TITLE: "These Games We Play"

SUMMARY: "He becomes an obsession, a form of escapism, a habit. He is so much more than entertainment, so much more than television—he ties the entire monster world together with his charm and quick wit, and soon enough everyone is talking about Mettaton, Mettaton, Mettaton. It's a kind of fame Papyrus has always desired but has never known, but it's what draws him to the robot regardless."

Otherwise known as 'the really slow one where Papyrus is a hopeless, emotional disaster of a fanboy and Mettaton is his muse' as well as 'the one where they keep dancing around each other in a variety of hero-damsel scenarios because they're idiots'. Papyrus/Mettaton. Papyton. Slow-build. Set prior to and during Frisk's arrival in the Underworld. Slightly jostled timeline.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Undertale and did not profit off of this work.

A/N: I have a few important author's notes that are vital to understanding this fic:

1) This fic is as much a character study of both Papyrus and Mettaton as it is a study of their relationship. It is slow-build. It's projected to be about four to five chapters long as it stands in my mind right now.

2) I took some liberties regarding the political/social atmosphere of the Underground, as well as other aspects of the monster world. It's just some headcanons going off of what is already known about the Underworld from the game.

3) Geographic locations in the Underworld have been slightly altered to fit into the story, though not by too much. I just made them larger to accommodate some plot elements. You'll know what I mean when you get there. I also may have added some locations for plot purposes as well.

4) I KNOW that Undyne doesn't necessarily care for Mettaton as a celebrity. My headcanon is that she puts up with it because Papyrus is her friend and Papyrus adores him. So she knows quite a bit about Mettaton as a result.

5) This fic IS an AU, but only very slightly. All it does is jostle the timeline a bit, so if you see some timeline continuity errors between what's in this fic and what's in the game, it's probably deliberate. Probably. If you need any clarification, just ask me on my tumblr and I'll be happy to clarify.

6) As always, thank you, thank you, thank you so much for reading this. My eternal, effusive gratitude to all of you.

THESE GAMES WE PLAY

1

Papyrus remembers exactly where he was when he first heard about Mettaton—but then again, he's pretty sure every single monster remembers that moment. Entertainment is difficult to come by in the monster world, and so puzzle designers try their best to rapidly eke out newer, more complex designs and algorithms to compensate for their distinct lack of the famed starlets of the human world. Papyrus will secretly acknowledge—but only to himself and no one else— that the newer puzzle designs may just be a tad too difficult to be remotely entertaining.

He's fine with the Monster Kidz Word Search. But it's a secret he'll take to the grave.

In any case, when he first hears of Mettaton, he's at Undyne's, and they're making spaghetti—or rather, he's making spaghetti and Undyne is duly distracted by something in the other room, though Papyrus isn't ready nor willing to discover exactly what that might be.

Until he hears a sharp bark of loud, guttural laughter.

At the time, Papyrus had a basic enough knowledge of Undyne to know that there were only three circumstances under which she would ever laugh ever:

1.) If she's doing anything remotely violent or particularly intense, she's bound to be laughing. Especially if the violence is directed at a human. (Later, Papyrus would learn the difference between her genuinely happy laughter and her manic, crazed laughter, and would be equally frightened of both.)

2.) She'll take occasional trips to Hotland and return with laughter on her lips. (Papyrus doesn't find out why until much, much later, because she keeps skirting around the subject and turning weird colors whenever he broaches the topic, so he leaves her be. At least she's happy.)

3.) If she's reminiscing old memories of Asgore—no—when she's reminiscing old memories of Asgore, she's laughing. (This laughter is sad and slightly clipped, and Papyrus understands that type of laughter more than anyone will ever give him credit for, and so he always waits for her to tell him, and holds her when she does. It takes her much longer, but eventually, she does the same with him.)

This laughter is different. It sounds abrupt, surprised even—unexpected. Tentatively Papyrus wipes tomato guts from off of his gloves and ventures into the next room.

"Undyne?" He peers in through the doorway, and is surprised to find the warrior's shoulders shaking slightly, a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter. Papyrus is alarmed. "Undyne, are you—are you dying?!"

"God. Pap," she laughs, gesturing him over weakly. "Pap, you've gotta come over here and watch this guy. He's not my kind of funny, but—I mean—I feel like his sense of humor would appeal to you."

"Who is it?" Papyrus asks. He's incredulous, because no one in the Underworld is that funny (though his brother might like to protest otherwise), but he comes over anyway.

It's fate. It's the simplest thing in the world—sitting down on the couch to watch some TV—but it's fate.

Mettaton is on the screen and he's just a rectangle with a grid and some knobs but that's not the thing that's alluring about him. It's the way he's talking, the way the crowd is responding. Every so often the camera will pan out to reveal people's faces in the crowd, and Papyrus has never seen such adoration from so many monsters before in his life. Mettaton has quite the way with words. He drops compliments and names and risqué one-liners and the occasional bomb like it's all he knows how to do, and by the end of the show, Papyrus isn't really sure what the whole segment was about.

He just has Mettaton's voice there, ringing in the back of his skull. Darling, darling.

"Pap, you okay?" Undyne's giving him this shit-eating grin. "Damn, boy, your face is redder than those tomatoes back there."

"The Great Papyrus is always okay!" he lies abruptly. "I was just… surprised. There are—there are few people who appear to be as great as myself, but he! He just might be on my level. Perhaps even above me."

Undyne's grin only expands to bare her teeth. "Someone greater than THE Great Papyrus?" She tosses a throw pillow at him. "Whoa, Pap. Get out."

There are many people greater than THE Great Papyrus. Undyne is one of them. And Sans. And now—"Where did he come from? This—this Mettaton?" asks Papyrus. He likes the way the name sounds on his tongue.

Undyne sighs and throws her legs into his lap, settling further into the couch cushions. Her shit-eating grin still hasn't disappeared. "Honestly? No clue. But he's a friend of Alphys'," she says matter-of-factly. "So, I mean. No wonder the bot's a rock star."

It's Papyrus' turn to direct a shit-eating grin at her. She jabs him in the rib with her knee.

{these games we play}

Sans thinks he's being ridiculous, but Papyrus likes to think it's payback for all the God-awful puns.

They're out guarding the entrance together the day after Mettaton's (first) grand debut. The snow is falling in massive white chunks that catch in their bones and send them both shivering uncontrollably, but it's better than being cooped up in a booth all day. Papyrus is drafting outlines for new puzzles in the snow with a stick: the puzzle is a simple thing—anagrams within anagrams and circles within circles. It's a puzzle any monster would be able to solve in mere minutes but humans would spend hours on— Still.

Papyrus' mind is on a far more complicated puzzle.

"And then! Then, brother! His arm transformed into—into this confetti canon and confetti just shot all over the screen, and—and—Sans? Sans!"

Sans jolts and very nearly falls over. "What?"

"Sans, were you listening to me at all?"

"Yes, Pap," Sans says after a long while. "I always listen to you, Pap."

Papyrus folds his arms across his chest and glares at him. "Oh, is that so? Then what was I talking about?"

"Mettaton," groans Sans, and Papyrus feels this absurd desire to hit the back of his brother's skull for saying the robot's name so irreverently. "The robot. I know. That's all you've been talking about, Papyrus. For the past two hours. Spare me. Spare me, please." He pauses, then grins. "It's driving me nuts. Eh? Eh?"

Papyrus groans and slumps into the snow, lying on his back to stare up at the grey sky. The snow falls steadily onto him, and he feels the flakes gradually gathering on his bones. "What was the last thing you remember me saying, Sans?"

Sans hesitates, then shrugs. "I don't know bro, maybe 'I'd like to screw that robot'?" Papyrus chokes on thin air, a hot wave of color rising to his cheeks. "Look, Pap, I'm sorry, but I don't know. Personally, I think the rectangle's kind of flamboyant. Kind of tacky. Kind of weird." Sans gets a thoughtful look on his face, before smiling and lying down next to his brother in the snow. He rests his head against one of Papyrus' shoulder pads. "Actually, you know who that description reminds me of?"

"Who?"

Sans smiles. "You."

Papyrus tenses up and sucks in a breath, his gaze drifting towards the gate, his thoughts drifting towards the Royal Guard. (There was a time several months ago when he mistook a drunken Sans for a human and chased him through Snowdin with a broomstick and some pliers. It's a very long story, but by the end of it all, Snowdin was in shambles and the two of them owed quite a bit of gold to quite a few people. The meaner folks would wander around and whisper to themselves, 'The Royal Guard? Him?', but they'd stop the second Sans directed his gaze at them.) "I, the Great Papyrus," murmurs Papyrus into Sans' skull, "am nothing like Mettaton."

Sans shifts, as if he knows where Papyrus' mind is. "Sure you are. You both got egos the size of Asgore himself, from what I can tell."

Papyrus wants to argue, but Sans seems serious despite the grin on his face, and Papyrus knows better than to argue with Serious Sans. Instead they fall asleep in the snow together. It's just another boring day.

{these games we play}

He becomes an obsession, a form of escapism, a habit. He is so much more than entertainment, so much more than television—he ties the entire monster world together with his charm and quick wit, and soon enough everyone is talking about Mettaton, Mettaton, Mettaton. It's a kind of fame Papyrus has always desired but has never known, but it's what draws him to the robot regardless.

Mettaton is like the prophesied angel—coming at just the right time, when he's needed most. The sociopolitical atmosphere in the Underground is tense and divided: Half of the monsters are Pro-Geno, backing King Asgore's actions towards the fallen humans and in full support of their (righteous) eradication and soul extraction. The other half is Pro-Paci, desiring peace with the humans and gravitating more towards anti-soul extraction. There were other, more lukewarm factions thrown into the mix, and in general the Underground could have easily collapsed in on itself without any help from the humans.

Mettaton brings them all together, if only for about an hour or two.

Papyrus calls it the 'Mettaton high'. It's what happens each day after MTT airs—it's all anyone talks about. He and Sans will go into Grillby's and 'Mettaton' is repeated at least a thousand times in a single night. (Later, it becomes a drinking game between the two of them. A shot, each time 'Mettaton' or 'MTT' is heard! Papyrus doesn't like to drink, himself, but it's funny to see how wasted Sans gets at the end of each 'Mettaton high'.) In any case, Mettaton is remarkable. He gives the monsters something to talk about that isn't about the impending threat of humanity or the varying interpretations of the prophecy.

He unites them.

One day, Papyrus is sitting on the couch watching MTT and Sans comes in with a brown paper bag. Papyrus doesn't notice at first. His gaze is glued to the screen, unstirred spaghetti sauce sitting forgotten in his lap.

"Hey, bro," says Sans.

Papyrus makes some sort of guttural sound in the back of his throat that may or may not be a 'hello, Sans'. Sans snickers.

"Careful, bro," he says, coming to sit beside Papyrus on the couch. "You're starting to sound a little bit like Undyne there."

Papyrus waves his hand urgently in an attempt to get Sans to quiet himself. "Mettaton is supposed to be making an announcement tonight," is all he says, voice oddly quiet.

Sans breathes out a sigh and sits back on the couch as Mettaton's rectangular face swims into view. He's got glitter and ribbons stuck between his buttons, but he looks as cheery as ever. "Hello, darlings!" says Mettaton, twirling a microphone between his fingers.

"Hi," says Papyrus weakly, shyly waving his stirrer at the screen.

"He can't hear you, you know."

"Shush. Let me dream, Sans."

"I just want to let you all know that I am so, so grateful for all of your love and support this past year!" Mettaton continues. "I didn't realize how well-received my show would be when I first started, and now here I am, with all of you behind me. I wouldn't be here if not for all of you. Give yourselves a round of applause, darlings!" Mettaton claps his hands together, and the camera pans out to the monsters in the studio, who are going "batshit crazy," according to Sans. One is wearing a gaudy shirt with Mettaton's face on it, messy hearts scrawled all around his rectangular form. Papyrus feels something ugly rooted deep inside of him beginning to sprout.

"Whoa there, bro. You okay? You look like you're going to blow a gasket."

"I will hit you, Sans."

"In any case, darlings," Mettaton cuts into the applause with a cutesy little 'sparkle' sound effect. "I just recently got updated, and so I will now be able to perform for you every day of the week. Except Sundays, of course. That's my 'me' time."

It takes Papyrus a little while to realize that, yes, he's the one that's screaming that loud.

He turns around to look triumphantly at Sans, whose jaw looks peculiarly tight. "Bro," whispers Sans. "If you're going to watch that crazy rolling box man every night, we're gonna have to talk about the screaming thing."

"Sorry." Papyrus tries his best to school his expression into one of seriousness, but it's difficult. Very difficult. "I'm just—I'm sorry, Sans, I'm just so excited! Mettaton! Every night! Every. Night! Can you believe it?!"

Sans laughs a bit and drags Papyrus in for a noogie. "I know you're excited, Pap. I'm just kidding with ya. Scream as much as you want. In fact—" Sans hands Papyrus the brown paper bag he'd brought with him, and Papyrus takes it curiously, inspecting the outside very carefully. "Here you go."

"What is it?" asks Papyrus.

"Look inside," says Sans, looking maddeningly pleased with himself. "Got myself a spiffy new job selling toys near the eastern Snowdin border. This is a brand new shipment. I may or may not have lifted them for you, bro."

Papyrus glares at him sternly. "Sans! You stole?"

"Just look in the bag, will you?"

It's an assortment of different Mettaton-themed action figures, as well as a poster from his original debut. Each of the action figures is intricately crafted and stunningly well-made, full articulation and everything, and Papyrus, at the sight of them, simply falls onto Sans and envelops him in a crushing hug, his voice, for once, failing him completely.

"Whooa, okay, wow, hi, Pap," says Sans. "You're welcome, I guess?"

Papyrus isn't coherent until about two hours later, when the shock of having so many 'sexy robot action figures' at his disposal finally wears off.

{these games we play}

"Holy fucking shit, Papyrus!" Undyne shrieks so loudly Papyrus has to pull his cell phone away so as not to bust… something. "Papyrus, Papyrus! Have you seen the Metta-tour locations?"

Papyrus feels something panicky leap inside of his chest. "Undyne! No! No, I have not!" The Metta-tour had completely slipped his mind since he'd tried getting tickets online. The tickets were sold out mere seconds after sales opened. Practically every monster had tickets aside from him (in reality, this wasn't the case, but Papyrus' grief tended to exaggerate the gravity of the situation), and Papyrus had essentially spent the entire rest of the week sulking like a sullen child.

"He's coming to Snowdin!" screams Undyne. "You might get to see him, Pap!"

The thought sends chills running up and down his spine. "Undyne—Undyne, wait. Snowdin is full of monsters—monsters with actual tickets, Undyne. There's no way I'll actually get to see him if he's surrounded by all those—those—"

"Grubby ticket holders?"

"Yes!"

Undyne's mumbling to herself now. "We could kidnap him," she says after a long while.

Papyrus blanches. "The Great Papyrus will not aid you in abducting the most radiant star of the Underground, Undyne!"

Undyne's throaty chuckle rises its way out of the phone. "I thought not." She pauses. "Look, man, I'm sorry. Hey, he's not coming for another few months, and rumor has it he's performing somewhere in the forest. So—"

"Wait. In the forest?"

"Rumor has it he's got a portable device that doubles as a stadium." A brief pause. "Apparently."

The glamor of the great Mettaton never ceases to amaze Papyrus. "Incredible! Does his brilliance know no bounds?"

"Apparently not, Pap." There's something in her voice, like she's trying very, very hard not to laugh. "Anyway, he says the forest will give it some 'old world charm' or whatever the hell that means. But anyway," Undyne continues, "yeah. He'll be in the forest. He'll need bodyguards, won't he? And who better than the two skele-bros who already know the ins and outs of the forest by heart?"

"You don't mean—"

"Hell yeah, buddy. You wanna meet Mettaton? Guard that fine ass!"

"Undyne, how on earth is this even going to work? Do—do Sans and I even have the, the… qualifications to look after such a—a celebrity?" Papyrus' words trip over themselves as they try to exit his mouth, because the mere prospect of getting to see Mettaton—of getting to be in his mere presence—is making him nauseous.

Undyne snorts. "Pap, come on," she chuckles. "Don't give me that shit. You know Sans doesn't have the right qualifications for more than half the jobs he works."

{these games we play}

Undyne works her magic and talks big—REAL big—about Sans and Papyrus to Mettaton's Metta-team, and about a month prior to Mettaton's arrival in Snowdin, they receive confirmation that "the skeleton brothers are to serve as 'back-up security' for the Underground's sweetheart, Mettaton, whilst he is staying in Snowdin on the date(s) June 29-30, 200X". Sans suspects that Undyne's hefty reputation, combined with her intimidating personality, may have had something to do with it.

Papyrus is too over the moon to even question it.

It's difficult to extract Papyrus from Undyne for the entire rest of the day, leaving the warrior basically immobile on the skele-bros' couch for the whole of the afternoon. He's blubbering something ridiculous about being unworthy when she finds several things attached to the Metta-team confirmation letter.

There are four sheets of paper in total: one pink, one magenta, one grey, and one purple. The grey letter had been the confirmation letter.

The pink one is a dress code, which Sans groans at.

"Are you kidding me? You mean I actually gotta look nice to protect a celebrity?" he grits out, sockets scanning the vibrant pink paper. "Wait a minute, wait a minute. A suit?"

"'Mettaton likes his men dapper,'" Papyrus and Undyne mutter simultaneously, before grinning hugely and high-fiving at their shared reference.

"I am not wasting money on a suit."

Undyne's eyes trail over the pink dress code some more. "You lucked out, Sans," she announces. "They're sending in suits about a week prior to the show."

"Oh, thank God," breathes Sans.

"I've never worn a suit before," says Papyrus suddenly. His eyes trail over the black TV screen in the living room, where he can just barely make out his reflection. He turns his skull this way and that, trying to imagine himself in a suit and tie. "Do you think—do you think it'd make me look dapper, Sans?"

Sans shares a hard look with Undyne before going over and giving his brother a friendly punch in the shoulder. "You're plenty dapper without a suit, Pap," says Sans. "Don't you worry. That Mettaton guy is gonna love you a Metta-ton."

Undyne groans. Papyrus just glares.

The other two papers are regulatory. The purple one is a series of rules and regulations (many of them ridiculous) that, as Mettaton's bodyguards, Papyrus and Sans would have to abide by. Once the two of them are very much clear on the fact that they could not—UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, as it said on the paper—have anything camo-colored within a ten-foot radius of Mettaton's person, they move on to the magenta paper.

It's a personal letter from Mettaton. It's only about a paragraph long, but Papyrus nearly faints anyway:

My dearest protectors:

Hello, darlings! I have written this letter to inform you both of my sincere and effusive gratitude to you for agreeing to be my protectors during my stay in Snowdin. I have the utmost faith in your abilities, Sans and Papyrus, and quite look forward to meeting the both of you. From what my Metta-Team has told me, the two of you are the best in Snowdin for a job like this. Again, I have total faith in the both of you, and look forward to my stay in Snowdin.

Stay safe, my darlings!

Mettaton

"He can do no wrong," breathes Papyrus, removing his gloves to run his fingers reverently along the curvy, glittery letters. Mettaton touched this. Mettaton signed this.

Sans hands him the magenta paper once he's finished scanning through it. "Here. I assume you'll want to keep this."

"A letter, in Mettaton's own hand?" exclaims Papyrus. "The Great Papyrus would be an utter fool to turn down such a treasure!"

{these games we play}

In the month leading up to Mettaton's arrival in Snowdin, Papyrus gradually gets more and more jumpy and off-kilter. He'll manufacture situations wherein absolutely everything goes wrong—the forest is set ablaze, an assassin leaps out from the trees, or even worse! A human leaps out from the trees—and make ridiculously detailed preparations for the occasion should it ever arise. He's already filled several notebooks with his paranoia-driven back-up plans.

Occasionally, however, he will allow himself to manufacture situations wherein absolutely everything goes right. He and his brother will meet Mettaton and begin their guarding duties. Mettaton will compliment Papyrus on his height and perhaps even the width of his shoulders, and they will find that, against all odds, they have a lot in common. Mettaton will find Papyrus positively dapper in that suit of yours, darling, to which Papyrus will reply, Not nearly as dapper as you, and this type of exchange will continue between the periodic breaks in the show. Mettaton will eventually give him his number. In the span of two days, Papyrus and Mettaton will have become friends. And then—

"Pap!"

"Hm?" Papyrus looks up to find their living room drenched in spaghetti sauce. He shoots up from his spot on the couch. "Sans! What happened to our living room?"

"You happened, bro," Sans laughs from the kitchen, where he and Undyne had sheltered themselves. "You were so out of it you started stirring like a crazy person and all the sauce went everywhere."

Papyrus realizes the bowl is still in his arms and blushes sheepishly. "Oh. I knew that! It was—it was on purpose! Yes. I, the Great Papyrus, did that on purpose."

Sans is still laughing. "Who's the messy one now, bro?"

"It's still you, Sans!"

Undyne is busy stifling her own chuckles. "Are you really that worried about guarding Mettaton, Pap?"

Papyrus shifts uneasily. He places the bowl down on the ground and tentatively picks his way across the living room towards the kitchen, intending to search for something to clean the mess with. On the way, he trips and falls face-first into some spaghetti sauce. He lies there for a while, contemplating Mettaton and why on earth the robot had to happen to him.

Sans rolls him over and cleans the spaghetti sauce out of his eye sockets with a paper towel. It reminds Papyrus of a time long ago, a memory that just barely scrapes its way past his consciousness. Sans is always there for him to lick the wounds clean. Even spaghetti sauce wounds.

Undyne sets to work clearing up the rest of the living room as Papyrus sits up. "I am alright!" he proclaims. "I, the Great Papyrus, will be absolutely stellar at protecting the great and wonderful and amazing Mettaton! You also, brother. What is there to worry about? I'm not worried! You're worried! Nyeh-heh-heh!"

Sans looks concerned. "Pap, it's okay to be worried. You look up to this guy a whole lot, and you don't want to mess things up. That's understandable."

"I'm not worried at all, Sans! The Great Papyrus does not worry! Nyeh-heh-heh-heh…" Papyrus continues laughing all the way up to his room, where he slams the door shut and pulls out Back-Up Plan Notebook #32. On the next blank page, he begins writing up a plan for 'Scenario 952: In Case Mettaton Falls Over Into Some Spaghetti Sauce'. It consumes him for the rest of the night.

Undyne stares at the door to Papyrus' room with some distaste. "He's not gonna help clean this up, is he?"

Sans shrugs. "Well, I'm not gonna do it."

Undyne groans. "That bot's gonna drive that boy insane one of these days, you mark my words, Sans."

{these games we play}

It's two in the morning on June 29th, 200X.

Papyrus is standing next to his brother on the eastern Snowdin docks when a dull grey ship swims into view. The sight of it cuts Papyrus off in the middle of a tirade regarding spaghetti sauce consistency, and he tugs at his collar nervously, the beautifully-tailored suit suddenly feeling much too heavy for him. "Sans, is—is that the one?"

Sans shrugs. He seems perfectly at peace with his suit, which Papyrus doesn't think is totally fair, considering Sans was the first to complain about having to wear them in the first place. "Look for the symbol, Pap."

"Oh! That's right." The Metta-team's rules and regulations had strictly specified that, throughout the tour, Mettaton was to be transported from location to location discreetly. Very discreetly. This was to deter unwanted attention from the press, particularly nosy monsters, or both. Each of the transportation devices would bear Mettaton's secret symbol—a swirling heart with an M inside of it—to distinguish it from other vessels.

The dull grey ship draws closer and closer. It's cleverly well-disguised as a shipping vessel, the outside gratuitously rusty and tarnished, hardly a thing worthy of transporting the great Mettaton, but after a few minutes of single-minded concentration, Papyrus manages to find the symbol tucked away beneath some moss. His heart leaps up into his throat and he grabs Sans' shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"This is the one, Sans!" Papyrus is practically vibrating with nervous excitement. "Mettaton is on this one!"

"That's great, bro. Try your best not to spontaneously combust, alright?"

"I have no idea what that means, but I am going to do it."

"Pap. No."

The 'shipping vessel' docks and Papyrus pauses to collect himself as the crew runs about settling the ship into place, yelling different things at each other in a variety of languages. The crates and boxes that they bring out all have Mettaton's secret symbol on them, cleverly disguised as cargo, and eventually a rectangular door on the side of the ship pops open with a hiss—

And there he is.

Mettaton—the star of the Underground (and perhaps even Papyrus' daydreams) for the past few years—he's rolling down the makeshift ramp created by the ship's side door, and he looks as lively as ever, his buttons beeping and trilling louder and louder the closer he gets. Sans nudges Papyrus with his elbow, and Papyrus steps forward—

And trips.

Papyrus braces himself, ready to feel the dull thud of his skull against the docks, but it never comes, because suddenly there are metallic arms wrapped around him, holding him in place mid-air before propping him right-side-up. Robotic hands that Papyrus has only dreamed of are suddenly dusting him off and fussing over his suit, and oh no, Papyrus definitely did not have a back-up plan for this—

"Careful there," says Mettaton, retracting his arms to their normal length. "You look positively dapper in that suit of yours, darling. It'd be a shame for it to get all wrinkled from one little fall."

And Papyrus finds that, despite his natural way with words, he can find no words at all.

{these games we play}

That concludes chapter one. Did y'all see the joke I made with the 'shipping vessel' because... ha.

Things to look forward to in chapter two: Papyrus and Mettaton being awkward, as well as their first (unofficial) date. Among other things.

To contact me about this story/anything else: .com. I am also taking requests at this time, so if you want me to write you a short little Undertale snippet, I'd be happy to do that for you, too. I honestly love this game to no end. I am a literal Undertale trashcan.

Please leave reviews if you liked this. I greatly appreciate them, as they always encourage me to write more. I am also eager to make friends and connect with people from this fandom! :) So. Yeah.

Thank you,

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