people are rightfully worried about AI and its influence on media and artists today but what really has me shook in the back of my brain is that 15-20 years from now we're gonna see tip-of-my-tongue discussion threads from covid gen adults who swear they remember an episode of spongebob where the characters stood around talking about the cybertruck's new jellyfishing compartment all while being bombarded with random cuts of mr krabs screaming and subliminal messages about the world ending in 2036
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Enver Gortash x GN!Reader - Drabble - (sub?)Gortash POV - I HAVE MANY FEELINGS ABT HIS GAUNTLET!!! - CW: Suggestive, nearly choking?
Thinking about how cold the tips of Gortash's gauntlet must feel. Delicate gold snaking around the fingers, intricate designs instilling both fear and awe into those unlucky to face it - it's a marvel of artisan skill. How lovely of you to help him appreciate its every last bolt and curve.
The claws you wear scatter and bump across goosebumps as you skim across Gortash's chest. A shiver threatens to break across his skin as he sinks into the plush cushions beneath him. The cool metal you trace across his shoulders somehow cools the hearth in him, and stokes the flames all the same. You'd have to try better to break him though. He may have conceded temporary control, allowing you to sit straddled across his hips, but you won't know how worked up he is. Not yet.
He feels your other hand rest on his waist, deft fingers idly stroking the soft flesh peeking out the top of his waistband. It's almost tempting to sigh into the sensation. Dark hair dares to stick to his forehead as deep black eyes hang onto your every movement. A defiant tilt of his chin challenges you to press harder. It would be so easy to take back his rightful place on top. He has half a mind to reach out, to remind you it's through his grace you have even made it so far - but your hand surges up his side to knead his chest and suddenly, his thoughts seem just a little out of reach.
No, he knows better than to move right now. The sharp tips of the gauntlet are skitting ever so lightly across his collarbones, your thumb pressing gently up the column of his neck. Testing the waters. A brief flutter of his dark eyelashes is all he deigns to show you, yet you swear his fingers stutter as they press up and down your thighs.
He knows better than to concede a single sound or shaky sigh. Not when he can feel your heartbeat stammer against his, matching the shallow puffs of breath that hang in the air between you. Certainly not when his skin is grazed by the slight tremble in your razor-sharp fingertips - so pretty in his gilded gauntlet, so lovely wrapped around his waiting throat.
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Foul Heart Huntsman Spoilers!!
jaw dropped, when Silas thought ‘her name tasted illicit on his tongue when he spoke English’
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