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    Summary

    This time, there was a long, skinny leg clad in skin-tight black jeans sticking out his ceiling, along with the lower part of an arsecheek. From the angle the leg was hanging in the air, kicking fitfully, it looked like they'd maybe learned enough of a lesson not to lean over the summoning circle too far, but hadn't backed away enough to avoid having their feet swept out from under them.

    "This is ridiculous," he told their leg severely and then, with a huff, laid his sword on the lip of a shelf not too overflowing with books to hold it, and fetched over the ladder.

    OR

    Aziraphale really wishes whatever mystery angel keeps trying to summon him and getting parts of themselves stuck in his ceiling by mistake would leave him alone before he starts getting ideas. Crowley wishes that weird demon he's heard loves humanity would answer his damn summons already, because Armageddon is coming and he has no idea who else to ask for help.

    Series
    Language:
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