Dear father... It was me. | "Let Papyrus say Fuck" day 2026
Hello, hello!
Today is June 16th, it's "Let Papyrus say Fuck" day! I wrote a little something for the event this year. I wanted to write something a little more serious this year, and so I decided to let Papyrus writes a letter to his dead father :D
He has a lot of things to say to him. This story mentions past child abuse.
The story is available to read under the cover or directly on AO3 if you prefer to read there (CLICK HERE!)
Dear father,
I don’t know why I’m writing this letter. Maybe because I went with Undyne to see her mother at the cemetery this morning. I heard her talk to that tombstone, and that inspired me. She looked so sad, as every child losing a parent should, right?
That made me think of you. I realized that I felt nothing for you. And that questioned me.
The good thing is that you will never read these words. Because you’re dead. And I must say that’s convenient enough, as what I will write will surely be displeasing.
You died twenty years ago, the same day I’m writing this. It has been twenty years since you abandoned us, Sans and I. Well, mainly Sans, I’m not going to lie.
Sans still talks about you, you know? Well, he tells me pretty stories about you, and I pretend I believe him. He thinks I forgot, and it’s maybe for the best. I’m sure he thinks that, by telling me all those stories where you are a hero, I will patch the empty void in my soul that haunted me my entire childhood. I can’t blame him for trying.
Do you want me to tell you what I remember from those years? I remember your disdainful stares whenever I ask you something. I remember each barb, each criticism you threw at me to remind me you never wanted a second child. To remind me I was a waste of place, money and time. Too stupid. Too naive. Too loud. Too exuberant.
Always in your way, unwanted.
Maybe you’re right. I was naive. I tried so hard to have your attention. I recognize I was not the best artist, but each drawing, each poem I gave you was genuine. All I wanted was to hear that “I love you” you kept telling Sans. Everything was so simple between you and Sans. Why wasn’t it the same with me?
And then, one day I was bored, I dug into your stuff. You always forbid me to enter your room, and I never listened. There was that pile of papers on your bed. I read all of them. I found out all of your secrets.
I found all these notes you wrote about Sans, treating him like he was nothing more than that poor lab rat running in circles in the small cage in your room (and yes, I freed that one too!). I read what you wanted to do to him. How you prepared to take his soul to experiment on determination. How you intended to betray his trust in the worst possible way.
You stole my childhood. I couldn’t let you take my brother away.
I’m the one who tampered with your machine. I was upset and angry. I wanted that horrible piece of metal to disappear. Yes. I inverted the wires. I cut some others. I touched all the buttons.
And when you switched it on again, everything exploded.
Sans cried you for days. Me? I felt nothing. Not even the shadow of remorse. I just felt empty inside.
Empty and relieved.
Do you want to know what happened to all your papers? To all those searches that you called “the work of a lifetime”?
I took everything one morning, going to school like every other morning. I lied to Sans; I never went inside the building. I walked all the way to Hotlands. I threw everything in the lava. All of your papers. All your secrets. All those horrors you wrote about my big brother who admired you unconditionally.
I watched them burn to ashes.
Sans never understood why everything disappeared in your room. For a long time, he looked for answers. He even tried to build that horrible machine again in the basement. You know? The machine that was supposed to kill him. The machine you were about to use to murder him.
Eventually, he gave up and forgot about you. Like all the others. This is all you deserve: eternal forgetfulness.
I never found the strength to tell him what you intended to do to him. It would have broken him. Despite everything, Sans had faith in you, and it didn’t seem right to take this away from him. Because, unlike you, Sans loved you. For real. It wasn’t an act or a game.
As for me, I hope you rot in hell. I hope all these pieces of you, lost in time and space, are watching what I’m writing today. I hope you regret and that you are ashamed of yourself the same way I am ashamed of you.
You are not a good person.
Oh, and for your information, I didn’t waste my life as you told me countless times as a child. I made friends, on whom I can count and who love me without me having to beg. I became an ambassador too, and people like you, trying to break me, I see every day.
They don’t scare me anymore, just like I’m not scared anymore of your ghost.
I ended up accepting the idea that I don’t have a father. I never had.
I wanted you to know it, no matter where you are today.
No one regrets you, and certainly not me.
Fuck you.
Papyrus.
