Red: It's been months since I've posted anything, and now I'm not even posting on the fic that needs it. I am trash. I should be working on Resurrection, but I've had that story sort of ruined for me because of life drama. In the meantime, I had this thing rolling in my head for a week now and I just needed to get it on paper quickly. Completely unedited, not in my normal writing style since I hate writing self inserts, but it flowed best this way. might change it all to 3rd person in the future. Probably won't because, again, I am trash. My update schedule is nonexistant. could be a few hours from now, could be in 9 fricking months.

I do actually own Undertale. Not the rights, but I bought it on Steam, which is more than I can say of most games. Enjoy.

You don't like dogs. Never have really. Cats were more your speed, and the idea of owning a dog seemed like a foreign impossibility, something you'd never entertained even in passing. So why the hell were you at a pet shop twenty minutes before closing staring down dog leashes and collars trying to gauge which would be the best for the white puffball tucked under your arm?

Frazzled, you still questioned the decision yourself. You never owned a dog before, you had no idea what you were doing, you weren't sure if the beast would even get along with your cat yet. But here you were, broken down to accepting the little guy into your home. Likely disrupting your peaceful, slobber free life.

It started not long after the barrier had broken. The news was flooded with the revelation that monsters were real, had been living underground for centuries before popping up like daises expecting a place in modern society like it was nothing. The main barrier had apparently been practically in your backyard, up on Mt. Ebbot, not even ten miles from your home. If it hadn't been for the military that had immediately swarmed the place, they might have even passed down your street. Not two months after the monsters had been given their camp and talks had started up with their supposedly human ambassador, your front door became the prime napping spot for the most annoying canine to walk the land.

The first day, you'd tripped right over the thing on your way out the door, drenching yourself in coffee, making you ten minutes late as you hurried to change. The damn thing hadn't even left your porch, sitting with it's tongue hanging out in a vacant doggy grin. It didn't even seem to mind being tripped over, just curling up to the side of the door and going back to sleep. It was gone when you came home, so you shook it off as being a fluke and carried on with your day, feeding your cat and blatantly trying to ignore the immediate slew of anti monster propaganda being spouted by people halfway across the country. The monsters hadn't caused a lick of trouble yet in town yet, and that's all you were concerned about.

Every day after that though, there was just more and more signs of the dog hanging around your house. Muddy paw prints littered on the front walkway. The sudden disappearance of the rabbits that had been eating all of the vegetables in your tiny back garden. Your morning paper sitting right by the front door. Even though you never read the thing, it was impressive to see the little bundle fetched and delivered from the front drive every morning.

The little acts of doggy kindness all led up to a finale even you couldn't ignore. Saturday morning had led to a very heated argument on your front lawn with your neighbor Mrs. Richards. The local government had agreed to let a few monsters start moving into the vacant houses in the community, and that had set the uptight woman off on a loud series of tirades pointed to anyone who would listen. Unfortunately close to the source as you were, sharing a fence with the unpleasant witch, you had to sit and listen until you couldn't take any more.

"Mrs. Richards, I don't care if monsters are moving in, as I'm sure I already live next to the worst ogre in living history already. I just want to get my groceries in the house without being harassed by a lonely, bigoted woman. Try to be a better woman, and maybe your husband will actually come home on time, instead of sleeping with his secretary at work." You'd hightailed it into your house before she could respond, still pissed off about having to interact with her in the first place.

The next morning her entire garden had been dug up, several of her prized yellow roses drug over to sit with your morning paper, the ends gnawed off. The very contented Pomeranian lay dead asleep next to them, it's entire underbelly and paws caked in rich dark potting soil. By the end of the day you had the thing clean and now here you were, trying to decide if leather or nylon webbing made for a better collar material.

You don't like dogs, but even you can take a hint.