Um, Christmas busyness got in the way of posting, but this past week’s chapter is a doozy, and it has art from @ruby-gold! Chapter 4 (Confession) of The Third Prince allows our angel and demon to talk. Briefly. Crowley makes a last-ditch effort to prevent the inevitable, Aziraphale performs verbal magic, and there’s a KISS. Excerpt:
Crowley’s chest ached at the sudden chasm separating the two of them. “Come with me,” he whispered. More echoes from their argument in the bookshop. More reminders of all the times he’d begged Aziraphale to run away with him. He swallowed tightly. “Look. I know I told you once, thousands of years ago, that I wouldn’t take you to Hell. I didn’t think you’d like it there. Still don’t, obviously. But it’s a better alternative than what will happen if you—if we—stay here, ‘Ziraphale. Please.”
“Oh, Crowley. You know that I cannot abandon my duty here. And before you say anything more, I’m not talking about my duty to Heaven.”
The polite distance in his careful words was like a knife wound. “I’m not asking you to abandon anything. I’m asking you to trust me. We’ll fight them together. From Hell.”
A shard of annoyance broke through Aziraphale’s careful demeanor. “And how do you propose that will work? Do you think Satan would willingly shelter an angel there? That Heaven couldn’t put a bounty on my head and retrieve me if they truly wanted to? Or are you proposing that I commit some grave sin so that I Fall?”
—Read it out on ao3!
—Or read The Third Prince from the beginning.
Fic notes: Post-S2 canon-compliant swap omens, rated M, completely written and posting weekly.
Thanks as always to my beta (and all-around amazing partner) @ineffablerainstorm and to all my readers. Tag list: @beerok23, @thechangelingsea, @curiouspupsicle, @lordbebop, @alsonotaswell, @masnadies, @lookingatacupoftea, @maaikeatthefullmoon, @paperclipninja, @sparklyshinymagpie, @spectrallydistracted, @stupidphototricks, @januarymedley, @destructokitty34, @yoshiyolotli, @yokohamama, @createserenity, @thebiggestnope, @shadesofecclescakes, @thistleflower7, @handyowlet, @addledmongoose, @hermiola
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AO3 | @steddiebingo round 2 prompt: lecture | @steddiebingo 13 fright nights event prompt: make up | rating: t | wc: 909 | cw: slight allusions to a deadbeat parent | tags: post s2/pre s3; pre-steddie; steve is assigned to tutor eddie; o'donnell wants them both to graduate; hopeful ending | masterlist
"Edward Munson, I'm disappointed in you."
Eddie scoffs, arms crossed, legs stretched out under the desk, one bouncing obsessively. His voice is thick with sarcasm as he responds. "Join the club, O'Donnell. We meet every Wednesday from--"
She slams a paper on his desk. "Cut the shit, Edward."
Eddie blinks back at her stunned, legs going still. He glances down at the paper, then back at her, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "What--"
"We both know you know this material. You're not an idiot, much as you like people to believe."
Eddie raises his brows.
"You're smart. So stop wasting that to prove a point that no one here is ever going to hear."
“Wow, thanks.” He monotones. “Aren’t you supposed to, like,” waves his hands around, “encourage me as my teacher? Not beat me down?”
She leans in, drops her voice slightly. "You want to make change in this world?"
Eddie blinks, eyes wide. He drops his hands to his desk, nods slightly.
"Then get out of here with your degree and spread your shit to people who listen."
She straightens out, beckons her hand to the doorway. "Come on, Steven."
Eddie snaps his head over, watches as Steve fucking Harrington walks into the room, shoulders hunched slightly, head cast down.
Eddie straightens up, legs pulled in. His mouth drops, a choked laugh tumbling into the stilted quiet. "The hell is this? You sentencing me to jock enrichment time?"
"Language, Edward. And Steven here is going to be working with you to help you pass this exam."
"You-- you're giving me a tutor?” He scoffs, eyes wide. “Steve Harrington is my tutor?"
Steve raises his hand, sheepishly wiggles his fingers, his eyes barely meeting Eddie's before darting away.
"Steven here is one of my brightest students. He--"
Eddie can't stop the cackle that tumbles out of him. A full body one that sends his head rolling back, his hands clapping in front of him. “That’s great, O’Donnell.”
O'Donnell scowls at him. Steve shrinks further into himself.
"Edward Alan Munson, you listen to me and you listen good."
Eddie stops, rights himself, narrows his eyes. "Don't fucking call me that."
O'Donnell leans forward, taps his desk. "Then don't act like him."
Eddie grits his teeth, swallows back the anger.
“We both know you know better than anyone not to judge people like this.”
Eddie looks down, fingers gripping the edge of his desk tightly.
“Are we clear?”
He glances at O’Donnell, then over at Steve who’s perched close by on a desk, arms fully wrapped around his middle, hunched nearly in half, head cast down. Eddie feels a pang of sympathy for the guy, has seen him tumbling further down the social ladder since last Fall. He shouldn’t give a shit, but he, unfortunately, does. Something about sympathy and caring about others and wanting to protect. Goddamnit.
“Yeah. Yeah, we’re clear.” Eddie nods, stretches out his leg and taps Steve’s leg with his boot softly. “Sorry, Harrington. You’re probably better than I am at this stuff.”
Steve looks up in shock, un-hunching ever so slightly. He blinks, stammers slightly. “Yeah, uh – thanks man.”
“Good.” She leans back, gestures at Steve. "Now, Steven here is one of my brightest students. He also needs another credit to pass due to skipping out so much last quarter." She shifts a glare toward Steve. He grumbles what sounds like an apology, scuffs his shoe against the dirty tile.
"So, Steven is going to spend the next week with you, Edward, tutoring you so you can make up this exam and pass. If all goes well, you’ll both get what you need."
Eddie blinks, his brows raised far behind his bangs. "Wait, you-- you're letting me retake the exam?"
"Consider it an olive branch. I'd rather not see you in this room again next year." O'Donnell waves her hand, barely contains a smile as she walks toward the door. "Now, get to work gentlemen. You'll have my room for the 1 o'clock hour every day this week. Your make-up exam is Friday."
She stops in the doorway, hand perched on the handle. “And, gentlemen?”
They both look at her, eyes wide and attentive.
“Don’t disappoint me.” With that, she leaves, the door clicking shut with a deafening thud.
Steve scoffs. “No pressure there, huh?”
Eddie stares stunned at the door, half waiting for her to come back and say it's all a joke, that he still has to repeat senior year for a third time. But, as each second ticks past, the reality of it all starts setting in.
He gets another chance.
Steve coughs, wrings his hands a bit. "So..."
Eddie blinks at him. Looks down at the study guide O'Donnell left. Back at Steve. Can’t decide if it’s more unbelievable that he gets to make up the exam or that Steve is tutoring him. At this point, though, Eddie really has nothing else to lose. He gets a week of tutoring from the prettiest guy he’s ever seen. Should be fun, at least.
So, he leans forward, flashes a sincere smile, gestures at the chair beside him. "So, you a history wizard, Harrington?"
The corner of Steve's lips twitch a bit as he gets up, slides into the chair. He turns full bodied towards Eddie, props his elbow on the desk. A smile sneaks onto his perfect, gorgeous face. "Something like that."
"Well, work your magic, sweetheart. Get us both out of this hellhole."
Vox takes a deep breath, glancing over to see Alastor suddenly sitting next to him. “This place is literally right next to where I live, Al.” He takes a drink and scoffs. “Were you hoping to run into me?”
“Please, I didn’t even know you had a body yet.” He orders a drink and leans closer to Vox. “I wasn’t really expecting your handlers to let you out either.”
Vox sneers at him and downs his drink. Quickly signaling for another. “They don’t fucking care what I do. Doubt I’ll even be here tomorrow.”
“Feeling suicidal again, dear?”
“Not suicidal if someone else does it. Heaven wants to see me.”
“You?” Alastor laughs.
“They’re calling it a trial, but we both know what it means.” Vox is drinking his next drink like a shot and suddenly feeling dizzy in his chair.
“You really think they’d bother killing you?”
“They’re bothering to have an entire trial. So yeah.”
There’s a moment of silence where Alastor is contemplating his drink. His next words strike Vox like a bolt of lightning. “Would you rather I did it?”
Vox flushes like Alastor just asked to kiss him. “...would you?”
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Written for the December 2025 @steddiemicrofic prompt
slick | wc: 501 | rated: G | cw: none
as well as for my Round 3 @steddiebingo card prompt 'angel'
Also posted on AO3
A muffled shout of concern caused Steve to brace himself and gingerly open his eyes against the midday sun to find the source. Fortunately, the person who'd witnessed his ungainly and humiliating slip and backward tumble into a nearby pile of snow positioned themselves to block the sun just as his eyelids parted.
The man's wild hair, so strongly backlit, created a halo effect that had Steve wondering if maybe this fall had finally finished what Billy had started just a few days before. He'd taken one blow too many to the head and now an angel had come to usher him into the afterlife.
"Shit, man! You alright?! Lemme give you a hand. This patch of sidewalk is particularly slippery and, no offense, but you weren't looking too steady on your feet even before you decided to reenact a pratfall from the silent film era."
His witness was Eddie the Freak. Of course.
At least the snow cushioned his fall well enough that he was now pretty sure he hadn't made his injuries worse. It was bad enough that the little twerps were now giving him shit for mistaking Mike for Nancy in the car when he first regained consciousness. If he'd been dazed enough to call Munson Nancy or, worse, Angel, he might have seriously considered running away from Hawkins.
Steve groaned and stubbornly pushed his head back into the snow. Maybe if he ignored him, he'd go away. The ice kind of felt nice on his bruised body anyway.
"I'm fine. I can get up on my own," Steve groused, batting away the hand Eddie had extended to help. This proved false as his feet scrabbled to make purchase on the slick pavement.
Eddie had moved aside to watch him struggle, so Steve was forced to squint against the bright sunlight amplified and reflected by the surrounding snowy landscape and making his residual headache worse.
"Ok, Harrington. I can only stand by and watch so much pathetic flailing. Come on." This time, Steve allowed him to grab his arm and lift.
Unfortunately, Eddie had misjudged his own stance on the icy patch and fell victim himself to this clearly cursed stretch of sidewalk. Instead of getting Steve to his feet, his own slipped sideways dropping Eddie half in the snow beside Steve and half on Steve's torso.
Both released a reflexive "ow" in stereo.
Neither moved for long, awkward moment.
"Is this your idea of help, you spaz?" Steve finally wheezed out.
Eddie pushed his upper body away, shaking his head vigorously to dislodge any snow and grinning madly. "You just looked so comfy, I thought I'd give it a try." He paused in consideration. "Mmmm, nope. Staying in fourth period would have been better. Less cold and wet."
As Eddie started to army crawl his way further into the snow searching for a less slippery area in which to stand, Steve let out a laugh.
His pain marginally abated, Steve supposed laughter really was the best medicine.
Radiostatic has the chance to do the funniest meaningful shit ever
like
Listen, Alastor. Icon. Diva. Bbygirl.
Quick question, How did you turn this
Into this
And then you did a funny so we’re back here???
Like. Are you sure he’s the one with mind control? You made a my go from cult leader to baby to secret third thing (derogatory) that desperately needs therapy
By being the FAKEST idgafker wow
now imagine having all that control undone by just a bit of therapy or a lot of it
that must suck
Also, imagine being that poor fucking therapist
anyway I’m trying not to do a thing 🤭 a stupid thing like idk go and write this shit
“Mr. Fox?”
The television - fascinating, truly, sinners never ceased to amaze - flares. His red eyes flash around the room, falling onto the blanket in his lap, still on fire.
High density of penile-looking things for a blanket, actually, but the doctor avoids further investigation.
“It’s Vox.”
There’s a crackle of static in the air, then the blanket stops gleaming. Instead, the red eyes gleam right into Pestilences’ eyes. Well, Pestilence supposes he doesn’t have those anymore, either. It is still a miracle to him, how he can see, but hell seems barely bothered with neither physics nor logic.
“Could you just, you know, step out of the fucking door, doc? I’m not as flexible as I used to be.”
The voice is blurred on some of these words into an angry crackle, and Pestilence wonders whether he should kick out the speech therapist beneath him. Too many ‚wrong doors’ he got these days.
He did step out of the way, though, making way for the TV to wheel through the door.
Said box glares at him, struggling with effort to move into the middle of the room, opposite Pestilences own chair.
“Listen. This can go two ways, doc. I walk out of here enlightened - or you walk out rebranded as a streaming service with terrible ratings.”
bottom note stop me please I never finish shit without demand anyway but I need the idea injected into my veins sadly
