Names Liz (she/her) im obsessed with this Sningo. But im gonna make this my submas main account. asks always open so are my dms!! I made this blog to get to rot out of my brain and hopefully into yours >:) I work a lot now a days so if you send something and i take a moment dont worry i saw it and im trying. Some stuff just takes me a day or do. I will probably post about it. When you send me an ask you become my child and i would do anything for you
The Transfer Error au is by @rosebloodcat and they post the main guidelines i use here. Their blog is a must see if you want more on this au
If you see any errors or something that just bothers you PLEASE let me know. I type on mobile and in the shower at that so i make tons and tons of errors. Plus i have no triggers so i have a hard time tagging them
If you want to use anything here i welcome it. I would love to be tagged to see what you do with it but you done have to!!!
I have not played pokemon much. So my pokemon information is very very limited
If you have any questions, want to brainstorm, or just have me elaborate on something asks will always be open and dms. I will respond as soon as i can. I work a lot of hours but i dont sleep much so it shouldnt take me long to get back to you. Art requests are fine but those idk if i will be able to do them since i havent drawn in like a year.
My other PSA based on using prompts from my posts and another PSA about the same thing but more blunt and to the point
IM STILL HERE JUST DISTRACTED WITH OTHER STUFF. WILL HAPPILY DO ANY WRITING ASKS OR EVEN ART STILL!
Also if i miss an ask im sorry i dont know how to get notifications on mobile for new asks. Try dming me or just commenting on this? Idk sozz
Here’s a were-sneasler ingo au for Halloween 🎃 I had to figure out a more realistic sneasler design so it wouldn’t look too silly lol. Also Melli bc I like him 💜
(for day 17 of Sept-Ingo: Poison)
read under the cut or on AO3!
Ingo could not remember what puberty had been like. He heard from others it was a miserable experience, and even the word itself made an uncomfortable feeling bloom in his chest. But he couldn’t remember what it had been like.
Something like this, perhaps.
He still didn’t know what caused his transformation into a sneasel. Why he had to become a baby sneasel was even more confounding. But Sneasler was there to coach him through it, so it hadn’t all been bad- though the teething was less than enjoyable.
Somehow this was even more infuriating.
His poison was coming in.
When he’d first been transformed, his claws had been a clean pearly white, but now they were darkening into a distinctive purple shade. Ingo wasn’t one to care much about appearances (that aspect belonged to… someone else…) and as odd as the splotchy patches of purple and ivory were, he didn’t much care.
It was the near constant discharge of poison that was the issue.
He didn’t know how to control when to release the oily substance in his claws, so it just dripped out of the tips and seeped through the tiny crack along the inside curve of them. This left puddles of the toxic substance everywhere he went- pooling on the den floor and splatting over the walls and rock faces Sneasler made him climb.
Sneasler herself had laughed at his disgruntlement, “it’s a natural part of growing!” She’d assumed him, “when I was a kit, I left puddles of poison up to my ankles.”
“That… certainly doesn’t sound pleasant…”
“No,” she agreed, “but it only took a few days for it to finally settle. You’ll learn to control it soon.”
“I hope so too,” he said, looking down at his claws, “it is a good thing I have a wonderful teacher.”
Sneasler laughed and ingo felt his lips twitch up into a sneasel grin. No- his adventures as a sneasel wasn't all bad.
Hello all! I made a blog to post art for fanfictions and such. I was in the drawing kind of mood, so I drew how I imagined Ingo looks in the piece I've been working on.
It's called A Vacation To Remember on ao3 in case you are interested! It is inspired by @rosebloodcat's transfer error au :) I really enjoyed reading through her ideas and wanted to make something as a result.
In the semifinals for the @ultimate-submas-tournament, the Woodsman finds himself challenged not by PMD Sneasel!Ingo (@teamconductors) or Ghost Worm!Ingo (@blaiddraws) themselves, but more by what they fundamentally are. Re: dead and a Sneasel. It’s a lot for a guy to take in.
Transcript
Woodsman: *jibbering nonsense*
PMD!Ingo: Think he’ll calm down anytime soon?
Worm!Ingo: Doubt it.
Woodsman: WHAT IS EVEN GOING ON ANYMORE?! SNEASELS?! WORMS?! WHY?!
PMD!Ingo: Is he… crying?
Worm!Ingo: …yes.
Woodsman: Oh my dearest brother, we’re really in it now!!!
“To restore the lost, find my form and sacrifice yours”
Or
That time Ingo got turned into a Sneasel because there were no instructions or fine print on the ancient mystical artifact
Based on ideas of the Transfer Error AU by @rosebloodcat on Tumblr
part one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight
catching up
tw/cw: trauma flashbacks of body horror
One messy bandage change and a few choked down pills later, the three sit splayed out on the couch, utterly exhausted from what should have been a simple task.
Slumped in his seat and breathing heavily in dazed shock, Emmet looks like an explosion went off in his face. His messy gray hair is an even bigger mess and his sharply styled sideburns are completely undone. His sleeves have been pushed up to reveal arms sporting more than a few scratches and bites. Though some have drawn blood, all of them are relatively superficial.
Sitting beside Emmet, a thoroughly frazzled and rebandaged Ingo stews in utter mortification, his face buried in his claws.
He can’t believe himself! How had he completely lost it like that?? It was like his Sneasel side tore the controls from his human side, overriding all reason and sanity. It made no sense!
As Ingo replays the events in his mind, trying to figure out what happened, he feels a curled metal arm pat his back. Drawn from his anxious thoughts, he looks up to see Chandelure hovering close by. Though their flames are burning lower and dimmer than normal, their eyes are still bright and attentive, squinting clinically at his rebound chest.
“Does it still hurt?” their glass hums in worry.
“Yeah. A lot…” Ingo says, unable to keep a wince from his voice.
In his fleeing panic, parts of his healing injuries had reopened under the strain, blood quickly soaking through the gauze. It wasn’t bad enough to warrant a second hospital visit, but enough to require the application of a potion and extra dressing to stem the bleeding. Without the adrenaline, his side feels like it’s on fire, but the painkillers are steadily dulling it to more bearable levels. He tells Chandelure as much.
“Good. Maybe that will teach your Sneasel-brain not to fight it so hard next time,” they gently tease. A little more hesitantly, Chandelure continues, “Has that Sneasel-brain finally calmed down?”
“It’s better…” Ingo replies softly. Shaking his head in shame, he sighs, “I just can’t believe that happened. I thought I had a handle on everything.”
Up until that moment, Ingo didn’t think there even was a dichotomy. Despite the Sneasel body, he still felt very much like himself, even if he was more prone to biting and hissing. It seemed as if the two sides of himself were easily coexisting.
But this outburst has proven there’s more going on here. There is tension, he just doesn’t know the root cause of it.
He looks down at himself, his claws flexing in thought. At his best guess, his Sneasel body is young, about three to four months old; only halfway grown and unlearned in the world. To a developing mind, anything and everything poses both novel and frightening new experiences.
Was that the disconnect?
Could said baby Sneasel instincts misread the signals of a mature human mind? That maybe the memories of a seasoned adult human might cause an overreaction to ideas and actions the Sneasel side was unprepared for?
Wait, that didn’t make sense…
Of course, he’s only been at this for less than twelve hours. There’s so much he doesn’t know yet. Thinking about it, Ingo suddenly isn’t sure how his human and Sneasel sides are meant to interact, if at all. He’s setting down brand new tracks here and it is already proving a daunting task.
As Ingo works his way through his newest problem, Emmet finally scrapes together enough of his wits to speak again.
“Um, sorry to interrupt you guys…” he says demurely, his voice rough and his expression unsure, “Would it be alright if I spoke to Ingo privately, Chandelure?”
The two Pokémon exchange looks, unsure of what Emmet would need Ingo alone for. But Ingo nods to Chandelure in reassurance.
As Chandelure starts to reluctantly hover away with far less speed than strictly necessary, their glowing eyes turn to Ingo, their glass chiming with a reminder,
“If anything goes wrong again, just shout for us. We’re here for you.”
Ingo gives them a small grateful smile, chriping, “Thank you, Chandelure.”
As they make their way past Emmet, they come to a surprised stop when he reaches out to them.
“Thanks for your help,” Emmet smiles, his hand gently touching their glass. Leaning in, he cups his mouth and whispers conspiratorially, “I’ll get you an extra treat later.”
Chandelure’s eyes brighten and they twirl away in the air with a pleased chime. The quick tap of a button returns them to their Pokéball in a flash of red light.
With Chandelure secured, Ingo looks up at Emmet expectantly, his ears cocked in curiosity.
Emmet doesn’t speak, not immediately. He seems to shrink in on himself, his smile faltering as he bites his lower lip. His eyes focus on a hole in his sleeve that his fingers absentmindedly worry at. He doesn’t seem ready for this.
Reaching out, Ingo clutches his brother’s hand between his paws, squeezing gently to signal him to continue. He knows his message has been received when Emmet squeezes his claws in return.
Taking a deep breath, Emmet shifts his body to fully face Ingo. Smiling pensively, his voice is soft, hesitant.
“I… I am not sure where to start…” he murmurs, his eyes unable to meet Ingo’s as he searches for his words, “I just— I want to ask you… too many things.” His voice grows more strained and quiet as he continues, “There is so much I do not know. So much has happened to you. To us both.”
Even though he feels his ears pull back in worry, Ingo’s gaze does not wander from Emmet as he squeezes his hand again.
Swallowing thickly, Emmet clasps both hands over Ingo’s clawed paws, making direct eye contact as he openly begs,
“Ingo, tell me… please… What happened?”
Moisture gathers in the corners of Emmet’s eyes as he sniffs wetly, his face crumpling as years of pain bubble up in his chest. With a panging heart, his voice cracks and wavers as the words tumble from his lips,
“You just vanished. Where did you go? Why did you go? Was it… s-something I did? What have you been doing this whole time? Why are you a Sneasel? Did someone do this to you? Why?? Why did any of this happen?”
His breath hitches with a sob, unable to continue as he breaks down crying.
Ingo is immediately there on Emmet’s lap, trilling mournfully as he rubs his face against his brother’s cheek. At his touch, Emmet whimpers and wraps his small form up in a careful hug. He rests a hand on Ingo’s head, his fingers rhythmically stroking his soft purple fur. Closing his eyes, Ingo leans into the gentle petting.
The ache in their souls caused by their separation is all too clear. No more words are exchanged, the two holding each other in comfort, silent save for Emmet’s soft gasps as he weeps.
“I just don’t understand…” he hiccups, “None of this ever made any sense. There were never any answers…”
Ingo churrs in sadness, wishing he could have said goodbye before getting tossed into Hisui. At least then, Emmet would not be caught so tightly in this unknowing limbo.
Emmet deserves answers.
Ingo gives Emmet another cuddle before starting to wriggle out of his hold. Thankfully, his brother is quick to yield and Ingo is set free to search the space around them. He spots the whiteboard and marker within reach and retrieves them, quickly getting to work on answering the most important question of all. The sharp squeaks of the marker punctuate his furious scribbling before he thrusts the board straight into Emmet’s face.
Emmet blinks, taking the board with shaking hands and silently reading the message. He raises a hand to cover his mouth, fresh tears threatening to spill as he takes in Ingo’s words:
THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT!!!
“N-Not my fault…” Emmet breathes out, his sight fixated on that line. His body seems to sag as he sniffles, scrubbing a sleeve over his wet eyes, a relieved smile slowly spreading across his face, “It’s not my fault… I—I was so afraid I drove you away somehow…”
Ingo shakes his head vehemently. Though he may not have remembered the specifics, he had always known in the back of his mind that he had been railroaded into Hisui, never having a choice in the matter. He crawls back into Emmet’s lap and butts his head against the underside of his chin, a reassuring purr rumbling through his body.
Though small, Emmet’s smile as he hugs Ingo again is starting to brighten into genuine joy. His smile only broadens as Ingo politely motions for the board. Letting go of his Sneaseled brother, Emmet hands the whiteboard back into Ingo’s claws.
The writing takes longer this time as Ingo has to think about how to answer Emmet’s flurry of questions that are already fading from memory. But he has the general gist of them and opts for concise answers:
IDK WHAT HAPPENED OR WHY B/C AMNESIA
ENDED UP IN HISUI FOR 4 YEARS
DID LOTS OF THINGS THERE LONG STORY
SNEASEL THING B/C MAGIC(???) ACCIDENT
Passing the board to Emmet, Ingo watches as his brother processes his writing. Several different expressions flit over his face before settling on an outright confused smile.
“It sounds like your tracks got switched without your authorization,” he speculates. His puzzled look deepens as he rereads the second line, “And sent you to… ‘Hisui’? Where is that?”
Ingo has to think about this one. He was never very clear on Hisui’s relative location in the world. Though they came from all over the globe, a decent portion of the settlers and Galaxy Team members claimed to hail from places like Johto, Kanto and Hoenn. Those were all fairly close together last he checked.
NOT SURE NEAR KANTO OR JOHTO REGIONS? MAYBE HOENN?
Emmet’s eyes widen in realization.
“Sinnoh!” he breathes.
For a split second, Ingo feels his heart skip a beat, shocked that Emmet somehow knows the term for his clan’s god.
“You were in Sinnoh!” Emmet exclaims excitedly, pointing at Ingo, “That’s why you’re a Sinnohan Sneasel!”
Ingo’s shock quickly fades. Apparently the Galaxy Team’s renaming of Hisui stuck. Something about that makes part of him ache at the realization…
He refocuses on Emmet and nods, but then thinks better of it and scribbles in a correction.
HISUIAN SNEASEL BUT YES
“Hisui must be an old timey name for Sinnoh then,” Emmet muses as he sits back. He tilts his head curiously, “Did you get stuck out in the boonies? Where no one wants to call it Sinnoh because of ‘tradition’ or whatever?”
The thought gives Ingo pause. He’s not sure how Emmet will take this. His poor brother doesn’t need another shock to his system. But he needs to tell him sooner or later. Reluctantly, he gives Emmet the truth.
PRETTY SURE I GOT SENT TO THE PAST
Ingo watches his brother’s smile falter as he stares at the board with widening eyes.
“…t-time travel,” Emmet says weakly.
A bit of the Pearl Clan in Ingo nudges him to correct Emmet. He can just imagine Lady Irida’s voice scolding him that time travel means nothing without space, etc., etc.. He holds back an amused snort as he adds,
TIME + SPACE TRAVEL B/C OF DISTORTION RIFTS
Emmet’s smile turns brittle as his gaze goes distant. But he quickly shakes his head and swallows down his distress, offering Ingo a wobbly smile.
“…I am Emmet,” he declares, his voice fluctuating with too many emotions, “And I am going to ignore that or else I am going to cry in the bathtub.”
Churring regretfully, Ingo bumps his head against Emmet’s side. He doesn’t mean to keep upsetting his brother with the insanity of his situation. He writes another message,
SORRY
Emmet shakes his head and gives Ingo an affectionate scratch behind the ears.
“It’s not your fault,” he says softly. An odd expression then crosses his face and he gives Ingo an uncertain look, pressing him with, “…Right? You didn’t do any of this on purpose.”
Ingo furiously shakes his head, adding,
IDK WHAT HAPPENED EXACTLY
ONLY KNOW THAT I WAS IN BLIZZARD + MY HEAD HURT + STILL HAD MY NAME
“The doctors did say you have brain damage,” Emmet quietly mutters with a grim expression. “That might explain the amnesia… but what about your ‘magic accident’?”
Unbidden, Ingo feels his hackles rise at the memory. An involuntary growl escapes him as he scrawls out,
ACCIDENT B/C OF THIS STUPID THING
Underneath, Ingo starts to draw the Sinnoh-accursed object that set off this entire mess.
The brass orb seemed like such an innocuous gift a few months ago, not long after that whole business with the rift finally came to an end. Rei had informed him that it was an artifact rumored to restore lost things back to where they belonged.
Perhaps things like memories?
Frankly, Ingo wasn’t sure how a little tchotchke was supposed to accomplish that. Even if it couldn’t, he figured that it was still an interesting puzzle with many moving parts to fiddle with.
He really should have paid more attention to it. If he knew this was a potential result he probably would never have touched it. That or he’d have thrown it into a bottomless ravine or straight into the sea.
Emmet watches intently as a wobbly illustration of a segmented orb imprinted with unfamiliar symbols comes into being on the board. Then for good measure, Ingo adds an arrow pointing to it labeled:
MAGIC PUZZLE BALL
Picking up the board, Emmet studies the crude drawing, “Do you still have this thing?”
This earns him a blank stare before Ingo gestures at himself, miming empty pockets.
“You know what I meant!” Emmet snaps without heat. He playfully rubs Ingo’s head fur the wrong way, causing Ingo to meep in protest at him. Unrepentant, he grins at Ingo as he asks, “Do you have any idea where it is now?”
Taking a moment to lick his claws and groom his fur back into place, Ingo takes back the board to answer:
BACK IN FOREST
He pauses as he recalls something else and quickly adds:
SO IS OTHER STUFF
Emmet‘s smile dips in confusion, “What other stuff?”
CLOTHES + HUMAN THINGS
Emmet’s eyes widen as he blurts out, “Wait-! You were human when you first arrived??”
Ingo sighs but nods.
“Then when did the Sneasel thing happen??”
It takes longer for Ingo to write out his answer. Thinking about it is… difficult. But he manages.
IMMEDIATELY AFTER ARRIVAL
Pulling together the memories is hard after such a horrific experience, but Ingo knows enough to build a rough timeline of events.
He remembers that he had been watching over Lady Sneasler’s latest brood of kits, still in the process of exploring and learning about everything around them. Some of the more rambunctious ones had found their way into his bag and made room for themselves, spilling berries and crafting items everywhere. It wasn’t until he’d spotted a kit using the puzzle ball as a kick toy did he realize that the orb had been booted out too.
Upon retrieving it, he was amused to find that his work was now completely scrambled. Not that he was particularly bothered by it as it was little more than a fidget toy for him.
(A toy just for idle hands, what a novel concept in a place that only granted enough space for survival.)
However he was a little dismayed to discover that the kit must have tried to unhinge its jaw in an attempt to eat the orb as he found a shed baby tooth caught in a seam. He remembers picking at it with a blunt fingernail, trying to pry it out when he pressed… something.
The next thing he knew, he heard a mechanism click into place and a blast of white light washed out everything, his surroundings changing from a cave to a forest where his tracks went steeply downhill.
Emmet’s returning smile dims to a look of worry.
“Did it… hurt?” he asks carefully, stuffing down the sneaking suspicion that he already knows full well what the answer is and will not like it.
Even though he knew that it was coming, the very question still makes Ingo shrink in on himself with a shudder.
He still remembers his agonized screaming turning shrill and bestial as he was crushed ever smaller and smaller. Still remembers the way he watched his hands deform into something completely alien, his humanity robbed from him right before his eyes. Remembers choking on the blood flooding his mouth and nose.
Almighty Sinnoh, it hurt so much…
A whimper escapes Ingo and he realizes he’s shaking, claws clutching at his head, tears rolling down his cheek fur as his battered mind forces him to relive the nightmare of the transformation.
The blinding torment of his spine snapping and splintering…
His face turning against him as his skull shattered around him…
His pure helplessness as he faced his undoing…
Without warning, giant arms scoop him up and envelop him in a soft hug. Ingo instinctively buries his face in Emmet’s chest as he sobs, his brother’s voice felt more than heard.
“No, no, no, I am sorry, you do not have to answer,” he rumbles. Softly shushing Ingo, he gently rubs his small furred back. “I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m here.”
All Ingo can do is cling tighter to Emmet as his crying overwhelms him, nothing but shrill yowls tearing out of his throat. For now, this is only the shelter he can seek from the horrors engraved into his mind.
How long they stay like that, even they don’t know. By the time Ingo’s memories release their hold over him, he’s curled up into a shivering ball of fur in Emmet’s arms. His eyes and nose feel scratchy, his facial fur uncomfortably damp, and his breaths rough and phlegmy. He coughs to clear his throat, pressing against Emmet’s stomach with a sad chirp.
The arms holding him shift and he feels a large hand caressing his back, gently scratching behind his ears as Emmet’s voice rumbles against him.
“I am so sorry, Ingo…” he whispers soothingly. “I will not bring it up again. I promise.”
Still curled up in a ball, Ingo lets out a small sigh of relief. He raises his head and nuzzles Emmet’s palm in gratitude before ducking back to his balled up form.
Just thinking about those moments… he’s utterly drained. No part of him wants to touch those memories again, neither human nor Sneasel.
