dirtmouth: nowhere to go but down

At time of writing

I'm sitting and listening to the Cairn soundtrack, have been on loop for like a week, can't recommend highly enough. So, good. There's that.

Also, I'm re-reading everything, maybe for the last time, that I've written in this space, and man, do I ever feel like I haven't done this justice at all. Or, at least, not nearly what I could have.

There was a lot I think I wanted to say or do, and, like, you know - the pandemic was a weird era, but it was also a weird time in that it was weirdly full, in some respects. I feel like we're all living in this whale-fall community in the middle of some great depression (ecological depression; abyssal depression?) in this massive world full of wonder we are both incredibly lucky and incredibly unlucky to witness; at the end of the day, the light does fade, the current picks up speed, and... well. How much of it can really be attributed to time lost, and how much is it just me? Just everyone else, slowly growing apart?

Yeah, well. Time doesn't make sense, in any case.

I'm also staring at some pictures of Yeji and trying to figure out how to write about her. She just looks good, you know? God, what the fuck - help.

Anyway, so - hi. I'm capslocked, a friend, I suppose you could say.

Someone who's made a habit of lurking in this space since, I dunno, whenever the first wave of writerpeach fics started showing up - which would place us squarely in mid-2020, I think? 

I'd always been sorta reluctant to share too much of my personality on tumblr or whatnot (you know - worry over whether or not it fits here and whatever) but yeah. I'm still here, still enjoying the work being produced. Hoping that everything pans out well, y'know? Despite it all.

Open Documents

primrose & panache ~ 21,000 words (I've changed the idols like 10 times, but it’s currently somi & gawon; I doubt this lasts)

panopticon ~ 9,000 words (birds of paradise part 2.1)

This is already misleading for a couple reasons, mostly that - honestly? I feel like I should scrap pretty much everything I've been writing (both these two fics included) and start new, but goddamn, that's hours and hours and days of drafting notes thrown into the wind if that happened, which... yeah, not about that. Let me live in perpetual inadequacy. Thanks. Just wanted to toss those ideas out there. 

I'm writing Kim Minju. That's what's going on, basically.

Thoughts

Mixing narrative & smut is really difficult, honestly: I never have any idea whether people would want to be fapping or immersed. Like - sure, these aren't mutually exclusive things, but you know, especially given that there's something of a formula here, like: idol meets reader > romance > idol enjoys getting dominated by reader or vice-versa > denouement. And the idols (in this case, Minju, Chaewon) get increasingly elaborate backstories, personalities, kinks - like. Yeah, I don't fucking know. I'll never know what's gonna float and sink.

Should a sex scene be 500 words? 5k words? How 'long' do you need to y'know; goon it up before you can scroll through and settle onto the denouement. Would more hardcore scenarios fall out-of-scope? Probably.

Shouldn't it just take a single visual or turn of a phrase? (You pound harder, as if not content with merely remapping her insides, if desperate to alter her baseline reality. Chaewon does not like beans, she's never liked beans - can hardly fathom ever liking them.

You fuck her pussy breathless.)

Alright.

I'm treating the snackslocked anthology as smut tech demos - spaces to try out new stuff and mechanical improvements, so sorry and please bear with me if you see things scooped out wholesale and re-fitted elsewhere. It happens.

And for another thing, I hate having to preface stories with excuses (i.e., this is just PWP, i.e., this is just a quick piece of drivel, etc.). The actual worst part about posting something is having to post anything at all. I really wish someone else could do it for me. I'm just an extremely private person online, comparatively, and frankly find exposing writing - writing in general, be it an email - abhorrent.

(Bear with me.)

It's like constantly attempting to create objects that I don't dare ever acknowledge being mine. Idolfic fuckfic at that.

(Oh, what a grotesquerie.)

Anyway - this is just one of those write-ups meant for future understanding, for archiving or preservation: I still

a) admire / appreciate anyone and everyone bothering to give anything I've written here a try (even for this shitty prelude)

b) sincerely am pretty astonished by so so so many of the friends I've managed to (and am lucky to have) collect just off the back of taking up something so crass and stupid (frankly I would’ve never imagined.)

Which, considering today's discourse (lmao), comes of mild note. All to say:

Why am I - still, apparently - doing this?

Huh.

Truthfully speaking, when I started this during the quarantine times, my intent was pretty singular: read more smut with less commitment, not think too hard about creative content. Give back via sharing in. Waste no time getting anywhere in it but, simply put, "getting myself there." Easy-breezy cover-to-cover. A better smorgasbord: I hadn't realized at the time that 1,426-odd days (good god) would pass like they were nothing. It'll be almost 4 years come September at the exact time this goes out there, so I figure while the whole "meta-analysis of my time on tumblr and reflections on the craft of literature in general," etc etc, is both ridiculous and unasked for and superfluous as fuck to begin with, yet apparently warrants being made, I'd certainly like all the above to still ring sincere.

All to finally circle back - if we must:

The reason I'm somehow sticking around is actually no longer about any of that which I came looking for. Is actually nothing self-ful, gratifying; well, I mean obviously there are parts about writing porn where you basically work your psyche into its most slobbering desires & those desires show up from god-knows what permissive depths you have to confront and eventually just write the hell down. 

But for four years?

I came here wanting smut with less commitment and, through some catastrophic misunderstanding of the assignment, became committed to the people around it (for those from before / the far-away days). To being here while they were - an idiot hoping to catch everyone through the ever-changing pages.

Personally, I don't really have anything left to prove as a writer.

It mostly just comes down to my feeling protective of this space - and inasmuch to be 'protective' of the people passing through. And that part needs no justification in execution.

(Isn't it strange and lucky that we are here together at all?)

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