Fic Repost - Friday I'm In Love (AKA timeloop)
Hey everyone. I originally wrote this... wow, two years ago! Anyway, @sspooksart, ineffablecrankshaft, Sachy, @cobeeli, @avadoingart-imus, DeMented_DeMeown, @gahellhimself-blog and Polychrome very kindly provided me with some illustrations for the physical binding I made for FTH, and I have now added them to the fic on ao3! CW: Explicit, NSFW art. Summary: Due to unwelcome news given to him by Aziraphale, Crowley accidentally breaks time. How can he fix it? And more to the point - does he really want to? Excerpt: I don't care if Monday's blue
Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too
Thursday, I don't care about you
It's Friday, I'm in love
Crowley woke on a Friday morning to the sound of The Cure playing from his radio alarm clock. He’d been sleeping in a corner of the ceiling in his bedroom; long legs awkwardly tucked in, spider-like. He slowly blinked his yellow eyes, his sleepy brain narrowing in on the pop song. He snapped his fingers and it went silent; it wasn’t a destroying the alarm clock kind of morning. He wouldn’t normally bother with an alarm, but he had a meeting with the angel today. Aziraphale had been in a clandestine mood lately; insisting they meet on the tube, arriving and leaving at separate stops, the full gamut.
He scuttled backwards down the wall and stepped off when his bare feet reached the floor to prepare himself for the day. He snapped himself free of the sweat of sleep, out of his satin pyjamas and into a fresh set of black and very-dark-grey clothing, pulling his shoulder length hair into a half up-do. He knew whatever he wore would be clinging to him after five minutes on the hot, greasy London Underground. It was the closest sensation to hell on Earth that Crowley had experienced; barely conscious people all shuffling downwards, unspeaking. Sweat dripped from the walls and there was a tangible feeling of hopelessness.
Crowley drove the short distance to Bond Street tube station, partly because it was raining and partly for the opportunity to park the Bentley illegally across a nearby taxi rank. He exited the car and tensed at the electricity in the air. A thunderstorm was brewing overhead; the atmosphere was building up to make the air feel close and heavy, the static caused the hairs on Crowley’s arms to stand up. Thunderstorms always riled him up with demonic rage. He bared his teeth in a slow, hissing exhale, trying to calm down and crossed over the road into the unassuming entrance to the cavernous station. He impatiently pushed a hellishly manifested travel card through the turnstile. It had no date or destination, but it would always work as Crowley expected it to.
Standing on the slow moving escalator, surrounded by pale commuters, Crowley felt some of the tension leave him as he descended the full sixty metres underground. The distance gained between him and the storm lessened its hold on his corporation; the manic, destructive urges he’d been resisting stopped tugging at his consciousness, allowing him to think clearly again. He found his way to the platform for the Central line to squeeze himself onto a packed tube to Liverpool Street, where he changed trains to the Circle line. Because the Circle line was exactly that; a circular route running in perpetuity all day long, it was the perfect setting for a secret meeting. Read the rest here on ao3! And if you like the true form Crowley art above by GaHellHimself, it's available in sticker form from my Kofi.
