[Mettaton can nearly track the current of his lover's stormy head, the way he tries desperately to come up with solutions for Mettaton's condition of being. From expansion upon Alphys' groundwork rooted in science (and though MTT's never considered it, what would happen to someone like him, blessed with a physical body as he is anyway? there's less to bleed through, no chance for his physicality to falter) to even the use of their native powers, of course Emet-Selch would do anything. In fact, Mettaton wonders if he'd really, truly stop at nothing, no matter the method.
What could he do with Emet-Selch's soul? Could he guarantee them a life that would last forever together? Could he let them escape this world, hand in hand? Undoubtedly he would do just as he said he would, so many months ago; with Emet-Selch blended with his heart, their wills would be united. They would manage whatever they could do together, and it would be idea after idea, pursuit after pursuit, all of the little things in the world people normally couldn't tamper with. They could stop the world, they could start it anew... Mettaton doesn't know the extent of what would be possible, but when he holds his Witch in place like this—fusing together with him felt like the next step.
Togetherness with him always felt like the next step, even when maddened, it seemed. It felt instinctive; it felt safe. Mettaton sighs. He knows Emet-Selch dislikes this news more than even he does... It would affect him more than it would ever affect Mettaton, after all.]
We'll just have to try. [He smiles weakly against him. They've already been saying they'll try, so this ends up being a repeat of that sentiment.] We'll fight for our life together. Won't we? I think we'll survive plenty.
[Emet-Selch is stubborn. So is Mettaton. They'd resist with all they had. Mettaton, too, couldn't simply give in if ever he caught his lover in a situation where he felt sure he was going to lose him. No... it took changing his mindset: Mettaton would not lose his Bonded mate. Nothing would take him. Not his mirror, not his death, not death here, and not anything else.
Even if this was wishful thinking, Mettaton knew that the best chance they had was to protect themselves and to protect each other. To possess one another, and to feel that it's their right to be together. The possibilities seemed grim, but he had to believe there would be some kind of solution that existed out there for them. Whether that was the tenacity of souls, or their continued life, the requirement was that they be together.
(Distantly, Mettaton wonders if Emet-Selch's lifespan has been shortened in Aefenglom. It was more reason to escape it. He doesn't much like the thought of losing him either.) He smiles against Emet-Selch's temple again, and presses a kiss right there, soft and sweet.]
Neither of us can tell the future. Not clearly. But... You know me. If I ever feel something terrible coming, I'll always tell you.
[A lot of good it did them during the month. Mettaton knew something bad was coming; he didn't know the terror was himself, infected by the Cwyld. He makes a note to objectively tell Emet-Selch his feeling rather than trying to decode it right away. So far, any time he had a bad feeling, something bad did indeed follow, after all. But bad things also happened even when he didn't have a bad feeling.
Mettaton collects Emet-Selch close. He keeps his core near Emet-Selch, holding it with him so that he can help his fingers hold the warm, weighty container there, nice and secure. Even were he to drop it, it would land on their laps. No matter how brittle his soul felt, how heavy his body in comparison, he won't relent. He won't give up if it meant he'd relinquish his hold on his rattled, weakened Bondmate.]
Let's start with what we have right now, dear. Let's start with our recovery. We have a lot of it yet to do.
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It's just the sort of man he's proven himself to be. He's extreme; he's unrelenting and stubborn. He's enchanting. Mettaton remembers only vaguely by now that Emet-Selch hardly flinched at all while being even consumed by him, because it was for Mettaton's sake... The Puca pulls Emet-Selch even closer, softened by this notion as he nuzzles him with his cheek pressed to the side of his fiancé's head. No doubt, Emet-Selch's running through the possibilities, ones not even Mettaton thinks to consider. Their hands are together, wrapped around his core; Mettaton's thumb strokes over the side of Emet-Selch's hand, bringing it close to his lover's body.
What could he do with Emet-Selch's soul? Could he guarantee them a life that would last forever together? Could he let them escape this world, hand in hand? Undoubtedly he would do just as he said he would, so many months ago; with Emet-Selch blended with his heart, their wills would be united. They would manage whatever they could do together, and it would be idea after idea, pursuit after pursuit, all of the little things in the world people normally couldn't tamper with. They could stop the world, they could start it anew... Mettaton doesn't know the extent of what would be possible, but when he holds his Witch in place like this—fusing together with him felt like the next step.
Togetherness with him always felt like the next step, even when maddened, it seemed. It felt instinctive; it felt safe. Mettaton sighs. He knows Emet-Selch dislikes this news more than even he does... It would affect him more than it would ever affect Mettaton, after all.]
We'll just have to try. [He smiles weakly against him. They've already been saying they'll try, so this ends up being a repeat of that sentiment.] We'll fight for our life together. Won't we? I think we'll survive plenty.
[Emet-Selch is stubborn. So is Mettaton. They'd resist with all they had. Mettaton, too, couldn't simply give in if ever he caught his lover in a situation where he felt sure he was going to lose him. No... it took changing his mindset: Mettaton would not lose his Bonded mate. Nothing would take him. Not his mirror, not his death, not death here, and not anything else.
Even if this was wishful thinking, Mettaton knew that the best chance they had was to protect themselves and to protect each other. To possess one another, and to feel that it's their right to be together. The possibilities seemed grim, but he had to believe there would be some kind of solution that existed out there for them. Whether that was the tenacity of souls, or their continued life, the requirement was that they be together.
(Distantly, Mettaton wonders if Emet-Selch's lifespan has been shortened in Aefenglom. It was more reason to escape it. He doesn't much like the thought of losing him either.) He smiles against Emet-Selch's temple again, and presses a kiss right there, soft and sweet.]
Neither of us can tell the future. Not clearly. But... You know me. If I ever feel something terrible coming, I'll always tell you.
[A lot of good it did them during the month. Mettaton knew something bad was coming; he didn't know the terror was himself, infected by the Cwyld. He makes a note to objectively tell Emet-Selch his feeling rather than trying to decode it right away. So far, any time he had a bad feeling, something bad did indeed follow, after all. But bad things also happened even when he didn't have a bad feeling.
Mettaton collects Emet-Selch close. He keeps his core near Emet-Selch, holding it with him so that he can help his fingers hold the warm, weighty container there, nice and secure. Even were he to drop it, it would land on their laps. No matter how brittle his soul felt, how heavy his body in comparison, he won't relent. He won't give up if it meant he'd relinquish his hold on his rattled, weakened Bondmate.]
Let's start with what we have right now, dear. Let's start with our recovery. We have a lot of it yet to do.