Volo showing off his worm to Emmet
Tw : Lore /hj
With Volo having severe dementia i do think that he would forget everything about pokemon battles and such as he used his powers for a very long time and slowly forgot about how pokemon battles worked. He is also not used to human interaction which makes it hard for him to understand what others are saying to him and hard to bond with humans as he strongly despises them. Volo currently doesnt have a main pokemon team but he brings along the ones that he has a good bond with (example, his Togekiss that he raised since he was a little goober), he doesnt use his pokemon for battling but rather just spending time with them, like ya know, like a family? (ah yes, bringing Arceus, Giratina, Palkia and Dialga as if its a completly normal thing for god himself LMAOOO)
Volo is just a single mom, leave him alone, he just wanna be with his kids than some goofy ahh humans💔
i might edit this later cuz my eyes are about to close like the gates (might also fix the drawing cuz i was in a rush)
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Okay being honest here, I went and read through the replies of Tubbo’s tweets about the Frubbo miscommunication, and the people he was replying to. It’s not good to say the least, honestly my anons were underplaying it, it’s very serious levels of gaslighting to a point that I think it would cause a lot of people to have derealization episodes if they were on the receiving end. People have pretty much fully gaslight Tubbo’s memory, motivations, and the lore he has been keeping up, telling him he doesn’t know what he remembers about Fred, constantly saying he forgot the Frubbo arc, and saying stuff like “Oh you just have memory issues” or “yeah you just forget everything don’t you” and much crueler comments.
I’m intensely fearful that Tubbo will completely redirect his character because he feels that’s he’s been messing up this whole time, that all these motivations he’s convinced himself of are fake. Imagine thousands of people laughing at you saying how everything you’ve been working on isn’t real and you just want to be a victim.
huge recommendation if your sensitive to this kinda of stuff to not touch Tubbo’s replies around the Frubbo stuff, it is incredibly triggering and at times outright bigoted towards disabled people (literally laughing about the idea of him having dementia…).
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it seems orion and walburga’s ‘expand the family tree’/‘breeding’-kink won. to reiterate, you horny horndogs who want to see awful aristocrats fuck!! and have an aristo-inability to acknowledge they’re just really horny!!! incredible.
ANYWAY here it is :) added a read more because it’s over 600 words and i don’t wish to be obnoxious.
~*~
“I want a baby,” she tells him, on the second day of their honeymoon.
Orion looks offensively handsome in the golden evening light of the French riviera, sweaty and sleepy and clothed as he is. The flute of expensive, ice-cold champagne is drained and set aside on the ornate bedside table; he takes a slow drag of his cigarette, pushes the smoke out through his nose.
“Isn’t that what we’re attempting to make?”
Make, yes. Once a day, at nine in the evening, like clockwork. Walburga squeezes the silk sheets in her hands, pushes it lower until she can kick it off with her legs.
“I suppose,” she answers, dragging one of her legs up. Her daring nightshirt drops, resting on her hipbone. The lace hemming tickles. She’s not wearing underwear; it would get in the way.
Orion politely keeps his eyes on her face, his expression not even hinting at any urge he must feel for ogling at her bare skin, her exposed pubic area. He is a man, and so he cannot feel any differently. His enthusiasm at having her is too obvious.
“Then why are you telling me this?”
Her jaw tightens. “I wish to be sure that we are on the same page.”
“But we established that we both want children before we were wed,” he answers, audibly confused. His head tilts, almost adorably, and a lock of his hair falls across his smooth forehead. “It’s in the contract.”
The sheer stupidity of her husband will kill her one day, Walburga knows, and they’ve been married for fifty-one hours exactly. Orion is a bright and talented man, but his difficulties with situational awareness and figurative sayings have vexed her since she first met him—he was six and she ten, and he did not understand that she and Lucretia wished to be left alone in their mischief until Lucretia spelled it out for him.
He’s only twenty-three. He cannot understand her hints. And she cannot say them, not frankly, even though she wishes to… because it’s not proper of her to be so brazen.
“So it is,” Walburga agrees, spreading her legs slightly. “You’re right.”
He’s already had her this evening; put his weight on top of her, buried himself inside of her and his face into her neck, pressed soothing kisses along her jawline until the soreness faded and her nails stopped scratching divots into his broad back. He does it well, probably. It feels nice.
It’s not enough.
“Maybe I just wanted to tell you again,” she says, in a fit of daring. “That I want a baby. With you.”
The confused tilt of his brow relaxes, and his eyes soften, and he almost smiles. The barest hints of his annoyingly handsome dimples appear on his cheeks.
“I want one with you too,” he tells her frankly. He vanishes the half-smoked cigarette with a flick of his nimble fingers. “A girl or a boy—doesn’t matter. As long as it’s with you.”
Her pulse gains significant weight to it, pulsing in her core and ears. She thinks she might faint. She thinks she might melt, or shake out of her skin. Leave it to Orion — annoying, introverted Orion — to say something so undeniably sweet and… and attractive, in such a curt and matter-of-fact tone of voice. How did Luc put it again, about that Prewett boy of hers? Jump his bones?
“Oh,” she says. “That’s nice.”
Orion’s smile widens slightly and he tilts his head once more, then leans in. Walburga quivers in anticipation, closes her eyes, and relaxes her mouth.
He kisses her cheek.
“I’ll take a bath,” he says, after he’s pulled back. “Do you want to wash up first?”
She might explode. She might do something horrible to him. She might tear him apart limb from limb.
Walburga tells him she’ll go first, throws her pillow in his stupidly handsome, oblivious face, and storms off.
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