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The Lovebird and the Pun-King	By : Otaku_Girl Category: +S through Z > UnderTale Views: 1066 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Undertale and I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
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“Did you see what they did to the yard?”
Humming along to your favourite song on your phone, you can’t help but pause as one earbud slips out.
Darnit, I really should get around to replacing these . You sigh, reaching to push the cheap thing back into your ear. Your actual airpods had ‘mysteriously’ gone missing a couple of weeks earlier when your ex had come to pick up the last of his stuff whilst you were out. A total coincidence my ass .
“Oh my god, yes. Who still has Christmas decorations up in February, let alone Halloween!”
Glancing over your shoulder once again, you see that the two gossiping women are still blocking the only free till. You had only dropped in to pick up a few essentials, but it looked like your quick shop and dash would be dragging on for a lot longer if they didn’t get a move on.
Seriously. Who cares about someone leaving their decorations out for a little longer than usual? Just move out of the way. Some of us have places to be.
“Didn’t you hear? They only put them up last weekend.”
“No!”
“Hm-hm. I heard there were trying to lure kids in with candy and everything.”
“What is the neighbourhood coming to these days?”
Shooting one last, longing look at the soda the two women were still blocking, you sigh again. It’s not like you really need it to have a movie night all by yourself. Again.
Maybe I’ll just pick up some vodka or something? I should still have some amaretto left...I’ll just grab another couple of pints of milk and, voila! White Russians. Who needs stupid soda anyway.
It had been a long week. If you were being honest with yourself, it had been a long six freaking months. First, you’d caught the asshole sexting with some colleague of his. Don’t think of her as a homewrecking bitch. It’s not her fault the bastard didn’t mention he was already seeing someone. How was she supposed to know? Then, he’d begged you to stay. It’ll never happen again my ass.
You’d caught him with his tongue down another girl’s throat and his hand up her frankly awesome Lapis cosplay skirt at your own damn Halloween party. Somehow, it became your fault for working too many hours and being ‘emotionally unavailable’ and ‘insensitive to his needs’.
You… still have no idea how he thought he could swing that one; sure, you worked a lot of hours, but you had to. How else were you going to afford bills, student loan repayments, and to keep your junker of a car running otherwise? It’s not like he ever offered to split the bill with you 50-50 or anything.
“It’s your name on the mortgage, why should I have to pay half?” He’d always said. What a dick.
Trying to get him to move out had been… painful, in more ways than one. It’s over and done with now. Don’t dwell on the past.
Still, it seemed like your streak of bad luck wasn’t over yet. With a hold on paid overtime and still a good two weeks before your next payday, of course today day of all the days had to be when your piece of crap of a car finally gave up the ghost and stopped working.
Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts. At least it’s Friday; that give me, like, two whole days of cocktails, the Netflix marathon to end all marathons, plus time to clean the place up a bit. Maybe if I take in a lodger or something, I might be able to replace ol’ rusty.
Lost in thought, you trudge back the eight blocks towards your small but (generally) well-kept house. You’d been lucky to find somewhere available in such a good neighbourhood. It kind of felt like the only piece of good luck you’d had in years, looking back on things.
I’ve got a roof over my head, enough groceries to see me through until payday, and there’s only a very slight chance they’ll cut off the electricity over the next couple of weeks. Everything’ll be fine.
As you round the final corner, you fumble in your pocket, trying to find your keys. “I know you’re in there somewhere… c’mon, come ooooon.” You shuffle your bags from one arm to the other, trying not to drop your precariously balanced supplies. I swear to god, if the vodka breaks after dragging it this far...
Leaning over your small once-white picket fence, you lower your groceries down with an unsteady hand. “Don’t tell me I left them at the store.” You whine under your breath. You really couldn’t face making the trip there and back again.
You crouch down, upending your messenger bag as you go. They’ve got to be in here somewhere. Please, why can’t just one nice thing happen for me today?
Feeling along the lining, you let out a sigh of relief. Your fingers close around the cool, smooth surface of your keys.
“Finally! Something… nice?” Glancing at your gatepost, you frown. Was that a… nicecream wrapper just tossed in your yard? “That’s weird. I thought these things were really hard to find outside of speciality stores still…” You bend to pick it up. As you stand to turn to go towards your porch, you notice something odd about your neighbour's yard.
“Oh! The for sale sign is finally gone. I’ll have to go and say hi… wait, is that a pumpkin?”
“Why...has my new neighbour got Halloween decorations out? Why?” You mumble to yourself, peering out of your kitchen window. With the sun just beginning to set, you have to squint against the early evening glare.
Kneading the dough for your famous sugar cookies absentmindedly, you keep an eye on the neighbour’s yard. You can see at least a dozen pumpkins of various sized from where you stand, not to mention a couple of black cats and spoopy ghost cutouts.
“It’s February.” You shake your head. With sure fingers, you sprinkle flour across the battered countertop, rolling out the dough with long, smooth strokes. Without taking your eyes off of the window, you lean across to open the top draw. Tapping a flour-coated finger against your lips, you hum to yourself. Hearts? Better not; what if the new neighbours are as skeevy as the ones before last? Or what if it’s a couple who’ve just moved in, and they think I’m trying to hit on one of them? Or both of them!
Moving the cutters aside, you search through your mismatched collection. Flowers? Eh, maybe. Stars? Too Christmassy. You let out a long, unsteady sigh. “I’m overthinking this, aren’t I, Mr. Leafington?” You smile at the small, sad looking cactus sitting beside the sink. You’d toyed with the idea of getting a pet ever since your ex had left, but couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. It didn’t seem fair to leave some poor rescue puppy or cat by itself for such long hours. A potted plant had seemed like the perfect compromise at the time.
“Why do I always do this? I bet they won’t even care what shape the cookies are. I mean, who doesn’t love free cookies?” Sticking your tongue out in concentration, you thrust your hand back into the draws. Rummaging around with your eyes firmly closed, you mumble under your breath. “Iinie, meanie, minie...this one” You pull a cutter out at random. “Lovebirds? Eh. At least it’s seasonal.”

The sun has well and truly set by the time you pull the door to behind you, a large tupperwear box clutched between your hands. Two dozen freshly iced lovebird cookies, perfectly iced in half a dozen shades of pink, blue and white sit safely within the slightly discoloured container.
It’s just new neighbours. They won’t care about your old tupperwear. It’ll be five minutes; ten tops. Stop freaking out. Just stop.
You can feel your breaths coming in shorter, sharper pulls. Your throat tightens. Your relationship with your old neighbours hadn’t exactly been the best. They had seemed friendly enough at first. You’d even gone around for tea with old Mrs Miller a couple of times.
That was before they had seen your then-boyfriend being taken away in cuffs for the fourth time. It had been all sympathetic looks and hushed whispered the first time. By the second, then the third, well…
I can do this. I can do this. Just walk up the goddamned pathway you idiot. What is even wrong with me?
Your steps slow down, coming to a complete stop as you reach the gate to your neighbour's yard. You take a deep, steadying breath. Why do I always have to ruin things like this? Why can’t I just act normal for once in my-
“Hey, move out the way, lady!”
You wince, taking a step back as the gate slams into your hip. Three small children, no older than ten, push past you. Each have an icecream bar clutched firmly in their grubby little fists. You watch as they push past you.
“What a weirdo. Think if we come back tomorrow, it’ll give us another one?”
“Watch where you’re...hey!” You call belatedly after them. Those little shits. You think as you stoop down, picking up their discarded wrappers. How thoughtless of them. You huff. Freakin jerks.
Crumpling the wrappers in your hand, you catch sight of the branding. You had heard of nicecreams, but you haven’t had the chance to try them yet. They are still considered pretty specialist, with only a few monster stores stocking them. Demand far outstrips supply, from what you can tell. Who the heck is giving these out to local kids? You take another long, hard look at your neighbour's yard, the pieces finally beginning to click. Are they… are they like, giving these out like trick-or-treat candy or something?
Pulling the gate to behind you, you pick up a further two discarded wrappers as you make your way across the unkept yard. Now you can see the pumpkins up close, you can’t help the smile curving at your lips as you take in the unusual carvings.
Is that a plate of spaghetti on that one?
You slow down to appreciate the surprisingly detailed carving. Huh. That… actually makes me pretty hungry. I could do with a nice, big ol’ plate of spaghetti and meatballs right now. Your stomach grumbles in agreement. “Oh hush, you.” You tell it with a firm poke. “There are misshapes and broken bits - and a whole bowl of blue icing with my name on it - when we get back.”
“YOU HAVE YOUR NAME ON YOUR BOWL? HOW VERY EFFICIENT! WHY DID I NEVER THINK OF THAT?”
“Whatthefu--dge!” You let out a shriek, as you bump face first into a… ribcage? You take a step back.
“HELLO THERE, HUMAN! I SEE YOU HAVE COME TO PARTAKE IN THE HOLIDAY SPIRIT! I AM AFRAID WE ARE ALL OUT OF NICECREAMS RIGHT NOW, AND I DO NOT HAVE ANY OF THIS… WHAT FUDGE, YOU SPEAK OF?”
Leaning back, you crane your head back… and back… and back.
That….is a talking skeleton. A talking, eight freaking foot tall, skeleton. With a bow and arrow. What is my life right now?
A high-pitched giggle escapes before you can stop yourself. You can feel your cheeks burning in embarrassment. How had you not noticed the freaking huge monster opening the door?
“I-am, I’m sorry about that, um, Mr…” You trail off, hoping he will fill in the blank for you. Why didn’t I take a peek at his mailbox on the way?
“OH, OF COURSE! HOW FOOLISH OF ME NOT TO INTRODUCE MYSELF. I FORGET THAT NOT ALL HUMANS HAVE HEARD OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS YET. I DO HOPE TO RECTIFY THAT SOON. NYEHEHE. AND WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”
I… am talking to an eight-foot-tall skeleton who is...dressed as a cherub? Please tell me that’s a costume and not an actual diaper.
“Oh! I-I’m [y/n]. Papyrus, was it? I-I’m your neighbour. I just thought I’d, ah, um, come and say.. .hello?” Biting your lip, you look down. Why did your nerves have to get the best of you now? He’s going to think I’m some kind of monster-hating jerk. You can feel yourself tearing up already.
“IT IS A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU! I TRIED COMING OVER WITH SOME OF MY FAMOUS SPAGHETTI ONLY THIS MORNING, BUT NO-ONE ANSWERED. I AM GLAD YOU CAME OVER TO SAY HELLO. HELLO!”
Another soft laugh escapes from between your lips. Is he always this animated? What a strange guy. Sweet, but strange.
“Hello. I, ah, sorry about that. I leave pretty early for work, so there isn’t really anyone in to answer the door most of the time. I just, I saw the decorations, and I thought someone may be in, so… oh! and I - there was trash blowing in from your yard, I wanted to-” Balancing the tupperwear against your chest, you hold up a handful of wrappers.
A deep voice cuts you off.
“calling my bros decorations trash, eh? that isn’t very nicecream of you, bud. not really in the holiday spirit at all.”
You let out another scream. A shorter skeleton, this one clad in bunny slippers and an oversized t-shirt with the word ‘costume’ emblazoned across his chest, appears behind you. How did he sneak up like that?
You feel your cheeks burning again. “No, no! That wasn’t what I meant! I mean, yes, I’m curious about the decorations. They are kind of unusual for-”
“i’m going to stop you right there, friend. i think it’d be best if you just made like a tree, and leaf .” Despite his grin, you couldn’t see a hint of friendliness or compassion behind his (glowing?!) blue eyesocket. You feel yourself tensing like a deer caught in headlights.
“I-I think this has all been a big misunderstanding. I just wanted to-” You stutter, tripping over your own words. Confrontations always make you nervous. Your heart pounds in your chest. I think I’m going to be sick. Do not throw up on the small skeleton. Do not throw up on him. It was one of the many things that made your ex get so angry with you. “If you could just learn how to react like a normal fucking person and not a freak, maybe I wouldn’t have to put you in your place all the goddamned time!” he used to scream at you.
Flinching, you take a step back.
You can feel your back bumping into Papyrus’s haphazardly wrapped pelvis.
“i really don’t care what you want. here to gawp at the freakshow like your other buddies? i don’t think so.”
You can feel… something, wrapping around your throat. You freeze, eyes going wide. You can’t shake the memories playing on loop in your head.
“It isn’t about what you want, bitch.”
“What’s that? No? You think you can say no?”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“i said, who the hell do you think you are? coming here, harassing my baby bro.” You cling to your forgotten tupperware box tightly, unable to move. It feels like his fingers are tightening around your throat all over again.
What if he presses too hard this time? What if he loses control? What if this is the time he’s finally had enough of me and-and-and.
You feel a bony, long-fingered hand resting on your shoulder. You can’t help but whimper, unable to even turn thanks to the thing gripping your neck so tightly.
“SANS, REALLY! SHE WAS JUST HERE TO ADMIRE THE DECORATIONS AND TAKE PART IN THE WONDERFUL TRICK-OR-TREATING. I TOLD YOU ABOUT THIS! IT IS A HUMAN CUSTOM THAT TAKES MANY FORMS OVER THE YEAR. SOMETIMES THERE IS SINGING AND HOT COCOA AND SNOW. SOMETIMES THERE IS CANDY AND PUMPKINS. I THOUGHT… IS VALENTINES NOT ONE OF THESE OCCASIONS, HUMAN?”
You can feel Sans eyes burning into your skin. Your hands twitch, desperate to move, too afraid at what might happen if you struggle against the unseen force. Even as Papyrus’s forlorn tone tugs at your heartstrings, you can’t bring yourself to make a move, to make a sound. You thought the days of being held in place like this were long gone.
“...get back in the house, paps. i’ll be in with you in a minute.”
Nobody moves.
“REALLY, BROTHER, I DON’T THINK-” Papyrus moves closer, oblivious to the faint blue glow surrounding your neck. His hand shifts, brushing closer to your neck. You can feel the floodgates opening.
Tears start streaming down your cheeks. You can feel the tell-tale warmth spreading across the front of your jeans. “Oh god.” You let out a whimper. The blue glow snaps away, releasing you in an instant. You can feel the looks of disbelief and confusion burning you.
“HUMAN? I… DID I DO SOMETHING WRONG?” You can’t bring yourself to look at him. Oh gods, I made the monster-embodiment of a perfect cinnamon roll sound like he’s going to cry. There is a special place in hell reserved for people like me.
“go inside, pappy. i’ll deal with this.”
His tone sounds so weary. Just as cold, but with less of an angry undertone and more one of… resignation? You hear the soft click of Papyrus closing the door behind you, leaving just you, Sans, and the slowly trickling puddle of urine on their porch.
“I-I-I” You stammer again, unable to get any more out through your tears.
“get out of here, kid. and don’t come back again. if i see you around my brother, if i hear you so much as look at him, you’re going to h a v e a b a d t i m e .”
Gasping, you see the blue glow return. This time, you feel it pushing your whole body away from the house. By the time you reach the gate, the first clawing fingers of a panic attack return. Desperately trying to draw in deep breaths, you push your way outside of the gate, past another group of would-be trick-or-treaters. You thrust the tupperwear into the hands of the nearest one, closing the gate firmly behind you before they can slip past and into the yard.
You can see their mouths moving, but you can’t hear anything beyond the rushing noise in your ears. You just wet yourself in front of them like a-a, like a-
“Disgusting, filthy, goddamned freak. What is wrong with you?” You can practically hear him screaming it; the heat of his breath against your skin, the memory of his spittle and your blood flecked across your skin. Why can’t I just be normal?
You don’t remember the walk back into your house. As your breathing finally slows to a more normal pace, you can feel the cold sting of the shower raining down on you. Forcing yourself upright, the stiffness in your limbs makes you ache and hiss. You wonder how long you have lost this time, crouched in the bathtub, fully clothed. You can feel yourself shivering from the cold. You always come to with the cold on, never the hot.
“Filthy whores don’t get to use the hot water. You should be thankful I didn’t hose you off in the yard. You piss yourself one more god-damned time, and I’m hosing you down like the animal you are. You hear me?”
Stripping off your clothes, you make your way into your room. You don’t bother toweling dry; what’s the point? Who would care if you got sick? You paused beside the closet. The urge to curl up in your safe space is near overwhelming. Your hand rests on the knob. One night wouldn’t hurt.
“No.” You tell yourself firmly. “That’s enough fuck-ups for one night.” You wince, throat feeling painfully raw. Taking slow steps, you reluctantly force yourself towards the small twin bed. The comforter feels soft beneath your fingers.
“I just need to pull myself together, get some sleep, and…” You force yourself to close your eyes as you turn over, refusing to acknowledge the tears pooling beneath your cheek. “First thing tomorrow, I can start looking for somewhere new to live. Somewhere where I won’t be a bother to anyone.”
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The Lovebird and the Pun-King