Chapter Text
"For someone who insists that they’re not anxious, you’re doing an uncanny impression of a highly-strung human,” Papyrus says to you. “Do I need to unstring you? Or is this just a well-thought strategy to bamboozle our competition? It’s very impressive if you are. You should tell me; we’re teammates, after all. For maximum effectiveness, I should be part of your strategy.”
“I’m okay, This isn’t televised live, right?” you murmur back, your fingernails drumming on the countertop. You’re making a very concentrated effort to appear nonchalant, but you’ve landed closer to nervous.
The finger-tapping probably isn’t helping. Cool, calm, and collected cooks don’t jitter and you’ve seen enough episodes of the Great British Bake-off to know what happens to the twitchy contestants. Shaky hands cause disaster; the last thing you need is to end up with a pile of broken gingerbread on the floor. Especially if this is being televised live and considering the array of cameras and bustling workers around the studio, you are leaning towards yes.
“Fear not, my fellow gingerbread constructionist extraordinaire,” Papyrus replies, volume far louder than yours, “not only is this competition being broadcasted to countless households and being witnessed by a live studio audience, it’s also being recorded! This episode will be played for many years to come and available to stream on four different streaming services! Our efforts today will not be forgotten!”
Welp, that’s your fears confirmed. No pressure or anything.
Of course Papyrus isn’t nervous – as the monster mascot, he does things like this all of the time. You, on the other hand? This is your first time in a TV studio, much less being in front of the camera itself. It’s also your first time attempting to make a gingerbread house which seems… ill advised.
“You’ve done this before, right?” you ask your boyfriend, voice still low.
“This is a competition for amateur bakers?” he says, voice still loud. “So of course not? Where’s the fun in beating opponents you outclass? That would defeat the spirit of the contest!”
You look around the studio at the other competitors. There’s an even mix of monsters and humans making up six competing couples in total, including you and Papyrus. Looking at them, you get the feeling that they all seem far more prepared and confident than you.
Lucky you've got Papyrus with you; he's got enough confidence for the both of you.
You take a deep breath to steady your nerves. Papyrus is right - this is supposed to be fun. And you have an advantage that none of the other contestants have: you're here with your enthusiastic, supportive boyfriend who always manages to lift your spirits.
You're also handy with a rolling pin and aren't above bludgeoning your way to victory.
You turn your attention to the ingredients and tools laid out before you on the studio kitchen countertop. There are sheets of gingerbread, jars of colourful candy, tubes of icing in every shade imaginable, and an assortment of tools, including a hopefully unnecessary but promisingly hefty rolling pin.
The studio itself is a riot of colours, decked out with twinkling lights and festive decorations, with an equal amount of MTT branding. There’s a huge leaderboard, currently blank, that sits above all of your worktables, along with an unmoving timer sitting at one hour. The lights are so bright that you can barely make out the audience in front of you, but you know that they’re there. It's dazzling.
You and the other contestants have borrowed some of the glamour. You’ve all been primped and preened within an inch of your lives; you’ve been beautified by a very talented make-up artist and Papyrus’ bones gleam white under the beam of the studio lights. You’re wearing nice new clothes too in a festive green shade, whilst he looks dashing in a red ensemble.
It’s fun being Papyrus’ plus-one. Which you are, even though he’s assured you a dozen times that you’re as important of a contestant as him, but you know that you’re just here because of him. Everyone has been treating him – and by proxy, you – like a freaking movie star, offering you snacks and drinks, touching up your make-up. Several audience members and two of your fellow contestants even asked for his autograph, and he’d insisted on you scribbling your name down too.
You forget, sometimes, that you’re dating a bona fide celebrity, but it’s really, really nice to be reminded. It makes the primal, caveman part of your brain do funny things. Some monkey combination of pride and possessiveness, maybe? It thinks yep, you’re right, he is the best, and he’s with me.
You’re pulled from your unhinged thoughts by an assistant, a harried looking monster clutching a clipboard, bustling up to the middle of the studio. "Places everyone!" she calls out, pulling the attention of everyone else in the studio. You straighten up and watch as the other employees take their places behind cameras and microphones. "We're going live in 5...4...3..."
You take a deep breath and shake out your hands, willing away the last of your nerves. Showtime.
The assistant finishes the countdown and you hear the MTT theme song start playing. The studio lights dim and a single spotlight shines down on Mettaton, a burst of energy in a bedazzled suit, as he emerges from a hidden lift in the middle of the stage. Several fireworks go off with an ear-splitting boom and the assistant ducks to avoid getting her eyelashes singed off.
You make mental note to avoid standing too close to the centre of the studio.
The audience erupts into applause. You clap along with them, very impressed with the theatrics of it all. You’ve seen Mettaton plenty of times on TV and had met him once, very briefly at Papyrus’ last birthday (more than enough to make an impression, though) but there’s something different about seeing him like this. You can see how people get swept up in celebrities.
His voice, animated and confident, reverberates through the studio as he addresses the camera and the live studio audience. "Darlings and gentledarlings, ginger enthusiasts, and bread aficionados, welcome to the most dramatic gingerbread house-making competition of the season!"
The applause continues for a good five minute; several times it starts to lapse, and the assistant has to whip the enthusiasm back up. Your hands hurt by the end of it.
Once Mettaton seems satisfied, the studio quiets and he explains the rules of the competition - each couple has one hour to construct the most creative, structurally sound gingerbread house using the ingredients provided.
You know all of this already, of course, have had to sign half a dozen forms and waivers and know the rules and hidden regulations like the back of your hand. Mettaton is all about safety nowadays, which, going by the stories you’ve heard about bloodshed and real lasers underground, hasn’t always been the case. You feel mostly confident that you’re going to emerge from this with all of your limbs still attached.
Beside you, Papyrus is practically vibrating with energy, skeletal hands fluttering over the ingredients as he waits for the signal to start. His enthusiasm buoys you, making you smile despite yourself. Who cares if you make a mess of things on live TV? You're here to have fun with your boyfriend, not win prizes.
… okay, you do kinda care, just a little. You want to win! You've always liked working with your hands and making things - hopefully some of that creative spirit will carry you through.
"Now, let the gingerbread extravaganza begin!” Mettaton says. “May the most creative couple win, but remember, it's not just about the gingerbread – it's about the theatrics, the flair, and the sugar-fuelled drama!"
With that, the studio erupts in applause, and the competition officially kicks off. The studio lights come back on and an upbeat holiday song begins playing. Adrenaline smacks into you with the force of a rolling pin to the back of the head.
You clap your hands together, needing to diffuse the energy somehow, and turn to Papyrus. Out of the corner of your eye you can see a camera trained on the two of you. Game face on!
He beams at you, but you can see the glint in his sockets. “There are two key things to take into account when building a structurally sound gingerbread building. The first is a level, sturdy foundation, and the second is the adhesive qualities of the icing. Fortunately, there is also two of us, which is the perfect amount of person to divide between the tasks.”
“I’ll do the icing,” you say, pulling a bowl towards you. You grab a whisk and begin beating the pre-made icing in the bowl, determined to get it to the perfect smooth, sticky consistency for piecing together pieces of gingerbread.
You whisk the icing vigorously, glancing up at Papyrus as he carefully lays out pieces of gingerbread in an organized pattern, ready to be assembled. He looks so focussed and you kinda – okay, really want to kiss him, but you don’t quite have the hand-eye coordination to whisk and kiss simultaneously.
"Looking good so far!" you say as you lift the whisk from the thick, glossy icing. You’re tempted to dip your finger in to taste it, but you’re not being graded on flavour.
The two of you start using your icing to piece the house together. You and Papyrus work together seamlessly, assembling the walls and foundation of the structure with efficient teamwork. As you pipe icing along the edges of each new piece and Papyrus precisely positions it, the basic structure begins to take shape before your eyes.
Once you’re done, the foundations of the house look solid. There’s a reason why you chose to do the icing; Papyrus has a head for this sort of stuff and the evidence of his skill sits on the bench in front of you. The walls are neatly assembled, each piece fitting seamlessly with its counterparts. The royal icing, now dry and firm, acts as glue, creating strong bonds between the gingerbread panels.
The basic shape of it is familiar. You’ve seen photos of his and Sans’ house in Snowdin and, as your eyes trace the shape of the two-storey house, the shed, the two letterboxes – it clicks.
“Should we put icing on the top to look like snow?” you ask, voice heavy around the fondness that’s welled up in your chest.
He agrees and the two of you begin decorating. The cameras make their rounds around the room and you’re happy to let him handle the interviews, only offering commentary when you think you have something sufficiently quippy to say. You hope you get a good edit; you’d like to be the sassy wise cracker but you’ll settle for thoughtful girlfriend.
As you decorate, you occasionally glance up at the other competitors. Most seem focused on constructing the basic structure, walls steadily going up around gingerbread foundations. But one couple in particular catches your eye – they’re working in sync, movements fluid and practiced as they assemble what looks to be a fucking gingerbread church, complete with soaring spires and stained sugar glass windows.
No way those two are amateur decorators. You’re indignant; Papyrus is right, it’s less fun when someone sullies the integrity of the contest. At least when you’re not the one cheating.
"We need an edge," you mutter, nudging him with your elbow. Your hands are all sticky and candy-covered, fingertips stained rainbow with food dye. "Look at that one over there! We need - what did Mettaton say? Theatrics? Flair? Drama?”
"Excellent idea," he says. "And you know what the most theatrical, dramatic and... flairful? Flair-iffic?”
“I like flairful,” you offer.
“Theatrical, dramatic, flairful. There’s only one thing that can satisfy all three of those categories.”
“… we can steal one of the fireworks? Shove it down the chimney? I guess having a real smoke effect would be cool, but we'd actually have to make a chimney first.”
“No! Puzzles! Traps! Clever, confounding conundrums!”
“Oh!” You feel a little better about that. “Okay then, how’re we going to add puzzles in?”
"How about a candy cane ladder that leads to nowhere, or a gumdrop bridge that collapses when you step on it? We'll make our gingerbread house an adventure!"
The traps become a collaborative effort. Papyrus designs a liquorice door that swings open when you touch a specific sequence of gumdrops, revealing a surprise candy stash on one side and sharp spikes on the other. There’s a peppermint slide that leads to a marshmallow pit – again, with spikes beneath the fluffy outer layer -, and a candy cane swing that may or may not launch you into a whipped cream cloud.
“Ten minutes left, darling contestants!” Mettaton says. A gong sounds and you jump, heart suddenly in your throat.
You scramble to finish the rest of the decorations and by the time that nine minutes and forty seconds pass, you’re happy enough to stand back and survey your combined work. Papyrus does the same and you grasp hold of his hand, bringing them both to rest on the countertop.
The resemblance to the house in Snowdin is uncanny, even though it’s made entirely of gingerbread, icing, and candy. There’s even an icing snow-Papyrus, a snow-lump that you’re pretty sure is Sans, and a snow-you.
It’s a masterpiece. You don’t even bother looking at the creations of the other competitors. It doesn’t matter.
Instead, you watch the seconds tick down to zero and hold his hand tight.