn't yuga promise a little someone else he'd get a portrait too..? the descriptions in this chapter are based on this BEAUTIFUL portrait by @renthehuman . keep it in mind as you read!!

thanks again to @bulgariansumo and @orfeoarte for betareading!!!

ao3 mirror

Potent jealousy was festering in the Demon Lord since the portrait of his co-lieutenant was finished. It was beautiful, indeed, but he hadn’t missed one crucial detail. When first meeting Yuga, it was him she flocked to instantly, singing praises of his beauty, and urging for him to be painted. And though indeed, he was the first to be sketched, the first full-fledged painting was not in his honor.

Nevertheless, this affront was soothed most thoroughly by the spoiling he received after. Zant’s portrait had hardly been framed or manicured fingers were already rapping on his door, urging him to join him in his workspace for his next masterpiece. Yuga felt the urge to paint like she did hunger or fatigue and to be deprived of it turned her jittery and ravenous.

Of course, Ghirahim did not keep him waiting. He spent hours under the watchful, yet manic eye of the Lorian sorcerer, his form dancing across pages upon pages of sketching paper. After feeling like they had become properly acquainted (though, really, it felt far more like an excuse to spend more time ogling), Yuga set up her backdrop, and the two sussed out their composition.

Said brainstorming did not take long. Yuga wanted, most wholeheartedly, to capture beauty. In her eyes, beauty had uncountable forms. Pertaining to himself, Ghirahim thoroughly agreed with his definitions, but often, Yuga’s judgment over beauty and hideosity seemed… Haphazard. Loosey-goosey, if one would. Her fussiness over their backdrop was most apparent in this. They would only be stationed here in clear skies when the heavens were a vast, clear blue.

Deciding on a subject was not particularly difficult. His reputation as a warrior was thoroughly known, in the flesh and through legend. In fact, it was all his previous portraiture, crude as it was, would focus on. Truly, the carnage he caused was beautiful, but his being – be it his sword or his scabbard, could not be excluded from this pride. Never had it been done justice before. In this portrait, the sensual, perfect form of Demon Lord Ghirahim, would be clear as day.

Perhaps a little too clear. Motivated partially by the desert heat, but mostly a drive to accentuate every fold of fat or muscle he had, they decided he would be depicted without even a shred of clothing.

There he lay, splayed alluringly on a fainting couch crowded by cushions, the dry desert heat wafting past his skin through the window behind him. Across him in the atelier was Yuga, half-seated on a wooden stool behind her canvas, her pencil scraping delicately, yet decisively, on parchment and canvas.

Just as the gentle sounds of graphite lulled him into a bit of comforting system maintenance, Yuga pulled him out of his haze with a clear of the throat. “So…”

Ghirahim turned his head to look at her, but quickly adjusted, remembering he was posing. “So?”

“I do hope you did not expect to spend the next few hours simply sitting in silence. Do you happen to be in the vein for a bit of a chat?”

Ghirahim met the playful smirk that peeked past the canvas with a cock of his brow. “You intend to wring information from a demon? Bold. I’ll have you know, I could have your soul for that.”

Yuga rolled her eyes in response, slinking back behind the easel. “Then, say, you do snatch my soul from me. Who will paint you?”

Such an air of light bantering was impossible to pass on. He knew it well from his time at this court, and precisely how fine the line was between playful snipping and a threat upon one’s life. A line he fondly trampled. But with a woman like Yuga, whose well-groomed talons were as blood-drenched as his own, true peerdom nestled comfortably.

He could say whatever the Hell he wanted. “I suppose I can afford to spare you until it’s finished.”

Shrieking laughter emitted from the Lorian. “Oh, wonderful! I’m being held hostage. Hanging around you lot becomes more and more quaint by the day!”

Ghirahim joined her in her amusement. Taking a moment to fiddle with the pearls ‘round his neck, he considered Yuga’s offer. He had a fickle generosity with his candor, preferring to either keep still or prattle on and on about the endless intrigue he’s accumulated in his many years of wandering the Surface. With those he had no ulterior motives for, he preferred to be silent. Still, he mused on. Wouldn’t it be boring to simply lay here for hours? He did plenty of that with their other lieutenant.

Yuga wasn’t the most trustworthy person, but… “Alright, then. I’ll bite. How can I sate your curiosities?”

“Ah, yes. I did not expect your secrecy to win over your ever-so-vain self, and I adore you this way!” Her face emerged from the side of the canvas once more, wagging the blunt end of her pencil at him in emphasis. “If you’ll allow me to ask, Demon Lord. It is precisely the matters related to your title that interest me. The Demon King you served before our Master, what was your life under him like? Anywhere near as luxurious as your current dwellings?”

Ghirahim squinted. Indeed, Gerudo Palace was a comfortable, sophisticated place. Yet, he felt a stab concealed in Yuga’s question. Did she assume that, millennia in the past, Demise’s dwelling was less grandiose? Forbid it all, did she insinuate she thought them primitive? “I don’t like the implications your question carries.”

Yuga gasped, waving a panicked hand under the canvas. “Forgive me! None were intended.”

His eyes wandered as his temper fizzled out. The atelier was as cluttered and stamp full of colors as he imagined the inside of Yuga’s mind to be. He took the new awkward silence as meditative and traced the colorful patterns on the ceiling frescoes, marking complete and total perfection. Not a single tile was off-size. How very typical.

Though painting was the Lorian’s forte – a practice by all means best done in silence – Ghirahim could tell the quiet was making her anxious. He decided to shake his grievances off. “Let me reminisce, nonetheless. Hmm…” A smirk returned to his face as he saw a curl-framed face peep excitedly at him. “Though loyal to my King I may be, I can’t really speak on His rule beyond the rift. I am strictly a Surface demon, you see. The Palace built above the rift through which we entered was grand, for certain. Oh, how it eclipsed the sun from every angle! Though lacking in the pointless, indulgent little comforts I have now, life there was truly paradise.”

It was then that Yuga rose, quietly hovering toward him to assess him from up close. Ghirahim’s eyes fluttered shut as soft, well-groomed hands found his chin, turning his face to marvel at his angles. He allowed her.

“My Master left me to my whims, to go wherever I pleased, do as I pleased, so long as I returned to His hand when the time for battle came. Perhaps I didn’t have the world in silks and jewels, nor an artisan to paint my portrait,” he smiled, peeking past his lashes to the woman hovering over him in close inspection. Nails scraped past his skin when Yuga’s hand retracted. “But I could truly be myself under His rule. After He fell… Oh, it was below me, truly. How many thousands of years I spent wandering, trying to keep patchwork tribes from tearing each other apart! Though I grew used to such a bare lifestyle, never did I enjoy it. Yes, this indulgence is a welcome change.”

In his wallowing, Yuga returned to her place, gliding graphite past her canvas. Sharp eyes met, and his painter pressed the end of her brush on a sore spot. “There remains something you miss, doesn’t there?”

“Of course. I am a Blade, Yuga. I am meant to be wielded. And now I am not.”

The lines of her brows raised, Yuga spoke in praise, gesturing to his form across her. “Yet you’ve made quite the image for yourself, standing here as a man!”

“I know, my friend,” he spoke with a sigh, rubbing his legs together in a bit of a tic. “I can only afford to show myself as pure perfection. But this scabbard is a mere hobby compared to my true self. I do wish Master could show you soon, the true glory of me, my edges carving through sunbeams and veins alike.”

Hands clasped together, Yuga smiled with delight. Her eyes then shot back open, besieged by another burst of energy that she immediately directed to her canvas. “Oh! I can hardly wait.”

Another day was reserved for the careful study of his facial features, as he’d done with Zant. Eyes bored into him stiffly enough to make the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. Somewhere, he suspected this session was less about actual study, and moreso to tingle the Sorcerer’s endless appetite for otherworldly beauty. Hylian physiques must have started to bore him.

Yuga sat in front of him atop a footstool, hunched over a sketchbook with a curvature to his spine inadvisable for anyone his age (and decades younger, for that matter). Ghirahim would have found his sheer concentration offputting, were he not well and truly drunk on the delicacy of admiration.

For both their sakes, though, he ought to snap the Lorian out of it before he lost his marbles. Taking advantage of a break where Yuga was more fixated on his sketches than his model, Ghirahim spoke. “You say I am to sit still for this part, but surely, I can lend an ear.”

Roused immediately by the lilt of his silvery voice, Yuga looked up to him with a playful grimace. “Devilish thing. Is it safe for me to impart more than simple small-talk on you?”

Ghirahim scoffed. Was more persuasion truly in order? “I told you of life at my own Court. Won’t you share some of yours?”

Having lost some of his feverish drive, Yuga lowered his gaze to his sketchbook, scribbling away. “Oh, I suppose it’s harmless enough.”

His eyes calmly lidded, Yuga settled into a more lighthearted pace. Juggling the weaving of a tale and sketching a model seemingly lulled him into a more pleasant mood. Or, perhaps, a smothered one, only staving off an inevitable explosion of creative impulse. Whether his delight to talk about himself would keep that mess at bay remained to be seen – but, Ghirahim knew, their egos were of nigh equal size. He had an idea that it would hold.

So, Yuga recollected his life’s tale, for as far as he wished to share it.“My usurpation was a slow one… If it was one at all. I thought to stretch out my time as an advisor until little Hilda rose to the throne, and I am thoroughly satisfied with my decision.”

Ghirahim made a further inquiry with a glance and a subtle rise of the brow, but even movement so small got him a scolding. One flick on his sitter’s bare skin later, Yuga resumed his tale. “It’s not like my home in Sakusa was lacking in any way, but it was less… Indulgent. And by far more egalitarian! A world where your every need is accounted for by servants was fully alien to me, and I took to it readily. I do so enjoy to preen, and be preened, as you know.”

Ghirahim responded with a loaded hum, bringing a smile to Yuga’s face. “Times were drastic, with monsters running rampant and more and more pieces of our land falling to the void. But the Court was a realm all of its own, where I could mingle with courtiers, advisors, and scholars all I pleased. It was hard work, certainly – I juggled jobs from royal portraiture to the young Lady’s education, but tasks outside my contract took far more of my time, I reckon. Gossip is never mere gossip in a Palace, as you know. It is veritable politics!”

Chewing oh-so-undignified, absentmindedly on the blunt end of his pencil, Yuga hummed, mulling on his earlier confidence. “No, I took to simply enjoying my time until the ruling King and Queen, so fortunately, passed on early. My poor, beautiful Hilda, only fourteen winters she’d lived before her orphaning. Of course, a ruler so young needed a regent… How lucky I was! I hadn’t even plotted their demise, yet I benefited from it, all the more,” Yuga cackled to himself, before a more manic spark lit in his eye. Graphite crumbled under the pressure of his pushing against the canvas. Each wild stroke of his pencil rushed forebodingly against the paper, interrupted only by the grating squeaks of scrawling. “And how satisfying it was to gaze down at those who glared at me with judging eyes. One so lowly, marshes-born, now puppeteering their Princess at the throne.”

Paper wore underneath the unrelenting push of his straining, bony hands, and Yuga snapped back to focus with a gasp. “... Oh, look at me! I’ve gotten your jawline all wrong. I’ll need another page…”

For once, the lamentless Lorian seemed embarrassed about his burst of anger, in how hastily he cowered by his supply cabinet. After the rustling of paper died out, Ghirahim addressed him carefully. “I take it your fortune, too, did not last, then.”

“No, it did not,” Yuga sighed, again taking his seat beside him. His expression softened, then, an overcast sky clearing out into white puffy clouds, the sun concealed behind them. “But under this King… I don’t know, Ghirahim. I have a good feeling. Apart we may be, though it pains me, I feel just as confident by his side.”

Apart. Yuga had not divulged the full details, but his bond with the Master was a peculiar one, in his time. A soul-bond, not unlike his own with Demise… And though he could see it pained Yuga to cast its possibility aside, he made peace with it, somehow. A bond he once lived for, now reduced to a nostalgic daydream, and compromised through mere company. Ghirahim was perplexed. How could anyone manage such a thing?

Surely, he would not have to.

That following day was once again one of scolding. A crackled bruise, perilously just barely concealed by the strap of his top, besmirched his collarbone. Of course, he could rid himself of such petty ailments in an instant, but he had a bit of a weak spot for such souvenirs of affection.

Yuga did not share the sentiment. The second he laid his bare body on the swooning couch, the Lorian let out a scandalized cry and demanded he get rid of it. Ghirahim obeyed his request, mostly because he feared the bulging vein at his painter’s neck would burst if he didn’t.

With everything once again perfectly going according to Yuga’s wishes, their usual lighthearted chatter resumed. Ghirahim shimmied comfortably into the pillows. Frankly, Yuga wasn’t the only one intently studying an object of interest. With so much eye contact, Ghirahim took the opportunity to get a good look at his painter. He was aged, certainly, but not thoroughly so. Careful maintenance of his skin resulted in a rich sheen, but even that could not stave off the tellings of papery wrinkles at his eyes and nose. Above all, Yuga was excessively flashy, adorning himself with different colors each day. Today, a fresh gradient of lime-green and blue seemed to be his idea of ‘tasteful’.

Something else caught his eye, though. A little something that has irked him nearly every time they met. “You know, Yuga, something has been bothering me.”

Yuga laughed, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Have mercy, no!”

“It concerns your choice of accessories,” Ghirahim replied, snagging his curious gaze with a squint of his eyes. “I daresay, either I’m as much of a trendsetter as I expected to be, or you think to steal my thunder.”

For a moment, Yuga seemed confused. His eyes similarly squinted, bringing more and more of those flashy cosmetics on his lids to light. Realization struck, and he exclaimed a laugh. “The earrings, you mean? I thought it was a funny coincidence myself,” he snickered, prodding at the cyan gem dangling from his earlobe. “I assure you, I’ve owned these years before meeting your lovely acquaintance.”

Ghirahim puckered his lips, pondering. “And yet, I don’t consider the two of us close enough companions to start matching our looks.”

Yuga quickly retreated behind his canvas. “Don’t be so drastic, dear boy,” he chimed, waving a clawed hand past the canvas to pacify him. “Besides, they’re not entirely similar. Yours are perfect diamonds, whereas mine are more teardrop-shaped.”

“Not everyone has your painter’s eye, Yuga, the layfolk won’t notice such details,” Ghirahim sighed, now more playful than making any serious demands. Really, he just wanted to confirm the coincidence… But Yuga always had a habit of running away with his every word, out of sheer fondness of his company. At least, he could only assume. Still. in that fondness, blunders arose. Ghirahim wanted this one corrected post-haste. “Speaking of. You seem to be making quite a few assumptions about my age.”

Yuga’s hiding was quickly cut short. Red curls bounced into view as he quickly peeked past the canvas, his mouth tight with embarrassment. “Am I? You must beg my pardon, but if you are my senior, then I must ask you to refer me to whoever blends your cosmetics.”

Ghirahim hummed, idly observing his pearlescent nails. He truly did prefer being in control of the conversation! “I assume you are no older than… Give or take, fifteen-thousand. Are you?” He drawled, cocking his brow with a smirk.

Yuga’s eyes widened, a gasp escaping him as he hurried back to his painting. If the revealing of his age seemed to motivate him into a burst of inspiration… Well, it was a worrying idea. Ever-astounded, Yuga continued to babble. “My! Demon lifespans, of course. No, I regret to say I’ve not even walked this life for a century. I must seem positively juvenile to you!”

Dropping back into his practiced pose, Ghirahim let out a laugh. “No comment,” he said at last, bullying his companion into an effective silence.

With the campaign for Death Mountain on the horizon, their free hours grew fewer and fewer, as did the opportunities to meet up during Yuga’s preferred hours of lighting. That day was one of rare fortune where they had three hours to spend under the bright afternoon sun – and not a minute more. Major qualms arose that day when Ghirahim made a last-minute adjustment to his accessory; a gift, he claimed. Yuga cared absolutely none for it. He was too proud of the rendering on his trademark blue diamond earring and refused to paint over it for simple pearls and larimars.

And so, the sword spirit lay there huffing and grumbling, leaving his portraitist to work on everything except the insufferable pout he was giving him.

To make matters worse, Ghirahim interjected with another inconvenience. “Ah, yes. My apologies, I forgot to tell you. I’ve gotten a little tangled up and double-booked. Zant might drop by for a visit.”

Not looking up from his canvas, Yuga smeared more purples together on his palette. “So long as you stay still, you can invite the whole palace over, for all I care.”

As foretold, an hour into their appointment, a knock at the door caught them both by surprise. After the chime of Yuga’s response, the door opened, and Zant slipped through.

… Who immediately gasped in scandal over the scene before him. “Ghirahim,” he exclaimed, approaching the canvas timidly to hide from him, finding his depiction easier to shelter with. “I understood that you were to model for your portrait, but… A nude!? ”

“Indeed,” Ghirahim laughed, tilting his head coquettishly. “Yuga and I decided extravagant clothing would only distract from my features. This form is far more representative of me, no?”

Zant seemingly mustered up the courage to face him, as he stepped out into the open. What a calf! They’ve bedded before, what was the issue now? “Well! Such a portrait is made to be viewed, is it not? Would you have yourself displayed in such a way, for others to see?”

Ghirahim was now more amused by his bugging than annoyed. This was no standard prudishness, there was a weakness somewhere. A soft underbelly just begging to be jabbed into. “If I did not, I wouldn’t be lying here as we speak. I have the feeling you have an issue with it, though.”

And there was the reaction he hoped for! Zant’s cheeks flushed instantly, a stammer rising from his throat. His hands retreated quickly in his sleeves, a tassel or two yanked inside each for nervous fingers to fiddle with. “Issues? No, no strict objections! I simply… If you were to, say, bare yourself, before those outside of me, I would at least wish to hear about it beforehand!”

Unimpressed, but committed to his bullying, Ghirahim cocked a brow. “Mm. And, were I to tell you, would you forbid me from doing as I wish? Do you demand such strict monogamy from me?”

“You are too hasty! Now, of course, as your companion, I would have certain… Inhibitions, about,” Zant rambled anxiously, until he suddenly remembered his whereabouts. His helmet quickly clattered to cover his face. “Must we do this in front of Yuga?”

Yuga responded with great nonchalance, perfectly masking his intrigue with the carefree dapping of his brush. “Oh, pretend I’m not here.”

Immediately Zant whipped around, highly agitated. “As if! Gossiping fiend you are, Lord of Lorule!” Crossing his arms with a huff, Zant seemed to take a moment to cool down. Perhaps the sun bothered him – it was noon, after all, and the room far too bright for his Twilit complexion. “Fine. Paint away, it is no concern of mine. Ghira and I will resume this conversation at a later time.”

Ghirahim smirked, endeared by the nickname that slipped his tongue. “I have all the time in the world now.”

His tranquility from seconds ago faded very quickly. “Your distaste for privacy never fails to baffle me!”

Feeling victorious, Ghirahim finally released him from his teasing and sunk back comfortably into the sofa. “Of course. Well, what did you need me for, anyway?”

With a bit of a whine, Zant composed himself. His arms dropped back down to his sides in an effort to seem calm, and he approached. “I was hoping to pen myself into your schedule – We’ll need an entire day, after all. And, well, I will be more than happy to enjoy your company after we settle this…”

Yuga hummed with great intrigue. “Planning something big, now, are you?”

Ghirahim leaned his head to try and peep past the canvas blocking the Lorian from his view. “Whatever happened to ‘not being here’, Lord Yuga?”

Pretending that exchange never happened, Zant continued. “As I said. I shall have my preparations done by to-morrow. Would the day after suit your schedule?”

His inner calendar visualized behind his eyelids, Ghirahim pondered. “Not a chance, I’m afraid,” Ghirahim shook his head. “Captain Imanu requested my presence on the training fields that noon.”

Their squabble to find a single day they could spend was challenging. The available dates were, after all, incredibly limited, and their time was short. In the end, he would have to shuffle around a few appointments to clear this single day… But none of his underlings would dare lift a finger to disagree with him, either way. Less enthused he was about divulging his agenda to both of them at once.

Zant seemed pleased by the end of it, though. Invigorated by the chance to show his forte, his confidence returned to him. Spinning on his heels, he turned to the mass of painting behind him. “With that out of the way… Yuga, you would not mind I have a proper glance at your work, would you? I am most curious.”

Engrossed in his work, Yuga scoffed, his brush halting for not even a second. Grasping its chewed end between his ring and pinky finger, he momentarily removed the spare brush held in his mouth to speak. “My permission matters little, I believe. You’d sneak a peek either way. It’s hardly a subtle canvas.”

Taking his defeated tone as a ‘yes’, Zant eagerly cantered over to join Yuga’s side behind the canvas, leaving nothing visible but his black trousers and gaudy slippers. He gasped, cooed, and hummed, watching his machinations intently. “Words escape me, Yuga. You truly depict him well.” The Lorian’s reply was one of smug satisfaction, but soon, cahoots bloomed. A bit more hushed, Zant leaned closer and pulled him along in his schemes. “But you must not forget to sculpt the bridge of his nose more delicately. It is one of his finer features, in his words and mine, after all.”

Yuga took to this bout of accolades with great enthusiasm. Words of praise poured from him with the same ease as he breathed. Zant was more discreet, then, taking to admiring him through the proxy of his portrait. But Ghirahim knew his intentions, and he struggled to conceal the flush it brought to his cheeks. To be admired so thoroughly by two at once, both with drastically different intentions… How intoxicating! How addictive! He was beauty incarnate, he was a lover. Moonbeam, stars, and sun; pearls and silver shimmers in the heat of the desert. He was art . The next hour-and-a-half would be torture on his composure, he could see it already.

Days flew by, hours to paint snuck between sessions of diplomacy and military training. Just when Ghirahim thought the painting to be finished, it seemed last-minute adjustments were in order. Yuga announced his displeasure with a shrill grunt, steam nearly spouting from his nostrils. “I have made up my mind!”

Never did Ghirahim think he could tire of lounging in such a comfortable pose. Thus he refused to do so, sitting straight in his usual spot. Arms folded, he watched Yuga lug around vase after vase to place them wherever he desired. “Whatever could be buzzing about in that skull of yours this time?”

Petals caught in his curls, Yuga looked disheveled as if he’d gotten caught in a rose bush. “Flowers! I need more of them. Far more!”

Oh, if only that clown could decide on where he wanted those vases already. The grinding of stone on stone was starting to grate Ghirahim’s ears. “Am I to develop a pollen allergy?”

Yuga snapped at him, dropping another armful of bouquets into a brass ewer. “I’ll make you develop rust if you don’t keep your snide little comments to yourself. Just let me work! ”

Wreathed in the cloud penstemons and marigolds, Ghirahim luxuriated for his final sitting. No matter if those flowers were like chains keeping him tied to this sofa. Yuga simply wasn’t the type of man you said no to. For now, he’d amuse himself with the gaunt shape hunched by the supply closet, mumbling and grumbling about running low on red pigments…

At long last, the painting was finished. His physique was intricately captured in warm tones, a picture so vivid the desert sun could be felt from its canvas alone, even in the chill of evening. Candles flickered against the just-dried varnish, the golden glow disturbed only by the shadows of the two men before it. Ghirahim had thrown his arms around Yuga’s shoulder in a side-hug, giddy as he was about the massive stroking of his ego. Even now, Yuga stood cooing and complimenting him, fiddling with his hair and rubbing over his gloves.

Yet he unlatched himself very quickly when the door creaked open, an unlikely, massive form ducking through. King Ganondorf Dragmire stood at the doorway, his expression gruff, but with a light spark of intrigue.

“I heard tell of another portrait,” he said, causing Ghirahim’s core to drop heavily in his chest.

Yuga, on the other hand, was nothing but excessively fair-tempered. “Ah, Milord! Perfect timing. I just had it framed!”

“Master Ganondorf,” he stammered. Ghirahim found a sudden heat rise in his chest. Embarrassed, he could never be, but suddenly, he found himself worried about such a depiction. Already he was uncertain how the Demon King would approve of such a vain subject as portraiture… But one so revealing? Among the audience of his form, displayed so lavishly, he hadn’t expected his Master. At least, not until he could estimate his reaction!

The redness in his cheeks made his life that much more miserable when, concealed behind Ganondorf’s massive form, Zant slipped into the atelier, his hands folded at his back. Ghirahim gritted his teeth, pointedly avoiding the Twili’s gaze. He could still turn this around! “How honored I am to meet you at this unveiling! It’s a gorgeous painting, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed,” Ganondorf rumbled, marching over to stand by his side. The first hints of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as his eyes explored the painting, drinking in its sandy yellows and warm purples. With one blink of heavy lids, his eyes turned to the blade beside him. “It suits you, Ghirahim.”

It suited him. That it did! But how intimately did his Master understand? How his sensuality was within his reach, if only he would call upon it? His head turned to a misty whirlpool all on its own, swimming with thoughts of past affections and potential ones in the future. Now Ganondorf not only acknowledged but praised this side of him. They viewed this masterpiece in joint silence, and Ghirahim thought to keep it that way, lest he fumbled any future chances at intimacy.

A clear of the throat immediately snapped Ghirahim back to reality. His co-lieutenants seemed similarly affected. Though Ganondorf’s expression darkened, it looked almost like compensation… Did he imagine the darkened red over his ears and nose? A trick of the candlelight? No, Master. You cannot hide any temperature rises from this sword.

Yet any smugness was quickly stifled by the Demon King’s words. “I am aware Lord Yuga performs his best when I leave him to vent his creative pursuits. However, Blade, do not let me notice this… Side project, burdening the upcoming campaign.”

Ghirahim quickly shook his head, appeasing him with a bow. “I would not dream of it, Master.”

Ganondorf seemed satisfied with the answer. He took one last look at the painting, then at the men responsible for it, and with a curt nod, turned to make his leave.

They stood in a polite line before the painting, all half-bowing to salute their King farewell. With Ganondorf now halfway down the hall, the concept of decorum became entirely alien to Ghirahim. He yanked Zant down by the sleeve, prompting him to shriek, as he hissed with equal ire and mirth into his ear. “You brought him here, didn’t you, you villain?”

Zant’s fear quickly turned to amusement. “What a mischief-maker you take me for! I only mentioned off-handedly that your portrait was finished, and his curiosity took him for a walk on his own accord!”

“Mmmh… How convenient that would be for me!” Ghirahim snarled, baring his teeth. Zant yelped once more when his ear was tugged. “Such praise and interest from my Master, unprovoked? You try to sell dreams to me.”

Shaking himself free, Zant responded to his ramblings with a grin, his teeth like spikes jutting out from his gums with a meaty shk. He loomed toward him, pressing his lips to where Ghirahim’s hair draped between his ear and his temple and crooned. “I could pinch you, and see if you wake…”

A subtle gesture of his head toward Yuga served to remind Zant they were not alone, his irrepressible affections once again making him forget all about his sense of honor. The shrill laughter that followed almost drowned out the mechanical whirring of a helmet, hastily assembled over a flushing face.

Almost.

#ghirahim #yuga #zant #yuga albw #hyrule warriors #ghirazant #<- its subtle but in there #ganondorf #tftk #bearwrites #beararts #doodlies

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