#izzy writez

[izzyzalezbian]

[izzyzalezbian]

“Mammon,” Solomon hisses, tugging on the boy's arm. Mammon does not move, unswayed by the sorcerer's clear desperation.

  “As an angel, I must swiftly call on any flaw in any person,” he replies, unmoving eyes trained on Lucifer, “If I don’t, there’s a good chance they’ll get themselves sent to hell.”

  Solomon groans into his hands, a garbled mess of words – …sent to hell…trying to get me killed…owe me big time… – as Lucifer stands off to the side, mouth slightly agape.

  “Solomon,” he finds himself whispering, “What the hell did you do.”

Or: The one where Mammon becomes an angel again.

[izzyzalezbian]

Day Eleven; Animal Trap

The forest is so thick and so dark that the sun can’t be seen beyond the branches of the trees. 

Mikey is sure this is by design– Master Splinter never was one for sunlight, but he can’t help being a little disappointed, he missed the sun! Living in the sewers didn’t give him many opportunities for sunbathing. So, when Master Splinter had woken him and his brothers up in the night, to take them all out on a surprise camping trip, he got excited.

But the forest was dense and dark, and there wasn’t a ray of sunlight to be found– maybe the night was to blame for some of it, but Mikey can just look at the trees, and their spreading branches, and just knew that the sun wouldn’t be visible by sunrise either. He doesn’t dare say a word though, seeing his dad’s frazzled fur and quaking whiskers.

Master Splinter was upset, which meant that Mikey should be quiet. His father was always less stressed when Mikey was quiet.

“Donatello,” Master Splinter starts, looking over in his direction, clenching his brother's hand so tight, Mikey can see it from where he’s standing, “Is Michelangelo still holding your hand?”

“Yes, sensei,” Donnie answers, squeezing his hand. He must notice dad’s mood too, Mikey thinks, if he’s switched to calling him sensei instead of dad.

Mikey giggles at the feeling, his brothers' soft hands only an imitation of their fathers strong grip, “I’m right here, sensei.”

His father hums at their answer, “Leonardo, is Raphael holding your hand?”

“Yes sensei,” Leo smiles at their father, almost as if he was trying to comfort him.

Raph, smartly, doesn’t give any answer except a small churr. It was probably for the best, he supposes– Raph had always had a knack for saying the wrong thing at the worst of times.

They keep moving through the forest quickly, silently. Mikey thinks that, if they were any smaller, their father would have swept them up in his arms, and ran. But they are not so small anymore, and they move as fast as they can, hands clenched together tightly.

It feels like they’ve been running for years when they finally stop.

It’s not quite a clearing, where their father decides to rest. The moon doesn’t shine here, still hidden by the greedy, thirsty, light sucking trees, but there are flowers, weeds, and a pond– a big one too. Mikey thinks it’s the biggest pond he’s ever seen– it might even be an ocean, it’s so big!

“Is that an ocean,” he murmurs, voice so quiet only Donnie can hear.

His brother doesn’t answer for a moment, and for a moment, Mikey worries he didn’t hear him. Then, “I don’t know,” his brother whispers back, eyes wide and looking.

It must be a pretty confusing pond-ocean hybrid, Mikey thinks, if even Donnie doesn’t know what it is because Donnie knew everything.

They all stare at the body of water, waiting, when their father gets too twitchy to stand still, and starts tugging them forward, towards the pond-ocean. 

Stumbling, Mikey’s foot catches on a few twigs and rocks as they move, and he’s sure the only reason he doesn’t fall behind is because of the iron-tight grip Donnie has on his hand.

Silent still, they get closer and closer to the pond-ocean, until they stand in its banks, the water washing over their feet. It’s cold– and it’s probably because of those stupid sun stealing trees.

Everyone laughs at the feeling, even Raph and Leo, who didn’t laugh at anything anymore– too busy trying to play their tough guy persona. Master Splinter remains stoic, though, and gives no sign that he even felt the water other than a small twitch of his mouth. 

It’s a long while that they stand there, with the water washing over their feet, and their soft giggles being the only sound for miles. It’s a long, long while, but soon, their dad’s shoulders loosen, and he relaxes his grip on his brother's hands.

Eyes trained on their father, they all wait for his command.

“Boys,” he starts, voice soft, almost scared, “While we're on our camping trip, you will stay away from the lake unless I’m with you, okay?”

Lake, his father had called it. Mikey had never heard of a lake before. A quick glance at Donnie tells him that he didn't know either. Quickly, in short, sly gazes, they both come to an agreement to find out just what a lake was later, when they weren’t on an impromptu camping trip.

When no one gives their father an answer, he clears his throat. It’s a gargled, almost threatening sound– Mikey’s never known what happens if you don’t do as he wants after he makes that sound, and Mikey’s not sure he ever wants to find out.

They all give their words of agreement, voices hurried, and yet still softer than their fathers.

With a small sigh, one that sounds both relieved and resigned, he starts again, “And if you see any boats, or humans, or anything other than fish and water in the lake, come get me immediately– no matter how cool, or interesting it looks.” This part is said with a sharp look Donnie’s way.

His brother flushes, embarrassment oozing from every part of him. “Yes sensei.”

Mikey giggles a little at his brother's awkwardness– though he immediately wishes he didn’t, as his fathers ears and eyes flick over to him quickly.

With narrowed eyes, his father adds, “No running off where I can’t see, either– oh, and always take a buddy whenever you go anywhere.”

Groaning, Mikey nods, knowing better than to argue with his father.

“Good,” his father agrees, eyes still narrowed, just slightly, “Now, why don’t we go set up camp, yeah?”

Leo and Donnie both nod excitedly. Donnie liked to build things– he enjoyed getting crafty, whenever the opportunity arose. Mikey didn’t know what Leo’s deal was, other than being a suck-up.

Laughing quietly, Splinter moves at the insistent pull of Leo and Donnie’s hands, “Alright, let's go ahead and get started, then.”

The rest of the story can be found here on ao3!

[izzyzalezbian]

can you do one where link just takes one of revalis feathers and keeps it and Revali finds out

Ofc!!

Ok, Annon I won't lie to you, I don't think this is what you wanted, or what you meant when you sent this, but I hope you still enjoy it! Even if it's a little different than you wanted

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There's a small box hidden under Link's bed, pushed to the back, where only the box, dust, and darkness lived. It's wooden, with the most intricate designs of flowers and trees tracing every inch of the box's surface. It was handcrafted, painstakingly chipped at with a broken, old hand knife. At least, that's what the little old lady had told him when selling him the box, and he'd never be one to deny the possibility of him getting scammed by little old ladies.

The box, though small, and shoved into the farthest corner of his room, is priceless to him. It holds an invaluable weight to his heart, one that only the most vain and foolish of Hylians would try to measure.

But, when he's stretched on the floor, covering his freshly cleaned tunic in a thick layer of dust and dirt, all in an attempt to reach that box all the way in the back, he begins to doubt the truth of that statement. He loves his box, sure, but his tunic really is a pain to wash.

Despite this, Link keeps moving, inching towards his box. It is his box, and if it is a pain and struggle to grab, then it is his own fault for being so secretive that he couldn't even stand to keep his box unhidden in his own, locked, house.

It's a long minute Link spends on the floor, struggling to shove enough of himself under the bed frame to reach his box, but Link has done nothing else in his life than persevere, and that's exactly what he does now. With a hand wrapped around the box, he quickly shoots out from under the bed.

The bed frame shakes, and the wall he had accidentally kicked himself into groans. Link, however, pays no mind to either of those facts. Instead, he checks to make sure the box is in hand, and that he hadn't accidentally grabbed a rat (again).

The box is, fortunately, what he grabbed this time. The carved wood sits in his hand, the small golden lock on the front glinting at him.

He thinks he should pick himself up, sit on something other than the floor, when holding his box. But Link has never been a man to listen to reason or thought, and so he stays on the floor.

The tremble in his hand is not unexpected as he picks at the small lock. Despite that, his box and his box's hinges don't even creak the littlest bit when he opens it. The swell of pride that fills his chest is one that Link thinks shouldn't be there, but in this moment, he ignores it.

The feather that sits in the bottom of his box is a dark navy, one that gleems in the lamp light like flint against fire. It's mesmerizing, just as mesmerizing as it was the first time Link had seen it.

His free hand hovers over the box, but it never breaks the barrier, never moves to actually touch the feather.

He remembers how he found it, tucked into the farthest corner of Vah Medoh, somewhere where only the darkness, dust, and the feather lived. He'd never stopped to consider why, or even how, a feather, one an identical color to Revalis, had managed to survive even after a hundred years. Link had only seen it by chance through the corner of his eye, and known he needed it. He never thought of it past that.

It'd taken four tries, and more than one spear shoved into the tight corner to reach it. But he'd gotten it, and, like now, he'd held it like it was the most priceless artifact in the world.

The feather had been heavy then, heavier than the box that was currently laid in his hand.

The feather had been tucked away, hidden with the rest of the feathers that lined his Rito gear. It had stayed there, almost as if it was sewed in, through all his trials, and even during his fight with Wind Blight. There had been other feathers, ones that came with the Rito gear, ones that had been sewn in, that had flown away in the fight. But never his navy blue feather. Never Revalis.

As Link stares at the feather in the box, and as he feels the weight of Revali's Gale in his chest, he wishes he had at least tried to give it back. He wishes he could pretend he'd at least forgotten to offer, forgotten the navy feather, the only of it's kind on his belt. But, Link could never lie to himself, and he would not lie about the hand that had been expertly placed over the feather, deliberate in all the worst ways, to keep it the Rito's gaze.

Nor would he ever lie about the short moment after he'd received Revali's Gale, where his hand had flown away from his belt, and his feather. Of course, he'd never lie about Revali's icy gaze, capable of seeing things even Link himself could not. And he'd never deny the pinched look that had crossed Revali's face, an expression that felt both foreign and known to Link, an expression that Link had no hope of deciphering then, and had no hope of deciphering now.

Link would not lie about these things, because Link is not a liar.

But Link would gladly ignore it, because he'd never denied being a coward.

He shuts the box, silent once again. He wastes no time in sliding it under his bed, right back to its corner. Hidden, where only the dust, darkness, and his small, small box lived.