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ihaveatheoryonthat · 2 years

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I’ve been enchanted by a worm, and no one is surprised. (Read: This is based on the the Ghost Worm AU by @blaiddsumu )

There have been a number of updates lately, so idk if this’ll still work with their ‘canon’ by the time it’s posted, but still good fun, right?

---

From a classic standpoint, there were two categories of special Pokemon: legendary and mythical. The categorization could be argued between them, but rule of thumb was that a legendary Pokemon was defined by recorded history, literally the stuff of legends, while mythical Pokemon were rare enough that their very existence was in dispute.

Modern vernacular had given way to a subset of myths: cryptic Pokemon-- Pokemon that likely didn’t exist, and were simply human minds trying to make sense of what they couldn’t otherwise explain. Creatures like Lockirie in Galar’s Wild Area or the Lentimas Nighthoppers.

By far the most interesting-- though, admittedly, Emmet was somewhat biased-- was the rail rider, a theoretical Pokemon called Frightrail. Alternately called the Ghost Train Pokemon, it was said to haunt stations and empty lines-- and, conveniently, provide an excuse for data that less competent stations couldn’t explain.

So it was… frustrating to hear whispers that the Ghost of Nonexistent Inbound Trains had supposedly been lurking in the system Emmet oversaw. The job was too much for one man alone-- he could admit that, now-- but everything was back in perfect working order. It had been the best tribute he could imagine, to ensure that the station they’d put so much time and effort into ran without issue; Ingo would have hated it if his loss was what caused the entire operation to collapse. In a sense, Gear Station itself had become a shrine.

Gods, two years now that he’d been gone. In some ways it felt like it couldn’t have reached the benchmark already-- that it was far too soon to give up-- but, at the same time, Emmet knew better. The missing persons case had quietly been shut, lacking physical evidence, hard information and any real hope.

Because, while part of him felt two years couldn’t have passed so soon, the second year had overstayed its welcome. At the midway point between now and Ingo’s disappearance, Emmet had gotten his answers, had found his twin in the dusty corner of Sinnoan history. A handful of allusions to Warden from a distant land, a small photograph with far, far too many people crammed in its borders, and a translated epitaph were all the closure he got.

On the way to his home station, it had said, and Emmet was impressed that something so well meaning could simultaneously be so cruel.

He’d spent the anniversary, this time, trying not to dwell on the fact that in four more years, he’d be older than his big brother.

That was something he was still coming to terms with. It was fine; he had entirely too much time to get there. For now, he had a memorial to attend to-- the station couldn’t function properly if there were Pokemon lurking, unchecked, in the tunnels. His working theory was that it was a Liepard that had managed to slink by unnoticed-- that the reports of glowing eyes were simply its tapetum lucidum throwing people off-- and so he kept Galvantula’s pokeball close at hand.

Emmet was incredibly mistaken.

Wrapped up in his surveillance of the tunnels, he didn’t notice that the object of his attention was trailing languidly behind him, riding the air like the rail mere feet away. He’d gone home that night with nothing to show for the attempt, and only been alerted to the intrusion the next morning, when Cameron frantically waved him down to watch Platform 3’s security footage.

Sure enough, as the image of Emmet emerged from the tunnel and into the bay proper, the blunt end of a snout poked out from the darkness and two glowing spots tracking his movement up the stairs. It didn’t linger. As soon as he’d left the observable area, the shape twisted in the air and turned back around.

It was horrifying.

The entire patrol, he’d never heard a sound-- no other footfalls, no slithering or muted, panting breaths. Had it been following him the entire time? For what reason? It couldn’t have felt its territory was being encroached upon or been looking to hunt-- it would have lashed out instead of letting him leave unobstructed. Was it just curious? But what about a human-- in the heart of Nimbasa city-- could be so interesting to an urban Pokemon? He hadn’t even had any treats on him, wary of luring out the Joltik that nested in the tunnels.

And the Pokemon itself… there were plenty of twisting, writhing Pokemon in Unova, but none of them matched the facts. It certainly hadn’t been an Onix or Steelix. A Seviper could move silently, but would have attacked, and no self respecting Serperior would hide itself away from the sun. The best match he could come up with was an Eelektross-- serpentine enough to move the way the shape on camera had, and able to move silently by hovering-- but the head shape was all wrong, and Emmet liked to believe he had enough experience with his own Eelektross to be able to recognize when one was stalking him.

Just to be safe, he kept Eelektross out when he delved back into the subway system that night.

The first time it grumbled into the darkness, Emmet whirled around, flashlight frantically covering every inch of the area, but it had been alone as it trailed behind, and gurgled at him, confused. The second noise was one of interest-- Eelektross’s attention fixed on a tunnel branching off from the one Emmet had traversed the previous night-- and while it added an extra variable into the mix, if Eelektross wanted to go that way, there had to be a reason. He curled around Emmet’s shoulder appreciatively, took up his position as caboose, and warbled to himself.

The third instance was several in rapid succession: wet snuffling, an absolutely gleeful burble, and then a somewhat more alarming sucking sound as it attached itself to something.

Well, Emmet thought to himself, in the split second before turning to pull Eelektross off of its would-be-prey, That’s certainly one track to take.

There was a trill of a Pokemon’s call-- not unlike a higher-pitched train whistle-- and then the beam of Emmet’s flashlight found its target. He… wasn’t entirely sure what Eelektross had caught. Or that Eelektross had even caught it. It was coiled around the other Pokemon in mid-air, and yes, it had its arms wrapped around it, but it hadn’t actually attached itself in a way it would be able to stun and kill its target.

It was far closer to the clumsy suckerfish-kisses Eelektross would subject him to when it was feeling affectionate.

The Pokemon in its grip flinched away behind Eelektross’s fin as the beam hit it head-on, peering out only when Emmet angled it to the ground. The indirect lighting wasn’t nearly as helpful, but was still enough to confirm that, yes, this seemed to be the Pokemon from the footage. Its eyes glowed silver beneath Eelektross’s maw and, oddly, it looped lazily around Eelektross’s body in turn.

For a fleeting moment, Emmet wondered if this was somehow a nestmate of his Pokemon’s, but dismissed the thought wholesale. All that hovered was not Tynamo, and beyond vague body shape, similarities were few and far between. Friends from Chargestone Cave, then? Tynamo were already so rarely seen, it wasn’t hard to imagine there were hiding places a yet-undiscovered species might lurk; that would even explain how it had gained access to the subway tunnels…

The Pokemon chuffed at Eelektross and tried to back out of his grip, only to be seized more tightly and offered to Emmet in two clawed flippers, like a child presenting their parent with a Lillipup they hoped to keep.

He favored Eelektross with a smile and pet down its crest fin, “Verrrry good job! You’ve found our trespasser.”

Attention straying to the other Pokemon, he raised his flashlight a hair, looking it over more thoroughly. The bulk of its body hung limp and unresisting in Eelektross’s grip, a dark top and underbelly studded with pale markings and a pair of stripes. There seemed to be steam coming from the vicinity of its cheeks, suggesting some manner of functionality like a Pikachu’s electric sacs.

Odd. A fire type would wreak havoc on Chargestone’s ecosystem, devastating the populations of Joltik, Ferroseed and Klink. It was possible that this was a unique specimen, unable to affect the numbers in any substantial way, but even then, the cave seemed like a poor choice of habitat.

“We’ll have to figure out what to do with you.” He told it. A full type analysis would help determine where best to rehome it-- offhand, the Desert Resort seemed promising. A Pokemon like this would appreciate a good basking spot, wouldn’t it?

But that was for tomorrow.

He narrowed his eyes at it, pointing in mild accusation, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten your behavior last night. That was unacceptable.”

It shrunk back against Eelektross as he scolded it and-- when the eel moved to follow Emmet’s lead, escorting it to the station-- just shrunk, no modifiers involved. Before Emmet could call out any orders or Eelektross could find a better grip, it slipped away into the darkness.

Trainer and Pokemon looked to one another. Eelektross whined. Emmet groaned.

This was far from over.

---

Part two of that evening’s survey was, unsurprisingly, a bust. The Pokemon had Furreted itself out of the way and refused to be found a second time.

The next night, he’d thought to keep Chandelure at his side, but she’d completely blindsided him and torn off through the subway system as soon as she was released, at which point the task turned from ‘find the weird intruder’ to ‘find your late brother’s partner Pokemon’. To her credit, she returned before he’d really started to worry, but it was an experience he wasn’t eager to repeat, so Galvantula took her spot the evening after that.

After the fifth evening-- part of which was spent keeping an eye on Durant as it marched along the tunnels’ ceiling-- Emmet was forced to admit two things. One, this wasn’t going anywhere, and two, the Pokemon seemed to have decided they were playing a game. Every night, no matter which platform he returned to, the cameras caught it lingering until he was forced to turn in. In one instance, it seemed to have acquired arms from Reshiram-knew-where to wave a taunting goodbye to his back.

And then it upped the ante.

Emmet had thought to switch things up, to arrive at work early and survey the stretch he knew the Pokemon favored. It hadn’t yielded any results-- which was strange, considering it made a point to hiss a laugh at him whenever his latest ploy imploded in on itself-- but he quickly realized why it seemed so completely absent.

Because it was.

He’d found it in his office, coiled up on his chair with its head laying on the armrest.

It was the first time he’d seen it in proper lighting, but that only lasted so long. Surprised, himself, he’d squawked and pointed at it in his astonishment, startling it into awareness and, subsequently, into motion. Its exit had been a far cry from the usual self-satisfied ksh-sh-sh and tail flip, as it scrambled past him, half-tangling itself around his legs in its haste. It seemed to remember that it could shrink down only once Emmet had seized it by the middle, and though he’d known the trick was coming, he’d been unable to adjust in time.

That was the day he decided this was personal. The worm had made it personal.

It went on for several weeks-- and though the later-than-usual nights were a little grating, it was nothing compared to the early days of Ingo’s disappearance, when sleeplessness was the norm. Nights of cycling through their Pokemon, just in case one of them could see something he couldn’t, of recruiting the handful of Depot Agents who’d become invested in the hunt, of trying to lure it out five ways to Sunday.

When it came down to it, though, the only change that made a difference was a single yawn.

Something changed in its demeanor. Its path became less erratic, and when Emmet realized it had led them back to Platform 3, it nudged him toward the stairs with its blunt snout. He could have spun on his heel and grabbed the thing-- or even thrown a pokeball at it-- but, instead, he looked between it and the path it was indicating. It nudged him again, hissing its encouragement with a heavy plume of purple steam, and narrowed its eyes at him.

The Pokemon’s face was borderline impossible to read, but it almost seemed fond.

Without knowing why, exactly, he chose to do so, Emmet followed its suggestion and went home. It was only as he collapsed into bed that he figured it out. He’d been going off of a vague, sleepy instinct-- the same one that trusted in Ingo’s instructions as he steered them through late nights during those first grueling months as co-Facility Heads.

Now that he thought about it, his Pokemon had acted similarly, hadn’t they? In the excitement of Worm Hunting, he’d nearly forgotten about Eelektross’s overly-affectionate greeting and Chandelure’s refusal to stay put-- and they hadn’t been the only ones. Each of the Pokemon he’d brought along had alerted him, first and foremost, with distinctly happy cries.

Maybe he’d been going about this all wrong.

---

The next time he was able, Emmet made a path toward Platform 3 and lingered at the tunnel’s threshold. Nothing happened for a minute, and so he called, “Hello? Are you there?” into it.

There was a brief delay but, eventually, he caught a glimpse of eyes drawing nearer, glowing like miniature headlights.

Oh.

Hah. That was actually kind of funny.

The entity hesitated before leaving the tunnel’s refuge, still cloaked in shadow. That was okay. Emmet had seen him plenty of times now; he knew what to expect. Just the slitted silver eyes looking him over were enough to confirm it, really. He felt a little silly for not noticing earlier-- for getting so caught up in their game that he failed to see the obvious. To be fair, he always had needed his brother to pull him back when he got overexcited.

It was hardly unprecedented for a human to become a Pokemon. There were dozens of stories of it, of species whose origin was thought to be closely tied to the end of a human life.

And Emmet was well aware of the fact that, centuries prior, his twin’s life had come to a close.

As a human, at least.

“Are you done playing your game?” He asked, and the entity turned his head-- not curious, per se, but waiting to see exactly where Emmet was going with this.

Not one to disappoint, Emmet uncrossed his arms and raised them in invitation.

Ingo moved too fast for him to calculate the speed involved, but, on the bright side, now he had a solid metric for what being hit by a train entailed. Why did anyone complain about this? It was the best thing to happen to him in two straight years.

A surprisingly solid head found its home along the crook of his neck, and this time, when he reached to support the body winding around him, it stayed steady beneath his hands. There was a hydraulic hissing sound, and suddenly he was being grabbed in return, dozens of metallic claws digging into his coat, mindful enough not to damage the fabric.

He didn’t say anything for a long time, content to breathe along to Ingo’s gentle rumbling-- a constant, soothing sound, like he had a petite engine hidden away in there-- but, eventually, his thoughts caught up to him again.

“You really did die there.” He said, more to himself than his brother. Ingo leaned back, far enough to search his expression for further clues-- so, to save him some trouble, Emmet added, “In Hisui.”

This face was even more difficult to interpret than the human one had been, but it was still Ingo, so Emmet knew exactly where to look. A minute shift back and slight widening of the eyes suggested he was legitimately surprised to hear the name invoked.

“Was I not supposed to know about that?” Emmet really didn’t care what the answer was. He knew now, and had been bound and determined to find out back then. There had been records good and bad-- far too little of both, for six years-- and he’d all but memorized them.

Ingo swayed back, noncommittal, and with another hiss, the plating down his body slid back together, banishing the extra arms from existence. He used the opportunity to take to the air again and loosely coiled around his brother, his two remaining arms hovering uselessly, unsure where-- of if-- to touch.

He was worried-- that much was obvious-- and not without reason. The bits of information Emmet had managed to scrape together had been ancient, so far removed that it wasn’t so hard to believe the dead Warden was someone else. This… all but confirmed it.

Emmet thought back to the worst of his findings: the epitaph that had felt like salt in a wound.

On the way to his home station, it had said, and now he was just impressed at how literally it had been taken.

This was fine. This was good! Life wouldn’t ever be quite the same as it was, but so long as they were together again, it would certainly be worth living.

Before Ingo could decide what he was doing with his arms, Emmet seized him beneath them and hoisted him back up to eye-level. For a moment, they just regarded one another, but then he broke it by asking, “Can I rehome you, yet? I have something in mind. Better than the tunnels. And it contains roughly the same number of trains.”

There was a chuffing sound-- happy, the tilt of the eyes said-- and, for a startling moment, Ingo slipped from his hands again; any panic was laid to rest as a weight arranged itself, looping once around his neck.

He laughed a little, to himself, “One more train, now.”

The response was a delicate rumble-- so small it was almost a purr.

Emmet exited the platform with the quiet confidence that there was nothing watching his back as he went-- nothing left behind.

(It took two more days before he finally considered the mass of loops sprawled over himself and realized that he was, in fact, looking at the cryptic Ghost Train Pokemon. Frightrail was real. Had been haunting Gear Station. And was also his brother. Despite Ingo’s best attempts, it was hours before he could deal with that on top of everything else.)

#ihaveatheoryonthat pkmn #submas #fanfic

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ailingwriter · 2 years

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Train Uncle and Dragon Niece

The thought of these two spending time together popped into my head and it wouldn't leave.

(Akaryu (on the left) by me, Frightrail AKA Worm Ingo (on the right) by the much more talented @blaiddraws)

#akaryu design #akaryu au #art #my art #ghost worm ingo #ghost worm au #pokemon akari #ingo #what are they doing? i dont know #hanging out i guess

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papier-ciseaux · 2 years

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Oh shit, the worm is real!

Once again, it's Frightrail (train ghost worm ingo) by @blaiddsumu

I brought him into the real world using cardboard, paint and glitter.

#papercraft #ingo #pokemon #ghost worm ingo #frightrail #fakemon #ghost worm au #stop motion #stopmotion #animation #LBArt #gif #finally got around to taking good pics #he's been hanging around on my desk waiting for his photoshoot

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ihaveatheoryonthat · 2 years

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Whumptober* Day 14: “I’ll be right behind you”

*I tried. I really did. I just hit “The Powers That Were Trying His Nerves” and couldn’t take myself seriously anymore.

@blaiddraws, someday I’ll write something for one of your AUs that’s not ridiculous fluff, but alas, today is for Worm Shenanigans.

---

There were certain inevitabilities in life.

The commuter who only just made his train to Humilau every morning, the annual Nimbasa blackout as Elesa’s ambition tripped the power grid, the departure and return of Casteliacones-- all of these events were guaranteed to happen, though the time frames varied between them.

Another constant was this: Ingo picked a direction and Emmet followed him.

It sounded odd, imbalanced even, but it really wasn’t. Ingo was too fair-minded to chart an inequitable path, and Emmet had no compunctions about raising an objection if need be. If anything, it was a game of give and take, of compromises. It was a substantial part of how they had ended up running the Battle Subway.

There was exactly one place Ingo had ventured where Emmet had been unable to join him, but, as always, he’d split the difference. While Emmet still wished he’d been able to accompany his brother on the unplanned commute to Hisui, the fact that it had been a round trip lessened the sting.

It was a strange homecoming, but not a bad one. There was a lot that had to change to accommodate their new lives, and a lot to adjust to or reacquaint oneself with; that was just the nature of things when you or a loved one was reincarnated as a soul-powered train. For every weird or uncomfortable new quirk, there were ways to alleviate that burden or find the fun in it, and there were plenty of perks mixed in. It was life-- just a new spin on it.

From the day he’d figured out who, precisely, was haunting the subway tunnels, Emmet had set his course.

As always, he followed his twin’s lead. It just took a little longer this time.

That was a nice way of saying that, when he passed, he turned right back around and demanded to become a second Frightrail. He knew the drawbacks; he’d been right there to witness them for years on end. While he might not relish the idea of drawing sustenance from others’ life force, he’d come to terms with that reality. Having a completely different body type would be a learning experience, but was it so much worse than moving on without his brother? No.

When it came down to it, that was the answer to every tricky question. He could endure it. They could endure it as a--

...could they be a two car train if they were both trains? Did one’s existence as a literal train preclude their ability to be a metaphorical car?

The Powers That Were Trying His Nerves stared for a long moment, processing, and then decided to wash Its hooves of him. Or at least, he assumed that was what happened. Something had to have occurred, because he blinked and then everything looked wrong.

Well, maybe not wrong, but weird. Even before reaching up to scrub at the rounded snout changing his field of vision, Emmet understood why that was-- again, he’d put years of thought into this, even if he’d made his decision all but immediately-- it was just… a lot at once. At least he had the luxury of knowing what he’d been getting himself into. Having an older sibling was convenient like that.

Speaking of.

He stopped pawing at his steel-smooth nose and looked around. Seemed Arceus had seen fit to plonk him in the park across from the station. Truthfully, Emmet hadn’t expected anything in particular, so this destination made as much sense as anything else. While it would have lived up the classic image of a ghost to rise where he’d died, he really didn’t need that kind of drama in his afterlife; he’d passed at home, and, logically, that space belonged to someone else now.

...he should go haunt the tunnels, just to see how Ingo liked playing worm wrangler.

Emmet made to push himself upright, but only made it so far as the first set of arms, lacking any of the tertiary pairs that studded each segment of plating. Right, they stayed dormant by default, didn’t they? He knew the sections of his body could slide apart to bring them out, but how exactly did one go about doing that…?

Maybe he should have asked some more pointed questions when he’d had the opportunity.

Eventually, he gave up on the ghost limbs, but with some trial and error, managed to wriggle himself into the air, and that would do for now. He stayed lower to the ground than strictly necessary for a host of reasons, ranging from ‘less noticeable’ to ‘not as far to fall’ to ‘feels more train-like’.

He was well aware that there wouldn’t be anyone at Gear Station so early in the morning-- not since Jackie had retired-- but it was home station for a reason, perhaps now more than ever. Even if he couldn’t make the staff understand what he wanted, all he had to do was wait around and he’d get it.

It wound up somewhat easier than he’d expected; even with the late hour, the station master’s office was occupied.

Blatantly ignoring the yellowed sign asking that patrons ‘not tap the glass, because the station master was sleeping’, he nosed it open and barged right in. Then Emmet did something that, were he alive, would have gone against the very fabric of his moral code: he deliberately caused a collision of trains.

With a sleepy hiss, his victim cracked an eye open, then chuffed a yawn.

“How long has it been?” He asked, nudging insistently at his brother’s face, “Do not tell me you were asleep all this time.”

“’All this time’? I can make assumptions, too, you realize. You’ve been here… hm… seven minutes, and you’re already jumping to conclusions.” Ingo rumbled, amused. His voice was raspy with disuse, and he didn’t even bother opening his other eye. Combined, it told Emmet that yes, he’d been asleep for awhile.

Magnanimously, he decided to ignore the comment, “You taunted me for days, before. And this time you decided to take a nap?”

His twin finally resigned himself to consciousness and ducked under Emmet’s head, giving himself room to stretch the first set of arms. “I’ve told you, the circumstances were nerve-wracking; it only turned into a game because that was the track you chose.”

Emmet grumbled his malcontent, and, to his surprise, it echoed in his throat. Before he had the chance to fully process that fact, Ingo raised his head, bumping against his.

“I assisted for a time, but it wasn’t fun in your absence. This seemed the easiest solution.”

Oh, it was a matter of fun was it? He could work with that. Eyes darting this way and that, he picked a quarry and escape route. When Ingo seemed distracted untangling himself, Emmet lunged forward and gave the tip of his tail a yank before scurrying off toward platform 3.

There was a bark of outrage that quickly condensed into:

“Your form is terrible!”

A delighted whistle escaped him and, without turning back, he called:

“Then you had better come correct me!”

The air displaced behind him, a secondary presence emerging from the slipstream he’d carved. There was a tug on his tail just before Ingo pulled up to his side.

“Honestly,” He huffed, nudging at Emmet’s spectral arm, “You studied aerodynamics; you should be aware of how inefficient this is.”

The plating slid shut at the contact and, unbalanced by his arms’ sudden exit, Emmet wobbled in the air. As he sped up, Ingo pressed their sides together, steadying him until he was the one leading, purposefully cutting a path through the air for Emmet to follow.

Well that just proved it: two cars to a train, irregardless of the number of sub-trains within.

Some things simply did not change.

#ihaveatheoryonthat pkmn #submas #fanfic #whumptober

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blaiddraws · 2 years

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love your giant train lizard worm Ingo, does he have a pokemon name or is he just known as Ingo?

i've been sorta playing with something like Frightrail (ghost, train, freight train, etc.) but kinda eh on it. tho he's not seen much but he's been around long enough that a name has cropped up for him

Anonymous asked:

Does nimbassa know about gear stations ghost train worm?

yes! maybe not at first, they keep things on the down-low, but it's pretty hard to ignore when he's hanging around emmet a bunch and wandering the station lol

Anonymous asked:

Does the pearl clan know about worme Ingo?

hmmmmmmm kinda? Irida (and adaman) and the rest of the wardens do eventually learn about him, if only so they know he's not a dangerous pokemon. and maybe theres people that catch glimpses here and there. but most of them are under the impression that hes Just some new pokemon. theres a couple that make the connection, but like melli at first they think he's just some shadow left behind, created from ingo's death.

it's only Irida, Melli, Adaman (because melli cant keep things from him thats just how it is with siblings and how talkative melli is), Calaba, and mayyyybe Gaeric? it's only those that know that this pokemon is Actually truly ingo.

#answered #not art #ghost worm ingo #ghost worm au

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blaiddraws · 1 year

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I just met Orthworm in SV and I’m !!!! That’s Ghost Worm!

It’s looks very close and kinda looks like a childrens Fanart of Wormgo. (And small children often make fanart or drawings in general and you can’t tell me small children who are amazed by Wormgo would go and draw art of their favorite Ghost Worm for their favorite Ghost Worm!) Gosh now I need to catch myself an Orthworm and call it Frightrail (how many people are planning to do that already? I don’t know but this is the only right choice!)

Anyway I’m enjoying your AU so much and basically having seeing a worm in Pokémon makes my brain go Ghost Worm brrrrr! Thank you for the wonderful AU!

YEAH!!!! WORM!!!!!! i immediately got one and named him frightrail upon finding the orthworms. lol. so at least ONE people. :>

(on that note, with orthworm's ability and the fact they can learn smack down. makes an INCREDIBLE combination in a double battle with a pokemon that knows earthquake. just saying.)

and. thank YOU for enjoying ghost worm au!!!! makes me feel glad people appreciate it so much

Anonymous asked:

OMG I wrote this Ask and the next thing I see in-Game is a Shiny Orthworm!!!! It’s so pretty!!!

EYOOOOOOOOOO NIICEEEEEE

#my first shiny was a klawf. which is also blue!#not art #ghost worm au #kinda. discussing it but not the au itself. whatever #orthworm

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ihaveatheoryonthat · 2 years

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It’s 👏 Worm 👏 Time 👏 Again

I’ve been struggling with writer’s block for the last little while, and in the middle of it, @blaiddsumu happened to post this comic. Funny enough, it actually shared a point in common with the other plot hook I’d considered following in this AU. Sometimes, the stars just align like that.

I won’t say it’s anything terribly fancy, but if you’re down for some more worm silliness, welcome aboard.

---

It had been two weeks since their game of hide and seek ended, and Emmet was beginning to worry.

Not that there was any shortage of worrying factors to this whole… situation, but for right now, he was fixated on one factor in particular: Frightrail-- his brother-- wouldn’t eat.

He’d tried half a dozen different approaches, from preparing an extra portion of whatever he made, trying vegetarian recipes, to outright offering to get old favorite foods and, when that initially failed, turning his back just in case that was the hangup. Nothing worked. It would be incredibly insensitive to treat Ingo like a Pokemon, so he didn’t-- but if he happened to leave an extra few berries or a pokepuff where only a hovering worm might access them, that was quite the coincidence.

He had neglected to consider that Eelektross was perfectly capable of inserting himself into those criteria, and found the eel stuck not three hours into this experiment, unable to retract its limbs the way certain cryptic Pokemon could. Once his starter was un-wedged and pouting beneath the kitchen table, he’d been able to ascertain that nothing had actually been pilfered, and left the small bounty in order to see what might happen.

‘What happened’ was that, ten minutes later, Eelektross’s sorry whimpering died down-- due, primarily, to the fact that he was inhaling a hondew berry. Coincidentally, that had been one of the fruits he’d been going after in the first place. Funny, that.

Next to him, half-folded over the back of a chair with his head pillowed on two spectral arms, was Ingo, looking remarkably smug for someone whose features couldn’t emote. His eyes flickered over the instant Emmet drew even with the doorway, and he didn’t even bother trying to hide his snickering.

Emmet pinched the bridge of his nose, “Perhaps I should have seen that coming. Why wouldn’t you spoil the Pokemon if given the opportunity?”

He allowed himself another second’s worth of exasperation, sighing before crossing the room and craning up to retrieve the un-gifted snacks. Immediately, he was made aware of a presence behind him, but didn’t think anything of it until a substantially smaller Frightrail darted up, past his hands, and scooped the treats away. For half a second, he was reminded intensely of the tunnels, and how poorly every attempt at catching up to Ingo had gone.

Emmet spent the other half second considering that there was only one reason his twin might be making off with the snacks, if he had no intention of eating them. Even though he knew how this went, historically, he took off, chasing after the tail that disappeared around the corner.

There was a flutter of movement as Chandelure hastily vacated the premises, phasing through the wall to get out of his path. In the moment, it made sense. In about sixty seconds, however, he’d rethink that. For now, he was too busy grasping at the miniaturized body that kept thrashing just out of reach.

Ahead of him, there was a pleased whistle as Ingo caught sight of Galvantula and dived beneath the safe harbor of her body. As Emmet closed the gap between them, his brother nudged the pilfered cheri, tantalizing, under her pedipalps and coiled around the remaining berry. She blinked at her human with all six eyes, ran her fuzzy limbs over the offering, and then settled in, protecting his traitor of a sibling like a Togekiss brooding over its nest.

“I am beginning to think I may be outnumbered.” Emmet said flatly, trying to tamp down on any amusement that might come across in his expression.

Galvantula, mouth full, made a thick clicking sound. It almost drowned out the muted chuffing beneath her, and the lone human in the room had to bite back a groan as Crustle started scuttling nearer.

“No.” He said, placing a hand on its stone shell in an attempt to still it, “We are not playing this game any more. Everyone has already received a berry. It would be verrry unfair for some pokemon to get seconds while others do not.”

There was a thoughtful silence, and then a louder, more declarative kssshhhh. Across the room, Durant tilted its head and Garbodor clapped her hands together.

Emmet wasn’t one to oppose a union, but he got the distinct feeling they were working to undermine him.

A blunt, purple snout poked out from Galvantula’s underbelly, pushing the remaining oran berry within reach of Crustle’s pincers. As if to distract him from the blatant display of rebellion-- or perhaps just prevent him from confiscating the berry in time-- Ingo emerged from his hiding place, shaking himself back to normal size, and coiled around Emmet’s shoulders. When he crowded his muzzle in, Emmet pushed him away, exasperated.

“I do not want to hear it from you.”

Ingo hissed a low noise, exaggeratedly pitiful, and let his head flop down. Emmet tried not to let his expression break, unwilling to cede the moral high ground for that.

The sound did, however, garner a reaction.

Just as quickly as she’d fled the scene, Chandelure popped back through the wall, floating around her ex-human’s face and tapping worriedly with one wrought iron limb. Startled by the fuss, Ingo lost his grip on Emmet; though his sounds were as incomprehensible as ever, the tone made it clear he was trying to allay her concerns.

It wasn’t terribly surprising-- she’d been hovering over him this entire time, in both senses of the word. Honestly, Emmet was more puzzled by the fact that she hadn’t gotten in on the act sooner, eager to play along. He would have expected her to put herself into his path, a gleeful ghostly roadblock giving Ingo a few more seconds to dole out treats.

Then Emmet caught sight of the half-devoured pokepuff in her grasp, and it made more sense.

He was so busy trying to dismantle whatever snack distribution system his brother had established that he completely forgot why he’d had them out in the first place.

---

After a few days, Emmet decided ‘to hell with it’ and addressed the matter directly. He’d tried subtlety for Ingo’s sake, but when it came down to it, this was also for his brother’s well being.

The ghost had taken to looping around his neck, riding wherever Emmet conducted them without complaint, dozing all the while. Lethargy was a sign of malnutrition in nearly every species Emmet could list, and he couldn’t bear the thought that Ingo might be unwell so soon after they’d found one another again. Swords of Justice, it had been three weeks without so much as a nip at a berry; there had to be something wrong. Emmet just needed to understand what the problem was, and then he would fix it.

Gingerly, he gathered up the metal body basking against the warmth of his skin, and ran a pointer finger over the miniaturized head. Ingo blinked his way into an eventual awareness and let out a sleepy huff of greeting, body rearing back so as to look up at Emmet. The drowsy contentedness dimmed as he processed the look on his twin’s face.

“I need you to explain what’s wrong.” Emmet said, voice soft, but with a blunt edge, “It will be difficult with the language barrier. But I need to understand.”

Ingo tilted his head, eyes narrowed into tiny, puzzled slits, but nodded for him to go on.

“You refuse to eat. Why?”

His brother looked away, and it was enough to tell Emmet that he was uncomfortable with the line of questioning, but, unfortunately, he couldn’t let this slide.

“You are not herbivorous. Despite your teeth, you do not seem to be a carnivore. Do your dietary requirements align with any other Pokemon’s?”

Slowly, Ingo inclined his head, still looking determinedly away. His irises ticked up as Chandelure chimed somewhere nearby.

Emmet took a breath, ready to try listing feasible options, but was stopped when his passenger disembarked; silently cutting through the air, Ingo led the way to the living room and idled for just a moment next to the TV, at which point he manifested his foremost set of arms and plucked a Joltik out from behind it. The bug squirmed, whining ineffectually, and he released it in short order, but promptly looked to Emmet, gauging whether or not he was following.

He… supposed he understood the point, thus far. Joltik didn’t subsist entirely on electricity, though; their stolen snacks fueled their firepower, but their bodies still required a proper diet.

As if to counter this point, specifically, Ingo reached up to knock lightly on the plating just behind his steam vents. There was a comically high clanking sound and, with a frustrated huff, he shook himself back to his standard size before demonstrating again. The tinny clunk clunk wasn’t exactly news, but Emmet suspected it was only half of the point-- the other half being the hollowness of the tone.

“You… do not have the ability to process such foods?” He hazarded, to an emphatic nod, “So you consume electricity like the Joltik? Did you frequent the subway lines in order to feed from the third rail?”

There was a telling hesitation, and Ingo bobbed his head-- neither a yes nor a no-- but there was no further pantomime inbound. Whatever the full track may have entailed, he seemed content to stall where they were.

Emmet frowned, dissatisfied, but decided he would accept it for now. It meant he didn’t have to preoccupy himself trying to coax his twin into eating like a rehabilitated wild pokemon.

“Regardless of the specifics, I ask that you refuel verrrry soon. Your lack of energy does not mean anything good.”

Ingo spent a long few seconds watching him, searching his expression, and eventually punctuated the conversation with a single, concise nod.

For something as ostensibly harmless as siphoning off a static charge, he certainly didn’t look happy about it.

---

“You seemed verrrry low energy today.” Emmet said one say after work, months later, “I would ask that you recharge soon.”

Ingo gave a low whistle into the collar of his coat, slightly deafening at current size, and with an audible reluctance, conceded. “I will when I’m able; it may… take some time, however.”

They’d had this conversation over and over, both with and without words, and-- though Ingo had never stated things plainly-- they were more or less on the same page. Possibly even the same paragraph.

The first time he’d seemed noticeably sluggish, he’d sidled up alongside Chandelure and whistled something humans couldn’t comprehend. Chandelure had understood, though, and lit up at whatever he’d said-- not a happy glow, per se, but intrigued, invested. Emmet hadn’t given it too much thought at the time, save the mental note that they were conspiring again, but their absence later in the day had been conspicuous. So, too, had been the dramatic shift in vigor upon their return.

That little fact alone spoke entire volumes.

Emmet should have known; he’d been helping care for Litwick, then Lampent, then Chandelure for the greater portion of his life. Their reputation wasn’t for nothing. The vast majority of ghosts, in fact, subsisted on a non-corporeal diet-- he just hadn’t ever thought to apply the logic to Ingo, too.

His brother was just so solid. Not like the wobbly form of the fear-grazing Misdreavus or liquid mirage of Jellicent-- but, again, Emmet had a similarly solid example, and had been naive to dismiss the thought. Chandelure was composed of glass and iron around the soul-consuming flame; Cofagrigus consumed precious ores to add to their forms, when they weren’t busy sucking the life out of a person trapped within.

Tangible ghosts were no foreign concept to Unova, and sliding steel plates weren’t so far from wrought iron or sculpted gold.

Emmet understood, and so he’d stopped pushing for answers. It was clear that Ingo didn’t exactly relish the circumstance, even if he’d had centuries to cope with his form’s needs; he knew how to conduct the active cars, and so long as he got what he needed by the end of the commute, that was usually enough.

Today, however, it wasn’t. Ingo hadn’t just been ‘low energy’, he’d been utterly limp around Emmet’s neck for a good portion of the work day. Emmet’s concern from months prior reared right back up: he needed to know how to help. Not just so he could assist before things got to this point again, but also so he knew how to act in case of an emergency.

“Is it fear or life force?” He asked without preamble, startling his brother into a more wakeful state.

“...vital force.” Ingo said reluctantly, “By technicality, it’s electricity.”

For a second, Emmet didn’t follow the justification, and then realized, oh, the Joltik. Whatever. He didn’t care right now, save to acknowledge the fact that of course his twin had been playing semantics, even without words.

“In what quantities?” He attempted to make it sound casual-- or at least to convey that it was a practical question and not accusation-- but vocal range had never been his strong suit, and Ingo still flinched.

The response was an immediate, “Non-fatal.”

“Good to know. I still need to understand what you require.”

A chuffing sigh sounded, far louder than it had any right to be, but it was mostly because Ingo was still angled to rest his head in the crook of Emmet’s neck. A slightly-larger-than-usual-- if sparse-- cloud of violet steam dissipated as it sounded.

“I’m able to… skim any quantity I need. It’s simple logic: the less I take, the less my-- ah-- target is affected, but I need to find another to make up the difference.”

Emmet hummed and braced a shoe on the bottom edge of his desk, propelling the both of them backwards on the rolling chair. “Understood. What other qualities factor in? Age? Temperament?”

While it took a moment to get a response, the silence was one of consideration rather than shame-- and, in no small part, the fact that he ducked his head so as not to be jostled loose by the spin Emmet pushed the chair into.

“The greatest variable seems to be emotional state.” Ingo eventually said, “The specific feeling doesn’t matter too terribly much, just the amount of energy being expended; it’s easier to draw from the excess without causing any noticeable disturbance.”

Mindful of the snout tucked along his jaw, Emmet nodded, wondering if he could talk Ingo into taking a detour to… convince their upstairs neighbors to calm down; they seemed to have restless energy to spare, and no amount of civil discussion could resolve the matter. It probably wasn’t within his brother’s comfort zone, but the thought was a cathartic one.

Though he, himself, had been the one to kickstart the chair ride, he dragged a heel along the carpet to force it to a halt. “So logically you would want emotional prey.”

There was a hiss of protest to his left, and he blew out a sigh.

“I am not judging you. Humans have always had prey. You should know that better than I do. Chandelure also feeds off of humans and we do not love her any less for it.”

“I understand that fact-- it just never gets any easier to hear.”

Fair enough. Ingo may have embraced his new quote-unquote living situation, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d learned through the lens of humanity. Perhaps it was easier to deal with when it was a hypothetical and not a lived reality-- or maybe Emmet was just coping preemptively.

Well. No use dwelling on that right now.

“The Battle Subway should be ideal, then. There are no shortage of excited challengers. It would be easy to steal a snack.”

“It would be easy.” Ingo agreed, and there was so clearly a ‘but’ following the concession, “However, I’m not going to leech that enthusiasm away from them. We both know how much dedication it takes to make it so far, and I won’t rob them of a joy they’ve rightfully earned.”

“Okay.” Emmet said, refusing to give up on the concept entirely, “Just the sore losers, then.”

Ingo went quiet. That meant Emmet had been onto something.

Excited, he clapped once, “Unruly passengers are neatly dealt with. You receive a steady source of energy. Yep! That would be a verrrry mutually beneficial arrangement! Does it sound agreeable to you?”

“It’s… certainly worth a trial run.”

“Would you like to board the pink line this evening? I’m relatively certain we could find someone causing a disturbance.” He sprung up from the chair as he spoke, nesting it back into place before turning to leave.

“It’s Castelia city. Of course someone would be causing a disturbance.” Ingo said flatly, and Emmet barked a laugh, caught out. “There’s no need to go out of the way. I’ll be perfectly fine until tomorrow, and if the-- ah-- gentleman who’s been making noise about a rematch maintains his pace, we should be able to test this idea without delay.”

Emmet could accept that. He was still concerned by how listless his brother had been throughout the day, but now they had a system to test. It was amazing how much it helped, understanding exactly what was going on.

For one thing, it meant he could make his own plans, irregardless of Ingo’s approval.

The odds of anyone-- even a returning challenger-- making it to the end of Super Doubles before early afternoon were slim to none. Far too long to go on an empty chassis.

In the meantime, Emmet was off to pick a fight. The Neils had so much enthusiasm for stomping around at obscene hours that surely they had the energy to spare.

#ihaveatheoryonthat pkmn #submas #fanfic

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