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Send a story/fic title and a symbol!

💡-What was the motivation behind the story?

💎- What was your favorite part?

⛰️-  What was the hardest part?

🎭- What was the feeling or mood you were going for?

🏟️- Who was your intended audience?

🔬- Was there one scene you were building up to/knew you had to get just right?

🗝️-What were you thinking when you wrote it?

🎥- Were there any tv shows, books, or movies that influenced this verse, if any?

📈- Was there a clear character arch you wanted____ character to go on?

🎢- Were there any scenes you were nervous about? For audience reception or otherwise?

☠️- Did you consider killing off any of the characters? Did you?

✉️- Did you title your chapters? What title do you like best?

☀️- Was there symbolism/motifs you worked in?

🎵- Did you have a playlist/piece of music that went with this story?

📜-Do you want to write something like this again in the future?

💁- Did readers influence change any part of this story?

✏️-Would you go back and change anything if you could?

⭐- What’s a scene/paragraph you’re proud of?

📣-What was the best piece of encouragement you got? 

🔦-Did you learn anything while writing it? About yourself? Writing?

🎁- Any writing advice for people who want to write something like this?

bonus:

😊- Leave your favorite line from my story in the ask and I’ll tell you what I was thinking.

😮- Leave a description of your favorite scene in the ask and I’ll tell you what I was thinking.

😛-Leave your favorite dialogue in the ask and I’ll tell you what I was thinking.

😂- Leave your favorite funny scene in the ask and I’ll tell you what I was thinking.

In 2018, I wrote down a passing thought in my cheap little leather-bound journal I was writing a collection of songs in that would go on to become Preacher’s Daughter. “If I finish this album the way it needs to be finished, it will change my life, and it will leave a hole in my heart for years that I won’t know how to fill.” I’ve always had a knack for eerily accurate self-premonition. Preacher’s Daughter certainly left a hole, and it certainly changed my life, but only on the outside. All the songs I wrote for it were about characters, a girl in a “faraway” place living her “faraway” life, albeit still parallel to mine, but wholly detached from me. Willoughby was doomed to be closer to home. I wrote Nettles and Waco the same week, the first week I spent in the Alabama house where I would finish Preacher’s Daughter after so many years of trying. The difference was I wrote them about me. There were no characters at first; it was just me. In fact, I wrote them in an attempt to hide from Ethel Cain for a moment. She eventually devoured those little ditties too, of course, as she always does. In hindsight, I’m glad I had to share them with her. I couldn’t have carried the full weight of them myself, I know that now. My premonitions were out in full force; over the course of the next few years, I’d script out my own life in the same morbid fashion I always have. Maybe it was a lesson in not training my eye downward as I’ve spent the majority of my life doing.

I had 3 weeks for the holidays between mixing and submitting Perverts and jumping back into the maw of taming an unfinished Willoughby Tucker. I spent the first three months of 2025 on probation, unable to go much of anywhere, awake only when the sun was down. I’d never mixed a record of that magnitude, which was daunting with deadlines immovable. I remember 9am on my 27th birthday rolling around after being awake for hours whittling away at mixes, announcing the album and entire tour before going back to mix an album that still wasn’t done. I’ve never cried so much finishing a record, and that was before it was even out. Combining your Saturn return, your first shot at true love, and the longest tour of your life is something I would never recommend to anyone. It was the death of both ego and everything around it. I couldn’t be more grateful. Never in my life have I been so turned inside out, so uprooted and unraveled. Looking back, I needed it more than anything.

imagine Mommy Wanda noticing you squirm while she's making out with you and asking you what's wrong only to smile as you bashfully admit that you have to pee. Her smile turning sharp as her eyes glint, her voice low as she commands you to hold it.

You whine, the pressure of your slowly filling bladder pressing against your g-spot as Wanda presses her thigh firmly against your leaking pussy, your clit pulsing with need. You've never wanted to cum more, and grind yourself firmly against Wanda as you plead with her.

"Please, Mommy. I gotta pee so bad, I- I also wanna cum."

"Pick, baby. You get to choose one." Wanda says, her tone full of satisfaction as your mind reels. "You get to cum, or pee. Choose."

Eventually, the pressure of her thigh between your legs wins, and you beg for her to let you cum. You feel your bladder filling more as she continues teasing you, your face flushes and movements frantic as you grind yourself against her thigh.

"Doesn't it feel so good, darling? I can feel how desperate you are. Do you like it when Mommy controls every aspect of you?"

You can only nod, watching her smile spread across her face, a dangerous glint in her eye.

"From now on, Mommy decides when you get to use the bathroom, okay?"

Fuck. You nod at her, the idea of relinquishing control over to her for something so basic is appealing and so... fucking... arousing.