our own side

❓No dumb questions amnesty - can you explain this [line/dialogue/moment from the story]?

🏴‍☠️ Were there any points in which your characters tried (or succeeded) to commit mutiny against your planned plot? Where did they most want to rebel?

🥇 What scene were you most excited to write? Did it end up being the one you enjoyed writing the most?

🙏 Was there anything your character(s) really really really wanted to do? Did you let them?

🍆 What scene do you think was the hottest? What scene do you think your readers thought was the hottest? Are they the same?

🔮Have you imagined what happens to [character(s)] in the future? Or does the story only exist to you as a moment in time?

🔎 What detail(s) in the story are you particularly captivated with? Is there any behind the scenes info or backstory?

🧭 What was the key choice or decision you had to make for this story? If you had chosen differently, what would the story have turned into?

📖 Could the story have been a different length? What would you have included/removed?

🫂How would the story have changed if you wrote it for [this pairing] instead?

💭 If you could wish into creation a transformative piece for your story, made by a real human who isn’t you, what would it be? Art, video, sequel, podfic, etc.

📋What was your main goal for the story and/or writing experience? Do you think that you achieved it?

🎤 Do you think the story was written in your typical voice? Why or why not?

👉👈What two stories have you written that are most similar? Why?

👈👉What two stories have you written that are most different? Why?

It’s this one:

(666 words, rated E)

want a ficlet like this from me? i’m taking commissions on ko-fi :)

Excerpt:

Aziraphale likes a soft touch, apparently.

Crowley decided to take that literally. For his dignity.

He purchased Aziraphale a pair of alpaca-lined gloves this past autumn, and a ridiculously indulgent hand cream the following winter.

By February his dignity-preserving plan had backfired spectacularly. A soft touch indeed.

In spring, Crowley purchased (for himself, thank you very much) a set of pens—silver barrels, black ink, fully functional in space—and left them by Aziraphale’s desk. The summer has been spent watching him draw.

Excellent excuse for suddenly feeling a bit warm, summer.

Crowley has his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, and his tunic falls only just above his knees, so there’s quite a bit of skin on display for Aziraphale’s enjoyment if he can manage to be surreptitious about it. They’ve already had enough to drink to make reality feel just a little blurred at the edges. Still, he can see quite clearly the fuzzy hair on Crowley’s calves, the knobbliness of his toes, the dust on the soles of his feet. Aziraphale sighs. “That,” Crowley says, pointing at Aziraphale with an accusatory finger, “is exactly what I mean. You keep…sighing wistfully. What’s wrong?” Or Aziraphale and Crowley have one more night together on an island in the Aegean Sea. What might they choose to do with it? (Best not to speculate.)

E, 10k of fluffy smut circa 1020 A.D.!

A birthday gift for our dearest @adverbian!