Fic: In the Face of Fear
Hi, I just finished my GO fic! It's inspired by the added scene in the last episode of the miniseries.
Title: In the Face of Fear
Rating: R
Fandom: Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
Characters/Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley
Warnings: A bit of violence and minor torture
Word Count: 27k
Summary: Hastur spies Crowley and Aziraphale switching bodies after their tribunal, and plots his revenge. The two are forced to find their courage and confront the truth between them. Featuring angsty mistaken identity shenanigans, two beings who can't seem to talk about their feelings, Denial as a river in Egypt, and the sword Excalibur!
Aziraphale raised his hands to his temples, sweeping the square for prying eyes and ears. “Nobody,” said the angel. “Right. Swap back, then.” They grasped each other’s hands. In a fluid sweep, Aziraphale became Crowley, and Crowley became Aziraphale again.
Unfortunately, that is where Crowley - who had been wearing Aziraphale’s face - had been wrong about the state of surveillance in Berkeley Square. Hastur, Duke of Hell, lurked behind them, near the refuse bins. His fury blended in perfectly with the malodour of decomposing food waste and dog shit, like maggots on a choice bit of roadkill. Noticeable if you prodded the corpse in the appropriate places, but why would you? Crowley’s sweep had slid right over Hastur, like a tourist’s eyes over a tramp.
Title: In the Face of Fear
Rating: R
Fandom: Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
Characters/Pairings: Aziraphale/Crowley
Warnings: A bit of violence and minor torture
Word Count: 27k
Summary: Hastur spies Crowley and Aziraphale switching bodies after their tribunal, and plots his revenge. The two are forced to find their courage and confront the truth between them. Featuring angsty mistaken identity shenanigans, two beings who can't seem to talk about their feelings, Denial as a river in Egypt, and the sword Excalibur!
Aziraphale raised his hands to his temples, sweeping the square for prying eyes and ears. “Nobody,” said the angel. “Right. Swap back, then.” They grasped each other’s hands. In a fluid sweep, Aziraphale became Crowley, and Crowley became Aziraphale again.
Unfortunately, that is where Crowley - who had been wearing Aziraphale’s face - had been wrong about the state of surveillance in Berkeley Square. Hastur, Duke of Hell, lurked behind them, near the refuse bins. His fury blended in perfectly with the malodour of decomposing food waste and dog shit, like maggots on a choice bit of roadkill. Noticeable if you prodded the corpse in the appropriate places, but why would you? Crowley’s sweep had slid right over Hastur, like a tourist’s eyes over a tramp.