Dec 1, 2025
To all the people who wanted a Wheeler/Byers living together fic
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
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To all the people who wanted a Wheeler/Byers living together fic
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
New chapter for 'Summoning a demon'!
One of my fics that has a special place in my heart, is my Sterek fanfic 'Summoning a demon'. It all started with the fun little idea of Stiles summoning a demon (Derek) to help him beat a video game and things unfurled from there. It's fun, it's fluffy and it has the growing friendship (and more?) between a human and a demon who is sometimes a hellhound.
The story's been sitting in my WIPs for almost two years, patiently waiting for me to add another chapter.
And now I did!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
So I'm the writer of Lockdown, and honestly you liking it is so surreal to me. I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!
can I say that 2 AM Part 2 is my favorite chapter bc of this scene alone?
obligatory lockdown fic
Aziraphale wasn’t surprised when the phone rang. He was a bit surprised that it rang so soon, because, high though his estimation of Crowley was, the fellow could be more than a little thick at times.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” Crowley said, voice slightly breathless. “I was. Uh. Thinking. You know, you are a really good guilt-tripper.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Crowley said, “and, I do feel, I mean, extremely guilty about staying in. Not doing my demonic duty, or what have you. You’re completely right, I ought to be--getting out there. Standing close to people.”
“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said, carefully. “What a terrible thing.”
“Mmm,” said Crowley. “Yeah. Absolutely wicked of me.”
“Well,” said Aziraphale, “of course, much as I’ve been enjoying myself here, it would be simply irresponsible of me to just let you go about...breathing on innocent humans.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?”
“Have you, erm, have you decided on a location? For your...iniquity?”
“I mean,” Crowley said, “traffic’s barely there, these days, I could get to Soho quicker’n anything.”
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, happily. “How very wily of you.”
“Wouldn’t do, would it,” Crowley asked, “for you to stand by, in the face of all that...wiling, hmm?”
“No,” agreed Aziraphale. “I suppose I’ll simply have to--ah--shield the populace, as it were.”
“Rrrright,” said Crowley. “Well. Be there in a bit.”
“All right,” said Aziraphale, “oh, and, if you have been napping, please do have a mint before you come, won’t you, I know how your breath gets when you wake up.”
Crowley made a choking sound. “All right,” he said.
i coloured the lineart because schoolwork is annoying me and i don't have any new AK fanart ideas yet.
read the long, still summer here.
rest of my Animal Kingdom fanart can be found Here
What about stony quarantined with a rambunctious toddler? Or teenage Peter?
(I went for toddler!Peter and essentially just wrote about my own lockdown life... including at-home workouts and far far far too many snacks)
(also, no mention of the bad thing causing this lockdown)
***
“What in…” Tony trailed off as he surveyed the living room. It looked like every flat surface was covered with some sort of artwork. If random scribbles and brightly-coloured sponge patterns could be called artwork. “Having fun?”
“Loads of fun, Daddy! Look at this!” Peter held up a piece of printer paper covered with splotches that vaguely resembled hearts. “D’ya like it?”
All Tony could really see was the mess in his living room. There was paint on his table and a pink splodge on the floor, steadily growing larger as a stream of blue dripped down the table leg to meet it. He swallowed down his sigh to smile at his son. “I love it, baby. Going up on the fridge, for sure.”
Peter beamed and eagerly grabbed another painting. “And this one! Look at this one!”
“That one, too? Wow.” Tony smiled at Peter, heart sinking when he noticed yet another patch of paint that had somehow reached the skirting board. It was a bright yellow that seemed to glow in the sunlight. “My little artist.”
“Papa did this one,” Peter said, setting his painting down on the table. Steve swept in and picked it up when Peter put it on top of another painting, carefully moving it away from his flailing arms. “Like it?”
Tony laughed. “I love them all, baby. You and Pops are pretty talented, huh?”
“The best,” Peter agreed, nodding his head as he handed Steve his painting. When his hands were free, he grimaced down at the mess on them, holding them up to show his parents.
Steve took the painting with a smile and shook his head at the mess Peter had gotten into. As he met Tony’s gaze over Peter’s head, Steve reached for a damp towel. “Work done?”
“For now. Need to go back to it in an hour or so to finish off the last few bits. But I think it’s snacky-snack time, yeah?”
Peter’s face lit up and he yanked his hands away from the towel that Steve was rubbing over his arms. When he’d scrambled off his chair, Peter bounced over to Tony. “Snack! You want cookies?”
Tony poked Peter on the nose. “Thank you, kid. We can share a packet of cookies. Once we help Pops to clean up this room.”
Eyes wide, Peter turned to look around him. He grimaced again and leant his head against Tony’s knee. “Whoops. Lotsa mess.”
“Oh, yeah,” Tony said, lifting his eyebrows at Steve. “Lots of mess.”
*
“What’s going on here?”
Steve had walked in on some strange scenes over the years, but seeing his husband and son bunny-hopping around the room was one of the cutest.
“Bunny!” Peter cried, toppling over when he jumped a bit too enthusiastically.
Tony sighed as he stopped bouncing, breaths a little laboured as he shot Steve a tired look. “Yeah, Pops. We’re bunnies. Obviously.”
Snorting, Steve crossed the living room to deposit his bags of shopping on the kitchen table. He stepped back into the lounge to watch them, arms folded across his chest as he leant on the doorframe. “I can see that. I think. Why are you being bunnies?”
“It’s a good workout, isn’t it, Pete? I found it online.”
Peter grinned over at them for a moment, hands held up at either side of his forehead to make rabbit ears, before he turned his attention back to the television and concentrated on the next move. It looked to be some kind of jumping set to replicate frogs and it took every ounce of Steve’s self-control to not laugh at the unimpressed stare on Tony’s face.
“Come give me a hand with the groceries?”
Tony sighed in relief at the offer and ran a hand through Peter’s hair before he headed into the kitchen. As soon as he was through the door he fell into a chair. “Oh my – have you done that? It’s extreme. Never mind a workout; it’s a torture method.”
Steve chuckled, grabbing a glass to fill with water. “Here, drink this. Looks like being a bunny really took it out of you.”
Drinking the water eagerly, Tony glared at Steve over the rim of his glass. “You don’t get to mock until you’ve done that. You try doing Pikachu jumps followed by a plank and reverse lunges. And then go straight into Fireman Sam climbers.”
The longer Tony talked, the wider Steve’s smile grew. “Those are not real.”
Tony’s glare worsened. “Oh, believe me. They are.”
“Well, I think they sound like a lot of fun. Can I join?”
Tony threw a hand over his face and sank further into his chair. “You can take over. Forever.”
*
Tony rather thought he might live on the couch forever. It was comfortable. And the cushion over his head worked wonders for blocking out sounds. Tony could play innocent with his head buried in the proverbial sand.
“What happened?”
Someone poked at his shoulder and Tony groaned loudly.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve said, but there was a sharp undertone to his voice. “What happened?”
“What?” Tony rolled over enough to peer up at Steve.
“I’m sorry, have you gone deaf? Am I the only one who can hear the gates of hell opening?”
“He’s in time out,” Tony said, wincing when a particularly loud cry reached them from Peter’s bedroom.
“How long has he been–,” he cut off with a grimace when Peter cried again. “What the hell did you say to him?”
“He’s a kid,” Tony snapped. Pushing himself to sit up, he rubbed at his forehead. He hated being the bad parent, the one to dish out the punishment. “They cry. He was naughty and now he’s being punished. This hasn’t had to happen in a while – he’s forgotten how much he hates it, is all.”
Steve was silent for a moment, frown lines deep in his forehead. There was a bang and a thud and Steve shook his head. “Oh, go and get him.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not. He needs to learn.”
His answer was a lifted eyebrow and Tony groaned when Peter wailed again. “Fine. Fine, fine, fine. But when he does the exact same thing tomorrow, I absolutely reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’.”
Steve rubbed his hand up and down Tony’s arm soothingly, as though it were Tony who was in tears. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss to Tony’s temple. “Times are hard enough at the moment. Go and get him.”
With a long sigh, Tony pushed himself up. He stood still for a moment to collect himself before he headed to Peter’s room. Sometimes, he really hated being the adult.
“Hey, kid.” Tony perched on the end of Peter’s bed, eyes on the boy-shaped lump beneath the blankets. Though Peter’s sobs increased in volume with his presence, Tony knew the difference between actual cries with real tears and ones made for attention. Peter’s had definitely turned into the latter. “Come on, Petey, don’t cry.”
There was a beat of silence before a tiny voice was heard. “Mean.”
“I’m not mean,” Tony said with a sigh, resting his hand on his son’s back. It showed how Peter was feeling that he didn’t throw Tony’s touch off. An apology would be easy enough to work from him and Tony would be able to orchestrate a somewhat-sensible conversation.
“Are.” Peter sniffed. “Big meany.”
“Come here, silly boy.” Tony peeled away the blankets to reveal his son and brushed his thumb over the boy’s wet cheek to dry his leftover tears. “Don’t cry, kiddo. I’m not a big meany. You know you aren’t supposed to hit people.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Peter said, heavy breaths punctuating his words. “Didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I think you did,” Tony said as he hooked his hands under Peter’s armpits and heaved him onto his lap, “but now you know what happens when you’re naughty. What do you say after you do it?”
“Said sorry,” Peter mumbled, words a little slurred with his exhaustion. He burrowed closer into Tony’s arms and Tony graciously pretended not to notice where he wiped his nose. “I did.”
“I know.” Tony pressed a kiss to Peter’s hair and rubbed circles into his back. “Take a deep breath for me. You know you aren’t supposed to hit people. It’s not okay to do that, even if you’re really, really angry. It’s a difficult time at the moment, babe, so you need to be a bit more patient with us, okay? We can’t go outside so we have to be extra, extra nice to each other.”
“I’m nice. Miss. Danvers says I’m a good boy. I love you.”
“You are a good boy,” Tony chuckled, holding Peter closer and tickling his stomach softly. “Most of the time. And I love you, too.”
There was a long moment of quiet before Peter pulled his face away from Tony’s neck. “Snacky-snack?”
Tony gasped. “A snack? How can something as tiny as you possibly eat so much? You’re so small!” Tony stood up with Peter in his arms and lifted him high in the air. “Have you got hollow legs? Is that your secret?”
Steve laughed from across the doorway and stepped into Peter’s room. “I think he must have hollow legs. A little hollow boy.”
“No!” Peter squealed, right in Tony’s ear. “I’m not hollow!”
“You do eat a lot,” Tony said thoughtfully, dropping Peter down onto his hip. “You’ll eat us out of house and home, eventually.”
“Papa!” Peter reached out for Steve when Tony started to tickle him, desperately grabbing at the air as giggles fell from his lips, cheeks flushed with laughter instead of tears. “Tell him ‘m not hollow!”
“Yeah, Daddy,” Steve said, taking Peter with a laugh. “He’s not hollow. Now, what was this I heard about a snacky-snack?”
*
“No.”
Steve took a deep breath. “You can’t say no, babe. You have to do this.”
“Can’t.”
“You can.” Steve pushed the pencil back across the table to Peter. “And you can say more words than that, you silly billy. Don’t go shy on me now.”
“No.”
Peter’s glare was impressive. It was clear whose son he was, Steve mused. It caught him off guard quite often, but most of the time he loved when he noticed it. Not all times, though.
“Come on, kid. One more worksheet and we can get a snacky-snack with Daddy.”
“It’s hard.”
Sighing, Steve cursed his son’s stubborn streak. “It’s good that it’s hard, sweetheart. That’s what I’m here for – I can help you with it. And then when you go back to school, you can show your teachers how clever you are. Miss. Danvers will be so impressed that you’ve worked so hard over the little break.”
“‘m clever,” Peter said, rubbing at his eye. “Like Daddy.”
“I know you are, kid,” Steve said, reaching out to pull Peter’s hand away from his face. “You’re my clever boys. So let’s do these horrible math sheets and then we can go and show Daddy how smart you are!”
Peter sniffed. Loudly. “You gon’ help me?”
“Of course I am,” Steve said, voice soft. “That’s what Papas are for, aren’t they? Now, look at this first one.”
*
“Is it bedtime yet?”
Steve snorted, which Tony thought was rather rude. “It’s only eight. Pete’s only been down ten minutes.”
“He’s also been up since five. It’s been a long day.”
From where he was burrowed against Steve’s chest, Tony felt more than heard Steve’s chuckle.
“That’s cause he’s your son, sweetheart. Bed is for the weak, according to you pair.”
Tony huffed. “It is. Most of the time. These are extenuating circumstances and I just want to sleep until it’s over.”
“Well,” Steve said, hand running through Tony’s hair, “I was going to open a bar from my secret chocolate box and finish off that bottle of wine we opened last night, but if you’d rather go to bed then…”
Groaning, Tony stretched his legs out on the couch and rolled until he could see Steve’s face, peeking through one eye at him. “What sort of candy have you got?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Ooh,” Tony moaned, grinning up at his husband sleepily, “the magic words. Talk dirty to me, baby.”
With a loud laugh, Steve bent down and brushed a kiss to Tony’s temple. “Red wine and Hershey’s. The Special Dark kind.”
Tony groaned theatrically and lifted his arms to twist them around Steve’s neck, holding him close. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured against Steve’s lips, “you know how I like it.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Zoey Clarke/Joan, Zoey Clarke & Max Richman, Tobin Batra & Leif Donnelly Characters: Zoey Clarke, Joan (Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist), Max Richman, Leif Donnelly, Tobin Batra Additional Tags: Lockdown Fic, two people are stuck together because of lockdown and oops they caught feels, max tries to be a detective, tobin is creepy out of context, leif is just along for the ride, the girls may or may not know what they're doing, everyone is bored in lockdown, Everyone Is Gay, except Max, should I be working on Tech Conference, yes - Freeform, Am I?, no, told from Max's POV because humor, expect a part 2 from the girl's pov, because gay Series: Part 1 of SPRQ Remote Summary:
It all started with a coffee cup. Then he felt like he was losing his damn mind. Or Max is in lockdown and starts to notice things in Zoey's apartment via Zoom.
966.
“So what is it you do everyday?” Bucky asked from the couch, where he’d been sitting long enough that it now perfectly cradled his ass. Clint’s apartment was kind of a mess, and nothing matched, but he had the market cornered on comfortable furniture - if you were gonna be locked down, this was the place to be.
Clint shrugged, shuffling into a pair of sneakers; Lucky was familiar enough with this routine not to get excited, ‘cos he knew he wasn’t getting to go outside.
“You can come with me, if you want?”
Bucky thought about it for a second, then figured - what the hell. It wasn’t exactly gonna disrupt his thriving social schedule right now.
“Sure,” he said, and was rewarded with one of Clint’s prettiest smiles - the slightly bashful one, the one you got when you’d done something he wanted and wasn’t expecting. It was why Bucky hauled himself off the couch a little earlier every day, now, just so he could have coffee ready when Clint woke up.
He pushed himself up off the couch and shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers that Clint had loaned him - a little too big, but good enough for shuffling around the place. Clint had told him it was because he didn’t want the neighbours complaining about the thumping of his boots, but Bucky didn’t think it was incidental that they were the comfiest things he’d ever worn.
“First stop is the roof,” Clint said, and Bucky got to spend a beautiful half hour in the sunshine, basking, as Clint wandered around between the raised beds they’d put in now Grills was gone, checking on plants and pitching slugs off the roof and gathering what produce was okay to gather that day. He called Bucky over to look at the first tomato that was growing, tiny and green and perfectly round, and his transparent delight was a hell of a thing.
They traipsed all the way down to the ground floor after that. Clint grabbed up the sack of mail that had been left just inside the door and slung it over his shoulder. He rifled through the neatly sorted mail, held together with rubber bands, and grabbed out a stack before crossing the lobby to an unobtrusive door.
“This is supposed to be for the Super,” he said, “but mostly that’s me, and Ira’s hips make stairs a bitch these days.”
The man who opened the door was frail and ancient and - probably younger than Bucky, which was always a hell of a trip. Clint handed over the mail and insisted on handing over a cabbage and a handful of carrots, which Ira took with plenty of protest.
“Hey, vitamins,” Clint said, like the guy didn’t live exclusively off frozen pizza, which now Bucky came to think about it probably wasn’t doing him a hell of a lot of good. Clint grinned as Ira gestured as rudely as he could with arthritic fingers. “Just remember Mrs Braglewiscz is coming down at eleven, okay, and if she finds that cabbage in the trash can she’s gonna kick your ass.”
“I’ll kick your ass,” Ira told him, and Clint had to hold onto Bucky he was laughing so hard.
They fed a cat on the second floor, and Clint cleaned out a litter tray while Bucky made himself useful and pet the cat until it was practically melted, purring in his arms. It seemed to stop Clint in his tracks for a second, and he had to shake his head before he told Bucky to put the cat down so he could lock the damned door. Marco was a key worker, Clint told him, and Clint’d offered to help out.
There were plants to water on three, for a family who were quarantined out in Poughkeepsie, and Clint made a few more stops to drop off vegetables here and there. There wasn’t much, but he did what he could with it, and it was late in the afternoon when they finally got back ho- to Clint’s apartment.
They kicked off their shoes by the door, but Bucky took Clint’s wrist before he could move away.
“You’re doing a hell of a job, looking after them all,” he said, and Clint shrugged and ducked his head.
“Someone’s gotta,” he said.
“And who’s looking after you?” Bucky asked, already making plans to go out to the bodega for orange juice, maybe look into where he could get more plants for the roof, ‘cos Clint - no matter his protests - sure as hell needed vitamins too.
There was a pause for a second, Clint chewing on his lip like he was arguing something over with himself before he shook off Bucky’s grip on his wrist and then - careful and gentle and hesitant - took his hand instead.
“You’re doing an okay job,” he said.