Colress, Please?

Hello! Just a verrrry important announcement for people who frequent this blog:

It has been archived, and moved to @decaytrain . All the posts I made on this blog will be reposted on said blog. Here's why:

I just realized I've been shadowbanned since the start of last year due to (most probably) tumblr mistaking me to a bot for the fact that I originally only intend to use this blog for a single poll.

I will finally be able to message and comment again! I am verrrry excited :D

What if....ingo or Emmet with tentacles

Okay I shit you not when I say I have spent way too much time thinking about the possibilities

Tentacle arms

Back tentacles

Ursula style

This fucking bitch

What is he looking at?

[ Up to interpretation. ]

Fanart for one of @nartothelar 's angst series from a verrrry long time ago, still loving it even now :]

Unfortunately on my lobotomy corporation brainrot, have a Whitenight Emmet

Impressionist 13-01-2024:

What a lovely imaginary friend.

Expressionist 21/01/2024:

The garden of eggshells.

Expressionist 13-01-2024:

Asphodel, my regrets follow you to the grave.

Emmet and Ingo stand before the final display in the train museum. Past all the old parts and blueprints, the stories of entrepreneurs and disasters and advancements. All to reach this one, final display.

"I always thought he looked familiar..." Emmet says, his eyes looking over the old photos on display.

"Hmm, I suppose he does. The fact that our uniforms are based off his definitely helps." Ingo says with a nod, reading the scribbled notes in the torn journal. "I quite like his handwriting."

"It's messy. Like yours. I can't read it."

"A controlled chaos. What he's described here is shockingly modern."

"What does it say?"

"He had a strange dream. He was deep underground, within a "roaring beast of metal", surrounded by a crowd. He goes into a lot of detail about the sound of it, the way people clung tight to the handles and swayed with its movements... but then he goes on to talk about standing next to himself? Nothing more about the train."

"Subways were invented via fever dream. This does not suprise me."

"I suppose. Then again, he's not quite the inventor, he never built anything. He just came up with the concept."

"That we know of. The plaque says he dissapears."

"Well, it's more likely that he died then ran away to invent trains."

"He could have."

"There are no records of such a thing, Emmet."

"Still."

...

"You've gone quiet. Care to share what you're thinking about?"

"... do you think he'd like the battle subway?"

"Well, he says the train felt like home. I suppose he would."

"Really? That could be fun. Showing him how far we've come. I hope he's proud."

"I'm sure he is."

.

.

.

Emmet stands before the final display in the train museum. Past all the old memories and good times, the stories of determination and failure and perseverance. All to reach this one, final display.

"I always thought he looked like you." Emmet mumbles, to no one in particular. "Writes like you, too. I still can't read this."

"I remember what you said about his dream, though. Standing next to himself, right?

... I think I know what he meant."

What is left.