[With more deliberation does he attempt to contain the whole of Mettaton's soul within his own. Moving something he couldn't see around something he also couldn't see, operating through touch and instinct alone.... It felt as though he could memorize every aspect of him in the process, and even the thought is a comfortable one.
Having any access to souls at all, after these months without was... reassuring on a deep level. Emet-Selch had thought he'd have to persist in this world cut off from that aspect of himself entirely, and to have that not be the case--
If Mettaton provided nothing more to him, he would remain grateful for this alone.
And it was far too pleasant to wrap himself around him like this. As dark as the Ascian's soul was anyway, it hardly mattered that it could not be seen, that it was trying to blot out the light entirely from the one within its amorphous grasp. The sort of thing that could've easily become threatening, oppressive, had there not been trust involved.
Emet-Selch hums in general, if tired, contentment, from the mixed feeling of their souls, to Mettaton's hands exploring his back in the most comfortable of ways. A both deep and casual intimacy that affected him greatly, and he quietly kisses the side of his lover's throat again. And while the appreciation for his soul was one thing (it was a very impressive entity, Emet-Selch could agree), when Mettaton describes how easy it was to kill a monster, he stills entirely.]
Any attack... [He trails off, almost in disbelief. Mettaton's soul had struck him as fragile, yes, but that was an unprecedented level of brittle. Cruelty was as common as air.] Is that true even here? Like this?
[How... exceedingly foolish again, if so. Trusting anyone this far. His own soul shifts endlessly around Mettaton's, as though restless. Leaning up enough so that he can observe the idol's face, he looks. Annoyed. Concerned. The latter was generally combined with the former. It wasn't as absolute as unhappiness feeding on anything positive, but it was common.]
...How did your people even survive contact with humanity long enough to be sealed away? How do they survive contact with each other?
no subject
Having any access to souls at all, after these months without was... reassuring on a deep level. Emet-Selch had thought he'd have to persist in this world cut off from that aspect of himself entirely, and to have that not be the case--
If Mettaton provided nothing more to him, he would remain grateful for this alone.
And it was far too pleasant to wrap himself around him like this. As dark as the Ascian's soul was anyway, it hardly mattered that it could not be seen, that it was trying to blot out the light entirely from the one within its amorphous grasp. The sort of thing that could've easily become threatening, oppressive, had there not been trust involved.
Emet-Selch hums in general, if tired, contentment, from the mixed feeling of their souls, to Mettaton's hands exploring his back in the most comfortable of ways. A both deep and casual intimacy that affected him greatly, and he quietly kisses the side of his lover's throat again. And while the appreciation for his soul was one thing (it was a very impressive entity, Emet-Selch could agree), when Mettaton describes how easy it was to kill a monster, he stills entirely.]
Any attack... [He trails off, almost in disbelief. Mettaton's soul had struck him as fragile, yes, but that was an unprecedented level of brittle. Cruelty was as common as air.] Is that true even here? Like this?
[How... exceedingly foolish again, if so. Trusting anyone this far. His own soul shifts endlessly around Mettaton's, as though restless. Leaning up enough so that he can observe the idol's face, he looks. Annoyed. Concerned. The latter was generally combined with the former. It wasn't as absolute as unhappiness feeding on anything positive, but it was common.]
...How did your people even survive contact with humanity long enough to be sealed away? How do they survive contact with each other?