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really need to make some kind of system for keeping track of which shorts I've posted here. I meant to share this piece a while ago but I apparently did not so XD XD 

Enjoy this belated oneshot about when the dog (whom I have named No for reasons) needed a bath and insubordination and hilarity ensued. As expected.


No Mess

Dameon couldn't make dinner, because No was begging for scraps, and the dog was so filthy that his stench was making Dameon gag. But when Dameon tried to tell Galahad that No needed a bath, the paladin only shrugged and said No was Lars' dog, and then he left to duel with Rhen in the practice yard.

Lars was in the library with the door closed; Dameon could tell because No was now sitting patiently in the hallway outside, and he rushed in when Dameon opened the door.

Lars glanced up from the book he was reading and wrinkled his nose at Dameon. "You smell," he said, and turned back to his novel.

Dameon blinked. "That's No. He needs a bath."

Lars turned a page. "Tell Galahad."

This was when Dameon realized he would have to clean No himself, or the dog would be filthy forever. Ugh.

He had never bathed an animal before. The Sun Temple and Tear Shrine weren't exactly suitable places to keep pets, and the binis always took care of themselves. But he guessed it couldn't be that different from bathing a person, so he went outside to get a bucket of water to fill up the wash tub with.

Somehow, by means mysterious to Dameon, No figured out what he was doing, and when Dameon returned with the water the dog was trying to hide under the table.

It might have worked, if he didn't smell so bad.

"Come on, No!" Dameon grunted, kneeling on the ground trying to pull the dog back out into the open. No whined and sat stubbornly on his hind legs. Dameon grabbed his front paws and started to pull him across the floor— but No barked suddenly and knocked a chair over on top of Dameon.

"Augh! No!" Dameon yelled, trying to get the chair off himself while No jumped up on the table and knocked over the bucket Dameon had filled not five minutes ago.

Water spilled everywhere, soaking the table, chairs, and floor, and soaking Dameon, and worst of all, soaking No's filthy paws, so that when he jumped off the table and ran into the hall he left large muddy footprints behind him.

"No! Get back here!" Dameon chased after the dog, having successfully stood up after knocking over another three chairs in his haste.

"Arf!" No barked, now standing on top of the sofa in the drawing room.

"Get down, No!"

But No didn't get down, instead opting to put his muddy paws on the wall and whine.

"No!" Dameon scolded, successfully wrapping his arms around the dog's middle. "We are going to the washroom!" he said, with a feeling somewhere between exasperation and triumph, and then—

"What are you doing, boy?" Pirate John was standing in the doorway, surveying the mess with his one eye and looking disgusted.

Dameon tried not to look at the mayhem he knew was all around him, and tried not to fume at being called boy. "No needs a bath," he explained, readjusting the dog in his arms to prevent an escape attempt.

John blinked at him— or maybe he winked, it was hard to tell. "Do what you gotta, but I'm not going to be the one to explain what happened when Rhen gets back."

Dameon tried to appear unconcerned, and, blessedly, the pirate walked away before the breath he was holding escaped. And then he took a moment to shiver because Rhen terrified him in a completely new and awful, familiar, wonderful way and he didn't want to think about it— so he patted No on the head and marched off to the washroom.

And then, he realized he'd forgotten the bucket. And the bucket didn't have any water in it. Because No had knocked it over.

He put the dog in the tub and growled, "Stay!" And then he tried to leave the room and keep No in the room, but the dog poked his nose between Dameon's leg and the door, so Dameon had to close the door on his leg to push No back in, and then pull his leg out of the door slowly, but finally the door was closed and he could go get water from the well. Again.

When he came back, he could hear No whining inside the washroom. Dameon sighed and opened the door just enough to squeeze through it. Water splashed on his feet; he ignored it.

"Okay, No," he said. "You are going to get in the tub, and I am going to pour this water over you, and you are going to stay. Got it?"


"Good boy."

No wagged his tail and panted, but as soon as Dameon set the water bucket down, the dog ran up to it and tried to drink out of it.

"No!" Dameon groaned. "Get in the tub!" He picked up the dog and carried him to the basin by the wall. No looked up at him and whined.


And to his infinite surprise, the dog sat, looking very miserable and meek.

"Good boy! Now, stay—" No stood up. "No! Stay... Stay..."

The dog actually stayed. Dameon brought over the bucket, kneeled beside the basin, and poured some of the water over the dog. It turned brown almost immediately, and as it drained it left behind large chunks of mud, which was disgusting. But, whatever was in the water and on the tub was not on No, which was nice. (And he was not going to think about what "whatever" might be, not for all the gold in Aia.)

No whined and pressed his soaked, muddy, smelly head into Dameon's chest. Just when he'd started to dry, too.

Dameon sighed. He would have to do laundry later. "I know, No. It's gross. But if you would clean yourself like Softly, you wouldn't have this problem."

No nodded his head and whined again, which was really so pathetic that it was touching, and Dameon patted him on the head. "I know. Stay still so I can scrub you."

He used Lars's soap, because it was Lars's dog, and worked it into a lather in his hands before rubbing it all over No. He discovered that dogs had more bits than he had imagined before, like all around their ears, and under their bellies, and between their toes. But No just panted and wagged his tail the whole time, which splashed muddy water up into Dameon's face, which made him wish he was taking a bath, but when he looked at the color of the mud in the tub, he decided maybe he'd wash up at an inn or something.

"Hold still, No," he said. The lather had turned brown so he made some more, and went to rub it over the dog—


No had stood up and was shaking the water and soap and dirt off himself, sending it in all directions. "No!" Dameon groaned. "Sit! Stay! Stop it!"

No barked and sat, and looked up at him with excessively large eyes. Dameon huffed and scratched No's ears— to rub the soap in, of course. He hated being manipulated by four-legged creatures. But here he was, and he couldn't help it. "Okay, we'll be done soon. Don't look at me like that. No! Ugh. Okay, well turn around for a second. I have to get your tail. There! No! Don't shake, one second—"

He managed to poor the rest of the water over No before the dog shook again, which at least got the rest of the dirt off but which did not prevent Dameon from being completely soaked, again. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever. At least No was clean now. He pulled Lars' towel from the cabinet, lifted No out of the tub, and tried to dry the dog and ignore the fact that the washroom was now as filthy as the dog had been— and that the drawing room, and hallway, and kitchen, were not much better.

"For someone your size, you sure are a lot of trouble," Dameon sighed, while No pressed his face against the towel and barked happily.

Then the door flew open, which startled both No and Dameon, and they found themselves hugging each other while Elini stared down at them.

"Hmm," she said, looking around disapprovingly. "You two certainly made a mess in here."

Dameon did not scowl, even though he wanted to very, very badly. "We prefer to think of it," he began, "as transferring the mess from No to the rest of the room."

No barked and wagged his tail, which Dameon took to mean he agreed, and he patted No on the head and then scowled at himself for being such a pushover.

Elini shrugged. "Call it what you like, Sun Priest. But, ah, I hope you can get it cleaned up before the sword singer—"

That's when they heard it. The door banging open. Galahad's heavy footsteps. And then Rhen's loud, happy yell, "We're back, everyone!"

Dameon bit his lip, because he knew, almost as if it had happened before, that next came—


Elini gave him a sympathetic glance, and fled the room, probably to hide in the library (where Rhen never went). He could hear everyone else doing likewise, and the bang of the library door sounded like doom and abandonment. No whined and looked at him with those stupid huge eyes.

"It's okay," Dameon mumbled, hardly meaning it—

And Rhen's footsteps were coming down the hall. And her hand was on the door, pushing it farther open— her violet eyes taking everything in, little mouth scrunching up, her gaze falling on him and No, still on the ground—

"Dameon! You did this?"

"I— I—" his heartbeat was in his throat and he swallowed hard to try and get it down. "Well, No— I mean— yes, but No— the dog, I mean— we—"

No barked and wagged his tail.

"We— we're— I'm— sorry— Rhen—"

Rhen blinked. And then she laughed. "You don't have much experience bathing animals, do you?"

Dameon blushed and pretended to be very interested in No's ears. "No."

She patted his arm. "It's all right. It's nice that you tried." Then she kneeled beside him and kissed No on the nose— which she definitely hadn't done for at least a few weeks, because No stunk way too much before. "But next time, maybe let me help you?"

He looked at her and couldn't help smiling, even though he could feel the mud on his face when he did it. "Of course," he said.

Then she kissed his ear and he couldn't think of anything charming or even sane to say, so he just kind of coughed and started trying to clean up the washroom— and the drawing room, and the hallway, and the kitchen. And his face. And clothes. And whole self. And he forgot to make dinner, which actually turned out to be okay because then they had to go out to eat and Lars didn't discover his filthy towel until much, much later that night, when Dameon could lock his bedroom door and pretend to be sleeping.

He had to unlock it later because No was scratching at his door.

"No," Dameon groaned. "No. Sleep in Lars's room."

Even though Lars was mad at No. The dog whined.

... And Dameon woke up the next morning with slobber all over his face.

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Added a table of contents to the first post! I'll try to keep it updated, and you're welcome to tell me if I've missed anything (or if I miss anything in the future, I'm a spaz so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

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What is this? Another silly story? After all this time? It's a miracle.

Okay I will be serious now (sort of), I wrote this Te'ijalahad fluff for @Rodania's birthday which is already past but I just found about it so I'm just now finishing and I am sorry for my lateness, please forgive me T.T



To Rodania, my partner in angst and in fluff, through sickness and health, poverty and wealth (but mostly poverty cuz we're always broke. Here's to when we can finally make that movie though!), till undeath do us part (or busy lives and poor internet connection, whichever may be first). Thank you for loving fluff as much as me and thanks for all the rants. And speaking of which, please enjoy this fluffy cracky nonsense. Happy belated birthday!

Tiny headcanon explanation, I lined up the av1 sprites once and Te'ijal was actually one of the shortest, and that leads to too many cute things to ignore so I headcanon her as short. Galahad, of course, was tall and that leads to even more cute things. Please allow me to demonstrate. Exhibit A, this fic:

Becoming a human was absolutely, positively, most undeniably the most unamusing thing that had ever happened to Te'ijal in all of her eight hundred and thirty-one years of existence. This was including the time Gyendal replaced all of her arrowheads with marshmallows, and the time Beatrice tried to steal her ghost, and even that one time Galahad stole her sunscreen and managed to get all the way to Veldt before she could overtake him—

Actually, truth be told she had laughed at all of those things, especially the one involving her darling crumpet. She had a nice, healthy, properly morbid sense of humor. She could take a joke.

But this

This was going too far. She was going to have words with the Goddess about it, she'd swear it on her very own grave.

Oh, how she missed her grave!

But for now she was stuck in Sedona, polishing Galahad's boots and cooking his dinner and being generally decidedly miserably mortal.

She hated human food, by the way. And at any rate, she was fairly certain what she cooked didn't even qualify as food at all. Stoves, spatulas, chicken eggs…. These were all mysterious to her. But it made Galahad happy when she tried to cook. The man had starved himself for centuries, that was the only reason. Any sane vampire, or person, or any creature under the sun or moon, would know better than to taste the dishes she served up.

But she had known for a long time that Galahad was far from sane. He was crazier than Mad Marge, from all those centuries before. There were even times Te'ijal thought he might be crazier than herself.

And oh, she loved him for it. She did. It was ridiculous, sappy human nonsense to be sure, but she had always had a soft spot for her food. Especially him. Maybe some part of her had always been human, after all.

It made her sick to think about.

And she had been thinking about it excessively lately, which had put her in an excessively foul mood, and that mood had, of course, fallen on Galahad's shoulders to deal with.

He had such succulent shoulders.

But anyway, she felt bad for what she had put him through in the past weeks, and she hated her stupid saccharine human self for it but that's the way she was now. And so, as a way to make it up to him which might not be too horribly obvious and undignified, she had decided… to try… to make cookies.

Which in the first place involved far too much egg cracking for her liking. Eggs were disgusting. They were hard on the outside and squishy on the inside. That was the exact opposite of how food should be. She would be having words with the Goddess about this when it was over.

In the second place, it involved too much flour. What even was flour? Why was it white and poofy and prone to get everywhere? How did it manage to stick so thoroughly to her elbows and her nose and her bright red perfect hair and why was it so dry and tasteless? She hated flour, she hated whatever foolish human had invented it, and she hated that it apparently went in cookies.

She hated it so much, she decided to forego it entirely. It couldn't make that much difference.

What she did like about this whole cookie thing was the sugar that was called for. Sugar, mixed with the right amount of salt and water, was almost like blood. In fact, she would add the appropriate amount of those last two things now!

Surely Galahad would appreciate that, after so many centuries of depriving himself.

Finally it came time to "spoon the cookie dough onto the baking sheet." Those were the directions in her cookbook. Confound humans and their ridiculous instructions! She had a baking sheet, Galahad had taught her what it was last week. And she knew what a spoon was: it was, in fact a noun, referring to a small silver utensil that was apparently useful in the consumption of soup. It was not a verb.

And it also was not an object Te'ijal had any particular fondness for. Silver may not burn her anymore, but it used to and she didn't trust it, not in the slightest. She hated spoons, and she had no idea what it meant to "spoon" something onto a baking sheet.

Nevertheless, she had determined to do this, and she would not be prevented. She touched the spoon.

She hissed.

It didn't burn. She wrapped her fingers around it. It still didn't burn, but it was very cold and she didn't appreciate that either.

She picked it up. It glinted evilly.

Very well, it was a contest then. She may not be a vampire anymore, but surely she could out-evil an eating utensil.

She stuck it in the cookie dough. Nothing happened.

She sighed. Apparently she would have to do all the work herself. How droll.

She managed to stick some of the cookie dough to the spoon, and slopped it onto the baking sheet. This cookie dough was a gooey liquidy consistency that was incredibly difficult to work with. Humans really ought to devise some way to fix that.

Finally she managed to slop all the cookie dough onto the baking sheet. It looked like a miniature swamp. Was this really appetizing to people? How amusing.

The next instruction was to place the baking sheet in a pre-heated oven and bake for twelve minutes. But had Te'ijal pre-heated the oven?

Of course not, you fool.

So she started a fire under her stove, and waited for the thermometer to read the required temperature, and entertained herself with throwing eggs through her window at unsuspecting passers-by.

It was quite diverting, and a much better use of eggs than in food.

At last the oven was pre-heated, and she carefully put the cookies in— apparently ovens and humans shared the same relationship as silver and vampires. It would have been funny if she hadn't learned the hot way. The burns were not pleasant.

And then came the waiting.

As a vampire, Te'ijal had been fabulously patient. She once waited for three entire decades for Gyendal to come out of his library, and all so she could pay him back for his lovely marshmallow arrowheads (he had not appreciated the Boots of Sluggishness nearly as much as she had). But that was when she had eternity. Now she had a measly half a century, perhaps less.

Thinking about it made her stomach churn. She would have to distract herself.

There was a book on the lounge table which Galahad had been reading— Rhen Pendragon: A History. He had been searching through it for references to himself, and had apparently found it to be quite inaccurate.

Which meant, of course, that Te'ijal would find it unbearably amusing. She picked it up.


It was good to be back in Sedona. It was wonderful to smell the cheese, and the ocean air and the fish and all the familiar musty glorious smells of the city, still nearly the same after all these centuries. It was more wonderful still to smell those things and not smell the blood, not be keenly aware of every beating heart around him—

He loved it. It was a blessing from the Goddess, after so many centuries of being cursed.

He could see his face clearly reflected in his carefully shined sword now. He could feel the biting cold of the approaching evening and he could become properly weary after a good old-fashioned hard day's work as a knight in the court of His Majesty the King.

Best of all, he could go home to his darling, angry little wife and care for her as a husband was meant to.

Galahad smiled to himself. Te'ijal had not been as eager to accept the blessing of humanity as he had. She had been decidedly against it, actually. She had screamed and wailed and fought against it with every ounce of her soul, determined never to be anything but what she had been. She'd even tried to sleep on the floor— she still tried to, no matter how many times he moved her gently to the bed.

She was as stubborn as him, and strangely, after all these centuries, he was beginning to believe he loved her for it.

He thought all these things as he approached the house they had made home, as he mounted the steps, one by one, as he pushed open the door—

He thought all these things, and he forgot them and everything else he had ever known or believed in his life as he took in the sight before him.

The kitchen was on fire.

The kitchen… was on fire!

"Wife!" he spluttered, mostly because it was the only word he could recall for one panicked moment. "Wife, what— what is happening in here?!"

"Hmm?" Te'ijal mumbled, lowering the book she had been reading. "What is the matter, Hus— Husband, there is fire in the kitchen!"

Galahad knew that, and very little else. Water, he would need water— suddenly, horribly, he wished for his vampiric speed back, as he ran to the kitchen and tried to pump water into the mixing bowl Te'ijal had apparently used to make some sort of slime earlier.

Te'ijal was by his side so quickly he wondered if she had gotten her vampiric speed back— she was taking the bowl, and throwing it at the fire— the whole thing, not just the water— and the fire hissed and sputtered and continued burning down the house— confound it all, they would need something else to put the water in—

"It must have been the silver spoon!" Te'ijal was babbling, and Galahad was panicking—

"Where do you keep the bowls?"

"Husband! How can you be thinking of food at a time like this? After all that time I tried to get you to feed—"

"To put the water in, wife, where are the bowls?!"

"On top of the cupboard!" she answered, and scrambled to reach one—

She was on the tips of her toes, her arms stretched high above her— his darling, angry little wife was too short and the fire was going to consume them—

He swept her up in his arms, and lifted her up towards the bowls— she grabbed one, and nearly jumped out of his arms and ran to the sink—

And she was filling it up and dumping it out and filling it up again, and the fire crackled and—

And it was out, somehow, thank goodness, bless all the stars, the kitchen was safe, he was safe, and his darling angry little wife was just fine—

"Galahad— Galahad, we nearly burned to death! Just as though we were vampires out in the sun! Isn't it marvelous?"

Galahad swallowed. She was dancing around him, her violet eyes sparkling and her bright red hair bouncing, perfectly and entirely overjoyed at the idea of almost dying— she was crazy, and stubborn, and—

"Wife, were you trying to burn us all to the ground?"

"Oh, no, don't be ridiculous, Crumpet! I was just trying to make cookies. I suppose they are likely done now," she said, now pulling an oven mitt over her hands and reaching into the oven to pull out—

It had been a baking sheet, once, Galahad guessed. Now it was covered in something charred and smoking and he was certain neither he nor Te'ijal nor any other force in the entirety of Aia would ever be able to make it clean again.

Te'ijal cackled. "They're perfect! Look at them, my succulent darling, they are cooked entirely through!"

"Wife, they look—" Galahad sighed. "They look— delicious, darling," he said, and then he bent down and kissed her forehead, where that deranged, dear brain of hers lived.

And the thing that burned the most that day was his face as she patted his cheek and said, somewhat reluctantly, "Thank you for putting up with me, Crumpet. I hate being human but— I'm glad that, if I had to go through this, I'm going through it with you."

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15 hours ago, Mu11berry said:

Sugar, mixed with the right amount of salt and water, was almost like blood.


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@Ishti Never fear, thankfully the cookies were burnt and nobody had to actually consume them XD It seems the Goddess really was watching out for Te'ijal and Galahad after all

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