Work Text:
Messenger
we are LIT ✌ ️ 📖
30 MAR AT 11:49 AM
Mandy
Are u going to watch fell’s
stream??
Ellie
I actually want to PASS the
subject and he hasn’t got
powerpoints pfff ofc I’m going
to watch
are you crazy
Mandy
But he’s so boooooooring, I could
be playing the Witcher now.
THE WITCHER
Why is doing this to us
Tom
Wait. He’s doing a stream?
Mandy
Someone doesn’t check emails
😁😁
But no I’m surprised too
Fatima
Does he even know how computers
work cos…
Ellie
I mean he’s got to?
Lei
you think he wears all those odd
tweed jackets and bow ties even
at home?
Aleksander
Now I’m curious what his house
looks like.
Lei
YES
Mandy
Ok, guess you’ve convinced me
If I fall asleep can I have ur notes
Ellie
sure
this is romanticism, finally
some GOOD FUCKING SHIT
•••
Many people thought, upon meeting the angel known as Aziraphale, that he was absolutely rubbish with modern technology. It was an easy assumption to make, given his countenance, his somewhat old-fashioned bland clothes, and his manner of speech. His students certainly seemed to think so.
Those students were absolutely wrong.
Granted, he had a personal computer from 2009 with Windows Vista on it[1] and used it mainly for accounting and e-mails, sometimes to said students, but if they thought that they wouldn’t get any study materials during this unfortunate pandemic situation, oh, how they miscalculated!
He had Crowley to teach him how to—what was the term?—live-steam lectures, after all. And live-stream lectures he did, because needs must, and this was hardly his first plague.
Well, he tried his best, at least. But this couldn’t be so different from discussing prophecies and literature with Anathema over Skype, could it? Only this time, he wouldn’t see his audience on the other side.
‘Can you all see me? Is this working?’ he asked the computer. Three consecutive messages in the little chat window told Aziraphale that yes, it was indeed working. ‘Jolly good. Welcome, students! Now, in our last lecture—’
‘Angel, come here!’
Speak of the devil… Aziraphale let out a sigh. He cast a glance at the screen and the number of students hiding on the other side. He hasn’t even begun yet, and already there was trouble. He turned around and called, ‘Not now, I’m giving a lecture!’
‘What for? Just send them a PowerPoint and be done with it,’ came the reply from somewhere upstairs.
Here was the thing about Crowley: they’d taken up lecturing history[2] at the same university as Aziraphale, mostly because they were getting restless and that gave them something to do, and partly on his insistence. Their attitude towards teaching, however, turned out to be vastly different, especially now. Crowley was a Powerpoint kind of person, a habit they’d learnt in Hell. Aziraphale swore by the spoken word and personal consultations.
Well, semi-personal, anyway.
‘Maybe that works for you, but I do things differently. And hush now; whatever it is, it can wait,’ he told him. He turned back to the computer. Wasn’t it just going excellently?
‘Erm. Sorry for that, that was my spouse[3]. Where was I? Oh yes. In our last lecture two weeks ago, we defined Romanticism and the historical background. I know we’ve missed a week given the, err, situation, but worry not, we should handle it just fine! The lectures will be shorter, I’m afraid—not that you mind!—and I have yet to figure out a way to conduct our seminars… Oh well.’ He put his reading glasses on, unnecessarily. ‘Erm, anyway, today I wanted to focus on Blake. I do hope you’ve done your reading!’
He took a sip of tea and waited if any affirmative comments would pop up. One or two did. He wiggled in his chair and reached for his copy of Blake’s The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. A signed first edition, of course.
And no, he didn’t choose this particular book because tomorrow would be his and Crowley’s first wedding anniversary, absolutely not!
‘As you all, hopefully, know, William Blake was an artist and a visionary as well as a poet,’ he said, going into “full lecture mode”, as Crowley would call it. ‘He was born in Soho, not so far from my bookshop, actually! They thought he was mad in his time, but he was quite a lovely chap, I must say; he had a talent for vision. Not many h—err, people do, you see. He was an excellent conversationalist and had some truly interesting views on religion. Much smarter than the men of his time, he was. Knew exactly how things were, I must say I was quite shocked when I—’
He stopped himself right there. Oh, bother.
This was the only downside of his adventures as a teacher[4], he’s found out: when he talked about an author who happened to be a friend of his, he often tended to slip and talk about them precisely in that way, because he was reliving all the memories.
His students seemed to enjoy it when it happened, if their giggling was any sign, but there were rules.
He continued, saying when I first read about him, and absolutely didn’t mention that one time good old William had met Aziraphale and Crowley for a spot of wine-drinking that resulted in finding out that Gabriel’s visited him once, continued to disclose some egotistical observations and to show him his true form, as full of himself as always, and then left again[5].
Crowley didn’t shout at him again, and for the next twenty-five or so minutes, it went rather smoothly. Some of the students were even asking questions, and oh, he loved it when people showed as much interest in books as he did.
That was why he’d returned to teaching after 200 years of idle observation in the first place. It wasn’t Oxford this time, only University of Brighton, and he had to suffer riding in the Bentley with Crowley to get there every day, but he wagered it would be a few decades well spent. A level up from running A. Z. Fell & Co., one might say.
Especially when there would be no driving around for a while now, as terrible as the reason for it was. There was something oddly comfortable about this home office system, for all the ways it was not. He’s even forgone the bow tie and shown up in just a shirt and a cardigan on that video!
Aziraphale showed his students sheets from his first-edition copy of The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. He heard Crowley walk down the stairs and go outside, probably to the garden. Hoping for no more disturbances, he read some of his favourite parts aloud, and then he moved onto The Songs of Innocence.
And then, when he least expected it, something—or rather someone—crawled in front of his computer and insisted on lying on top of his books.
That simply wouldn’t do. He needed those.
‘Now now, young lady, that’s no place to take a nap,’ he told the snake, also known as Antoinette. He’s always assumed that she would understand him, and for the most part, she seemed to have. She lifted her head and looked at him. ‘Come here if you must, but I need my books.’
Antoinette slipped into his lap and made her way onto his shoulders. Aziraphale was used to her by now, so he thought nothing of it and petted her head where it settled by his neck. He carried on with his lecture and spared her no more words.
At least until he noticed the chat window, which was suddenly flooded with capitalised messages of all kinds, but mostly reduced to DR FELL, IS THAT A SNAKE???
Oh, right. They didn’t know about Antoinette. And weren’t used to living with snakes[6]. And didn’t peg him as the type to have any pets at all, let alone a 2.5-metre-long boa constrictor, probably. To be fair, she was Crowley’s, but that changed little about the situation. They did live together, after all.
On the other hand, Aziraphale has heard about cats and dogs jumping into their owners’ laps during video conferences and lightening the mood, so he supposed there was no harm in introducing her.
‘Yes, this is Antoinette.’ He scratched her head lightly. ‘She loves crawling around, and it’s starting to be warm out, so she’s out of her tank more often than not. Did you know how misunderstood snakes are, especially in modern society? People used to worship them back in the old days. And don’t get me started on the Serpent of Eden,’ he said, a conspiratorial smile on his lips. Antoinette stuck out her tongue.
There was a comment from one of his favourite students, Ellie. It said oh? and he realised that while he’d love to answer that, being married to them and all, there was another topic to discuss. And it would be terribly impolite of him.
‘Well. We don’t have time for that; I can’t hold you up for too long.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I got a bit lost there. Where was I? Oh, right, yes. The Songs of Innocence and of Experience. Well, that isn’t so far from the subject, is it? Erm. Anyway—’
‘Angel? You seen Antoinette?’
‘Yes, she’s here,’ Aziraphale said. ‘Will you please stop interrupting me?’
They wouldn’t. Crowley walked right up to him and took Antoinette off his shoulders, murmuring something to her in that ridiculous way humans used to talk to children. They’d swear they didn’t do it when Aziraphale asked, but he knew better.
It was endearing, really.
Snake in hand, Crowley turned to him, and then spared a look at the screen. ‘Oh, sorry, I forgot. Now I’m on the video,’ they said, in a tone that suggested they weren’t sorry at all. They grinned. Their hair was tied in a messy bun, and that shirt has certainly seen better days, but at least they were wearing sunglasses. They leant down. ‘Hi, the name’s Crowley. What’s the topic? Romanticism, was it?’
‘Blake, yes. His religious and prophetic works. I was just mentioning the Serpent of Eden,’ Aziraphale said, just to antagonise them a little.
‘No you didn’t,’ Crowley groaned. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been telling ‘em—’
‘Nothing, Crowley, nothing. Will you get out of the frame now?’
‘Wow, what a way to treat your husband in front of your students.’ They pointed at the screen and spoke to the students. Oh, bother. ‘See that? He wants me to get out because he thinks I’m ruining his reputation or whatever. But I’ve just made it interesting and we all know it.’
Aziraphale really, really wanted to let out a heavy sigh again.
Then he noticed another comment: He kind of did, Dr Fell :)
‘Right, well, thank you for your honesty, Mandy,’ he said, knowing exactly which student wrote it. ‘Also, it’s they at the moment, not he. They don’t mind, but I rather think that we as a society should stop seeing the world in binary terms and accept that there might be more, err, sides to it.’
Crowley muttered something along the lines of two years ago you had a different opinion and no doubt rolled their eyes. Aziraphale gave them a pointed look. There was a time and a place.
‘You think we should give video lectures together? Could be fun, eh?’ Crowley asked, waggling their eyebrows.
‘I think that you barely reached the Elizabethan period, while we’re in the late 18th century. And besides, you haven’t suddenly started reading poetry, have you, my dear?’
By themself, in any case. Aziraphale did read poetry to them sometimes, when Crowley asked that he read whatever he was reading in his spare time aloud.
They put on a dramatic face. ‘She walks in beauty, like the night / Of cloudless climes and starry skies / And all that’s best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect and her eyes…’
‘Oh, I remember that party in 1814, don’t you think I don’t. It doesn’t count; it’s about y—err[7]. Never mind.’ This was a narrow one, well done, Aziraphale. ‘See, you’re distracting me with your notes, we’d never get anywhere at this pace. Get out, you wily serpent. Go practise some social distancing.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Crowley mock-saluted him, laughing. ‘Even if we literally can’t catch corona—’
Aziraphale let the exasperated sigh out this time. ‘Crowley.’
‘Let’s go, Antoinette, clearly the professor doesn’t want us here,’ they said to the snake, and gave the web camera a wave. ‘Ciao!’
‘I do apologise, this is exactly why I try to keep my personal life separate. Well. Since we’ve already approached the subject, who recognises that poem and its author?’ Everyone. Most of them had been in his English Poetry in Context class last semester, and it was one of the many poems he’s assigned them to read and then choose three to write a short essay about.
‘Lord Byron, yes, of course. Have you seen the latest series of Doctor Who[8]? You might have seen him there, together with the Shelleys. “Don’t snog Byron” was solid advice if you ask me, he was a bit of a ladies and gentlemen’s man. I remember that party very well, I found—err[9]. Very interesting. Found his life was very interesting. But I digress again; we’re supposed to be talking about William Blake.’ He punctuated the words with two jabs of his index finger and added a somewhat strained smile.
He reconsidered his observation about the comfortableness of this and came to the conclusion that these online living-room lectures would be the doom of him.
Neighbours couldn’t be stopping by at the moment, but Crowley was always up to something. When they weren’t complaining about having too much homework to review, they were shouting at the plants, or doing something in the kitchen, or commenting on whatever they were watching on telly, or asking Aziraphale to help them review all the homework as if he didn’t have enough work of his own, all piling up in his e-mail inbox.
And, more often than not, they needed to consult him about something history-related that was somewhat foggy in their mind because all they remembered was getting drunk and/or running into him, the poor darling. And those were situations Aziraphale was no better at remembering, usually, so instead of getting things done, they ended up sharing a bottle of red and going down tangents that may have begun in the original point of discussion and ended somewhere centuries and miles off.
But this was no time to go on such a tangent in his mind, so he continued his commentary on The Songs of Innocence and didn’t pay any attention to the noises coming from the kitchen. Absolutely not.
This wasn’t what he’d imagined when he’d thought about teaching: “e-learning” and being constantly bothered by Crowley—in the nicest way possible, of course—because the demon couldn’t drive into town and do whatever it was they were always doing in town. Certainly not so soon.
This wasn’t how 2020 was supposed to go. Or maybe it was, who knew? Anathema had burnt the second book of prophecies, so there was no way of telling. But it was how it went, and even if they couldn’t catch or spread the virus, there was nothing they could do but place protection around the village and wait it out in the house like all those times before[10]. At least there was a purpose to the waiting now. The students might not like these lectures—Aziraphale wasn’t an idiot, he knew that they’d rather be doing anything else despite also being bored; it was an odd state of mind—but they gave everyone a sense of normalcy and some sort of a schedule, him included, and the world would sooner end before he resorted to PowerPoints.
Or try to end, again, and then fail, again.
And in the end, he got a comment asking if he could bring Antoinette to the online meetings more often and another saying that he was actually sort of cool. He beamed and promised that yes, if she made herself available, he just might. That alone made it worth it.
He even forgave Crowley for playing a Queen CD before he was finished the lecture.
•••
Mandy Pandy @witcherenthusiast
3 weeks into quarantine and I found out that this sort of stuffy lit lecturer of mine who’s like an embodiment of all the stereotypes has a pet snake and a nonbinary spouse who has long red hair and a face tattoo, wears only black, and listens to Queen. This shit is wild
Wanda @transpowerrr
he also owns the 2nd oldest bookshop in london, went around the world in 80 days for his honeymoon, and WILL fuck up anyone who dares hurt or disrespect someone who doesn’t deserve it
Mandy Pandy @witcherenthusiast
@transpowerrr you know him??
Wanda @transpowerrr
@witcherenthusiast I’m one of the people who’ve been helping run the shop (@azfellandco_bookshop) since he moved out and I’ve also been at the wedding, lol
Mandy Pandy @witcherenthusiast
@lesbianlibrarian @Fatimaz @leiiiiiii @tom_moore_01 @AleksanderTheGr8 @modernbyronichero @MarthaSutherland @lukeskywa1ker press f for Ezra Fell
danger noodle 🐍 @ajcrowley
:)
1 Aziraphale might not be as fast to go with the times as Crowley, but he did, on occasion, buy something new. He’s had his old machine since the early 1980s, which was all good and well for thirty years and still stood there on its table in the back of the bookshop, but humanity moved forward at such a rapid pace that it was almost impossible to stay behind where technology was concerned. He still had older things, yes, but at least he knew how to use them properly, unlike Crowley and their fancy devices that malfunctioned all the time.[✿]
2 There was no astrophysics or botany, and they didn’t feel like going into medicine despite, or maybe because of who they’d been before the Fall, so history it was. They’d lived through it, after all. There was a bit of trouble with blurry memories and being posted somewhere unimportant during important events and therefore missing them, but between them, Aziraphale, his countless books and journals, and copies of reports, they had enough to throw the textbooks out of the window and immediately become the best history teacher everyone’s ever had. They told the stories no one ever did, focused on history from different points of view, and certainly were more entertaining and wore cooler clothes than the rest of them. The sunglasses? The snake tattoo? The Bentley, often seen in the campus car park? Changing appearance and gender every now and then? Fun![✿]
3 Aziraphale didn’t really talk about Crowley in class; they only knew he was married at all because he wore a ring. Don’t ask why. It probably had something to do with the thousands of years spent hiding their friendship. Old habits did die hard.[✿]
4 Aziraphale was, as a matter of fact, a senior lecturer—or associate professor for those from the United States. He’s been teaching before, for about six years in the early 19th century as a part of an assignment from Gabriel that required his posting in Oxford, and he did have a doctorate degree—gained some years before opening the bookshop—but he’s never gone all the way up to a professor, oh no. There was only so much miracles could do.
Crowley was simply a lecturer.[✿]
5 That was about the last time he’d shown himself to a prophet. Or the last time there really was a prophet at all, after Agnes Nutter.[✿]
6 Sometimes, Aziraphale would find two snakes instead of one lying on the sofa, or in the garden, or on the bookshelves. Crowley was a civilised snake, so he wouldn’t crawl around the furniture or be found hanging from the curtain pole in the kitchen, but the same couldn’t be said about Antoinette. She also liked to slither under clothes, and Aziraphale was thankful that she didn’t choose to do so now.[✿]
7 The story of this poem went that Lord Byron had met an unusually beautiful woman at a party in 1814, the wife of a cousin of his. While she might have been there, so was a pair of supernatural beings: Aziraphale, on a break from Oxford, and Crowley, currently female-presenting and sent to tempt a certain poet… [✿]
8 Aziraphale has been watching since 1963.[✿]
9 …Crowley doing exactly that at that party, on a balcony if his memory served him well. He didn’t mind, oh no, he’s had certain affairs himself over the years, but it was a memorable occasion to walk in on nonetheless.[✿]
10 There were rules about interference in planet-wide matters, and those were to be respected, retired angel and demon or not. Between them, and Adam Young, they might be able to harness enough power to stop the virus entirely, but such actions were strictly forbidden. Always have been. One couldn’t go on about displaying divine powers on that scale, and having given up his Antichrist powers, Adam probably wouldn’t be able to repeat that trick with erasing everyone’s memory.[✿]