That One Scene In Rogue Protocol.

That one scene in Rogue Protocol.

I've seen a lot of doom today. Thank you for the bracing positivity!

Look man, idk if I would call it positivity. I'm fucking furious that the media and/or the billionaire class could have chosen at any time, ANY TIME, to carry out this coordinated ratfucking on Trump, and nope, they did it to Biden. Not coincidentally after he openly started espousing even more leftist/progressive tax and wealth policies. I'm also fairly certain that Putin (who is well used to playing the American elections ratfucking game) is involved here somehow, because he desperately wants Biden out and Trump back in. Two plus two, etc.

The elected Democrats who went along with this and/or who contributed to fucking Biden over also have a hell of a lot to answer for, and I hope we, the voters, let them fucking know. The only way this makes sense is if Biden is actively dying of Covid right now and/or if it's bad enough to permanently damage him. In that case, he might have had a modicum of actual say about this, rather than falling victim to the Anonymous Sources who stabbed him in the back every step of the way.

That said: Kamala is a genuinely good candidate. I am excited to have the chance to vote for her. This does turn the whole Referendum on Two Old White Men With Mental Issues narrative on its head. She might be able to reach some constituencies that Biden couldn't. I don't know for sure if all the Democratic/never-Trump GOP votes will translate, but I am so motherfucking tired of fascists thinking this will be a walk in the park. They asked for this, they fucking got it, people are really fucking mad (including me and like, everyone), and if all this maneuvering gets our first female AND Black president, the fascists are going to absolutely fucking lose it and cry for eons. And idk about you, but I want to see some sore loser fuckboys cry cry cry. I want revenge for 2016. I want Trump dead and fucking gone and yknow, Black women have played a huge role in his bad bad times so far. So it's only fair, I suppose, that Kamala gets the chance to finish the motherfucker off. I don't know if it's positivity, but that's what is fueling me right now. So yeah.

a scene from chapter 18 of 'how do we turn on the light' by @moonyinpisces

full nsfw-ish comic on ao3!

Crowley was rather proud of the Employee Hellpline. There had been a contest, about twenty years back, to create the most confusing phone structure possible, and Crowley had won. (He'd got inspired by calling up a telecom company to cancel service. Despite the fact that he'd made the call without an account, he'd left having agreed to a phone/television/Internet bundle and two magazine subscriptions.)

What he’d forgotten was the fact that he was an Employee, and thus had to navigate the labyrinthine obscurity of the Hellpline every time he needed to put in a request for a little extra power or office supplies. Fortunately, he didn't tend to make many calls; unfortunately, this meant that any insight he gained into the pattern had generally evaporated by the next time he had to face it.

Which was how he came to be sitting in his car, twenty minutes late for lunch, being informed in a monotone that he’d better listen carefully to the following menu, as options might have changed.

“For complaints about colleagues, press 1. For complaints colleagues made about you, press 2. For accounts payable, press 3, then 8, then turn the phone around and repeat. For accounts receivable, enter your ID in reverse. For all other financial requests, spell the first 10 pages of the Bee Movie script using your keypad. For—”

There was a knock at the window. “Are you quite all right?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley rolled the window down, half-listening to the phone menu. “Sorry I’m late—”

“You weren’t late. You drove up twenty-five minutes ago and took the ‘Reserved for Customers of AZ Fell & Co’ spot. So no actual customers have been able to park here this entire time. Which is dreadful,” Aziraphale added happily. 

“This concludes the menu. Make your selection in the next four seconds or this call will be terminated. Four…three…” Crowley racked his brains attempting to remember whether accounts payable was 8, then 3, or— “Good-bye,” the voice said, with gloomy satisfaction, and hung up.

“Ahhh, sanctify it.”

“What?”

“I’m trying to get this reimbursement through. I had to buy eighty live bats for this work thing, and apparently that kind of order can’t go through the normal process. So I’m on the Hellpline. But this consecrated phone—”

“Didn’t you design the system?”

“Might’ve done.”

“May I?” 

Crowley hit Redial and placed the phone in Aziraphale’s outstretched hand.

Aziraphale listened thoughtfully to the first list of menu options, then tapped the phone. He listened a bit longer, tapped twice more, said, “Mammal, not otherwise specified,” and handed it back. 

A voice crackled in Crowley's ear. “Accounts payable, living creatures from twoscore to nine dozen. How can I hinder you today?”

“One sec,” Crowley said, and moved the phone away. “How’d you do that?”

“It was yours, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah.”

“I suppose I simply know how to thwart you,” said Aziraphale smugly. “Go on,” he said, nodding at the phone as he got in the car. “We’re late.”

imagine dealing w an international crisis involving precious artifacts and someone is like ‘don’t worry I know a guy’ and it’s a dorky connecticut college professor named henry who slips into his slutsona and suddenly he’s capable of saving the world w the power of his whip & fedora

three of them