#subway boss emmet
nartothelar · 10 hours ago
I happened to be looking at Bulbapedia's petting chart (tells you the favored and disfavored places to pet a Pokemon in Pokemon-Amie and Pokemon Refresh) the other day, and noticed that Reshiram's favored petting spots are its hair streamers. This immediately made me imagine Reshiremmet (Twin Dragons AU) just LOVING getting head pats. I just thought that it was very cute and wanted to share.
In case you want to know, Zekrom's favored petting spot are apparently the base of its wings. So I suppose that if you give Ingrom a friendly pat on that back, he loves you.
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esprei · 2 hours ago
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lil guys say “ALL ABOAAARD!!!”
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deisycore · 2 days ago
Canon Submas look so goofy- but wow is it nice to just be able to copy paste the funny train boy
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krikidilly · a day ago
For requests if you wanna ... !! N and Emmet being besties with a a puzzle :) (train puzzle ..)
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I think they could be pretty good friends actually!
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However N is still a humanized wet cat so Emmet probably has to be so so normal when they hang out to even out the vibes.
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corruptimles · 3 hours ago
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sorry Im still sick but I scribbled a crossroads Emmet joining O'Malley for wednesday
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coramatus · 2 days ago
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Despite the trauma and scars, Emmet and Ingo still have it in them to get into some good-natured roughhousing. Even if Ingo still doesn’t think he’s buff. :P
Transcription of garbage handwriting:
Emmet: Seriously?! Look! Look at this!!
Emmet: Look at yourself, Ingo!
Ingo: !!!
Ingo: You alright?
Emmet: Ow.
Ingo: Hah.
Ingo: Do you feel better, Emmet?
Emmet: Lemme hit you a few times and I might!
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arrowsperpetualcringe · 2 days ago
1 with Emmet and 2 with Ingo? :]
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Ok so I saw these 2 asks and I thought "hell yeah, 2 birds one stone"
And then I realized that Glass, you asked for the exact reverse of what I drew.
I am... So sorry :')
I hope this still suffices.
And also!!! Hey Anon! Hope you're doin' well!
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harveyb-wabbit92 · 2 days ago
{Ingo and Emmet are taking the subway back to the main station’s repair bay.}
Ingo, trying not to laugh: *snort* (Emmet glares at him) *poker face.*
{They pull into the Gear station’s repair bay and Y/n steps on to the train; she does a double take and choked up laughing when she sees Emmet... ]
Emmet, who is completely drenched in mud: Not. A. Word....
(Emmet gets off the train leaving a trail of mud behind him.)
Y/n, To Ingo: What happened?
Ingo, while chortling: We were in a battle and the trainer ordered their Claydol to use mud-bomb on Eelektross...It missed. 
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spoopyium · a day ago
Emmet in I'm not alone (yet)?
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I love any excuse to draw the funky train brothers 😌
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maniacwatchestheworld · 2 days ago
I know that Emo!Ingo is quite popular, but for your consideration... Punk!Emmet. Like isn't he canonically a fan of Piers? I say that as a teen, Emmet should have shaved half his head and been wearing nothing but leather and spikes.
Just these two scene kids going around town looking like they could beat you up. But nah. They're actually both incredibly friendly!
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peachy-doodles · a day ago
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thinking abt their early 20′s and college years and gender and stuff,,, (full of headcannons ofc :>)
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electric-blue24 · an hour ago
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ok so im in a toss up for emmets centaur design between Archeops, Galvantula or Eelektross 
they all have good points but i want to know what you lot think
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krikidilly · a day ago
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Nonsense doodle page
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your-dearest-sunshine · a day ago
Cheownwowbwown it hurts so good babe it hurts so good
God does Emmet move the stuff back after he accepts his kid’s “death”? Like, imagine coming home and finding out your own father did everything he could to forget you even existed in the first place
Man how badly that would hurt.
Gah! It’s such good angst!
Emmet and his Hisui’d!Child!Reader Angst
i legit think there’s two ways this could go after emmet accepts your “death.” 1) emmet moves some stuff back, but obviously not everything because he can’t replicate your presence again. he does enough where he can see your influence in important places like your home and his office, such as a few pictures and a small gift or two you gave him. 2) emmet focuses so much on his own recovery and healing that he never puts anything back up.
and remember, post-hisui, emmet’s child becomes more aggressive and hostile as explained here.
now…let’s examine scenario 2, shall we? >:)
(this takes place directly after the “If you recognize him” ending of the original post here. also pls forgive me, this has not been proofread :>)
wc: ~3.2k
Emmet doesn’t waste any time getting you home. Gear Station and storm be damned, you are the priority now.
It’s hard to say what happens next. The whole situation overpowers all of your senses such that time seems to speed up. Sights and sounds pass you by, gaps of information appearing one after the next.
Wait, what street was this again? I should know that at least. I don’t remember my usual order from that cafe even though I knew I had one…where is that Pokémon that lived in that home again? What type was it again? Fire? No, water maybe? Normal? My head hurts. The pressure here is so much different than it was in Hisu—no, it was Sinnoh now, wasn’t it? Oh. Everyone is dead, aren’t they? No number of photographs could’ve kept their physical forms around for this long…but what year was it again? How old am I? How do I get home from here? Nimbasa is so loud—
Your vision skips across the streets packed inch to inch with buildings, neon signs glowing strongly under the darkened sky. You feel a little scrambled. Emmet ushers you alongside him back towards your townhouse, hand never leaving your shoulders where he holds you close. Eelektross and Durant move alongside you both, Emmet commanding them to be on high alert.
Opening the front door, you and your father, soaked from the rain, rush inside. While you weren’t expecting anything in particular with your brain moving a million miles a minute, you could immediately tell that something here wasn’t…right.
On many cold nights did you lay on that small, uncomfortable futon in Jubilife Village and dream of this moment. You imagined the day you’d get to walk though this familiar door, brush your fingers along the frame and feel the wood vinyl flooring under your feet. You had been waiting for this moment for a long time.
There is supposed to be a coat rack right next to the entrance, the metal rod bent in the center from where you ran into it when you were six. Where did it go? The mat under your shoes is brown. It should be blue. The wall to your left looks far too empty, missing the large canvas print photo you took with Emmet and Ingo on their thirtieth birthday. The potted plants you take care of on the front windowsill are gone. Too many things are different.
The septic smell of a generic-scented cleaner hit your nose (Emmet doesn’t like the overpowering scents of any other brand). It mixes with the smell of rain outside. You feel uneasy. For a second, you thought that you would smell a familiar scent of wax and sap. But you don’t.
“It looks…different in here.”
Your voice comes out a little unsteady. It’s hard for you to keep your eyes from darting around everywhere. All you can seem to do is glance and gleam and stare at how foreign the entryway to your home feels. You’d count the changes on your fingers if you could but there are far too many to keep track of.
Not bothering to close the front door, you walk into the dining room. Your clothes cling to your skin like the rising dread clings to your heart. Emmet follows alongside you, hand resting in between your shoulder blades. He doesn’t want to lose his connection to you. Your father fears that if you leave his grasp that you’ll vanish into the night again.
Against the wall of the dining room is a tall glass cabinet full of important items: family heirlooms, rare collectibles, special dinnerware, childhood art sculptures, framed photos, and countless other things. It was a snapshot of your life with your father, nearly overflowing with possessions, brimming with character and untold stories.
Well, that’s what it should’ve looked like.
The cabinet, as it stands before you, is much more empty than normal. Fancy plates and cups stare back at you, and so do a few of your father’s special model trains. But, there is a lack of your projects from art class. The photo of your birth parents holding you as an infant is gone, too. That four-leaf clover you found when you were seven isn't displayed either. Neither is the white velvet box that held both of your birth parents' wedding rings. 
That’s…that’s not right. There is no way this was robbed, because the rare pearl and onyx encrusted brooch that Emmet’s grandmother gave him is still propped up right there. That was arguably the most valuable thing in this case in the first place. Besides, no thief would steal those childish sculptures you made in elementary school. Where…what happened? There is no way that the only things missing are…
You rush into the kitchen, and Emmet is quick to follow. The rain dripping off the both of you leaves puddles in your wake, droplets flickering with every movement you make. His gloved fingers grip onto your hand, pale hair sticking to his cheeks. Letting you go isn’t even a feasible thought that passes through his head.
Despite being gone for two and a half years, the memory of your home, this home, rings loudly in your head. It’s easy to remember what should be here and what isn’t. That’s why it doesn’t take you more than a second to realize that your favorite colored apron you keep hanging beside the fridge is gone.
Emmet’s silver eyes are trained on nothing but you. His thoughts don’t land on the fact that you’re wearing strange clothes, or the fact that you have an odd satchel wrapped around your waist, or the fact that there’s a few scars creeping around your open skin. Your father’s thoughts are on the fact that he can feel the pulse of your blood in his hand, that he can hear the soft murmurs of your voice, that he can see the rise and fall of your chest—it’s all proof that you’re alive.
“Papa, where’s all my stuff?”
Oh, so you caught on to that. It wasn’t hard to see the pattern in the things that are absent or different. Things you made or touched or altered are all different; everything that was yours or passed through your sphere of influence is gone. They’ve all been either erased or replaced. One of two extremes.
Never one to shy away from the truth in his words, Emmet tells you what you want to hear.
“It was hard for me to accept your absence. Thinking about you hurt me. I moved all of the things that reminded me of you. Yep. It was verrrrry hard without you here.”
Your stomach feels hot and heavy at his words. The water lingering on your skin almost sizzles from the fiery emotion filling you. You try to tug your hand out of Emmet’s grip lightly, but he unconsciously holds you tighter. He can’t let go of you. Not now, not ever again.
“...so you got rid of everything about me?” Your voice teeters on the sharp edge of confusion and betrayal. The wind howls outside, blowing through the home from the open front door.
For a second, it reminds you of a Zoroark’s haunting call in the tundras of the Alabaster Icelands. A phantom pain from the healed, but scarred, gashes on your back flare up, setting your heart on fire. It burns in the cavity of your chest, aching, pounding, screaming to escape.
“Yep. In my grief I tried to forget you. Removing your things was a part of that process,” Emmet says, plain as ever. His monotone is upsetting you. How fast did he get rid of your presence? “Ingo was not happy with me. Neither was Elesa. It was easier for me to move on this way. Yep, yes it was.”
You yank your hand out of your father’s grasp, as if simply touching him was burning you. One step, two steps, three—you stumble away from him. A gasp tears through the air from your throat, Emmet’s words pulling the breath from your chest. You blink, and suddenly your lungs are filled with rainwater.
You feel like a stranger in your own home. 
“You…you tried to get rid of me?!”
Emmet’s taken aback by your reaction. The absence of your hand in his ripples up his arm in harrowing shocks. Goosebumps rise along his skin. The image of you moving away from him leaves a familiar sensation in his gut. No, what are you doing? You can’t be leaving him again. He just got you back! You’re going to leave again. Gone gone gone gone—
“You were already gone!” Emmet says, voice getting a bit louder. Panic starts to ebb into his being because your eyes are staring at him like that—like he’s hurt you, like he’s betrayed you and left you to die. “You left me!”
A scoff leaves your lips, eyes going wide and expression snarling in incredulousness. Your hand reaches up and you grab at your scarf, fingers loosening the fabric. It feels suffocating. You’re going to drown in your own emotions.
The storm rages outside.
“You say that like I had a choice! As if it was my idea to be—no! Stop moving, what are you–?” You stagger back as Emmet comes closer to you. He tries to reach for you but you bat his hands away. “No! Don’t touch me!”
His knees shake, becoming unsteady on his feet. The weight of your words acts like gravity, pushing his body towards the earth. All he wants to do is be near you, hold you safe in his arms, confirm that you’ll be here tomorrow and the day after that and the next month and the following year and—no, he wants you to be here forever.
You let out a frustrated shout in a flash of rage, hands pulling at the roots of your hair. Angry tears spring in your eyes, but you don’t have half a calm mind to wipe them away before they fall.
“I should’ve known! Arceus above, I knew you would take the opportunity to get rid of me the second you got the chance!”
Emmet gaps at you. There’s no way you fully believe that, right? Every day you were together was spent full of support, honesty, freedom, adventure, and love.
He shakes his head vehemently.
“I am Emmet and I would never–” Emmet’s voice breaks halfway through his sentence. He can’t even speak because what you’re claiming is so far from the truth and it hurts him so bad that you would even think anything like that. “I am Emmet and I would never abandon you.”
Was he a bad father? How long have you felt like this? Did he not notice you had felt this way before your disappearance? Where had he gone wrong?
“Then what do you call this, Emmet,” you spit his name like poison, gesturing to the lack of you anywhere in the vicinity. “You said you tried to move on from me, tried to forget me. For the love of Arceus, you never wanted me in the first place, did you?” 
No, not like this. This isn’t how he imagined your return. You were both supposed to be happy! You both would laugh and cry and never let each other go. There would be endless smiles and the sun would shine bright and everything in the world would be right again. 
Emmet feels his chest contract, ribs curling in and crushing his organs. The air halts in his lungs and he can’t release his held breath. The world crashes in around him, tunneling his vision to where all he can see is your seething, hateful stare.
“It’s because I was never your real child, right? I was just some kid you were stuck with! You never loved me!”
You don’t believe a word you’re saying; you never did, never have, never will.
The words flash off your tongue before you know what you’re saying at all. They’re full of malice, collaring your anger to your flesh and strangling you with it. Every syllable you say is wrought with the outrage you feel. It’s like a crown of thorns, blood dripping into your eyes and blinding you with red red red.
The human nature to self-destruct grabs you by the throat and sets you alight. You brim with thoughts of tearing yourself to pieces and taking down everything around you in a fit of madness. Your words have no goal but to hurt. You are not revealing secrets or emotions long-kept, you are exploding in a ring of fire with only the desire to burn.
Emmet collects himself, standing ramrod straight. His expression twists into something frighteningly placid. He moves with heavy, burdensome motions, as if his bones are made of iron. Stiff, calm, and deliberate, Emmet approaches you with the purposefulness of a train barreling down its tracks. There is only ever one destination. You either reach your stop or crash into violent flames. 
You said what you said because you knew it would hurt him, and maybe Emmet realizes this. Maybe he knows you’re just lying through your teeth, that your words are just virulent falsehoods that you conjured up to protect yourself. Perhaps he can read your shaking hands and fearful eyes and see who you truly are underneath all of the walls you built. But you don’t care. You want to hurt him. You’ve been hurting for a long time.
Emmet is not smiling anymore.
“You’re wrong.”
He’s right. You know he’s right. For the love of Arceus, of course he’s right. There is nothing more debilitating than the truth staring at you dead in the face when all you wanted was to deny its existence in the first place.
If he wasn’t your dad it would hurt less. The feeling of banishment abandonment would be easier to overcome if Emmet was just some guy taking care of you, just some person you lived with. Someone actively trying to forget you would be less painful if they weren’t your dad. You tried to make it less painful to stomach, you really did. You thought that if you said all of these mean things that you could trick yourself into thinking that Emmet didn’t love you, that he wasn’t actually your father. But he is, and he loves you.
A sob rips through your chest like a slashing axe. Your knees hit the tile below you while your hands frantically pull your scarf off your neck. A bolt of lightning lights up the sky, thunder roaring while the windows are pelted with rain. The water is freezing. Waves high and low crash over you, relentlessly pushing you down below the surface. The Cobalt Coastlands give you no mercy. The weight of your lungs drag you do as you see an explosion of violet and ozone crackle through the sky. Basculegion isn’t going to get to you in time—
“NO! No no no, please please leave me alone,” you cry, tears and snot mixing down your face as you fiercely try to hide yourself in the corner of the kitchen.
In a panic, Emmet falls down to your side, gravity pulling him to you rather than the earth. His hands draw you into his chest. Gloved fingers brush over your hair and push your face into the crook of his neck; his other arm wraps around your shoulders securely. He tries to calm you down just like he did in the past.
Emmet’s held you like this hundreds of times and hushed your scattered thoughts just as many. You never liked to cry but Emmet was there when you did. This was a familiar position. It was familiar in the way flowers were familiar at a funeral—in the way that love finds a way to linger without words even when life is sad and sorrowful.
But you are a different person now, and this is not the past.
You start to squirm and shake and push and scream. This man, who told you to your face that he tried to forget you and throw your memory away, now tries to hold you like he’s holding the world. The person who you were supposed to trust more than anyone in the world banished abandoned you to make himself feel better. You feel disgusted, enraged, and hurt.
“I can’t—! Emmet, please, let me go! Oh my Arceus I can't…” Your voice shakes with every word as you try to move out of his grasp. “Please please please, Papa…Papa I can’t breathe. Please let me go, Papa, I can't—!”
Emmet feels his skin pressing into his ribs, pulling and tugging like a taut rubber band. The shock of adrenaline is so recognizable in his blood that he can taste it on the back of his teeth. His pupils blow wide, vision swimming at the edges. Emmet’s jaw opens and his words tumble back inside his throat. It feels as if every droplet of sanity has been siphoned from his body.
Your father notices the lack of your touch before he realizes what’s happening to him. Something is hovering above him, so large and encompassing that it consumes his entire vision. The presence sends waves of despair through his bone marrow and into his lungs, speeding up the pace of his heart to where the fibers nearly tear.
Dusknoir is a Pokémon of many talents, and Emmet knows that if he so much as lifts a finger in your direction that the Pokémon will not hesitate to separate his mind from his skeleton. Though, it’s not like Emmet can move anyway, because the ghost type’s abilities keep him frozen to the floor.
The more you cry the more enclosing the dread feels. Every time Emmet blinks he swears he can see the wispy edges of Dusknoir grow larger and larger, shadowy edges harvesting the essence from the raging storm outside. All you father can see is absence of anything in Dusknoir’s gaping maw on its stomach. Emmet wonders if your Pokémon will swallow him whole.
While he cannot see you directly, the image of you screaming at him to let you go and collapsing into a helix of grief and anguish suffocates the fear in his chest and replaces it with misery. 
Lying on the floor of his own kitchen, Emmet stares at the ceiling and begs to take it all back. He begs to whatever gods may be to take his heart and soul and let him become nothing. Let him dissolve into the storm. Let you never return to him in hopes to save your psyche from the shackles of agony he tied to you. Let him devolve into oblivion, as nihility would be better than whatever this is.
Because, despite being home for the first time in two and a half years, you feel the farthest from him you’ve ever been.
ayyyyyy angst my beloved. hope you're alright, strabby!! ily and thank you for being so patient with this <33
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arrowsperpetualcringe · a day ago
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So, I wanted to make a little doodle bc I just had this thought of like "haha what if their eyes turned glassy like mirrors?"
Probably not gonna be canon to the au, but I was listening to The Distortionist and it came to mind
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harveyb-wabbit92 · 23 hours ago
{Submas Mechanic au}
Ingo, checking a customers engine: You used subpar fuel, which corroded your injectors and intake manifold.
Customer: Uhhh, in English bro?
Ingo, trying not to sigh: Low quality gas damaged your car’s engine...
Customer: Dumb it down for me bit more.
Emmet, stepping in: I got this, Bad go-go juice make your vroom-vroom machine go all fucky!
Customer: Oh no.
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