#aussie!omens

Read from the first chapter here.

Summary: Crowley is assigned to attend a Bush Doof (underground EDM festival) in Australia. Aziraphale tags along for funsies. In this chapter, sometimes Crowley's plans go MUCH better than planned.

Excerpt:

He is still reeling. To be honest, he’ll be reeling every single day for the rest of his existence. 

And for the first time in six thousand years, Crowley talks to God.  

He prays. It’s a simple prayer, two words long, but right here, in the dusty, hot twilight, on the best day of his immortal life, he knows he will repeat this prayer over and over ad infinitum. It will be a thrumming background song of worship for the rest of his days, echoing the beats that continue to drum out around the landscape right now. 

Two words. 

Thank You. 

---

Big thanks as always to my partner @zaizai734 for beta work; and to my crew at @whickberstreetwriters for support and cheerleading, especially @sakascal, @rofell, @playdohangel, and @angie-words who betaed this chapter.

Interestingly enough, Aziraphale was displayed as the "Naughty" animal for the month after he bit a child who tried to fend him off after he accosted him for his biscuit. He denies this happening, of course.

Dear Good Omens Fandom,

I love you. It's been a big year. I am so proud of how we've supported each other, celebrated each other, had difficult conversations and thought deeply. May 2025 bring us plenty of joy.

Here's the first illustration of my new fic, Angels Don't Dance, where Aziraphale and Crowley attend a bush doof in Australia at the behest of the Dark Council.

Read from the first chapter here.

Summary: Crowley is assigned to attend a Bush Doof (underground EDM festival) in Australia. Aziraphale tags along for funsies. In this chapter, tattoos and truths are revealed.

Excerpt:

Ah, now here, here is some good old demonic verve!’ She comes to a stop, her ice bag dripping enthusiastically, in front of a refurbished school bus. The bus is painted haphazardly in dark greens and blacks (Dagon is a big fan of the colour scheme), and has demonic sigils emblazoned near the door. There’s a rat skull where the doorknob should be, and the sounds of death metal leak out from the interior. 

Dagon knocks on the door. Nothing. She knocks again. ‘Hail, infernal creature! Arise!’

A tired looking human opens the door, black powder across her eyes, like battle paint. A small python is wrapped around one arm, flicking a curious tongue out. 

‘Crowley?’ Michael asks. 

‘Nah,’ says Dagon. ‘This one’s too well behaved.’ She gives it a little boop on the nose. 

‘Do you… want something?’ the human asks, yawning. 

‘Yes,’ says Dagon, standing up to her full height, and in parade stance. ‘Are you, by any chance, a denizen of Hell?’

The human laughs. ‘Ah…yeah. Sure. Very hellish, me.’

‘You’re a human, aren’t you?’ Dagon realises, slumping a bit. 

‘Last time I checked,’ the human replies, as the python winds up into her hair. 

‘Are you aligned with hell in any way?’ Dagon asks. 

‘I mean, recreationally,’ the human replies. 

‘Have you seen the Demon Crowley this weekend?’ Michael asks, stepping forward. 

‘Oh, are you one of the roving performers? Is this some kind of larp thing?’ the human asks. 

‘Larp?’ Michael asks.

‘No fucking idea,’ Dagon replies. ‘Anyway, thanks for your assistance. May your evil deeds be plentiful.’

‘Sure,’ says the human, closing the door. The sound of a lock being latched follows her. 

‘Well. That was less fruitful than I thought it would be,’ Dagon says. ‘Let’s go.’ They walk on, around the corner to the next laneway. From here, they can see the full expanse of the camping ground. Hundreds of tents stretch out in all directions in front of them. 

‘Ugh, this is going to take friggen’ hours,’ Dagon groans, and she drips ice despondently. ‘Fucking Crowley.’

---

Big thanks as always to my partner @zaizai734 for beta work; and to my crew at @whickberstreetwriters for support and cheerleading, especially @sakascal, @rofell, @playdohangel, and @angie-words who betaed this chapter.

Read from the first chapter here.

Summary: Crowley is assigned to attend a Bush Doof (underground EDM festival) in Australia. Aziraphale tags along for funsies. In this chapter, Dagon and Michael run into trouble and are forced to re-evaluate assumptions. Crowley and Aziraphale navigate the horrors of a doof hangover.

Excerpt:

‘Oh God,’ Crowley groans, as she stirs in the bed, tangled in sheets, the fan blasting on her. ‘Oh, God,’ she repeats.  

‘Indeed,’ agrees Aziraphale, who is sitting on her armchair, head in her hands, in the same position she’s been in for the last couple of hours. The night has slowly drawn to a close, and the sound of magpies and kookaburras heralding in the new day hits at just a pitch to make her hangover even more intolerable. Mixing the noise, and the nausea, with the increasing heat as the sun begins to rise is, pardon the pun, Hell. 

Crowley sits up, loose strands of her hair stuck to the side of her face with saliva. Crowley’s a snorer when she goes to sleep drunk, and she grapples for a bottle of water. Aziraphale throws one at her from her own side table, and it hits the bed and bounces right off onto the floor. Crowley groans again, but neither of them have the energy to get it.  

The demon tries snapping her fingers.  

‘Still in place,’ mumbles Aziraphale. ‘I’ve been testing it every few minutes.’

‘Since when do miracle blockers last longer than a couple of hours??’ Crowley moans. ‘Oh God, hangovers suuuuuuuuuck.’ She collapses back on the bed. ‘You know what? Dagon once went on administrative leave for a month. Hastur filled in as my line manager whilst she was gone. I got a bit mouthy at him, you know what he did?’

‘No,’ Aziraphale replies miserably.  

‘He punished me by making me vomit maggots for a week solid. Whole maggots, live ones. Wriggly and covered in stomach acid and somehow really well-fed and- and-’

Aziraphale feels a fresh rush of nausea trying to expel itself from her body through the pores of her skin. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asks. 

‘This hangover business. Feels worse than the maggots.’ 

---

Big thanks as always to my partner @zaizai734 for beta work; and to my crew at @whickberstreetwriters for support and cheerleading, especially @sakascal, @rofell, @playdohangel, and @angie-words who betaed this chapter.

Read from the first chapter here.

Summary: Crowley is assigned to attend a Bush Doof (underground EDM festival) in Australia. Aziraphale tags along for funsies. In this chapter, Crowley and Aziraphale do what they can to evade their bosses and continue their weekend. Lord Dagon discovers festival fashion.

Excerpt:

‘Crowley?’ Dagon asks in surprise. ‘Fuck. Hello. Um.’ Crowley catches the flick of a glance to the side, the way she tightens before standing up straight, at attention. It’s a moment before he realises why she seems a little shifty: until he clocks that his Direct Line Manager is standing with none other than Aziraphale’s own Direct Line Manager. 

‘Lord Dagon,’ Crowley replies, dipping into a low bow (slowly, so he has more time to think up a plan). ‘I-um. I believe this was my assignment, no?’

‘Yeah, that. We saw a bunch of alerts on the Miracle Logs, thwarting the fuck outta some angel, thought you might be under attack. Lord Beelzebub sent me Up to see if you needed a hand. You don’t look under attack.’ Dagon also doesn’t seem to be that keen or prepared to help him fend off an attack, Crowley notes wryly.

‘Oh, no no, not under-’ Crowley starts, before looking at Michael, and pausing whilst he inhales. ‘I mean, yes, completely under attack. It’s that um- fuckwit angel Aziraphale. Keeps me on my toes, y’know. Somehow intercepted that I was going to be here.' He lets out the breath in a put-upon sigh. ‘Has been thwarting the fuck outta my wiles all weekend. He really is skilled at what he does.’

‘Aziraphale is here? Why is Aziraphale here?’ Michael asks in consternation. ‘He doesn’t have clearance to leave his post.’ Dagon also looks appraisingly at Crowley, like she is also trying to find reasons to incriminate him. 

‘I kidnapped him?’ Crowley says weakly. 

‘You kidnapped Aziraphale?’ Dagon snorts. She shifts from attention, grinning, crossing her arms in front of her. 

‘Lord Beelzebub instructed me to make sure I took whatever measures were necessary to neutralise Aziraphale’s angelic influence on London for the period of my assignment elsewhere,’ Crowley shrugs, an optimistically placating look on his face. 

‘And the kidnapping was…successful?’ The Archangel Michael asks him, looking Crowley up and down. 

Crowley looks from Dagon to Michael. Shit, shit, shit. 

---

Big thanks as always to my partner @zaizai734 for beta work; and to my crew at @whickberstreetwriters for support and cheerleading, especially @sakascal, @rofell, @playdohangel, and @angie-words who betaed this chapter.

Read from the first chapter here.

Summary: Crowley is assigned to attend a Bush Doof (underground EDM festival) in Australia. Aziraphale tags along for funsies. In this chapter, Crowley enforces some boundaries. Dagon tries a new strategy. Aziraphale and Crowley continue to avoid talking about feelings in the silliest way possible.

Excerpt (please note this chapter gets spicy):

Crowley raises her hand and the tattooist pauses. She shifts her body around a little, resettles again. Hums assent to the tattooist when she is still again. Tries not to tense around the expectation of pain. She distracts herself, still a little drunk and soft, with thoughts of Aziraphale. 

Crowley’s always been a creature of active imagination, and of course, Aziraphale has always been a constant in that imagination, a point of reference around which Crowley has built her consciousness. She imagines them, nestling as they were in the basket earlier, but in this vision she is crafting, the basket is a nest. In some lush garden somewhere, empty of humans or angelic or infernal beings, other than themselves. Some kind of celestial shrouding is around them, a cocoon of invisibility to others, others that would have opinions about Angel-Demon relations. 

But even Crowley’s imagination, as vivid as it is, fails to be up to the task of visualising her angel, completely naked. It’s just too much, too overwhelming, to hold an image of her, completely bare, in her own mind’s eye. One day, if that day ever comes, she thinks the whole sexual process will grind to a halt the second Crowley sees the angel undress. It will all be over then, she’ll die, she’ll be rendered immovable, incoherent. 

So instead, she indulges herself in imagining little windows into the angel’s body. The soft shadow below an ankle bone, the creases at the back of a heel. The expanse of skin on the underside of her forearm, veins blue against the pale skin. The tops of her thighs, light, pale hairs and the shimmering rivers of stretch marks, iridescent, just below the surface of her skin. The fall of a heavy breast to the side, as she is laid down, areola tightening against itself as a long, black nail skims over it. Hips, round and voluptuous, with soft flesh that begs to be gripped. Dark blonde hair covering her pubis, dripping and slick with want and yearning. 

Her wings would be out, of course. They often are, in these little musings of Crowley’s. 

---

Big thanks as always to my partner @zaizai734 for beta work; and to my crew at @whickberstreetwriters for support and cheerleading, especially @sakascal, @rofell, @playdohangel, and @angie-words who betaed this chapter.

Read from the first chapter here.

Summary: Crowley is assigned to attend a Bush Doof (underground EDM festival) in Australia. Aziraphale tags along for funsies. In this chapter: will Aziraphale and Crowley finally get their happy ending (after their happy ending?) What happens with Michael and Dagon? Whatever happened to that portrait of Gabriel? Read on!.

Excerpt:

‘Fuck, Angel, where are you getting this all from?’ Crowley spits. ‘Confident thing, aren’t you?’ Seriously, Crowley is looking confused. Not upset, but curious. He shucks the bodysuit, whilst staring at Aziraphale, who is ever so slowly undoing his own buttons, one by one. Aziraphale does not break eye contact. 

‘Mmm, wouldn’t you like to know’, Aziraphale says coyly. 

‘Was it that lot at Portland Place? Because I swear to Satan, Aziraphale, that was the worst timed nap of my life, and I-’

‘Darling-’

‘-boot them out of there, one by one, if I needed to-’

‘Crowley.’

‘Little fuckers wouldn’t stand a chance against me in a fight, fucking Oscar Wilde -’

‘ Crowley,’ Aziraphale says, grabbing the demon’s chin and gently turning his face back towards him. ‘Do you happen to get a little- hostile- when you are nervous?’ 

‘Um, yeah. Sorry,’ Crowley says, dropping his gaze to a patch of floor. ‘Guess I do.’

‘That’s alright, darling. It’s a very exciting and overwhelming occasion,’ Aziraphale says warmly, brushing a hand over the demon’s cheek soothingly. ‘And you can be grateful, because I’m about to make things easier for you. Kneel.’ 

---

The biggest thanks to my betas Sakascal, Ro Fell, Playdoh Angel, and AngieWords who have been with me every step of the way with this fic. They are exceptional writers- go check out their work- but also the loveliest people. I have had a rough few months and their consistency, support and ideas have been golden. Thanks also to the rest of the crew at the Whickber Street Writers Association, I love you all so much and everything we share is better because we share it- whether it be writing and beta support; theorising over GO3; hair dye watch hyperfixations or a good old fashioned shoulder to cry on.

If you've enjoyed this work, please check out my other fics How to pull an angel: A Bunnings DIY guide (a multi-chapter Human AU set in the aussie!omens universe) and Miracle Logs (a oneshot about sex miracles).

Here's all the illustrations from the fic