glitzandglamour: (💣020)
Mettaton EX ([personal profile] glitzandglamour) wrote in [personal profile] unsundered 2020-03-15 12:23 am (UTC)

[There. If he can shift his energy from rejection into some manner of acceptance, it's a start. It's despair, but it has its purpose. Don't bother becomes do your worst, in a sense. He'll take that.

The appropriate, human response to a request so delicate is a heartfelt "I'll remember for as long as fate permits it." Everything here is left up to some other masterful design, apparently, from their transformations to their passing through mirrors... But that sentiment doesn't feel impactful enough to the robotic idol.

There are no guarantees in a place like Geardagas and beyond it, but Mettaton barely thinks on what he wants to say next, a statement bold, impossible, and impressive, given the circumstances. Something someone with a penchant for trouble would say, as though he's spitting in the face of the universe itself while knowing it'll haunt him until it stops.

Mettaton smiles, and pulls from Emet-Selch's neck, lips traveling along his jaw until he brushes them against his Bonded's. His lover's. He drinks in the way they feel against him, another thing he wouldn't wish to forget, sensation. His eye remains closed.]


I promise. I'll remember... You. Us. This. How could I want to forget?

[A fool's move: he's bound by a word he has no control over and with little in the ways of exchange, abstract as it is, but it's what his heart told him to say in the heat of the moment. As if in promising, the rules of Geardagas itself would favor his honorable need and grant him exception, forcing him to remember by virtue of feeling compulsion to hold a promise even to his ultimate demise. This one's a heavy promise to make, far harder than promising to give and take in passion, daunting and stupid to have said. Impossible.

Whoops. How romantic. Maybe, if he forgot, he'd feel haunted by it forever until he finally conjured up some wild fantasy about it after living on the Surface for who knows how long... So long wondering what dreadful feeling he harbored, with the sweet release of coming up with a man beyond his original comprehension with a sharp yet dispassionate gaze. He even sighs dreamily at the thought, inspired under the weight of such a brazen promise.

He can't resist being dramatic. Emet-Selch didn't seem to understand this troubling aspect of his development as a Puca earlier, and that's just as well.]


I'm relieved. That you'd give in... The thought of stopping is dreadful.

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