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mcytblr-archive · 2 months

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Early MCYTblr Interviews: warpedfungusonastick

today's interviewee is warpedfungusonastick, who's been in MCYTblr since the summer of 2020 and is a member of dreamlying! below is a transcript of their account of early MCYTblr.

Digging back into what I have of my online history, I started the tumblr blog warpedfungusonastick in late July 2020. Beforehand I had a very small <20 follower dttwt account and saw that the Tumblr community was more my vibe. I was 18 when I got into being a dteam ~fan and my personal views on fandom and stan culture and parasocial relationships were, while still evolving, kind of against a lot of the culture that was growing up around especially the twitter fan community.

(This being said, this was the depths of COVID lockdown and I rarely left my house because I was a senior in high school in the U.S. and living with someone who absolutely could not get sick. So I was terminally online and can definitely say in retrospect deeply invested in the fan culture and even the creators/their online personas while being semi-ironically self aware of this relationship.)

I first saw a dteam video in later 2019. Funny enough (and not funny at all, because I think about these Patterns quite a lot), I had then just left the Cryaotic fandom. If you don't know, he was an old friend of pewdiepie who split with him around the time of or before the multiple pewdiepie scandals and pewdiepie whistling off several alt-right dog whistles and that whole thing. But back to the point, like a month after i became a regular Cryaotic Twitch viewer, a long expose came out about him being abusive to his ex-girlfriend and a groomer of underaged fans. Cryaotic was a faceless streamer whose iconography was this little blob thing and I will not abandon the theory that the origins of Dreamwastaken fanart are the direct successor to humanized fanart of this Cryaotic persona.

Through the whole Cryaotic thing I first found out about kiwifarms/lolcow. What stuck to me, beyond the abhorrent stuff said on those sites, was that they had a pretty clear system of archiving things using sites such as archive.is and were completely unafraid to post "doxxed" materials anonymously.

Commentary on DL interviews: - I fully second what georgesoot said about "No it's not odd, I at least partially strove for infamy. Any attention gratifies the ego after all, not just positive attention. Then there was the absurdity of it all". I tried to be a lot less controversial than some other DL members, but I did run with them and did say some things that weren't within the typical conventions of more mainstream and popular blogs of the time. It was a dopamine hit for people to interact with my blog--like any social media--but I/we did it in a kind of absurdist way at a point with the things we said and the ways we kind of transgressed whatever the normal way of being a fan blog was. - Re: Wormweeb--I was also kind of mentally ill and depressed and really only interacted with both friends online (even if they were friends from school). And as a result I took it all a bit more seriously than it was at the time. This is is less related but I used to get these--visceral? reactions to when Drama would happen because I was personally invested more so because I didn't want my online friend group who (although seen as a united front on the outside sometimes, I think) each had our Faves in the mcyt space and had had petty infighting over the morals of that (both seriously and unseriously, but everything starts to bleed, in my opinion).

More about my previous exposure to Minecraft fandom: I used to follow mianite back in the day and watched a lot of captiansparklez & aureylian. Since I joined the dteam fandom before any blog presence I was there for their very first streams (which got like…5k views 10k?) and the birth of the dsmp as essentially a server for friends (which led to minor discourse later when the line between roleplay and people on a MC server blurred.)

So my points of reference for these types of fandoms were a fandom that was very much for younger children (Mianite) and therefore the creators were treated with more distance and the recently up-in-flames Cryaotic fandom.

Back to doxxing/archiving/odd relation between: I used to joke about the tension between the right to privacy and to be forgotten on the internet and the right for nosy teenagers with too much time on their hands (and literally obsession brainworms) to dig up your past. Two things I think that were interesting about the most (in my opinion) morally dubious element of mcytblr and most people formed their negative opinions of critblr on was the having/knowing "forbidden" information. Most of this we were either told by randos or knew through other people online. A lot of it also ended up on Dream's kiwifarms, but that was a bit of a two-way street.

And the second part of this whole thing is the way that this information would come up among The Discourse. Because knowing some of the things we/I knew, you could call out creator's lies/misrepresentations of their histories/online pasts in ways that people who didn't know couldn't. Which was kind of where some of the in-jokes came from. I also took the habit of archiving things (old accounts, posts, whatever) to archive.is and such at the time because I fell on the 'I don't want this digital history to be erased if only for my own sanity.'

I think this has been rehashed before, but at every corner, the mcyt/dteam fandom was a fandom like any other, complicated by the fact that it was a real person fandom. And especially on tumblr where the Culture was a little different because no creators (few creators) were on Tumblr, people kind of just said and did whatever. I struggle to think of any of this as important in the grand scheme of anything, but there was a massive outpour of content because of the sheer size of the fandom across all platforms. There was 24/7 content, big fomo, and so I think blogs acted like pundits--like a forum on the newist in DSMP or Love or Host or MCC or whatever. My memory of that time has atrophied a lot but I think that DL and co. cropped up as the pundit subclass (however some of us had actual talent like wormweeb and made fanworks) and the fandom overall was sustained by a sprawling form of Conversation on the Latest Content.

Q: right-- and while other blogs caught people up on streams, dream lying was more interested in meta on the creators themselves?

I think that was a part of it. We were all united in this semi-ironic cynicism about fandom culture as a whole while being fans ourselves, and we socially shared this Vision of a number of variably worded critiques about - stan culture - cancel culture - the dangers/pitfalls/intricacies of these.

I think a lot of it was just shits and giggles, but at least I at one point had this idea that I was a tiny little measured response to the excess of fandom culture. I looked down on uncritical fandom and thought that especially because some of these creators cultivated deeply parasocial relationships with their young fans (I was not much older, but all 18 year olds are Like That) it was some sort of imperative to talk about that at least a little bit.

As I read through my old posts--these was a lot of self important a lot of rambling a lot of nonsense. And I don't really think that these fandom culture can be changed by one little microblogger with a couple hundred followers, but I stand by a lot of my initial criticisms of the ecosystem as a whole and mainly the creators themselves and their (heh) lying, their harm, their overall misconduct and above all the systems that created and enable their whacky ass bullshit to this day. .

But the doubled edged sword of (I return to the forbidden info thruline) I never really shared info that was private because I wanted to be somewhat ethical, so it always felt a bit like we/I was going crazy with things I knew to be true but obviously wouldn't share because that's nor super moral.

Another note about The Rumors and DreamLying--in my memory we kind of thought were Something. And I guess we've been nudged along in that perception but I think the most vocal and controversial of us just said wild shit that stuck in people's brains and for the longest time I didn't associate myself with dream lying at all on Warpedfungus because I wanted to be Somewhat Normal, if measuredly critical and just…vibing. But I think at circles back to a lot of this being wank amongst a handful of terminally online people who at the time didn't get out enough and, like, fixated on this Thing because it was community (or a facsimile of) and at the end of the way we're all just archives or archived pages or gone forever.

(Which reminds me that for the longest time I had you and Roxytonic blocked because I thought archiving was corny but I now think it's kind of cool. It's a nostalgia trip, if anything else. I'm now in another fandom that would've really benefited from some hardcore archiving because so much of the old internet (and fan spaces amongst them--ie ff.net, livejournal, even more underground spaces) are completely lost to the sands of time and the deletion of those hosting sites, etc)

Q: i am very interested in your thoughts on, as you mentioned before in reference to cryaotic, the way that creators cultivate and manipulate fanbases, and the effects you think it had on how the mcytblr fandom

Dream, along with "learning/studying the algorithm" and getting insanely lucky, did many specific things to cultivate a fandom of immensely parasocial fans. And regardless of my cynical vision of what his motives were, his actions of wanting to be seen as a 'friend', sharing many personal details, being accessible to fans, DMing young stan accounts, following fan accounts, OKaying a lot of fanworks about him/his personal and the whole…gaybaiting (you know what i"m referring to) thing had the result of a very large very dedicated fanbase.

As far as cryaotic, it's my theory that dream knew the effect on having a very…intimate…relationship with his conventionally not ugly young white man friend, and used that. And as far as the other element that I associate between dteam/cryaotic--these were men who had very boring lives and probably saw themselves as undesirable to women Until they had this massive following and this kind of situation happens time and time again where people get Influence that didn't used to have and do messed up things with it. And I don't know what's to be done, but it's quite bad and completely goes against the "wholesome" image they try to cultivate. If not some of the stuff being actually crimes.

I think the common perception is sometimes that these cases are "bad apples" when there are so many bad apples And not even in the man aint shit way, but unlike more conventional routes to Fame, mcyts have no oversight unless they join and esports org and still then…the org may just side iwth them if it's worth it. And that's not to say that this stuff doesn't happen with conventional celebrity and even on college campuses and in everyday life and whatnot but I think people in such a public eye should be held to standards of conduct that may prevent some of this.

#early mcytblr interviews #Volume 14 #warpedfungusonastick

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rsmrymnt-tea · 2 years

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「 🐳 」

it takes some figuring out and a willingness to maybe be at least a little uncomfortable and very vulnerable.

even more confirmation that dolasach definitely fits the bill for “#1 satan appealer” and “#1 validator of whale anon's TEDthoughts” !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

i find that using multiple forms of symbolism to inspire character creation, especially if you take inspiration from animals, makes workshopping feel so much more effortless? too much of it can cause one to spiral and lose sight of who their oc is when they direct their focus molding them into the symbols rather than the other way around. like you, i think it's just so much more easier to let things be instead of forcing myself to fit a status quo.

tbh with you i didn't even mind that you didn't stick with the assignment of only explaining dola's feelings! as someone who is notorious for being able to shamelessly lore dump and engage in oc conversation up to 7 hours on and off it makes me feel a lot more relieved knowing that other people are willing to go above and beyond the assignment they were given 😭 (/pos).

although, this is also my weakness when it comes to sending in anonymous asks ;w;; i want to say so much but i must do it in a way where it's comprehensible and condensed instead of giving you 38924923 paragraphs, which i can only wish i could do.

and i mentioned this before (or maybe it's buried deep in the response im typing up atm..) but it warms my heart that there's also someone who has difficulty explaining their mc in brief terms!!

i often get stuck between “ah, so you only view my mc on a surface level despite all the information i've given you” and “this is a good conversation starter for someone who doesn't know my mc”. the other day i teased someone into telling me who they believe would be the most likely to be romantically paired with my mc, and i had such a visceral reaction to it that i didn't know whether to be offended or to outright laugh .. but i just?? couldn't blame them??? like yeah i get it on paper it seems like my mc would be romantically involved with simeon but holy shit she would not have a good time if that were that case KJNDFKFJS

the way i present her to people is based on what others have told me once they've gotten to know who she is from her youth up until her late twenties (and soon to be, accidental immortality that has been creeping up on her from before the story of the devildom began . . .), is something that i've come to realize really isn't the best course of action skfnkskjf so i'll be using you as my guinea pig i hope you don't mind 🙏

which is why i think it's taking so long for me to respond? i'm trying to present you all the important details in a condensed manner, but even then, it isn't enough (｡•́︿•̀｡) but i'm not one to give up i think it's pretty fun lolol [side eyes my two self-indulgent 40+k fics that are purely for her most important relationships]

back to our beautiful dolasach! the way mc is presented in-game sends sickening chills down my ribs and forms a tight knot in my stomach, so whenever i see issues rising between other mcs and the obm cast i get really giddy! it says so much about them, from how they choose to behave or respond, to how much they choose to say . . . aaa what a dream come true <3 and it's exceptionally rare to find a mc like yours and i mean that sincerely. it's not often you see an author dive into the ugly parts of a character and still make it not inherently beautiful, but rather make it feel bittersweet.

and i really adore how you mention immortality because a while ago i went on a “what does immortality mean for immortals but specifically solomon because i said so and not in the way where he grieves but in the way where his traits have over-ripened and his relationship to trauma has become over-developed” spiel and it reminded me of something i wrote so [gently hands you this]

Is this a flaw of immortality, that everything transient seems so frail by comparison, that you’ve lived so long you’re weighed down by the memory of everything that has passed before, that you find it impossible to just live, to let things be?

and after all of the posts i've stuck around for i don't believe i've pieced together what dolasach's goal would be? there is the situation of separating themself from the identity that is inherently attached to her parents, of becoming satisfied in general, of redemption for herself . . . hm! ＿〆(。。)

also i took a peek at your TEDthought of dolasach's name and all i can say is that hi hello that is a perfect parallel to satan who wishes to separate himself from lucifer and it also makes sense that she'd have another name for when she becomes immortal <33 a start of a new era, one that she will mold herself.

agsjsha Honestly I’d be disappointed in myself if Dola was suddenly not that compatible with Satan after making her just for him 😭

Big agree on having many places to pull inspiration from as something that makes workshopping easier, but not fully relying on them to shape a character. I like to think I take just enough to have some sort of loose guide for where I want Dola to be? Of course my process isn’t perfect since I tend to self-indulge often (like with me being adamant about Dola getting her immortality from Thirteen purely because the original Dolasach is a necromancer with a specialization of reaper) and I can’t really be sure that I’m keeping my own OC 100% in character all the time but you know. Real people aren’t 100% in character all the time either <-personal copium lol

I also think I tend to shift the canon characters’ personalities a little to make things a little easier and more entertaining for myself? But I will defend myself by saying that it’s not like game canon does a stellar job of keeping it’s own characters in character. And also I just take issue with some Choices™️ >.> ehem.

Anyway anyway >.> Semi-rant about game canon aside—

You 🤝🏼 Me -> not being able to keep things short. There is too much I want to say!! And when enabled and given the impression that someone gives a shit I will overdo it lmao >.> I also find that I figure things out better and faster when I’m using someone’s ask to rubber duck. Something about having to actually present my ideas to someone makes it easier to decide on what I want and where things should go, which tends to make my answers really long because I prefer to present everything in the form of actions, feelings, and thoughts more than simple description.

Personally, I don't actually like having to describe Dolasach in single, simple adjectives? Or any character, really, much like how I personally do not enjoy being asked to describe myself in five words during those stupid questionnaires and interviews for school and employment. I don't find it easy to find the right way to describe someone because I think people are too complex to simply leave it at a handful of adjectives, even more so when everyone's perception of a description can end up wildly varying.

So pls omg, don't worry too much about perfectly presenting every single thing about Godtongue to me in the span of one or two asks >.< I will inevitably misunderstand or miss something, which will just have you spend more time clearing things up—it may be better to show me small snippets at a time until I get a solid enough idea of them to work off of. It's impossible to truly condense someone into a few simple paragraphs when you know them insanely well due to having created them dfgkjh and I also don't want to frustrate you when there's things I don't get after you've gone through all the trouble of trying to figure out the perfect way to introduce more of her to me.

Because even then, I feel like because we don't think exactly alike, I'm not going to land on something truly to your satisfaction in just one or two exchanges. Literally every take I have on both Dola and the OM cast has taken a while to reach, and all the times people have told me I've been accurate with guessing what their OC/MC would be like have all been educated guesses that I'm shocked I've gotten right; I am fully expecting and also prepared to be told I'm wrong each time I post something about what someone thinks their character's relationship with Dola would be like tbh and I welcome that fully).

So like!! Don't worry about your response too much nonnie sdfhjkdg I'm not forcing you to rush, take your time; but know that I think that we'll get somewhere faster with getting to know the similarities and differences between Godtongue and Dola if we have a discussion? ;w; Especially if I'm going to be your guinea pig for trying out different way(s) of presenting her, because contrary to what a lot of people seem to think here, I'm not actually that smart when it comes to learning about a character >.>;;

Anyway uh, back to Dola?

I'm honestly so super flattered that you think all that sdhjkd Like it makes me feel like I'm doing something right with writing Dola, y'know? Because whenever I write her I tend to hope that I'm showing people someone very flawed and very human. There is plenty that she struggles with, and I don't want people to think that those struggles are in any way beautiful or to be romanticized. Bittersweet is a nice way to put it, yeah. I think there's something both wonderful and horrific about how she goes about trying to make the most of her life throughout the eras of it because honestly, I don't think she has any major long term goals beyond just trying to have a happy existence.

You mentioned not having pieced together what Dola's goal is, and I'm assuming you mean a long term overarching goal that bears some significance and influence to her actions overall.

The thing is, I think many of her goals fall into place throughout the course of her very long life. She does eventually find an identity separate from her parents both as a person and as an artist—something that becomes easily the more of her life she lives away from them (and also, well, spoilers but they die before she's 40 so she definitely outgrows them in many ways); she eventually becomes a sorcerer of high enough skill to stand alongside Solomon and even excels beyond him in certain fields; she eventually even comes to terms with accepting that allowing oneself to breathe will not undo all the work she's done. Like, she does reach points of satisfaction throughout her life, but it doesn't exactly take very long until there is something else that she wants, something else that grabs her attention and points her to direct her efforts and growth towards whatever it is.

But in immortality, I think she does eventually run out of things to aim for. I mean, the most impossible thing out of everything she wanted to achieve actually turns out to be possible—where does she go from there?

The lack of anything to aim for does eventually get to Dola. There are definitely times when she struggles, like really struggle, when it comes to dealing with her immortality. But she refuses to call for death and die. She knows there is nothing for her after death (or at least thinks it—I may or may not do something with the demon!Dola AU who knows) and still finds a lot of joy in simply living her life with her found family. There is still plenty to learn, plenty to discover.

In her crisis I think it occurs to her that perhaps she must imagine Sisyphus happy. And it's a strange change, but is enough to keep her sustained in between the times when there is nothing grand to chase.

(Of course, I think there is a goal of some form that she doesn't quite recognize in the form of a devotion to the one other human who understands what she's going through. Like, as much as it feels weird to admit on here, even though she and Satan have been through so much together and well, even though I made her for Satan, in the long run I think it's Solomon who becomes a source of major comfort that Satan just can't offer because immortality is inherent to him and his society. Solomon is human with a much greater capacity for empathy than Dola has, and has been through the some of the worst of immortality already all alone. And when humanity ends and the earth is consumed by what was once the sun, and the Devildom has offered asylum for the two, it just... Bonds them together in such a crazy way. Idk.

I mean, she still loves Satan with all her heart and the two have a special bond that is completely different from what she and Solomon have. But it's hard to deny the differences, and I can see the two tearfully discussing their feelings regarding it in private at some point far down the timeline of Dola's life. Btw I don't think the brothers + royals ever die unless killed. Because I said so.)

Ah, re: her name tho! I don't think it's ever an intentional choice for 'Dolasach' to become the only name she's known by over the years—it just happens. In my head half her family all go by similar single-word aliases when working, and some of them also choose to just introduce themselves as their art alias because they like the sound of it better. Fully think her father's side started the tradition with like, the great-grandmother and then the next generation, then the next, then until Dola and her cousins. I don't think there's any deep reason as to why she started introducing herself as Dolasach either cause I fully believe her father + his siblings all helped pick out possible aliases for her and her cousins to choose from at some point and she thought 'Dolasach' sounded best and started using it everywhere that didn't need her legal/birth name. From there it just stuck as she doesn't really see much difference between her as an artist + her as herself.

Is it weird? Kinda but idk, they're artists that's my their excuse lmao

(Before I end this very long answer, I like to think that this is where Satan and Dola's problems with their identity differ. I think Satan's stems from not wanting to be thought of as a mere fragment of Lucifer and a deep dread of any confirmation that that's all he is, that his efforts are inevitably pointless because his origin means that his life will always revolve around the fact that he was born from Lucifer's wrath; he will always be less, he will always be linked, he will always be questioning whether he is merely the part of Lucifer that loathes himself personified. Dola's issues stem from her knowing she is different and wishing so desperately that people would see and recognize that. That the fruits of her labor stop being attributed to being part of her family that she loathes and dismissed as something inherent to her bloodline. She's also sick of being seen and used as a gateway to accessing her older relatives because it makes her feel like no one gives a shit about what she does.

I guess in short, I think Satan's battle is more with himself because I honestly think he's likely already killed everyone who's so much as whispered about comparing him to Lucifer so mostly, the main voice left belittling him the most is his own (and sometimes the brothers I guess, who seem to endlessly favor Lucifer more despite Satan being considerably nicer and more active in helping them out on the day to day?); Dola's battle, least by the time she's in the Devildom, is more with everyone else, and that's why she was able to help Satan deal with his issues. She's already been through the whole 'am I just them but shitter/what is my inherent worth/who am I without them' ordeal and can help him to some extent, at least.)

#chat & colloquy #🐳 nonnie!!#dolasach #hsdjk very very long #but whatever i think we've established that we both are into long replies hsjkhdfkjghdkfgh

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solargeist · 2 years

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I want to put your simpbur in a mason jar with some leaves and sticks and poke holes in the lid so he can breathe (/pos)

i had a visceral reaction to that first half i wont lie but pls give him a game console or something whats he gonna do with som sticks

#ask

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winetae · 6 years

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⇾ third degree burn | jjk (m).

➯ prompt; dragon!jk + “i’ll make it fit”

↳ 10.2k sequel to through the flames (and into the lava)

:: smut, fluff, crack

:: use of sex toys, oral sex, established relationship, dirty talk, penetrative sex w/ a Big Dick, creampie, cum marking

It’s taken you a good month or so to muster up the courage to ask him and now that the words are out in the open, you know that there’s no going back. You fiddle with the straw poking out of your juice box, gnawing your bottom lip as you brace yourself for the inevitable rejection.

You expect him to either gently dissuade you, his expression apologetic as he gives you a long explanation about how his anatomy isn’t built for fucking human vaginas, or for him to flat out deny you like a parent telling their kid to lay off the second helping of dessert.

He does neither.

You’ve barely finished your sentence when Jungkook chokes on a mouthful of cheap cup ramen. A noodle flies from his mouth and onto your plate as he nearly coughs up his lunch. He thumps his chest with a curled fist, eyes bulging, and tries to digest your proposal along with his meal.

His visceral reaction makes you regret not broaching the subject with more tact. In retrospect, you realize that it might have been wiser to phrase your request differently. No wonder he has a close brush with death as he tries to scarf down his lunch...

‘I want you to put your dick inside me’ isn’t the best opening line. At least it caught his attention? You surmise, trying to see the positive side.

Jungkook’s gaze flits around the cafeteria making sure no one’s overheard your exchange. You suppose his concern is valid. Admittedly, discussing this sensitive topic out in the open during a quick lunch break isn’t the greatest plan you’ve ever had, but now that you’ve finally gotten the confession off your chest, you’re not willing to take it back.

Honesty is the best policy... It’s about time you follow this piece of advice. Jungkook is first and foremost your best friend and confident. Having to keep your feelings to yourself is stifling—you’re tired of walking on eggshells around him, tired of not being capable of communicating like a Real Adult. Your inability to start a discussion weighs heavily on your mind and makes you think that there’s something wrong with you and your relationship. Why can’t you just say it? What are you so afraid of? When had you stopped expressing yourself freely around him?

Your train of thought is cut off once you notice Jungkook’s eyes start to water. Even though you don’t regret finally admitting your innermost desires, perhaps you should have given him a warning or two before voicing your thoughts. His face is colored a worrying shade of purple and his coughing hasn’t stopped. You feel a twinge of concern and hurry to hand him a glass of water which he swallows down in one go.

“You—” He gulps audibly. “Babe...I don’t think you realize what you’re saying.”

You’re quick to notice that he hasn’t flat out rejected the proposal.

It’s not a no. You can work with that.

“I’m serious about this. I’ve been th— I want to try.” And although you’ve been decided for a while now, the tremble in your voice betrays your nervousness.

While it’s true that the both of you are good at communicating, the topic of sex is one the two of you constantly tiptoe around. And, thinking back on it now, you’re not sure as to why you’ve been avoiding this conversation in the first place. It feels like a bad case of déjà vu, like you’ve been brought back to all those months ago when you were too self-conscious and worried of bringing up the subject of sex altogether.

Although it’s been well over four months since you both decided to take your relationship a step further, penetrative intercourse has always been off the table—an unspoken line neither of you dares cross for fear of making the other person uncomfortable. And truthfully, penetrative sex isn’t something either of you have been eager to partake in, either. Even now, Jungkook’s too scared of hurting you to attempt it and...well, you can’t exactly blame him—the first time you had laid your gaze on his dick remains a vivid memory that you still can’t completely shake off.

But as the months pass and the seasons change, your initial fear melts away along with the outside snow. It’s not that what you have going on right now with Jungkook isn’t satisfying. You don’t need his dick to enter you for him to coax orgasm after orgasm from you. You’re very well aware of this fact and yet...

Maybe you’re too inquisitive for your own good. Your mind is easily steered to dangerous places and your damned curiosity starts to get the best of you before you can rein it in. It starts off as a passing thought, a fleeting daydream, but over time a warmth kindles inside of you whenever you picture him slipping inside of you. The thought of being connected together so intimately makes your skin grow hot. You wonder how it’ll feel like to have him fill you up completely.

“I don’t understand where—” He makes a sudden sound in the back of his throat, a look of understanding dawning on his face. “Ah, is this about what Jimin said the other day? Don’t listen to him. It doesn’t matter whether we have sex or not. You don’t have to say these things to please me, you know that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, his black fringe falling over his eyes as he tries to reason with you. “What I have with you right now is more than good. Jimin’s just being a headass.”

Although the sincerity that colors his voice is sweet, you don’t let it sway you. Soaking your dry lips with a swipe of your tongue, you hesitate for a moment, wondering how to phrase your thoughts.

Finally you settle for, “It doesn’t have anything to do with Jimin. I don’t care about what people think, let alone him. I don’t! You know I wouldn’t take Jimin’s comments seriously.” Jungkook raises an eyebrow. Sensing his disbelief, you continue with a pout. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, even before he said anything...”

It’s hard to keep eye contact for some reason so you fiddle with the pink colored straw instead, your gaze fixed on the small lettering printed on the side of your juice box. “And I... I really want to give it a try. I mean! Only if—only if that’s something you’d be okay with, too.”

You chance a glance at him, trying to gauge his reaction. His brows are furrowed, eyes trained on you with an intensity that you’re not ready for. Your knee-jerk reaction is to avert your gaze, but the need for him to know that you’re serious about this keeps you from shying away from the scrutiny. You squirm in your seat,

“It’s not—” He leans back to rub the nape of his neck with his hand. “It isn’t that I don’t want to...y’know... But I just don’t see how it’s possible? I really don’t want you to end up in the hospital because I somehow ripped your insides and rearranged your guts for real.”

His expression twists into a grimace as he imagines the worst case scenario.

“If it doesn’t go in, then it doesn’t go in,” you agree with a nod. “But you’re okay with trying, right?”

Jungkook says your name with uncertainty, nibbling his bottom lip as he mulls over the question. “Are you sure you really want this?”

You cover one of his hands with your own, the difference in size noticeable. You’re not sure if it’s because your hands are just tiny, or if his dragon ancestry makes him big in comparison. In any case, his size difference has never scared you. You like the feeling of security he brings. Even though he’s a lot bigger than you, he’s gentle in nature—always making sure he doesn’t overpower you or inadvertently hurt you.

“Yeah, I am...but are you? If you don’t want to then don’t worry, I’ll understand.” You know all too well how self-conscious he is about his endowed dick. The last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable and force him into something he’s not ready for. “But if you’re worried I’m being peer pressured into this or that I’m saying this to satisfy you, then don’t. I don’t...want you to feel obligated to try this just because I want it.”

A laugh tumbles from his open mouth and you pull your hand back in surprise, not expecting this reaction. “Why? What did I say?”

The laugh lines near his eyes are still visible when he responds, “We’re both being obtuse again.” He cracks a smile at you, his brown eyes lit with warmth. “I do want to try if it’s with you. I never brought it up before because, well, I didn’t want you to feel like you had to say yes, y’know? I think we both remember how horrified you were when...”

He lets the words linger in the air and you have the decency to duck your head in embarrassment.

“If you’re sure this is what you want—”

“It is!” you’re quick to interject, voice unwavering and determined to prove him right.

“Then we can give it a try... Just don’t. Don’t be too disappointed if things don’t work out the way you expect, okay?”

You nod eagerly, your stomach doing victory flips. Jungkook smiles your way before leaning across the table to seal the deal with a kiss.

After The Talk, everything regrettably settles back to the way it was. In a way, you expect this outcome.

It becomes evident that no one is brave enough to take the lead. All throughout the week, nothing escalates further than heated kisses and wandering hands. The furthest you get is when Jungkook fingers you in the shower before he has to leave for his gym workout Saturday morning.

It’s Good but it’s not what you want. And you have a sinking feeling that you’ll never get there unless you do something about it.

You’re certain that Jungkook is still worried he’ll somehow stab a hole through your uterus with his dragon dick. Maybe a month or two ago, you would have shared his apprehension. From the moment you had seen his erection in all its glory, you had immediately ruled out the possibility of it ever entering you. There’s no way it’ll ever fit, had been your first thought and justifiably so. Jungkook is sizable in girth and length, easily putting acclaimed pornstars’ shlongs to shame. Every time the two of you get naked, or whenever you feel its hardness press up against you in the morning, you can’t help but feel the teeniest bit intimidated.

But Jungkook is more than understanding. In fact, you think that he does enough worrying for the both of you.

You distinctly remember how it took 10 years and then some just for him to accept a sloppy, mediocre blowjob. (”Kook, I’m not going to swallow you down on my first try, stop worrying so much! My will to live is pretty strong.”) Only after weeks of intimacy is he comfortable letting you use your mouth on him, but you can tell by the way he holds himself back—his hands curled by his side, thigh muscles tense beneath your fingers—that the worry never ceases to exist.

A part of you accepts the relationship for what it is—comfortable and secure. But your overactive imagination keeps you from being 100% content. Infinite possibilities constantly run through your mind, each one starting with the words ‘what if...’

It’s during one of your aimless browsing sessions on the net that the idea of penetrative sex starts to become a real possibility. Knowing that others share your concern gives you the final push of confidence to take things into your own hands. After all, if they can take their boyfriend’s big dicks, what’s stopping you from giving it a go? You blame it on your curiosity. Even though you’re well aware that the final result might not live up to your expectations, you want to at least attempt the deed before ruling it out for good.

In all honesty, you don’t expect it to be the most pleasant experience of your life. Looking at it realistically, there’s no way that sex with Jungkook can be anything but uncomfortable. Maybe you have a masochistic streak, but the prospect of pain doesn’t entirely put you off. You trust Jungkook to end things if they ever get too out of hand. And besides, it’s less about the pleasure than about the feeling of being intimately connected. You want to know how it feels like to take him raw, his hard girth filling you up completely. Even if it’s just once.

You spend more time than you’re willing to admit on various websites, searching for ways to sate your bubbling curiosity. They all say about the same thing—stressing the importance of relaxing and using lube before and during the deed. The more you read, the more you let yourself be tempted by the purchase of sex toys, ones that will get you used to being so stretched out.

Your first purchase is nothing extraordinary or adventurous by any means. But you reckon it’s safer to start out small than to experiment with the monster dildos you’ve seen being sold online. Unlike the demon dicks and tentacle dildos you’ve seen advertised as bestsellers, the discreet pink silicone toy meant for novices eases you into the subject. It’s almost...cute. The three distinctive vibrating speeds get the job done and soon you work your way up the size scale, your pussy slowly adjusting to the gradual stretch that you feel with every new addition to your sex toy collection.

Frankly, you’re astounded by the way your vagina is able to stretch with enough patience, determination and lube. (Speaking of lube—you’ve got enough to last you a lifetime).

Months ago, Jungkook’s fingers were too much to handle, but now you’re able to squeeze in a seven inch sex toy without breaking too much of a sweat. You know you’ve still got a long way to go before you’ll be able to accommodate Jungkook’s dick but you don’t lose hope just yet.

You fall into a routine of sorts. As soon as your boyfriend slips out for his daily workout at the gym, you hurry to take out the large shoe box from its hiding place. After picking out your toy of choice for the day and grabbing packets of lube, you fall back against a mountain of pillows, ready to get to work.

Unsurprisingly, the stockpile you’ve hidden away in the back of your closet keeps growing. Only some kind of miracle has kept Jungkook from stumbling across it.

At first you hadn’t intended on it being a secret, but now you’re set on keeping it a surprise by whatever means possible. You take every precaution necessary to prevent any accidental happenings. The sex toy box gets moved under the bed, out of reach and out of sight. You figure the probability of Jungkook discovering your dildo collection is slim to none now. Unless he has the sudden urge to vacuum under the bed, you don’t see why he’d stick his head down there.

There’s no specific reason as to why you want to keep it under wraps. You suppose you like the idea of surprising him—of his face going slack in awe and wonder when you show him what you learned to do. There’s something satisfying about catching him off-guard; like whenever you learn a new blowjob trick and put it to use without warning him beforehand.

For a while, all is well and goes according to plan. The last thing you expect is for all of your hard work to go down the drain because of your own carelessness.

“Babe?” calls out Jungkook. “Do you know where I left my p—oh.”

You can’t think of a worse moment to barge in unannounced.

A voice in the back of your head curses your lack of awareness. You could have sworn that you had heard him start up the car, but your haste must have made you forget to double check.

There’s an awkward pause where you both stare at each other without exchanging words. The huge, bright purple dildo is still buzzing on the floor where you had dropped it at the sound the door swinging open, reminding you of its presence. Your face burns with mortification.

He finally breaks the silence, averting his eyes as a flush blooms high on his cheeks. “Uh... I’ll j— um, just leave you to it, I gue—”

“Jungkook,” you squeak out, embarrassed. He freezes up at the mention of his name, not knowing whether to give you some privacy or leave like his instincts tell him to. “Don’t go.”

It’ll be worse if he leaves now, you figure. Might as well get it out of the way now, no matter how much the situation makes you want to bury yourself under the covers and never show your face again.

You turn off the dildo and chuck it away, desperate to get it out of sight. You’ll worry about hygiene later. Once the toy is stashed away, you heave a sigh, unsure of where to start.

Jungkook lingers in the doorway, unsure of if he’s truly welcome or not. It’s still awkward and you don’t know how to fix it.

“Is it... Is it me?” asks your boyfriend in a small voice, his gaze trained on an imaginary spot on the floor. He swallows. “I know we haven’t been... together... in a while. I didn’t mean to neglect you.”

“No! No, that’s not it...” You scratch behind your ear as you gather your thoughts. “I’ve just...”

Why is it so awkward? You want to curl in on yourself on the spot.

“Remember what we talked about before? About maybe...trying to have penetrative sex.” The words sound unsexy when you say them but Jungkook ignores your visible cringing and nods slowly, eyes finally drifting up to meet yours.

“I’ve been... practicing.” You finish lamely, suddenly aware of how ridiculous it might seem. Reading sex tips on the internet might have seemed like a good idea at first, but now you’re not so sure. What if Brenda from Arkansas was lying? You should’ve known better than to trust strangers on the internet.

Several beats of silence pass, and you risk a glance in Jungkook’s direction.

For once, you’re not sure how to interpret his expression. His eyebrows are pulled together—but he doesn’t look angry or displeased. Rather, it looks like he’s in deep contemplation. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but the longer the silence goes on, the antsier you feel inside.

You open your mouth to babble, anything to fill the silence, but Jungkook’s expression stops you from making a fool out of yourself.

He breaks out into a smirk. A shiver runs down your back; the smug look is one you’re extremely familiar with. He stalks over to you in slow, confident steps, the curl of his lips still present.

“So you wanted my cock that badly, huh?” Jungkook stops at the foot of the bed.

Ugh. Sometimes you really hate how easily he’s able to shift into this cocky headspace. One second he won’t stop fretting, worried that you’ll choke and die on his dick, and the next he’s convinced that you want nothing more than to swing off his erection like a fucking vine.

“Maybe I bought it for the vibrating function.”

“That’s not what you were saying a second ago...” Jungkook shakes his head, nudging the discarded dildo on the floor with his foot. “Did you cum earlier?”

“...No,” you grudgingly admit. Jungkook’s smirk deepens, his eyebrow arching. “You were gone for like two minutes! ”

“I’ve made you cum in less,” he points out. “Guess a toy won’t ever be enough to replace me, huh. Vibrating functions and all.”

“Wow.” You deadpan. “Maybe you should try sucking your own dick since you love it so much.”

“I can think of someone else who would rather suck it for me,” he quips.

And fuck it. He’s right.

Your eyes are unwittingly drawn to his crotch area, your mouth salivating at the thought of sucking the arrogance straight out of him. It feels like it’s been forever since you had the opportunity to put your mouth on him. Although you want him in your pussy (badly), you’re not too fussy which hole he puts it in first.

That’s how you end up on your knees, mouth open, shame nonexistent. Maybe it’s because of the lack of recent sexual intimacy, but you’re craving any form of contact you can get. You’re quick to roll the pair of grey sweats down his muscular legs, your hands already reaching for his dick before you can think twice about it.

From then on, it’s all a blur, your body working purely on instinct and the desire you’ve been repressing for weeks. The only thought crossing your mind is the need to be filled up any way that you can.

Jungkook stares down at you through his lashes, his bottom lip tucked tightly between his row of teeth. His eyes are dark, hungry, ready to eat you up. They roam your face, taking in the way your lips are stretched out obscenely around his cock and how your eyes tear up every time he hits the back of your throat.

In the past, he’s always said he’d willingly trade his sizable girth for a smaller one in a heartbeat, but there’s no denying how hot you look right now, kneeling between his legs as you try your best to stuff your face full of cock.

Keyword being try.

Jungkook smirks, endeared. It’s cute how you keep attempting to swallow him down, even though you both know it’ll never completely fit. You can barely take him halfway before your throat closes up on him and you gag.

“Did you practice sucking those toys, too? They don’t match up to my dick, do they, hm?” He teases, his voice a little breathy from the way your warm tongue slides against the throbbing vein near the head of his cock.

Your eyes glint with determination once his words register. It’s a look he’s all too familiar with. He knows that once you’ve set your mind on something, there’s no stopping you. Seeing the same fiery spirit applied in this particular situation gets his blood running hot.

His gulp is drowned out by the obscene noises that echo throughout the otherwise silent room. Fuck. Maybe it’s a figment of his imagination, but it feels like your mouth has tightened around him. It takes all of his focus to keep his hips still as you work yourself over him relentlessly, coating his length in saliva until it’s slippery and glides past your swollen lips with ease.

Jungkook’s eyes droop closed as he tries to collect himself. He uses every trick in the book to prevent him from finishing prematurely—reciting the alphabet backwards, thinking of his dog, Pluto, barging in mid-suck. It's not an easy task. With every bob of your head he can feel his control slipping. By some miracle, he holds himself back, even though all he truly wants to do is thrust his hips forward and bury himself deep down your throat until he cums.

He wants to give himself a pat on the back for exhibiting such self-restraint. However his smugness is wiped away the moment he opens his eyes and risks a glance down at you.

The visual and auditory stimuli are almost enough make him explode on the spot. There’s no other explanation for it...you’re basically fucking yourself onto his cock. The noises that resound in the room every time you gag and choke around his girth are lewd, bordering on pornographic.

Jungkook briefly wonders if you’re able to breathe properly through all of this. Worry flashes across his mind, knowing that your throat will surely hurt afterwards, but he can’t find it in him to pull you off. Not now that he’s about a minute away from blowing his load.

Your hands stroke everywhere your mouth can’t reach, spreading your spit and his precum around until his member is thoroughly drenched in your shared fluids.

“Fuck yeah,” Jungkook grunts, his large hand reaching out to pat your head encouragingly. “You’re doing so good for me. Such a good little cocksucker.”

Saliva trickles out from the sides of your mouth, dampening your chin and neck. Your skin, flushed with desire, glistens under the overhead light. When you look up to meet his gaze, he swears he can feel his cock twitch. He’s never seen you look so filthy, so debauched.

He’s no stranger to blowjobs by now, but you’ve always been timid and unsure in your movements before. It’s the first time that you’ve ever sucked him so enthusiastically before and he can’t deny how affected he is by it. There’s something about the way you struggle to maintain eye contact, your stare glassy and fogged up with arousal, that makes him fight down a groan.

His cock hits the back of your throat again, causing the muscles to spasm around his sensitive head. It’s too much. Jungkook lets out a shaky breath as his fingers grip your hair, torn between wanting to hold you down and pull you off.

You end up making the decision for him by pulling off his length with a choked gasp, a string of saliva connecting his cock to your mouth. The obscene image makes his cock jump and he has to clench his hand around the base of his length to calm himself down before he hurtles to his end prematurely.

It takes a moment for you to catch your breath. Once you've evened out your breathing, you lean your weight forward to suckle the tip of his cock. Your tongue darts out from between your swollen lips to eagerly lap up the clear precum dribbling from the head. All the while, your hands reach out to pump the rest of his length. The grip isn’t tight enough to push him over the edge, the pace of the strokes too slow to be anything but teasing, but it makes his spine tingle with desire.

A coy smirk colors your lips as you lick the head of his cock over and over again. Usually he likes taking his time with you, drawing out the foreplay until you both can’t take it anymore. Today is not one of those days.

He shifts his hips back, distancing himself enough from you so that his cock is out of reach. Frankly speaking, he’s too on edge to indulge in too much teasing. His balls feel heavy and ready to burst. And as much as he loves to paint your face and chest white (anywhere on your body really), there’s nothing that satisfies him more than making sure your pussy is full and dripping with his hot seed. Knowing that he might be able to fill you up directly and not have to scoop up his fluid with his fingers just to stuff it into you afterwards is a prospect he’s not about to pass up.

“You liked that?” Your voice is hoarse but there’s a proud lilt to it. Your eyes sweep his figure, lingering on his face and throbbing dick, before your face settles into a satisfied expression. It’s hot—the way you sound equally smug and fucked out.

“You’re amazing,” he confirms, pulling you by the waist to press his lips against yours. “How’s your throat? Want me to get you some water?”

“M’okay.” You shake your head once before leaning back down.

It’s supposed to be a simple peck, but he quickly gets lost in the electrifying sensation he feels every time he kisses you. Even after all of these months, he never grows tired of kissing you. The moment his lips touch yours it feels like puzzle pieces falling into place. Every thing is right with the world, he thinks, his chest warm and fuzzy. Not that he’d ever admit it aloud.

It doesn’t take long for him to deepen the kiss. His tongue slides against yours, his lips pressing against your mouth with more insistence. He swallows down each of your gasps and sighs, hungry for more. There’s a salty aftertaste that he quickly dismisses, his mind too focused on what’s to come. His veins thrum with anticipation, his blood hot.

One of his hands bunches up the fabric of your shirt. He lets out a hiss of annoyance.

“Why do you still have clothes on?” He grunts, glaring at the offending item.

“There.” You say, pulling off your shirt in one go. “It’s off.”

He hums, taking a moment to appreciate the view. Although it’s definitely not the first time he’s seen you so exposed, there’s a feeling of novelty each time he lays eyes on you—as corny as it sounds. His friends never fail to poke fun at him, but honestly? He doesn’t mind what they say, having long since resigned himself to accept that none of his friends would ever understand him.

“Why don’t you play the field? This is our prime. How d’you know she’s ‘The One’ if you’ve never been with anyone else, huh?” Thinking back on their words now, he can only laugh at their fake concern. The thought of being with anyone else seems unfathomable, the idea not having crossed his mind even once.

“Don’t tell me you wanted my clothes off just so you could stare at me,” your whine pulls him out of his thoughts. “Are you really gonna sit there and not do anything?”

Your words snap him into action. “So impatient.” He rolls his eyes. “Up on the mattress, then.”

You scurry to the bed, plopping yourself down onto the rumpled sheets. Now that the awaited moment is finally here, your nerves are getting the best of you. It’s not the bad kind of nervous—what you want hasn’t changed—but there’s a fluttering in your stomach that’s impossible to calm down.

What if, after all your hard work, it won’t fit? There’s a real possibility that it might never go in all the way. You know this. You’ve envisioned the different outcomes in your head, failure being one of them. But just because it might happen doesn’t mean you want it to. Despite all logic and reasoning, you think you might be disappointed if it doesn’t go to plan.

It’s hard to find the ideal position. You squirm around for a while before settling against the heap of pillows near the headboard. But instead of actually feeling relaxed, your thoughts are preoccupied with the need to feel relaxed. It’s like your body is hyper-sensitive to everything. You’re suddenly aware of an itch on the bridge of your nose. There’s a slight strain in your neck as you crane your head up to stare at Jungkook. The bed sheets are folded at a weird angle that dig into your spine.

“You’re thinking way too much,” interrupts Jungkook, his head tilted to the side as he observes you carefully. He rubs a thumb over your ankle—a gesture meant to calm you down. “You okay?”

You nod in assent, still distracted. It feels like your mind is running ten miles per minute, a thousand different questions and scenarios popping up one after the other in quick succession.

“Hey.” Jungkook tries again, his voice soft. It coaxes you out of your inner musings. “Let me take care of you.”

There’s a slight dip in the mattress where Jungkook kneels between you. His hold around your ankle tightens as he splays your legs open for better access.

Your reply comes out as a hum and he smirks down at you before readjusting his position. Now flat on his belly, he draws his face closer to your sex. A dark look crosses his face, his eyes black with lust as he zeroes in on the sight before him.

His gaze is solely focused on the view between your legs when he says, “Gonna open you nice and good for my cock.”

And with that he dives in, licking a broad stripe up your sex, his tongue rough and hot against your wet folds. You shudder at the initial contact but Jungkook hooks his arms around your legs to keep you still as he works his mouth on you.

It never takes much to get you going in these situations but Jungkook always insists on starting off slow. He’s a patient man to a fault. Soon, the slow, measured strokes of his tongue become unbearable. The arousal pumping through your veins makes you dizzy with lust. It feels like your orgasm isn’t too far away but you know that you’ll never reach it this way.

Uselessly, you try to grind your hips onto his face but with the way his arms pin you him place, you’re forced to withstand the torturous pace.

“Kook,” you whimper. It’s your nth attempt trying to grind your sex onto his face and you think you’re this close to going insane with want. Unfortunately for you, he’s having none of it. You can feel him grin against your lower lips, huffing out a chuckle as he makes fun of your plight. “It’s not funny, Jungkook. I feel like I’m ‘bout to die.”

He pulls back from his meal, his mouth shining with your juices. There’s a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Good. That’s where I want you to be, desperate and dripping for it. You feelin’ empty yet?”

Now that he mentions it, you do feel empty. You’re so used to having his fingers or a dildo fill you up that the blatant emptiness only frustrates you further. You miss the stretch, the slight burn as your body adjusts to the girth breaching you.

You swallow, the taste of him is still present on your tongue. The recent memory of him in your throat flashes through your mind and reignites your thirst for his fat dick. You need it, but not in your mouth this time—in your aching pussy.

“Hm?” His eyes narrow as he awaits a verbal response.

“So what if I am.” It’s embarrassing to say out loud and he knows it.

“That’s not asking for what you want nicely.” He lifts his brows in your direction. You know that you’re pushing your luck, but you can’t stop the frustration from bubbling over.

“If you don’t hurry up and get on with it, I’m gonna go through the box under the bed and deal with the problem myself.”

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek. You both stay at a standstill, refusing to budge.

“If that’s what you want.” He shrugs, like he’s not scheming something behind his cool facade. “Go get out one of those plastic things and open yourself up nice and good for me. I want you wet enough to soak the sheets.”

For a moment, no one moves. It takes a few seconds for his words to register and you can’t keep the surprise off your face. Honestly, you’re surprised Jungkook had called your bluff. Because as nice as the dildos feel buried inside of you, you prefer it when his long fingers work you to an orgasm, the crook of his digits hitting all the right spots without trying.

“Go on,” he motions with a jut of his chin.

You’re much too proud to go back on your word now. Swallowing, you inch towards the edge of the bed to retrieve the cardboard box you had previously pulled out from underneath its hiding place. There are several toys that catch your attention, but your hand immediately reaches out for one of your favorites—a pale pink vibrating dildo.

At first glance, this particular toy isn’t overwhelming. The shape imitates one of a human cock, but it’s average in length with simple and easy to use functions. The girth, however, is challenging to fit in. Whenever it gets time to pull the dildo out, its vacancy never fails to make you lust for a real cock.

Jungkook wants you to open yourself up? Then this should definitely do the trick.

You flounder for a minute, suddenly very self-conscious. After all, it’s the first time that you’re the one doing all the work and the novelty throws you off. Usually Jungkook is the one that uses the vibrator to stimulate your clit, his fingers or tongue filling you up to the brim. Now that you’re left to your own devices, you don’t know where to begin.

Should you just shove it in or—?

“Just pretend like I’m not here,” Jungkook encourages with a nod. “Play with yourself like you usually do when I’m not home.”

You gulp, eyelids falling shut as you try to follow his words of advice. You can still feel your heartbeat drumming in your chest, but the anxiety is lessened after taking several deep breaths. Once you’ve got your heart rate under control, you hold the tip of the toy against your sex and run it over your folds, the touch light and teasing.

In your imagination, it’s not a sex toy, but Jungkook himself working you up to a frenzy. He runs his thick digit over your mound, purposely avoiding your clit. The pace is maddeningly slow, but you keep at it, knowing that he’d be a little shit about it in real life. It helps keep up the illusion.

Picturing Jungkook always gets you excited. You can’t help the furl of arousal in your stomach at the thought of him touching you so intimately. Whether it’s his agile fingers or wicked tongue, he never fails to draw out your inner slut.

Your flick on the vibrations, your hips lifting from the mattress as you feel the first buzz go straight to your clit.

Rapidly, you’re consumed by lust. It’s electrifying—each one of your nerves set on fire. It doesn’t take long for you to turn the vibrations up a notch, eager for more.

“Ah fuck,” you mewl, nose scrunching up. It’s almost too much. You lose all semblance of control; all of your focus zeroes in on the mind-numbing ecstasy each vibration provokes. You can’t seem to keep your hips from bucking up in search for the addictive pleasure, already hooked on the feeling.

When you tease yourself with the sex toy, it slips around because of how drenched you’ve become. Although your eyes are closed, you can hear the wet, lewd squelches every time you work the tip in and out. You hold it at your dripping entrance for a few seconds, your hole clenching around it, desperate for something to cling onto. After a few back and forth rocking motions, your hips cant up, the toy slipping in a few extra inches.

The initial stretch makes you tense all over, your body adjusting to the intrusion. Even though your arousal eases the slide, the girth is thick enough to make you hold your breath as you work it in inch by inch.

“You’re doing such a good job,” Jungkook croons, his voice breaking your concentration. The sudden reminder of his presence heightens your arousal. “Your pussy looks so pretty all stretched from that toy.”

You don’t mean to do so, but the filth spilling from his lips makes your walls clench around the toy. You can feel the silicone object being sucked in a few more inches, filling you up even further. With every breath, you’re distinctly aware of the big toy stretching your walls. Beads of sweat drip down your neck, your chest rising and falling as the whirring vibrations shake you to the core.

“Oh fuck,” you choke around a gasp, your thigh muscles stiffening as the pleasure inside you spirals to a peak.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Jungkook hovers over you, his dark eyes greedily drinking in your flushed out form laid out beneath him. “Are you imagining that it’s my cock right now? Hmm? Want me to fuck your needy cunt open until you’re aching?”

His dirty talk fuels your arousal. Licks of pleasure wrap around your spine, your blood molten. You feel your pussy throb painfully around the plastic toy, desperate for its imminent release. You know that it’ll only take a push to topple over the edge.

Your eyes shoot open, alarmed, your legs snapping shut to block Jungkook’s hand from pulling the toy out of you. “Wha—”

It would be downright cruel to stop now—not when your orgasm is so close that you can taste it.

But before you can voice your protest, he thrusts the dildo back in, the action robbing you of breath. He slowly inches it out, only the tip remaining inside of you, and slams it back in until you’re moaning his name in broken cries.

You glance down between your inner thighs, not knowing where to focus your gaze. The toy glistens, soaked with the proof of your arousal, but it’s not what retains your attention. Jungkook’s arms are much more fascinating—the veins running up his arm prominent, the toned muscles on display for your eyes to feast on. You’re not really one to brag, but your boyfriend looks like A Snack.

That’s your last coherent thought you have before he fucks you with the dildo in earnest. He never once lets go of the base of the toy, not even to readjust his grip despite how slippery it becomes.

Maybe it’s to make up for the lack of action for the past few weeks... Or maybe it’s because he thinks an orgasm will help the penetrative sex be less painful later on... But Jungkook’s attention is solely focused on the task at hand—he works that dildo like he’s trying to give you the best orgasm of your life.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll want my cock to keep you plugged and full all the time,” he snarls, his eyes hooded. His words rain down on you, each sentence fucking you up, making your head spin until you can’t tell right from left. “When we’re done, you’re gonna feel so empty, you’ll beg me to fill you back up until you’re bursting. I’ll give you want whatever you want, baby, so be a good girl for me and fucking cum.”

It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment you cum hard, his name painting your lips. You don’t blank out, but everything other than your sexual gratification ceases to exist. Pleasure bursts behind your closed eyelids, your back arching as jolts of electricity travel down your spine all the way to the tips of your toes. You don’t seem to know any word other than his name—it falls from your parted mouth like an everlasting mantra. Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook. His name runs through your veins, until it’s the only truth you know.

When the world finally stops spinning out of focus, Junkook is there, circling your wrists with his thumbs. “Feelin’ better?”

You nod, not trusting your voice right now. Everything feels foggy, your thoughts muddled.

“Told you I was gonna take care of you,” he says proudly, his eyes sparkling.

It takes a few moments, but eventually you manage to prop yourself up on your elbows and sit up properly. “Want your cock,” you whine out, voice hoarse, the pout evident. “’M ready. Really want it.”

He places a hand around your middle to keep you steady as you paw at his dick in yearning. Apparently, all your orgasm has done is make you more desperate to get dicked down. You half-expect Jungkook to make a passing comment on how cock-hungry you’re acting right now, but all he does it hum, amusement dancing across his features.

You give his shoulders a small push, scrambling to your knees. “Wait. Let me try being on top.”

“You sure?” His eyebrows knit together in concern.

“I read that it’ll be less painful this way because I’ll have more control on how deep it goes. I’ll be able to go at my own pace,” you explain, moving around so that you’re straddling him. His thighs are strong and sturdy under your palms and you feel them flex as you readjust yourself.

“Okay, if you’re sure. Just tell me if it hurts too much, alright? Don’t force yourself.”

“If I feel like my vagina is about to rip apart, I’ll let you know, don’t worry.” Your joke doesn’t seem to appease him very much. A frown etches itself on his face, the lines so deep you’re worried the marks will never fade.

“I’m serious. I don’t want you to get hurt.” He levels you with a stern gaze, his eyes never once leaving yours.

“I won’t push myself past my limits.” You say firmly, agreeing easily.

“I just... I don’t want you to be disappointed if it doesn’t work out like you want.” He nibbles his lower lip. “I’m not trying to back out. Really, it’s not that I don’t want to, but I’m worried you’ll end up hurt and that you’ll be scared of me afterwards.”

You feel your heart squeeze in your chest. “This is exactly why I trust you. You think I’d want to take any ol’ big dick inside me just for the fun of it?” Although the tone of your voice is teasing, the words carry meaning.

Honestly, sometimes you’ll contemplate life and wonder how you got so lucky. Jungkook’s extensive list of qualities outweighs his flaws by far. He’s always been the trustworthy kind of person. He’s the type to remember to water your plants when you’re gone and not leave the stove on after use... He’s the annoying kid in class that gets all the answers right, but you don’t have it in you to hate him because he never brags about his accomplishments. Honestly, he’s so perfect that it’s unfair.

You’re a bit self-conscious of how you look like in lingerie or in a bikini, but you have no issue stripping off and baring your entire body to Jungkook. He’s kind and genuine—you know that when he compliments you, he believes what he says.

So no, there’s no one else you feel this comfortable around. Sure, both of you will occasionally argue about which superhero is superior, and you always have to order two different pizzas because your taste buds don’t match, but there’s no one else that you’d rather spend the rest of your life with. You wouldn’t trade Jungkook’s anime loving ass for anyone else in the world even if they tried to bribe you with a lifetime supply of fried chicken. And that’s saying something.

“Wh—are you crying? What’s wrong?!” Jungkook interrupts your inner monologue, gently cupping your face between his warm hands as his voice raises in panic. Seeing how sincere he is only riles you up further. God, it’s not even soft hours but yet here you are, your heart a minute or two away from bursting because of how full it feels.

“I just.” You sniffle pathetically. “I love you so much.”

“Um... Thanks?” He says, evidently confused by your sudden confession.

You swat his arm, the last of your tears drying up. Way to ruin the mood, you think inwardly with a roll of your eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he insists, brows furrowed. “We don’t have to do this now, you know that, right? We can do this tomorrow, or next month. Or in five years, if that’s how long you want to wait.”

“I know. I know, I’m just—I,” you gulp, chin tucked in. “It’s silly but I want this to be perfect.”

“It will be,” he assures, running a hand down your back soothingly. He repeats the motion a few times until your breathing even outs, heartbeat no longer erratic. Once your thoughts have settled down, Jungkook gives you a small smile, pulling you closer to press a kiss over your mouth. You stay interlocked, your lips molding against his, enjoying the warmth of his tongue and the way he steals your breath away with every passing second. His kisses make your bones melt—the same feeling you get after drinking a heady, mature wine.

Jungkook breaks the kiss with a content sigh. He leans back against the headboard to give you more room, slightly out of breath, his lips swollen and bitten-red. The sight makes your blood surge with arousal, the rush reminding you of how much you want him.

Your movements aren’t very coordinated or smooth. Enthusiasm makes you clumsy; you struggle to find your balance. You lift your hips up, shifting your weight forward so as to position yourself over his erect member. There is no hesitation on your part when you coat the entirety of his length in lube and line his shaft up at your entrance.

“Wait.” Jungkook digs his fingertips into your sides, stilling you before you can lower down your hips. “You’re still on the pill, right?”

“Why? Afraid you’re gonna pop a few eggs into me?”

“For the last time—that’s not how it works,” he rolls his eyes, holding back a groan. “I’m not gonna fuck eggs into you.”

“That’s how your granddaddies did it!”

“No, that’s how they did centuries ago when they were actual dragons. With wings and fire and scales. We’ve evolved since then, in case you couldn’t tell.” Jungkook huffs and you can hear the exasperation in his voice.

“But you said—”

“Do you want me to get soft or what?”

“Fine.” Your lips purse into a pout. “Should I count down before I put it in?”

“Uh. I dunno about that.” He knocks his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Just do it whenever.”

“You know when I imagined this in my head, I thought it would be a bit more romantic...”

“You want me to put a bow around my cock and wrap it up for you?” He snarks. Your grip tightens around his cock, your eyes narrowing into slits, and he hisses through his teeth.

“Wait,” Jungkook calls out right before you slip it in.

“What is it now?” you grumble, hips hovering over his dick as you wait for him to speak.

“Give me a safeword if we’re about to do this. I need to know when to stop if it gets too much, yeah?” He wets his lips nervously.

“Um. Okay... What about... Scrambled eggs?”

“Scrambled eggs.” He deadpans, unimpressed.

“M’yeah.” You nod, happy with your choice of safeword. Jungkook groans but accepts it nonetheless. Clearly he’s given up arguing with you for the night.

“Okay, I’m gonna do it,” is your last final warning before you put the tip in.

You expect it to hurt, but for the first few seconds it doesn’t. You blink several times, the feeling not really registering. It’s not an immediate pain, nothing life-shattering, nothing that makes you double-over in agony. Instead, the burn is gradual, similar to the feeling you get when stretching out your hamstrings before a tennis match. It’s a good type of burn, one you’re certain that you wouldn’t have been able to handle had you not acquired a dildo collection.

Slowly, you sink down on his length. Jungkook breathes in sharply through his nose, his hands firm on your hips. He doesn’t try to control the pace, but your can feel his fingers bruise the skin as he struggles to keep his composure in check.

The fit is tight, even to you, so you can’t imagine how good it feels for him. Your pussy must feel like a fucking vice, all tight and hot.

In all honesty, i’s hard to believe that he’s finally inside of you. Raw. Without any barriers to obstruct the feeling of his skin rubbing up inside of you. The feeling is... indescribable. It’s a million times better than the cold, unfeeling, rigid toys you’ve been practicing with.

You swear that you can feel every ridge of his dick, down to the veins running along his length. His erection twitches inside of you, and the sudden movement makes you squirm.

“Fuck, don’t clench.” He grunts between gritted teeth, a muscle in his lower jaw twitching as he swallows thickly. “You’re so fucking tight, what the fuck. Fuuuck, fuck, oh shit, I said don’t clench!”

Although you find his reactions amusing, you can’t help but take pity on him a little. Out of the goodness of your heart, you decide to give him a break. You still your hips, being careful to keep your walls as relaxed as possible. The stretch of his girth doesn’t burn as much as before, but what worries you is the length. You’re not even properly halfway down and it already feels like you’re filled to the brim.

You lift your hips back up, your walls dragging along his member, leaving behind a slight sheen. It’s still a bit on the uncomfortable side, not yet fully pleasurable, but you’re convinced that once you’ve adjusted, it’ll be as satisfying as you hear sex could be.

Every time you lower yourself onto his dick, you sink a little further down each time—but still nowhere near taking him in his entirety. When you reach the halfway point, you stop to take a breather, your pussy throbbing. The feel of Jungkook’s dragon dick is extremely arousing. You don’t think you even need to take his entire dick, not when this much feels so good already.

Jungkook seems to agree with you. The top of his chest is flushed pink, the same color blooming on his neck and cheeks. He looks like he’s reached nirvana, the black of his pupils eclipsing the usual honey-brown color of his irises.

“Oh shit,” you yelp, eyes widening as steam escapes his nostrils.

It’s been a while since that’s happened so it catches you off-guard. Jungkook’s usually pretty good at controlling his reactions. The steam only blows out of his nose when he really can’t keep it together, the reins of control slipping through his grasp.

As much as you want to satisfy your own desires, you also want this to be a memorable experience for him. It’s twice as rewarding to know that he’s also enjoying it. So knowing that you’ve got him so affected fills you with sense of pride. You did that. Single-handed. With your pussy alone.

The thought urges you to rock your hips forward. You experiment—rolling your hips, circling them, clenching your inner walls. You make note of every shift of Jungkook’s expressions, trying to remember what the most pleasurable combination is for him.

Soon, it starts to get pleasurable for you, too. His member is so fat and thick inside you, filling you up and hitting all the spots you never knew you had. Whenever you roll your hips a certain way, your clit rubs against his skin, the spark of friction renewing your desire for an orgasm.

Maybe Jungkook senses it, or perhaps he notices the gradual loss of power behind your movements, but he decides to help out. Tightening his grips around your waist, he lifts you up and down on his hardness. You’re not sure if it’s the display of strength or if it’s the feeling of him using your body to reach his high—but whatever it is helps you get off. It’s fucking hot seeing his abs and biceps tense every time he lifts you off his cock. Your hands dig into his shoulders to keep you upright as he continues to fuck you onto his shaft like you’re made for it.

“Feel so fucking good,” he rasps before leaning forward to nip your neck. The bite makes you mewl incoherently because of course he would go and aim straight for your sweet spot. Talk about sensory overload. “Always. Look at you, holy shit. Taking my cock like a fuckin’ champ. You’re so fucking hot.”

He pauses to change positions. One moment you’re staring down at him, the next you’re blinking at the ceiling fan, your back pressed against the blue cotton sheets. Jungkook doesn’t take too long before sliding his dick back inside you. It still doesn’t fit in all the way—there’s still a good amount that you haven’t been able to squeeze in—but Jungkook understands your limits and never tries to push past them when he knows you’re not ready to handle that.

From this angle, he can control the pace more easily, the strain on his arms not as intense. He holds himself up over you as his hips work into yours, his eyes drinking in your fucked out expression. He’s never seen you look so gone—and that’s saying something. You’re so out of it that you’re not even capable of words—only drawn out moans leave your parted lips, some echoes sounding like distorted versions of his name.

You’re beautiful. You always are—there’s no doubt about that. But this version of you—breasts bouncing with every thrust, skin glistening with a sheen of perspiration, hair wild and untamed, lids hooded and eyes glassy—awakens a baser, primal instinct inside of him.

He always feels it deep inside him whenever he’s about to cum—the need to make sure your walls are coated in his seed. Up until now, he’s been manually inserting it inside of you with his fingers. But now? The possibility of filling you to the brim with his hot white fluid without wasting a single drop makes his heart pound dangerously against his rib cage. He wants it so badly, that it physically hurts.

As he feels himself nearing the end, a string of filth falls freely from his lips. He doesn’t even really know what he’s saying, the only thought on his mind right now the one of fucking you full of his cum.

“Wanted me so bad you were ready to do anything for it, isn’t that right? Prepped yourself up just to take my fat cock, just like a good slut would.” He growls, low and throaty. “Bet you felt so empty all the time, just waiting for a nice cock to fill you up. But no one will ever compare to me, hm. No one will ever get you as full as I can.”

He punctuates his words with a few well placed rolls of his hips. One of his hands reach down to where your two bodies are joined. He easily hones in on your clit, his fingers pinching and pulling the engorged nub until your cries reach a fever-pitch.

The moment he feels your velvet walls clamp down around him, he curses under his breath, his hips stuttering as he feels his orgasm creep up on him. The feeling of him spurting inside of you is enough to make his elbows go weak. Somehow he manages not to collapse and crush your smaller figure. Still mindful of you despite the intense feeling wracking his entire frame, he rolls you both around so that you’re laying on top of him instead.

He’s still cumming. In the back of his head, he does find it alarming. But he’s too high on endorphins to really care about how much cum is being pumped into you, not when it seems to satisfy a kind of biological need. He doesn’t know the details; he just knows how right it feels to have you full of his sperm.

After what seems like an eternity, he can finally breathe properly. He doesn’t dare pull out, not wanting his cum to leak out just yet. The feeling of his sticky cum should be uncomfortable, but he likes knowing that he’s keeping you plugged full.

“Shit, how much did you fucking come?” you croak out. You raise your head to stare at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously. It’s not a very intimidating look. “You’re sure you didn’t lay eggs or some shit, right?”

“I didn’t!” He protests at once, his features twisting into a scowl.

“Just asking. I don’t want to be surprised later on.” You plop your head back onto his chest, not caring about how sweaty your bodies are

After a few beats of silence, Jungkook squirms around, restless. “Sorry I came so much... I honestly didn’t think it’d last that long.”

“Is it another dragon thing?”

“I mean... I always cum a lot. Maybe I had a lot of cum saved up this time or something...” He says, trying to convince himself. Somehow, he doubts the validity of his words. He’s not too sure what happened, but he has an inkling that he’s not sure he wants to confirm or not. “You said you were still on the pill, right?”

“Yeah, why?” Your voice comes out muffled, your lips pressed against his firm chest.

“Just being safe.” He gnaws his bottom lip, waiting for a wave of relief to wash over him. It never comes. He wracks his brain to try to find the cause, sifting through memories of conversations he’s had with his father and recollections of his readings about his ancestry, but nothing immediately comes to mind.

He forces his muscles to relax, ignoring the annoying voice in the back of his mind that tells him that he’s somehow fucked up. He’s probably just being paranoid and worrying too much again, so he dismisses the nagging feeling and puts aside those anxious thoughts for now.

a/n: ty to all my dragon hoes ;;; (surprisingly i have a lot of them) and ty to my friends for listening to me talk about dragons and eggs for longer than they ever wanted <3 lov u

#anyways ! here is That drabble i've been thinking about for a while #/drabble/#^^ <3 #bts smut #jungkook smut

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vincentacovino · 6 years

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I Was Given Lemons and I Made Lemonade: What Beyoncé’s Album Says About Contemporary American Race Relations

The release of Lemonade brought with it a public fervor. More than any other record last year, it spurred think pieces and discussion by the public and major music publications alike. Some were quick to praise Beyoncé’s visual narrative album as a complex and textured take on feminist politics and black identity. Others founds its themes of infidelity to be nothing more than manufactured drama with the intent to sell records — an example of commercial spectacle at its absolute worst.

What quickly became clear was that, regardless of the kind of conversations that were being had, they were certainly being had at an alarming rate. Something about Lemonade, beyond merely its commercial significance, had struck a chord with the American cultural conscience.

It’s hard to talk about Lemonade without mention of its creator’s cultural clout. Beyoncé, the R&B artist and business mogul, has been at the epicenter of American culture for sometime now. With six platinum studio albums and 62 singles, Beyoncé has cemented herself as one of the most successful solo artists of the century. And Beyoncé’s relationship with the American masses – at times messy and controversial – is emblematic of something else about American authorship and how impossible it is to navigate the constructs of the American race binary. Three particular moments, isolated in this paper, each suggest something significant about contemporary race relations: 1) Beyoncé’s Super Bowl performance and the subsequent White Rage that followed; 2) the release of Lemonade and the questions of authenticity that swirled around the record; and 3) Beyoncé’s loss to Adele at the Grammy’s. Each of these moments say something unique about the racial dynamics that rendered themselves so explicitly within the past year, culminating in the emergence of a new radical right regime.

***

“So when the national anthem started playing, I was not looking at the ground. I was praying. The lord’s prayer. My hands went up in the air. I wore black gloves, to represent social power, or black power. I wore socks — not shoes — to represent poverty. I wore a scarf around my neck to symbolize the lynchings, the hangings, that black folks when through while building this country.”

John Carlos

American sports institutions have long been a hotbed of racial and political tension. From the black power salutes at the Olympics in 1968, to Muhammad Ali’s anti-Vietnam speeches on University campuses, to Colin Kaepernick’s recent refusal to stand for the national anthem — the legacy of black athletes using their respective sports institutions as platforms for protest are well documented. And the reaction of the White masses is just as visible. But often this history of white violence is borne less from an ideological disagreement than from the threat posed by a black presence in spaces largely characterized by their whiteness. Claudia Rankine, in her popular novel Citizen, details how the arena of sports is often defined by the expectations and ideologies of its white audience with an essay on Serena Williams’ treatment by the tennis umpires. Williams place in American culture runs largely parallel to Beyoncé’s: both are entertainment titans, masters of their respective crafts, and powerful wealthy Black women who are often in the spotlight. Her presence on Lemonade itself speaks to this parallel. Rankine describes how the experience of being a black woman in a white space is often itself enough to garner a reaction from the American masses. Serena becomes the victim of aggressions from line judges in several major tournaments, where a series of egregious calls over the course of a number of years altered the course of key matches. This came to a head in 2009, as Serena reacted to a bad call with an expletive tirade launched in the direction of the line judge: “I swear to God I’m fucking going to that this fucking ball and shove it down your fucking throat, you hear that? I swear to God!” (29). Rankine calls this reaction somewhat laudable, or at the very least, understandable. It’s a response borne from “being thrown against a sharp white background” (29). And it was another sharp white background where the first defining moment of 2016 came for Beyoncé. On one of the most watched national events of the year, Beyoncé performed her recently released “Formation” at Super Bowl 50 in front of the largest T.V. audience of 2016, and the third biggest U.S. audience in history. After some muted and sterile performances by Coldplay and Bruno Mars, Beyoncé entered the frame, introduced by the pounding thump of a bass drum. She assumed center frame, surrounded by fire, and was quickly joined by her dancers — all black women, dressed in a black ensembles, hair styled into afros. Although Beyoncé’s “Formation” music video alludes strongly to issues of police violence, the Super Bowl performance itself hardly warranted much in the way of critique. Beyoncé spoke exclusively through matters of style: the afros, black clothing, and hip-hop inspired dance moves. There was nothing in the way of lyrical or spoken ideology. And yet, Conservative media was quick to react. David Clarke, a regular contributor to Fox News, posed the question: “Beyoncé in those Black Panther-type uniforms, would that be acceptable if a band, a white band came out in hoods and white sheets in the same sort of fashion? We would be appalled and outraged” (“Interview with David Clarke”). Rush Limbaugh followed suit, suggesting that perhaps Beyoncé because Beyoncé was a woman who was probably “not a big sports fan,” she likely read an article that was recently run in the “Huffington Puffington Post — which claimed that the Carolina Panthers were the first NFL team to be unapologetically black.” Out of this confusion, “it's understandable that Beyoncé might have thought the Black Panthers were playing in the game, and hence her tribute to the Black Panthers” (The Rush Limbaugh Show). Michelle Malkin joined the conversation on Twitter, writing, “Cuz nothing brings us all together better than angry Beyoncé shaking her ass & shouting "Negro" repeatedly.” It is no secret that this American reaction had nothing to do with politics or overt displays of ideology, and everything to do with the performance and its proud declaration of blackness — itself a frightening threat to white bourgeois power. And it’s worth taking a moment here to reflect on Clarke’s comment, as it's the most explicit reaction to matters of black style among any of the conservative commentators. While style might not be a spoken ideology, it plays an important role in establishing and influencing one. It was the Black Panther’s who recognized this better than anybody: “This brother here, myself, all of us were born with our hair like this. And we just wear it like this. Reason for it you might say, is like a new awareness among black people that their own natural appearance, physical appearance, is beautiful,” stated one member of the Black Panther Party (Stanley). Style has the potential to disrupt norms and operate as a genuine act of subversion. And it was this style on display at the Super Bowl that was clearly the source of the outrage. Because for every empty critique of Beyoncé’s homage to the Black panther party was another critique that framed the performance as a danger to The Great American (White) Family. Rudy Giuliani referred to the Super Bowl show as a “terrible” display of “a bunch of people bouncing around and all strange things.” He continued, ”Let's have, you know, decent wholesome entertainment, and not use it as a platform to attack the people who, you know, put their lives at risk to save us” (“Fox and Friends”). Laura Ingraham similarly lamented the death of wholesome television: “So in ‘Formation,’ women dressed like prostitutes. That's the message to little girls today...This is only 8:43 p.m. last night, Eastern time. 8:43 — no family hour. Family hour is over. There is no family hour” (“The Laura Ingraham Show”). In his book Race Matters, Cornel West talks about the taboo subject of “black sexuality.” He writes, “Americans are obsessed with sex and fearful of black sexuality” (West 83). West claims that this fear is derived from myths about black sexuality that still persist today. Which form of these myths Beyoncé is seen for is relatively unclear: is it the “seductive temptress” Jezebel (West 83)? The “evil, manipulative bitch” Sapphire (West 83)? It hardly matters. The presence and threat of black sexuality itself is enough to garner a visceral response, enough to elicit the White rage that became so visible a sentiment in our past electoral season. West argues that it is a cultural space occupied by both artists and athletes that presents an opportunity for a dialogue about black sexuality, that “when white and black kids buy the same billboard hits and laud the same athletic heroes the result is often a shared cultural space where some humane interaction takes place” (84). It’s easy to push back against this claim. As has been noted historically by many a cultural commentator, America has always had a relationship with black culture that has been more parasitic than symbiotic. The valorization of black music does not equate to a similar valorization of black people. This is certainly relevant in the case of the Super Bowl, where this shared cultural space is complicated by the aging demographics of the National Football League. While the NBA has been quick to adopt youth and millennial culture as its backbone and has offered its players at least some semblance of a political platform, the NFL has taken an almost totalitarian and apolitical stance on matters of politics, and especially issues of race. This may have less to do with the political good-will of the NBA than with each institution’s respective capital audience. According to a 2015 Nielsen report, 43% of the NBA’s viewership is under 35 years old: one of the youngest fanbases of all sports. In addition, 63% of NBA viewership was done on behalf of African-American viewers (“Hoop Dreams”). Beyoncé’s performance at, say, the Super Bowl as opposed to the NBA Finals is different than not only in the sense of the magnitude of viewership but in the dynamics of its space. The National Football League is the same organization that’s recent decline in viewership was arguably tied almost directly to the Colin Kaepernick protests. When white America is watching, blackness seems remarkably more offensive. Perhaps nothing sums up better the extent of the white reaction more than that of Tomi Lahren, America’s blond alt-right spokesperson: “What is it they are trying to convey here. A salute to what? A group that used violence and intimidation to advance not racial equality but an overthrow of white domination?” She continues: “You’re just like President Obama, Jada Pinkett Smith, Al Sharpton, and so many others — you just can’t let America heal. Keep ripping off the historical band aid. Why be a cultural leader when you can play the victim, right?” (“The Blaze”). Lahren’s slip here is remarkable: remarkable for the way it simplifies the ideology of one of America’s most radical, successful, and powerful black organizations; remarkable for its acknowledgement of white domination ; remarkable for its blatant acknowledgement of racial violence and the total erasure of its historical implications. This white fear of the black body and black sexuality, ironically, strengthen the relevance and importance of Beyoncé’s project. Is not the only way to combat fear of the black body by making that same black body hypervisible? Is that even possible within the confines of an American cultural enterprise that puts a premium on black style but continually devalues and destroys the black body? How can black creators resist a framework that “either liberates black people from white control in order to imprison them in racist myths or confines blacks to white ‘respectability’ while they make their own sexuality a taboo subject?” (88).

***

Months after her Super Bowl performance, the release of Lemonade drew another wave of reactions spanning the full breadth of American cultural commentators. The conversations this time had nuance, lacking some of the vitriol that came with the world stage of Super Bowl 50. And yet, the questions that replaced the outrage seemed troublingly loaded, complex, and difficult to answer. In her article “Why We Shouldn’t Be Afraid to Critique Beyoncé,” Zeba Blay argues that it’s okay to have conversations about Beyoncé’s position in contemporary culture. These conversations further “important discussions about the ways in which we underestimate femme feminist women, about the roles that capitalism and consumerism play in Beyoncé’s work, and about what we should (and shouldn’t) expect from our feminist and pop cultural icons” (n.p.). This points to an interesting phenomenon: so much of the conversation surrounding Lemonade became less concerned with the content of the record than a conversation and critique of Beyoncé: her identity, her role in American life, the authenticity of her messages. When was the last album where so much of the criticism hinged on questions of authenticity and authorial intent? Infidelity, a major thematic strand of Lemonade, was often central to this critique. The media and critical commentary was quick to frame the album’s narrative as a commercial ploy to sell records, a cheap attempt at manufacturing an artificial drama between two music industry titans. Yet, this is a gross simplification of the scope of Lemonade’s thematic ambition. Much of what Jenna Wortham had to say about the “Formation” video rings true of the record as a whole, it’s not just a record about police brutality, or infidelity — “it’s about the entirety of the black experience in America in 2016, which includes standards of beauty, (dis)empowerment, culture, and the shared parts of our history” (n.p.). Lemonade borrows quite heavily from contemporary poet Warsan Shire. Her poem “For Women Who are Difficult to Love” is recited by Beyoncé as the voiceover track for many of the visual album’s most pivotal and evocative narrative moments: like when Beyoncé walks a deserted street, baseball bat in tow, smashing car windows. Shire grapples with many of the same questions Beyoncé does: how does any black woman manage to level the varying identity expectations continually imposed upon them? How are feelings of reactionary violence (“so what did you want to do love / split his head open?”) reconciled with adherence to traditional notions of femininity (“and you tried to change didn’t you? / closed your mouth more / tried to be softer / prettier”)? (n.p.) And yet, the aforementioned inquiry makes sense, and is almost impossible to ignore. Lemonade remains available today exclusively on Tidal, a streaming service that Beyoncé and Jay-Z have joint ownership in. Both artists are industry moguls. And this was the year where a dissatisfaction with the status-quo became a rallying cry for both sides of the political spectrum. It is worth asking: how do we remedy questions of capital intent with those of aesthetic authenticity? And in their influential work “The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception,” Adorno & Horkheimer frame the answer quite simply — you can’t. Art made in the era of mass industry is art made for the purpose of consumption. Mass produced art is “nothing other than style,” and incapable of “creating truth” (103). It’s purpose is purely industrial. It exists solely for mass consumption. This critique was raised not only by the white masses but among prominent critics and writers as well. In bell hooks blog post “Moving Beyond Pain,” she argues that we cannot divorce the process of listening/viewing Lemonade from its status as a commodity object. This, however, is not necessarily a problem for hooks. While hooks acknowledges that the “celebration” of black female bodies is also impossible to differentiate from their “exploitation,” she differentiates that the commercial intent of Beyoncé’s record is quite different than many other commercial contexts (“Moving Beyond Pain” n.p.). This is commercial art created for the sake of ascribing value to black women. And yet, hooks has reservations about Beyoncé’s brand of feminism. In this context of high-stakes relationship drama, the black woman remains in the “victim” position to which her only escape is violence. Hooks states, quite controversially, that violence “does not create positive change” (“Moving Beyond Pain” n.p.). Additionally, Beyoncé’s conception of feminism lacks an intersectional approach, and is situated closer to the Hillary-Clinton-class-enemy brand of feminism than a true radical feminist ideology. Beyoncé adopts a contemporary conception of feminism that ultimately is not rooted in resistance in patriarchal domination but which is tied to it; and that is concerned ultimately with matters of capital self-interest. Ultimately, hooks questions the merit of the fictive space that Lemonade occupies: a world in which words like “Intuition, Denial, Forgiveness, Hope, [and] Reconciliation” are seen as effective combatants to racism and misogyny. In 2016, mainstream feminist ideals ultimately rang hollow: the wage gap feminism of the Democrats was not enough to rally a progressive base that wanted something lasting and systemic; and the radical right, angered by the very idea of a woman president, retaliated with fervent vulgarity. While hooks ultimately finds Lemonade as falling short of its feminist potential, is not the very fact that it puts such a value on black life, on black representation, and on the pure celebration of black culture a radical politics in and of itself? At the conclusion of her article, hooks asks a question of Lemonade that speaks to a point about black women authorship in general: how can one move beyond celebrating pain and instead look to how it can be transcended? What does a transcendent feminist politics look like? How does black authorship escape the condition of a parasitic consumer culture? ***

On February 12, 2017, Adele’s album 21 won album of the year at the Grammy Awards. In her speech, she talked about why she couldn’t accept the prize:

“...but tonight winning this kind of feels full circle, and like a bit of me has come back to myself but I can’t possibly accept this award, and I’m very humbled and very gracious but, the artist of my life is Beyoncé, and this album to me — the Lemonade album — is just so monumental, it’s just so monumental, and so well thought out, and so beautiful, and soul bearing. And we all got to see another side to you that you don’t always let us see. And we appreciate that. And all us artists here, we fucking adore you. You are our light, and the way you made me and my friends feel, the way you made my black friends feel, is empowering, and you make them stand up for themselves. And we love you, we always have, and we always will.” (“Adele’s Grammy Acceptance Speech”)

Adele’s speech is important for a couple reasons. The first is that it speaks to a critique that has become rather common of the Grammy’s the past couple of years: victories by black artists have been confined to the Hip-hop, Urban Album, and R&B categories. Not a single black artist has won album of the year since 2004; a black woman hasn’t won the category since Lauryn Hill did so in 1999. Meanwhile, the last few years have featured some high-profile snubs, including Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly in 2016, Beyoncé (again) in 2015, Kendrick Lamar (again) in 2014, and Frank Ocean in 2013. The Grammy’s failure to recognize the relevance and cultural significance of certain artists is partially the reason why it has lost some credibility in the past few years, with several high-profile artists refusing to attend the ceremony, and others speaking out publicly regarding their declining cultural clout and position as an outdated, archaic institution. It’s become impossible to define what it exactly is that can win you an Album of the Year Grammy. It is not solely commercial success (see: Beck’s win two years ago) neither is it totally critical reception. What you’d guess is that the recipe lies somewhere in between: an album that has popular appeal and that is critically viable; that speaks to a certain condition of the American politic at that time; that promises to reshape cultural trends in a way that is both significant and lasting. So what wrong? That inquiry feels almost ludicrous in a year where the stakes felt so high. It’s difficult to reconcile a relatively meaningless spectacle like the Grammy’s with the current American sociopolitical turmoil, where the threat of violence against marginalized people is real and tangible. In that way, maybe hooks was right: there is a limit to what the fictive imagination can do and say. But sometimes, the politics that play out on the small stage say something profound about the politics that play out in the midst of our real and frightening reality. They lead us to conversations, to discomfort, and to the promise of something different. And that brings us back to Adele’s speech. Somehow, Adele’s awkward and imperfect display of appreciation for Beyoncé and her art made startlingly visible what was so obviously playing out before our very eyes. The moment Adele marked her “black friends” was the moment that the thematic concerns of Beyoncé’s album became visible on the world stage. And on this world stage, Beyoncé’s album made sense only as one thing — a “black” album. And that was, arguably, Beyoncé’s intention. But despite the declining clout of the Grammy’s, the album’s loss felt profound. And glaringly obvious. No other outcome made more rational sense with the context of contemporary American race relations. And that’s why it matters so much As easy as it is to fault Adele for the deficiencies in her speech, it’s also sort of admirable for the way she is able to cut through the codes and signifiers that even Beyoncé seemed unable to do. In her own acceptance speech for Lemonade’s win in the Best Urban Album Category, she stated:

My intention for the film and album was to create a body of work that would give a voice to our pain, our struggles, our darkness and our history. To confront issues that make us uncomfortable. It’s important to me to show images to my children that reflect their beauty, so they can grow up in a world where they look in the mirror — first to their own families as well as the news, the Super Bowl, the Olympics, the White House and the Grammys — and see themselves. And have no doubt that they are beautiful, intelligent and capable. This is something I want for every child of every race. And I feel it’s vital that we learn from the past and recognize our tendencies to repeat our mistakes. (“Beyoncé’s Grammy Acceptance Speech”)

Beyoncé employs an “us” that is shifting and uncertain: sometimes clearly alluding to the black experience, at other times alluding to a collective American experience, and even, at one point, alluding to “every child of every race.” She certainly is not entering any All Lives Matter territory here, but is it fair to call her an activist? Beyoncé speaks about race like an American who is afraid to say the wrong thing. And although her performance and her album spoke very clearly in matters of style, it’s strange to see Beyoncé speak so carefully around matters of race, of police brutality, of problematic gender expectations and matters of black beauty, of violence against black lives. It’s clear what she’s talking about, but the ideologies remain invisible, unspoken — to use Morrison’s phrase, “playing in the dark.” And that seems strange for an artist that seemed so concerned with, in the context of their art and performances, making visible the black American experience. Lemonade goes to great lengths to subvert our concept of the literary imagination. Less talked about than it’s visions of blackness are its spots of whiteness: like when Beyoncé jumps to her death in an all-white dress, or when she’s surrounded by a blindingly white mise-en-scene. It’s an album where the black/white binary is turned on its head; where blackness takes center stage and pushes whiteness to the periphery — but where the threat of the white imagination is still present. And here we are on another national stage, with whiteness somehow pushing Beyoncé to the periphery, the world re-orienting itself. Despite Adele’s best intentions, her refusal of the award means little. What does it mean for a white women to refuse an award and offer it to another artist’s work because she understands its importance for her black friends? I think again of Serena Williams and Rankine’s essay: of being “thrown against a sharp white background.” On Lemonade and it’s most popular single “Sorry,” -- viewed over 213 million times on YouTube -- Serena Williams makes an appearance. And although she doesn’t appear in any other songs, her appearance is memorable because, like Beyoncé, she is so clearly a symbol for everything Lemonade is trying to do. For what she represents to American culture and the American people. For her tendency to inspire white rage and overt displays of racism (see: Serena’s appearances at Indian Wells). For her position as a successful black woman and the significance that holds to other women and girls of color. And I wonder, in the context of the Grammy Awards, where that moment of rage — one that looked like Serena yelling at the line judge — was for Beyoncé. Why was it Adele who got to speak on her behalf? Looking back on Kanye’s infamous Taylor Swift incident, it seems oddly more sensible now, less like an awkward and personal attack on Taylor Swift than a genuine but misguided effort to right an injustice. The Grammy Awards affair makes it again clear how impossible it is to define what “success” means for black authorship in America. If a genuine radical politics is the goal for black authorship, than why does it matter who wins what popularity award? And adversely, 2016 was a year where not just black texts, but black texts about race were tremendously successful commercially. And what did these commercial accomplishments mean for black and marginal people? It seems difficult to answer anything in a time of such complete and uncertain political chaos. But if it’s true that the “subject of the dream is the dreamer,” is there anything else to do than dream (Morrison 30)? Maybe the fictive world holds more weight than we care to believe.

Works Cited "Adele's Grammy Acceptance Speech". GRAMMY Awards. CBS. Television. Transcript. Adorno, T. & Horkheimer, M., 1944. “The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception.” In T. Adorno and M. Horkheimer. Dialectics of Enlightenment. Als, Hilton. "Prince, Cecil Taylor, and Beyoncé's Shape-Shifting Black Body." The New Yorker. The New Yorker, 20 Dec. 2016. Web. 10 Apr. 2017. bell hooks. "Moving Beyond Pain." Bell Hooks Institute. Bell Hooks Institute, 09 May 2016. Web. 10 Apr. 2017. bell hooks. "Racism and Feminism." Theories of Race and Racism: A Reader. New York, NY: Routledge, 2009. 373-402. Print. "Beyoncé’s Grammy Acceptance Speech". GRAMMY Awards. CBS. Television. Transcript. Blay, Zeba. "Why We Shouldn't Be Afraid To Critique Beyoncé." The Huffington Post. TheHuffingtonPost.com, 10 May 2016. Web. 10 Apr. 2017. Caramancia, Jon, Wesley Morris, and Jenna Wortham. "Beyoncé in 'Formation': Entertainer, Activist, Both?" The New York Times. The New York Times, 06 Feb. 2016. Web. 10 Apr. 2017. Carlos, John. “1968 Black Power Salute.” 100 Great Sporting Moments. Web. Clarke, David. “Interview with David Clarke.” Interview on Fox Business. Television. Giuliani, Rudy. “Fox and Friends.” Fox News. 8 February 2016. Television. Hebdige, Dick. Subculture, the Meaning of Style. London: Methuen, 1979. Print. "Hoop Dreams: Multicultural Diversity in NBA Viewership." Nielsen. N.p., n.d. Web. 08 May 2017. Ingraham, Laura. “The Laura Ingraham Show.” Courtside Entertainment Group. 8 February 2016. Lahren, Tomi. “The Blaze.” Mercury Radio Arts. 8 February 2016. Limbaugh, Rush. The Rush Limbaugh Show. 08 February 2016. Television. Malkin, Michelle. "“Cuz nothing brings us all together better than angry Beyoncé shaking her ass & shouting "Negro" repeatedly.” 7 February 2016, 5:43 PM. Tweet. Morrison, Toni. Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination. New York: Vintage , a Division of Random House, 2015. Print. Rankine, Claudia. Citizen: An American Lyric. , UK: Penguin, 2015. Print. Shire, Warsan. “For Women Who Are Difficult to Love.” Bandcamp. 2014. Web. Nelson, Stanley. The Black Panthers: Vanguard of the Revolution. , 2015. West, Cornel. Race Matters. Boston: Beacon, 2001. Print

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