Goblin Diaries Cataloged Part 2 (Patreon)

realized the last one got cut off, so here's some more of my gathered posts for the stories of Scrappa from back here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/7835921

>Dec 17th: I wake up feeling like I drank a bottle of hammers last night. There's still that haze in my head, but it's rough and angry rather than fluffy and warm. I start to rehydrate ASAP and read what I left myself from last night (I don’t think there was just alcohol in that, Grandpa). I find Scrappa humming in the kitchen like nothing happened (stupid goblin metabolism). The only thing contrary to that is she's wearing an apron I got her (as a sexy costume more than actually useful). Gruunda apparently showed her how to use the stove while I was asleep and she's cooking Pop Tarts in a frying pan. Her tits and ass are utterly falling out of the apron, but she turns and smiles proudly as she offers them. It just looks like the sweetest thing she could do for me. They're sort of crunchy, but not bad for Pop Tarts, so she gets lots of hugs and praise.

>I check in with the centaurs in the morning. They were bathing each other by the lake where they’d set up some quick and crude shelters. I offer some breakfast, but they’re fine for food. When it doesn't seem like I'm intruding, I decide to learn more about them and ask what they were traveling for. It sounds like it’s just what they do; they break off from their herd when the numbers get too great to hide. I ask what brought them out into my neck of the woods, and their talk gets me a little worried. They had found a place to stay a little while off, but decided to move. There were a bunch of goblin pests that showed up and they decided to avoid the trouble.

>Dec 20th. Scrappa has figured out that Christmas exists. A few cards from my family, ads online, and commercials are starting to get her excited. I wasn’t sure if I should bother to introduce her to it or not, since religion isn’t a thing for goblins, but she thinks she’s figured it out: people wear a lot of red and green by pine trees and find out what’s inside boxes. I explain its bare basics to her instead: people give gifts to people they like. The whole Jesus part feels a bit big for her, so I leave that out. I figure we can do Christmas Eve together, and I get a smallish Christmas tree and do some light shopping for gifts. I can’t get too much too early for Scrappa, since I know she’ll scrounge around and find them. She does have a lot of fun climbing the Christmas tree though (didn’t bother with ornaments since I saw that coming). I did get her a costume to get her excited: a full blown kid’s elf costume. Fuzz-lined skirt that barely go past her ass, striped red socks that almost reach her thighs, stretchy green top that stretches out to fit her chest so long as most of the buttons are down, and pointy hat over her pointy ears. She can barely sit still long enough for me to get them on her. She keeps looking in the mirror at herself and posing for it and me, but finally she wants to “sit on Santa’s lap.”

>Dec 13th: Scrappa's more or less back to her usual self. She's horny, dirty and flirty again, and eating garbage and junk food rather than cleaning chemicals. She's started masturbating and grinding on her usual scent spots, but it's got a slightly sweeter smell to it than usual. She definitely knows it, because she grins her little fangs at me when I sniff at the air. Gruunda left us a gift on the doorstep; a half-eaten bear. I'm nowhere skilled enough to skin and cook it, and I remember reading that they're full of parasites, so I go to the shed to give Gruunda my heartfelt thanks but no thanks. Politely. After all, the meek troll is able to murder a bear while completely unarmed. Of course by then, Scrappa's already started digging into it. She's covered in gore by the time I pull her out and let Gruunda finish the rest. I can't have bloody footprints all over the house, so I get a wet, dirty bath towel and spend a while scrubbing her down. Like I expected before, her body oils stay unaffected by pretty much anything but soap and hot water. She walks barefoot through the snow with hardly a shiver, and she's quite warm to the touch.

>Scrappa either doesn't know or can't express how long the eggs will take to hatch. She shrugs and tells me "In a while." She doesn't really do much besides peek in on them once in awhile and ask me to turn on the faucet for a few seconds once or twice. The journal's entry on their breeding says a tribe of goblins can populate an area in a matter of months if left unchecked, so it can't be terribly long. I'm hoping they don't come until after Christmas; I'm not sure what you get a goblin who loves eating trash, especially baby ones. Plus my family will be expecting me again back at the VanHellsing house. Can I really keep hiding Scrappa and my growing family forever?

>Dec 15th: FUCKING. CENTAURS.

>I wake up to a booming knock on the wall of the bedroom. Gruunda's at the window, smiling sweetly. It's a little early, but Scrappa's awake like a cat and ready to bolt when I grab hold of her. I give her my usual assuring cradle (hold her in one arm, hook the hand under her butt, and lightly finger her; calms her right down every time). Gruunda says there's someone here who wants to see me. I don't know if Gruunda has the sense to make suggestive gestures, but she pulls an arrow out of her rocky shoulder. Between that and them talking to Gruunda, I know they can't be humans. Not that I get company out here anyway; I can give the local troll a tank of gas and she can get the heat working herself without having to bother calling an expert

>I tell Scrappa to stay put while I do some Bicka business. I dress for the snow and and head outside, and a short way into the woods, Gruunda shows me a pair of centaurs. Human upper halves and four-legged, furry bottom halves. One is more petite in her human half, and has a lower body of a large deer. Elaborately braided, golden hair with flowers woven in (despite the time of year), and pale, almost pearly skin. The other has a lower half like a clydesdale, thick and shaggy with huge, crushing hooves. She has a lot of shaggy black curls. Her body is thick with muscle, and an amazingly ornate longbow is in her hand. A quiver of feathered arrows is strapped around the side of her equine body. It might just be how centaurs have their spines working, but they both appear to be VERY proudly topless. The smaller's got a slightly upturned pair, but the big one's weight and muscle give her huge and heavy ones with thick nipples. I still favor Scrappa's for sheer height-to-tit ratio.

>When I approach, they speak with each other in a sharp, rapid language I don't understand. I snag a few words to look up later (a sort of bastardized Latin, apparently; perhaps the truly original form?). They try a greeting on me, and I offer a "Hello" before they look relieved. Apparently broken English is an option. While Scrappa was a lot of primitive phrases early on, they seem far more intelligent. It's more like speaking to a French foreign-exchange student than a cavewoman; the conversation's a bit stiff and they completely drop a word once in awhile, but we can get by.

>"Who owns the forest?" the big one questions right away. I shrug, and when she frowns at that, I reply "I guess I do. It's my grandpa's property that I inherited." She looks a little confused. "I own it now," I simplify.

>the smaller one steps forward, looking pleased and says I "have a good land." I thank her awkwardly, but try to keep up politeness. Gruunda's still staying a safe distance away listening, like a much less vigilant version of the big centaur. I learn that they're Ven (the pretty little deer) and Tiniel (big burly horse), and they wanted a place to stay for the winter. They'd been traveling alone for some time, and the weather didn't make that practical anymore. Apparently my property's pretty full of game and vegetation, because Ven says they could maintain themselves pretty easily out here. They'd "maintain" anything they hunted and "let the soil make," and could be gone by spring. When the last part goes over my head, Ven goes over and touches a dried up old shrub. She whispers something in her clipped Latin and it sprouts leaves and berries before my eyes. "Let it grow?" I ask a little warily, and she nods, bouncing her tight braids and soft tits around.

>Tiniel seems a little more uptight throughout our talks, but I tell them there's no reason they have to leave in the spring if they want to stay. If they can do that with the place using whatever magic they have, why not let them? It's not like I head out there much, and I can feed Scrappa myself. They both seem delighted by the idea, and I warn them about a few ground rules basically the same as Gruunda's.

>no fighting, no being spotted by humans (I don't need that kind of investigation), and no bothering Scrappa. Tiniel gives this condescending smile when I mention having a goblin lover. "That is the fate that you choose?" she speaks in this thick, Slavic kind of accent. She uses a word I don't know, but then spits on her hand and offers me a handshake with "Agreed." I spit and grab her hand back: when in Rome, do as the Greek mythology does. We shake and she pulls me into his big hard hug. It's oddly comforting to have the big strong arms and giant tits hugging around me, but I emphasize again that Scrappa's a little clingy and territorial about me, so they should watch the displays of affection

>Tiniel looks confused until Ven says something, and for some reason I am hilarious to them. I give them about a minute to calm down before Ven says "Do not worry, lord Steven. Tiniel and I, we are ****." Another word I don't understand and can't remember. When I shrug again, she gestures to Tiniel to come to her. Ven raises her forelegs, balancing them on Tiniel's furry sides to hold herself up as they embrace and kiss deeply, running hands over each other's breasts and upper horse halves. Lesbian centaur exhibitionists. Why not? They do sort of maintain that kiss for a while, as if they forgot I was there for a while

>Once they're done, Tiniel thanks me again and produces a crude, corked up clay jug as a gift. I thank her and tell them to ask me or Gruunda if they need anything before heading back and explaining it to Scrappa. She nods along at first, but when I raise the jug she stares wide-eyed like it's made of diamonds. "Centaur moony..." she whispers like it's a holy word. I look at the crude container and pop it open. I'm surprised the paint doesn't peel off the walls, as the smell alone makes my eyes water. Scrappa bounces up and down on the bed like it's Christmas (which I guess it is...), her boobs and butt bouncing like crazy in her stretched out old haltertop and panties (black with a skull on the crotch today). I ask what it is, and she cheers out "Centaur moony! Centaur moony! Get! Drunk!" This from the girl who drank bleach and nyquil like it was water.

>When I double checked the books, grandpa confirmed that centaurs were reasonable sorts. One of the more civil monsters, if a bit barbaric. They are beings of passion; short tempers, wild lovers, and brewers of some of the strongest, tastiest alcohol in the world

>I get Scrappa to calm down and figure it might be best to save it for a bit. She whines about it, but I figure she's just being impatient. I set it on top of the fridge, which she could reach, but she gets the point that I'm putting my foot down. She just got off of being pregnant, and there's new guests who gave me mysterious alcohol. It can wait a little, and so can she. She's all over me for the rest of the day; she becomes inseparable with my dick unless I physically lift her off to go to the bathroom or fetch something. She keeps sucking on me while grinding on my leg, or riding on me as she watches me expectantly. I think she's trying to butter me up to cave on the centaur wine, but it's a kind of torture I think I can take

[the writing for the entry is slightly looser and sloppier than others, with assorted typos removed for clarity's sake]

>Dec 16th: Scrappa and I had a party today. We have some of the wine jug at lunch, and even at room temperature, the centaur wine tastes of honey and ice water. Scrappa drinks hers out of a cup, licks it clean, and asks for more. I'm not much of a drinker, but it's got a tingle to it. I make some easy burgers and fries for dinner, because life with Scrappa is basically bachelor life minus all the masturbation.

>we go after it a little harder after dinner, and she's getting giggly. Goblin drunk seems like a more mellow version of human drunk; more of a high than drunk, really. I guess it's hard to get more hyper than normal goblin levels. Scrappa keeps clinging to me, sometimes for balance, sometimes to climb me. She stretches out my shirt climbing up my chest so she can kiss me, giggle, and plop back into my lap. She keeps gurgling and babbling ditzily

>I'm a little fuzzy myself, so I do some drunk science on her. I turn on some more hiphop and she starts cooing sensually, and wriggling in an offbeat sort of bellydance that's sexy as fuck. I rub a hand over her jiggling chest and booty, and she seems so lost in her rhythm that she doesn't notice. I have to ask the centaurs how to make this stuff later, because she looks like she's in absolute bliss on this stuff

>she cuddles up in my lap, and I ask her what she wants to name the babies. She blows me a raspberry, and I ask again in goblish. She dismisses the question as silly, and that we'll know their names when we see them. I guess some goblin names are named after traits; Stinkeye, Goon, and Bigbite were listed in the journals as goblin names, after all. It does get me down a certain train of thought, and I ask what Scrappa's name was before I named her

>she laughs and says it wasn't important. She's strictly speaking in goblish now, clearly not sober enough to use her pidgin English. I tell her to tell me or I'll eat her up, nibbling on her nipple as she squeals and thrashes in delight. I slow to a soft suckle, not bothering to draw out her greasy milk as she looks down at me with a big-lipped smile

>"Pruuruu." I almost think she whistled at me for a second, but she repeats: "The tribe called me Pruuruu." It's the best I can spell it; it's almost a bird call (spell check it with her when she's sober). I tell her it's beautiful, and she sticks out her tongue again. "It's an ugly name for an ugly girl," she claims, though I don't know any related words in goblish that indicate that. Maybe she just means she's forgetting her old life. Maybe it's that she didn't feel pretty until she found me. I lean in close to her and whisper "Scrappa pretty girl," into her big pointy ear. I will never forget that look on her face. Sloppy drunk in my arms while her smile fills up her face and her eyes close a little, as if she could fall asleep to that kind of sweet talk

>I hope we don't disappoint, but we don't have wild, sloppy drunk sex. It's not that it would be taking advantage of her; she literally begs for it if I go an entire day without going inside her something or other. But Scrappa seems so utterly happy and at peace, and even I've got this warmth that feels like it swims around my belly and brain. We just sort of snugglefuck all night. I can't stop touching her, and she feels so warm on that winter night (I hope the naked centaur ladies are okay out there in this weather). I just massage under her clothes head to toe and compliment her every way I can think of, and she soaks it up while she licks or hugs onto whatever part of me is in front of her. She does a lot of cooing and moaning, and it feels like that's what she needs more than a cock in the mouth... for tonight, anyway. She absolutely needs the D some nights. Like insane for the D. Are goblins like, chemically addicted to human D or something? Sober me, look this up later.

>when she's done being adorable, and the booze seems gone, we go and half pass out into bed. I say half because we flop into bed exhausted from doing nothing all night, and we stay up another hour or two just touching and... really, just loving each other. I keep telling her she's pretty and cuddly and fun until she breaks into these big happy tears that leave greasy stains on her pillow. I spoon up behind her, big enough to cover most of her body in my arms and chest as I shush her and whisper assuring flattery in her ears. She keeps crying and sniffling with occasional giggles until she passes out against me, her tank run dry. I bury my face in her purple hair, glad that her smell isn't ruined by the alcohol. Still spooning her now while I update the journal for the night, that cute butt wiggling against my rod in her sleep. Don't forget how much she means to you, Steve. She's a lot of work, but she's worth it.

>Dec 17th: I wake up feeling like I drank a bottle of hammers last night. There's still that haze in my head, but it's rough and angry rather than fluffy and warm. I start to rehydrate ASAP and read what I left myself from last night (I don’t think there was just alcohol in that, Grandpa). I find Scrappa humming in the kitchen like nothing happened (stupid goblin metabolism). The only thing contrary to that is she's wearing an apron I got her (as a sexy costume more than actually useful). Gruunda apparently showed her how to use the stove while I was asleep and she's cooking Pop Tarts in a frying pan. Her tits and ass are utterly falling out of the apron, but she turns and smiles proudly as she offers them. It just looks like the sweetest thing she could do for me. They're sort of crunchy, but not bad for Pop Tarts, so she gets lots of hugs and praise.

>I check in with the centaurs in the morning. They were bathing each other by the lake where they’d set up some quick and crude shelters. I offer some breakfast, but they’re fine for food. When it doesn't seem like I'm intruding, I decide to learn more about them and ask what they were traveling for. It sounds like it’s just what they do; they break off from their herd when the numbers get too great to hide. I ask what brought them out into my neck of the woods, and their talk gets me a little worried. They had found a place to stay a little while off, but decided to move. There were a bunch of goblin pests that showed up and they decided to avoid the trouble.

>Dec 20th. Scrappa has figured out that Christmas exists. A few cards from my family, ads online, and commercials are starting to get her excited. I wasn’t sure if I should bother to introduce her to it or not, since religion isn’t a thing for goblins, but she thinks she’s figured it out: people wear a lot of red and green by pine trees and find out what’s inside boxes. I explain its bare basics to her instead: people give gifts to people they like. The whole Jesus part feels a bit big for her, so I leave that out. I figure we can do Christmas Eve together, and I get a smallish Christmas tree and do some light shopping for gifts. I can’t get too much too early for Scrappa, since I know she’ll scrounge around and find them. She does have a lot of fun climbing the Christmas tree though (didn’t bother with ornaments since I saw that coming). I did get her a costume to get her excited: a full blown kid’s elf costume. Fuzz-lined skirt that barely go past her ass, striped red socks that almost reach her thighs, stretchy green top that stretches out to fit her chest so long as most of the buttons are down, and pointy hat over her pointy ears. She can barely sit still long enough for me to get them on her. She keeps looking in the mirror at herself and posing for it and me, but finally she wants to “sit on Santa’s lap.”

>Dec 23: once Scrappa’s fed and fucked (she wanted it in the elf costume again; it fits her like shit, but she seems to like things like thongs and booty shorts anyway), I head out to the space behind the house. I drop off Gruunda’s gift. It’s a basic laptop I got on the cheap, but once I get the wifi going, she takes to it faster than I can teach her. She’s so happy that she cries and hugs the crap out of me, and I’m lucky she’s as soft as she is strong. I leave the shed feeling pretty pleased with myself before I reflect on the fact that I let loose a literal troll onto the internet.

>Ven and Tiniel are doing well for themselves. They have a crude camp, something that I could have mistaken for a sort some kids playing fort if not for the firepit, stone knives, arrows, and drying skins. I got them a pocket knife, some storage containers, and a bunch of flower and vegetable seeds. Ven immediately puts them to use and sprouts some carrots with her magic. They’re appreciative, and I catch up on how they’re settling in. They say between Ven’s magic and Tiniel’s hunting, they shouldn’t have any trouble making through the winter. Tiniel mentioned that the pond should be good for fishing in the spring, so long as the water sprites don’t cause them too much trouble when they’re done hibernating. I just… I’m surprised we have a pond back there. At least I can table sprites until spring, apparently

>I head back inside, and Scrappa's nowhere in sight. I get cold sweats, but remember she's a very capable hider. I push away thoughts of her being swept up by other goblins along with her eggs. I make sure the eggs look fine and can't find a sign of her until I shut my eyes for a deep breath. It was something I'd wondered once in awhile, but there it was... I'd spent so long buried in Scrappa's oily stink that I could sense it. The spots where her masturbation had dried up for the day didn't even overpower it. I followed it back into the living room, realizing it had either done something strange to my nose or goblins just smelled that powerful. I finally notice the red box by the tree, about twice the size of a shoebox, or maybe that of a very expensive board game. I kneel down and open it, and Scrappa pops out with a happy squeal. She seems delighted that she surprised me, and latches right onto my cock like it's candy as she stares up at me, grinning and baring her teeth as they softly nibble on my shaft

>"You little sneak," I tease her, tugging her ears and hair for those little stinging sensations she likes so much. It makes her seal her lips around me tighter, like playing with a dog and its chew toy. The more I pull, the harder she sucks. It becomes a game between me and my bitch in a box as I keep pinching and tugging on her as she resists and keeps sucking me off. I end up gushing inside her before too long, but then I realize the folly of my game. I've already cum but she still suckin'. I literally can't get her off, even when I slap at her cheeks or pinch her nipples. She just giggles and grabs onto my legs, running her eel of a tongue over my balls and slurping those up too. She drinks two more orgasms out of me until I can't stand and she has cum dripping out her nose. I finally think to tell her she won and she pops her mouth open in a big mess of drool, cum and smiles. She climbs up into my lap, her nimble toes teasing my softening shaft as she cuddles up

>I test it out later, just to find that I can still sense her general direction by smell unless we just had sex. In that case, her smell is sort of all over me and I can't tell one way from the other. I step out for some of the easier items to get for her, avoiding the worst of the rush in town and at the malls. I end up sending Scrappa out of the bedroom, locking the door, and keeping an eye on it. She naturally tries to pick the lock (however she even does that...) and sneak in, but I just bark at her so she instantly stops and scurries away.

>Dec 24th: Christmas Eve with Scrappa, and I wake up with her already on my dick. I come to while she crawls onto me and pops me right into her miniature pussy. We're a few humps in before I whisper a "Merry Christmas, piji-riti," to her. "Chrissy Christmas," she chirps back as she smiles warmly and gets to work on my wakeup call.

>I can tell it's something special to her today, because she takes her time gyrating those giant hips rather than humping like she's in her constant heat. She controls herself, and I can feel each jiggle of her thighs and ass against me as her big milky breasts wobble to a stop in front of me. I just hold her hips to help her along, letting her milk me over about an hour of intimate grinding. I suck and kiss her breasts as they go up and down like a reward for each roll of her hips. A few times she freezes and shakes, biting her lip as she cums on me, but just uses it for lube as she keeps giving me my huge, drawn out orgasm.

>by the time she's done, she collapses on me and I pepper her with kisses. At first I imagine she has almost no possessions of her own, so there's not much she can give. The dedicated fuck session might have been her gift. I smack her on the bottom and tell her to get dressed and go eat breakfast so I can sneak her presents out of the closet and under the tree. I'm only sure she hasn't snuck a peak because they're all still wrapped, and she doesn't seem capable enough to seal them back up without my noticing.

>She comes out to the living room shrieking in delight. Either she didn't expect anything (or at least so much) or she believes that they appeared by magic when she wasn't looking. She takes as much fun in unwrapping them as admiring them, which involves her utterly destroying the wrapping paper and popping some smaller bits into her mouth. I got Scrappa a bunch of things:

>-lots of clothes

>-some candy and "drinks," like Sour Skittles and off-brand nyquil

>-some pet shampoo. It seemed to be the only part of washing she seemed to actually enjoy and understand

>-a few plush toys. Some are sure to be lost, broken, or eaten, but she seems to like the stuffed turtle. I found her humping it later in the day, like her old goblin doll

>It looks like I nailed it with her last gift. It's a miniature mockup of a cocktail dress, something that made me instantly think Jessica Rabbit. Sequins all over it, and blood red, she gasps and hurries to put it on. I have to stop her and help her put it on the right side up. It was a plus-sized outfit I manages to shear off around the thighs, so it's something that actually fits her for once. It cups her tits enough to make them wobble without her areolas popping out, and covers just past her hips while still making her booty pop out. She can't stop staring at herself and thanking me, and explodes randomly into shrieks of one of my favorite things to hear: "SCRAPPA SO PRETTY!" It's sparkly, slutty, and makes me happy to see; seemingly everything she wants.

>After being tackles and lots and lots of slimey kisses, she says she wants to show the others her stuff. She grabs a  what she can (turtle gets stuffed in her cleavage), but not before she hands me a ratty-looking notebook. "Chrissy Christmas, bicka," she says and runs out to talk to Gruunda at the shed.

>The book is mostly battered and old on the outside, likely because she pulled it out of the garbage or found it in the woods. The pages are wrinkled, but the writing looks fresh in pen. The letters are crooked and shaky, and there's plenty of scribbled out bits. Scrappa labored over writing out her feelings for me in the notebook IN ENGLISH. I keep by the bedstand from then on. I think it loses a bit of the meaning here without the visible struggle with the words involved, but it brought me to tears. Here's some of the strongest piece. I'll minimize the typos...

>"Scrappa is sorry that she's not a human. Scrappa won't be big and pretty like other girls. Scrappa smells like goblin and cries a lot (but not as much as goonda she is baby). I eats all the good food from you that you make at the work. Scrappa be sad and ded without you, and that makes Scrappa feel so so happy and so alive to be with you. Scrappa was barely alive before meeting you, Steve. I do not now if I can wryt later on when babies grow up, so wanted to do it now. But no matter what Scrappa does, she'll be happy, because you say piji-riti. Scrappa never knew somebody who didn't want to send her away or say I'm ugly. You make Scrappa stay up with crying cuz you feed me when I'm sic and hold me when I'm scared and hit me but good hit me, not bad hit me. And make me cum sooooooo much.

>"Scrappa just happiest goblin ever. No more sad and no more angry just happy. Bicka makes her safe, and bicka is piji-riti. Scrappa jealous of her babies, because when theyre hatch they wont have to know what it's like to be sad goblins. They'll always have piji-ritis, cuz Steve is the best Bicka and piji-riti, and Scrappa never ever gonna leave. Scrappa gives out all her blood and guts for Bicka, her every body part for Steve." [there's a drawing of a heart next to it] "You put up with Scrappa more than she deserves, but pleasey never stop. It make Scrappa feel warm and safe and so so impossible happy. Kissy, piji-riti."

>I grab Scrappa in the biggest, tightest hug I can when she's back, and spend the rest of Christmas Eve spoiling her. I almost feel like a dick for seeing my parents tomorrow, but I'm also not sure that she realizes Christmas is actually tomorrow. As if it matters anyway; I have her and she has me and we have a special day.

>Dec 25th: Christmas was a relaxing break from it all. I get a lot of practical house-warming stuff and clothes, and leftovers to bring back to Scrappa. Mom asks about that girl I’m seeing, half expecting her to show up this year. I tell her it's complicated, but I give her a hopeful "Someday." Paige catches up with me about Scrappa during the yearly tradition of doing the dishes for mom. The snow's not too bad and I haven't drank anything, so I end up heading home that night. Dad takes me aside to send me home with a case of beer and a quick heart to heart about how if I'm in trouble or need anything. I tell him thanks, and that I've got my hands full, but nothing I can't handle so far.

>I get home to hear the faucet running in the bathroom. I poke my head in to see that it's on low and washing over the eggs in a steady trickle. I almost go to stop it when Scrappa suddenly has my hand and pulls me gently back. "Shhh. Come to bed. Chee-cha are resting. Almost ready," she whispers. I trust her instincts more than I'm afraid of my water bill, so I follow her lead back to the bedroom. Her demand for silence goes away rather quickly once she rolls onto all fours to show me how much she missed me

>soon I'm watching her big soft bottom bounce against my pelvis as she squeals, claws digging into the bedsheets as my dick pumps her pussy from behind. Her tits drag across the sheets, leaving a rough trail of her sweat and grease as I pull on her hair. "Scrappa good girl?" she asks, looking back at me with her big red eyes and crooked smile

>"Scrappa very good girl," I tell her, pulling her back to mount her on top of my dick. The praise on top of pushing in that deep and hard makes her squirt past my dick and all over the sheets from both her holes, shaking like an earthquake on my lap. I cum myself inside her, getting her to shiver through a second outburst of her warm slime, but my cock's still hard from missing her all day. "Scrappa," I urge, and she looks at me dizzily from her fresh double orgasm. "Go try on your Christmas dress for me."

>Scrappa gasps, and seems to forget she just came so hard as she rushes off the bed and falls on her face. She gets up like it was nothing, of course, but I still help her to her drawers to get the sparkly red dress. We slip her into it and she does some poses, as if I'm not already rock hard from my idea. "Scrappa look like pretty human girl?" she coos teasingly.

>"Scrappa prettier than human girl," I tell her in goblish, and she skips in place and gives a shrill giggle. "Here. Let me show you." I have a mirror in the small bathroom attached to the master bedroom that starts about waist high. Scrappa doesn't use it much because 1, she has no use for it. the eggs are in the main bathroom, and she doesn't shower or use the toilet as far as I know (knowing goblins, though, I still flush at every opportunity). And 2, I think she has an aversion to mirrors. If I haven't dressed her up, she doesn't like to look at them. She walks by without looking most of the time, and even then she'll give a little displeased grunt when she passes. Racial self esteem and all.

>I decide to help fix that. She's still high on her first set of orgasms when I lift her up in my arms, kissing her lips and exposed parts of her breasts while my fingers rub and part her pussy. She's twitchy and ticklish about it, but I hook my stronger arms under her thighs and hold her legs open. I keep kissing at her cheek and ear while I carry her around the room, reaching under the open bottom of her dress and rubbing her slimy slit. I keep her spread out as I hold her like that in front of the mirror, her dripping pussy held up right in plain sight

>Scrappa blushes and buries her face in my chest, mumbling a drunken little "Bicka, no," just like she did when she was sick. Like she secretly enjoys it. I keep her open enough to see her big hard clit poking out between her chubby little lips. "But Scrappa's pretty girl, remember?" I coo to her, kissing over her neck and ear. "Would Bicka pick an ugly girl?" She keeps peeking out like it's a horror movie in the mirror rather than just a busty little green woman. It's kind of adorable to force that self-esteem onto her, and the smell of her lusty stink fills my nostrils like a drug.

>soon she's watching herself, eyes going between her body and mine as I keep rubbing her cunny. She lets out these needy whines, even if I just took her minutes ago. I braced an elbow on the wall as I ease her down until her cock pops into between her chubby ass cheeks, grinding between them as the slick head teases her second clit. She watches hypnotically as she jiggles in the mirror in her pretty red dress, like some tiny but high-end hooker. 

>"Scrappa makes such a pretty mommy," I coo to her, and a weak smile flickers across her face as her arched pelvis starts to pump back harder on my dick until it's forced inside her ass. She bites her lip hard, and I realize how much I love seeing her happily expressive little face every time I fuck her. Her crazy libido makes her love every time like its her first, and her regenerative and elastic properties make her tight enough to feel like it. That kind of passion is contagious, I cum in her slick ass while hardly missing a beat beyond a few low, grunting breaths. She keeps noisily taking it until squirts messily out of both holes, running down my dick and thighs as she wails in embarrassment, watching herself cum hard through greasy tears

>she buries her face in my chest again, smearing those tears and her wide little nose on me. "Scrappa dirty," she coos, but in a small and playful sort of way. "Scrappa is Bicka's dirty girl," I confirm, hugging her as I squish my fingers into one of her plump buns and smooch her on the cheek. I start to feel just how late it is, helping dry her off from our messy cum cocktails and turning the faucet back off for the night on the eggs. Christmas is officially over. One more thing needs to be delivered

>Dec 27th: Scrappa screeches like she's being murdered in the other room. I wake up in an instant and she bolts in and tries to drag me out of bed. "Hatch! Hatch!" she shrieks, and I clumsily pull on some boxers to follow her back to the makeshift nest.

>Baby goblins are also not what I expected. Their regenerative powers kick in right away, and have something to do with their hatching process. When the eggs cracked, they didn't push their way out like a bird or reptile. You could see through the bubbly-looking eggs and watch the body forming at top speed, so the little green-black lumps just move like fast-motion footage of a chicken embryo. With absolutely no help, the eggs pop open and sprout little goblins, each about the size of my wrist to fingertips when they stop growing (just short of Scrappa's hip). Grandpa left drawings of what I thought were young goblins, but I think that was just as small as they come as soon as they're born. They're born complete with open eyes, a row of little teeth, and trying to waddle around like toddlers. It's odd to see that most of these newborn goblins have some indication of breasts, but they also shove and wrestle after they're a few hours out of the egg, so ages must work differently for them. Scrappa picks each of them up in turn and licks them clean of their egg goop. While she does, I take notes on them all. Out of the twenty-some egg sacs she laid, they molded and fused together until seven goblins came out. There's a strange variety to them, but most of them have some aspect of Scrappa to them (mainly the green skin, but even that varies on a few).

1. purple hair, red eyes. tiny version of Scrappa, and has some strange obsession with her feet

2. purple hair, red eyes again. same egg, so seems to be the other's twin sister. very clingy with the first.

3. longer blue hair and purple eyes. wider build than the rest, whether that's fat or strength

4. short pink hair. one eye red, one blue. skinny and wiry one. Oddly seems a little shy.

5. rust-red hair, ice blue eyes. pink skin (not quite human levels, actual pink; Barbie pink). Tongue looks especially long (down to her belly while Scrappa's only reaches her upper breast), which I only know because she keeps sticking it out at me

6. short, frizzy moss green hair, pumpkin-orange eyes. dark blue skin and will not stop climbing up things

7. extra shaggy hair, mainly my shade of blonde with big splotches of purple in it. big, beautiful green eyes, but the quickest to start a fight of the litter

>we pile them onto the couch, where Scrappa coos to them in goblish and I follow suit. They look a little more surprised to see me speaking it, but they babble back. I'm hold the twins when one of them parrots back at me "ampu" (belly). They're already learning to talk less than an hour out of the egg. No wonder the journals said they breed like cockroaches. They'd be full grown by summer time. Scrappa sets out the broken egg shells, which our babies tear into and eat up like adorable pirana. We watch their first meal while Scrappa starts improvising some clothes for them and we start talking names.

>It’s the afternoon by the time we’ve named them all. I have to keep catching them and putting them back together while we’re talking or fetching food for them. Scrappa actually doesn’t nurse them until a few hours later, and she’ll shout at them and slap them in the back of the head if they stray or get too fussy. The babies instantly shut up and calm down when they’re smacked; it might be a survival instinct, because they don’t seem hurt by it in the same way as Scrappa likes her pinches and slaps. It reminds me of the scruff of the neck on some animals, or how ferrets have that thing on their necks that just makes them start falling asleep in case their mom senses predators they need to hide from (Paige’s roommate showed me on hers).

>the twins are Junka and Debrii. We agreed to name them with a theme, and after Scrappa for their looks. Junka keeps sucking on her toes, and Debrii will keep clinging to her whenever she can. She doesn’t stray far from her without rushing back, as if unsure if she’s still there when she’s not looking. She’s only been alive a few hours, so maybe she’s figuring out why they look alike. I tried to bring a mirror in front of them and they flipped out to see four of them.

>the chubby one is Boosa. She’s sweet and slow, but kind of the brute of the batch. Scrappa picks her name, and it’s weird how a kind of caste is showing in them the day that they’re born. She’s already trying to lift things to test her limits (pillows, bowls, her sisters). We might have a little gym rat in the bunch

>the skinny one we call Theedy. Scrappa likes the word, but I think she misses the 3-D joke (one red, one blue eye). She’s a little more bright and aware than the rest, from what I can tell. She looks up when we’re talking about her and eats a little more carefully than the rest. Absolute beta; she rolls over and whines if any of the others wrestle with her (doesn’t always stop them, so not sure why she does it)

>Rixin is the bubblegum pink one with the tongue. It seems more inconvenient than anything, making it harder for her to eat, but she’s still pretty happy go lucky. Scrappa picks that name, but I think it sounds like some kind of pink medicine anyway. She’s taken to copying Scrappa’s show of licking her sisters clean

>I name the frizzy-haired blue one Scuttlebutt, but we call her Scuttle for short.She’s the most adventurous, and the one I have to grab and hold back the most often. She’ll keep chirping back at her sisters, so I think she’s some kind of self-appointed scout. I’m not sure how advanced their language is at birth, since I don’t recognize any of her words and it can’t be anything more informative than “there’s a tv over there” or “he gets the food from in there.”

>the youngest one with my and Scrappa’s hair combined we call Nicki. Scrappa pitches it for how relatively human she looks (smaller nose, lighter green skin, less beady eyes), and her fondness for Nicki Minaj. She gets along with the others, but she’ll bop them if they try to take her food or crawl over her. She’s not the biggest, but she’s got the confidence that seems to make all the difference with a goblin. A goblin can take a hell of a beating, but they don’t seem to realize that; it’s all about how much they’ll tolerate before they panic and run away.

>I had some yogurt and applesauce ready for them to eat, but I realize they have teeth and would make a mess out of a big bowel of the stuff. I just go with giving them some bread and hamburger, and I take them into my lap one at a time to spoonfeed them the soft stuff while Scrappa finally starts to nurse them from her chubby nipples. I try to feed them until they seem satisfied (cued by a big burp or just not gobbling it down right away), but Boosa goes through two yogurts and twice as much applesauce as the rest, so I stop her before she bursts. Nicki doesn’t eat much, but she hangs onto me just for the body contact. The twins get fussy until I feed them together. They don’t seem to mind my being human at all, though I’m mostly just glad they’re not horny and humpy right off the bat. A man’s got to have some limits, right? Plus Scrappa would probably be jealous.

>Scrappa’s surprised when I suggest we let them sleep in the bedroom with us. I ask what she had in mind, and she thought we’d just leave them in the bathroom or the living room. That sounds like it’s even more likely to cause harm to any number of things. We don’t need Scuttle climbing the tv and Rixin drinking all the shampoo. I consider a makeshift nest for them like I did for Scrappa’s first night in, but when we settle down for bed, Nicki climbs back out and wants into bed with us. Then the rest want in too, except for big Boosa who’s glad to have their nest to herself.

>Scrappa’s maternal instincts, temporary or not, let them sleep in with us. They must have had a big day, evolving from sludge before our very eyes, so they sleep like the dead in a few minutes of laying down against our body heat.I do want some sort of long-term solution for where to put them, but the guest room that Paige had seems kind of far off for the newborns. Scrappa thinks I’m overestimating the amount of care a goblin baby needs, but they’re technically my kids. No reason not to spoil them as much as I have Scrappa. Scrappa herself seems so pleased with herself that she doesn’t even ask for sex all night, but she accepts some affectionate rubbing while she watches over her pups.We stay up later to watch over them, but the only time they wake up is when Boosa wakes back up climb back into bed with us. The chubby little thing needs a boost; just a day old and she already weighs like a bowling ball

>Dec 28th: we’ve fixed a few problems for the goblin pups. I thought about it overnight and figured out where to keep them. I went over the notes and it reminded me how I first heard Scrappa scraping around under the house, and then caught her in the trap she couldn’t get back out of. I end up inviting Gruunda into the house for some quick repair work. Between her technical expertise and brute strength, it takes no time at all. I let her stay in to share a meal and meet the kids. They are absolutely terrified of the troll until they watch her eating lunch with me and Scrappa, poking their fat little heads around the corner. I wouldn’t exactly trust Aunt Gruunda to babysit, but they have some fun climbing up her legs and arms. 

>As far as updating the house, I moved the cage trap's door to the way in and out of the crawlspace under the house, and install a simple cellar door in the bedroom floor that leads below. From my basic testing, it gives us access to what I’ve been calling “the tunnels” from the bedroom, and lets the pups get in but not wander out. Gruunda and I stuffed a few extra blankets and pillows down there to make it more comfortable and keep out the draft, but we still keep the kids on the ground floor for most of the day. Scrappa is definitely right about how much attention they need; she leads them into the tunnels and they just enjoy themselves crawling and jumping around, and we can hear them better than any baby monitor through the floorboards. They're already waddling around pretty capably at 1 day old, kind of like how some animals like horses are walking within hours of their birth

>the pups are coming into their own and eating whatever we give them. They wrestle and slap-fight, which Scrappa says is natural. I still pull them apart when it's clear that one is done playing, or if biting gets involved. Apart from that, they're pretty well behaved and get along nicely. I'm not sure about the nature vs nurture of goblins, but it raises a few questions and answers others

>1. Why are goblins jerks? Grandpa's journal talks about how goblin society is a hierarchy of bullying. There's an alpha male or female who stays in charge until he's overthrown (usually beat up or assassinated). The kids scuffle a little, but there's no power struggle or even notable competition. They're even working together and playing. Is it their instincts that make them into ultra-alphas and ultra-betas, or is it a vicious circle of their bossy rulers making more cowards and bullies? Hopes are that with Scrappa being left on her own and our love and care, they can grow up to be happier and kinder creatures

>2. natural scavengers. they poke their noses everywhere, finding bits of candy and pen caps to eat. They're learning to use their noses, and while they haven't started copying, they watch while Scrappa masturbates in the corners to keep her scent markers up. The scent of family seems to reassure them, so Scrappa made sure we used our freshly used sheets for the tunnels. Nicki and Junka in particular keep sniffing at my crotch and armpits, curious about my scent. Maybe human smells strange to them, or maybe they're just trying to memorize it.

>3. best benefit of goblin babies over humans? no diapers. Like Scrappa, they don't make any waste. The loincloths seem to be for comfort and decency only. They're making their body oils as of this morning. I wonder if the secretion is how they deal with their excess waste; turn the filth into a protective film through their skin. It makes as much sense as them just digesting everything indiscriminately, and does sounds gross enough to fit the goblin way of life. still have They'll spit out a half-chewed item once in awhile if they don't like it, but that's pretty rare. Even when they do, Rixin or Boosa will eat it if I don't clean it up as fast as I can 

>4. they have the same bouncy, resilient nature as Scrappa. I minimize any injuries, but 7 of the increasingly hyper mini-Scrappas running around means I'll lose track sometimes. Somebody's going to run into a wall (Debrii) or fall off a couch (Theedy), or climb onto the ceiling and jump onto her sister (Scuttle, of course). They get right back up like nothing happened, and at most, a dark purple bruise shows up that's gone in a minute. Scrappa's warning slaps seems to calm them down if anything, so it does seem to practically be part of their language.

>Dec 29th: further notes on the kids. They spent last night running around in the tunnels but came back into bed with us. Scrappa quietly ground against me while they were sleeping, and I was able to quietly finger one out of her without moving and disturbing the pups. We do need to work out something more long term for her...

>5. we're teaching them goblish first. I don't imagine they'll talk to a lot of humans in their life, but goblish is a much more simple language more suited to their tongues. They're not talking yet beyond their gurgly babbling and chirping, but seem to be understanding some phrases (the words for bed and food stick with them). Scrappa and I use that the most around the house, and English doesn't get much of a response from them yet.

>6. so spanking is definitely a thing. Boosa doesn't know her own strength and tossed Theedy too hard into a wall. Theedy starts crying, so I tug on Boosa's ear and she looks confused. I'm not sure how else to punish her, so I turn her around and spank her chubby little butt. Turns out they like it; not only do the others giggle at it, but so does Boosa. She wiggles her booty for more, and even if it's a mixed message, I give her a few more swats. They're soon lining up for them, trying to climb over each other for the next turn at the "game." No wonder Scrappa likes it so much.

>7. I'm able to head out to the store and get some more food. I get a variety to sample on the pups, and I'm noting the more interesting results here

>human baby food: only the twins like it. The rest spit or barf it back out.

>various fruit: love them. Eat them skin and all (even banana peels)

>maple syrup: planned it for the waffles, but Boosa chugs it all down in one go

>popcorn: they tear into the bag like hyenas, spraying it everywhere and then hunting down the pieces

>scrambled eggs: love them. Nicki is nuts for them, and will fight to eat them first

>Lucky Charms: approached with caution. Scuttle bravest to try it first before waving the others over, then generally enjoyed.

>bowl of milk [cow]: play around in it before realizing it's drinkable. love it

>bowl of milk [Scrappa]: clear and oily. It gets poked and then ignored. They don't seem to trust it if it's not straight from her nipple

>8. baby goblins sleep like fucking rocks! Junka rolls over in her sleep tonight and lands on the floor. Doesn't wake up. I testingly poke at Theedy, who just starts snoring. It seems like a solution to our sex life. We move the kids carefully into the tunnels, wrap them in a blanket for good measure, and leave the trap door open a crack... then Scrappa is on me like a woman possessed.

>I'm still dressed when she starts humping me, kissing so desperately I get a few shallow cuts from her teeth. With the babies out of sight, her maternal instincts get set aside and she's my horny little slut again. I doubt I could stop her if I tried. She's cum on the crotch of my pants before I can even pull them off. By the time we're naked, I don't mind her clawing my chest and biting into my neck and shoulders as she forces my dick into her. She makes a cry so passionate that it sounds like it hurts, but she keeps slamming her hips down harder and harder on top of me. There is no vanilla sex tonight, that much is clear. I grab her tits like I plan to pop them and she whines some more. Two days without fucking her feels like months as I kiss and suck on her slimy tongue, getting her addictive flavor back inside me. 

>”You’re such a sexy mommy,” I groan as her booty slaps against my thighs again. “You’re so gorgeous and sweet and…”

>She gives a fairly word-for-word translation of ”Shut up and fuck me” in goblish and I get back to thrusting against her. I I pull her hair for leverage to shove in deeper and kiss her harder, biting her lips back as we practically duel with our mouths as much as we are making out. I cum inside her right before she does on me, creating a thick, beautiful mess between us of euphoria and those beautiful, awful goblin sex juices. I’m up just long enough to update the journal before we pass out together as happy, horny parents

>Jan 8th: New Years flew by and I barely noticed. The kids have been a handful, but not in a bad way. If I leave some spare food out, Scrappa's able to watch over them when I have to do my work or leave the house. Since the kids are walking, we take them out for a walk in the woods to meet the centaurs. Best that they know not to shoot every goblin that comes by in case one of them gets loose. The kids won't stray far, but they will bolt for short distances at surprising speed if there's something to chase. Scuttle loves all the trees, and everyone but Theedy makes a run to try to catch a squirrel or mouse or something. Boosa and Nicki surprise me when they double team and catch a chipmunk; not two weeks old and the blonde is biting the heads off of small rodents (Boosa gets the body). I'd only be prouder if I wasn't a little disgusted. Scrappa's just regular proud, and keeps praising and talking them up

>Ven and Tiniel are... amused more than pleased to see the kids. Ven plays with them a bit, but Tiniel just tries really hard to avoid stepping on them and not letting them pull her braids. Ven seems a little nuts for babies, and keeps making faces and baby talk to them (maybe more butchered Latin?). It's a riot to see her stick her tongue out at Rixin and she rolls hers out to her stomach. Tiniel talks to me in lowered tones while Ven and Scrappa fuss over the kids; "There aren't many in the world who would want more goblins alive. But if that was your goal, congratulations."

>I'm in a good enough mood to pat her on the flank and just head back to my girls. Logically and biologically, I don't know if they're my flesh and blood. Scrappa doesn't seem to know how it works, but neither of us has blue or orange hair. The pups look varied, but none of them strange enough to make me think they're demigoblins. It's possible that Scrappa stored my cum so long that she used it in making the eggs, but they way she talked about cumming on them sounds like it was all her. Not that it makes a difference anyway. I've been with her all the way, and no reason not to with the girls.

>Jan 10th: first crisis. The kids are happy and playful, though sometimes needy. Today, Junka will not stop crying. She wakes us up with her wailing, and she calms down when Scrappa picks her up and we take them to breakfast. She starts to eat a few mouthfuls before she starts crying again. Goblin crying is awful. It's all snot and big greasy tears that soak right through tissues and ruin towels, and the scream gets right inside your ears. Only the other kids don't seem to mind it.

>We try food, milk, water, holding, music, laying down... she feels a little warm, but I'm sure as hell not putting a thermometer in her. I'm not even sure what I'd be checking for. Scrappa hits her in the head a few times to shut her up, but I have to stop her when the third one does nothing and she goes for a fourth. Scrappa just growls and starts pacing. I had no idea what to do; Grandpa's books didn't go deep into fussy goblin babies. I had to call for help... so I get Mom on the phone

>I step outside so I can hear anything before I dial, and I ask mom what could cause a baby to keep crying. I can hear the smug in her voice as she goes over the basics. She's not hungry, she's not sleepy, and DEFINITELY not a messy diaper. I ask how you tell if a baby's sick, and she says you see a doctor. I tell her that I can't, and she starts to chew me out about being responsible for a 2-week old baby

>...so I tell her the baby's not human. I explain the basics, and end up texting her a photo of me and Scrappa, then one of us and the kids. Government watch list be damned; my baby's crying. I have to give her a crash course on goblins, how Grandpa’s old books are real and how they could happily live in a dumpster if they wanted and cleaning them just makes them sicker.

>"So they heal from everything?"

>"Unless they break a leg or something, yea."

>"So she's scared."

>"What?"

>"She had a bad dream or something. Or saw a scary picture or heard a scary noise. Babies are new to everything. Even if they're super smart, they're still a few hours old. They don't understand everything."

>"So... how do we fix that?"

>"Love and patience. And lots of attention. Same as everything else. It made you turn out alright."

>I thank her and tell her that she can come and see them another time if she wants. She tells me any time. We swap I love yous and tell her I'll let her know how it goes.

>Mom is right again. I give Scrappa a break and get Junka alone in the bedroom. She starts to calm down when we're in the guest room, away from the smells and the noise and just have a few quiet minutes together. She sucks on my finger, and even if she bites, at least it means her mouth is shut. I feel her grate through the skin and twitch out for a thumb, but she whines when I do. I turn my finger around and I figure out what her problem is; Junka is afraid of blood

>Grandpa said that the easiest way to take out a horde of goblins was to kill one of them. As soon as they realize their mortality, at least half of their numbers will abandon the fight and instantly run for it. But she sees the cut she made on my finger and starts to whimper, but stops when I turn it away. Maybe it was seeing her sisters slaughter the chipmunk, or maybe one of them scratched her in their sleep and gave her a scare. Something that small would have healed up before we got to her.

>"What, this? It's blood," I assure her. "I've got tons of it." I suck on the little red scrape and flick it a few times, showing it doesn't hurt. I ask if she wants to do some magic and take her to the bathroom she was hatched in. I take out some band-aids and after a couple tries, I get her to put one over the scrape. "All gone! No more blood!" Junka is too charmed to be afraid, so I plop her butt on top of the toilet to clean up all her tears. I top it off with a kiss and ask if she wants to get lunch. She just holds out her arms and tells me "sooky!" Her first real word is the goblin word for "kiss."

>After a lot of giggles and trading the word with her a few times, I take her out to see Scrappa and show off our talking, smiling baby. Scrappa's relieved to see her quieted down, but tells me that Rixin said her first words too: "fuck me!" Maybe we'll have to see about quieting down the sex...

>Jan 12th: Mom and Dad pay a visit and bring along Paige. Mom thinks they look like slimey little Muppets, but they grow on her quick. She brought them a box of brightly colored baby toys that they mess around with all day. Dad is just sort of amused by the whole thing. When he sees Scrappa, he gives me a weird look followed by a little nod as if to just say "nice." Paige is all over the babies when they come out: the kids all screamed and hid at the stranger danger, and were surprisingly good at it until Scrappa pulled them all back out. Scrappa herself gets clingy with me for a little while after meeting Mom, but I think she gets the idea and clings to Dad in the same way. She's taken and not a threat.

>It's a relief to have some helping hands, and not to have to keep lying around them. Paige says she's dog-sat for people that took less work than all these kids combined. They have lots of questions and I have lots of stories, and I try to downplay the sex parts. The smell clearly catches their nose, and I just tell them you get used to it. They offer to babysit some time, considering that all I really do is hold, water and hand out foot for them until they pass out in the evening, but really, I'm not sure what else I'd do. I can't exactly bring Scrappa anywhere, and my social life is almost non-existent.

>Mom gives me a little more about Grandpa; him or Grandma would get calls from "your boss" and he'd be gone for up to a month at a time. Mom actually grew up in town, but he sold the place and moved back out to the cabin when Mom moved out and got married. I asked if she remembered anything weird when she was a kid, but all she could remember was one time when he woke her up in the middle of the night. He shoved a bag of clothes into her arms and told her and Grandma to get in the truck, go to the cabin, and not open the door for anyone. He showed up in the morning with a gash on his head, some bruised ribs, and smelling like ash and smoke. He always just told her that "work called." I figure the cabin was his safehouse, and judging by his notes and context, my best guess is he had saved them from some vengeful vampires; ash from the dead bodies, smoke from using fire on them, don't open the door because of the threshold rule (the invite them in myth), and returned by dawn when they would die if they weren't dead already. Grandpa was fucking badass

>Mom and I go to bring in takeout when she gets a call on her cell. It sounds like a wrong number from what she's saying, but she passes it off to me. There's a clear and polite man's voice that says there's some questions about grandpa's property and they'd like an agent to meet up with me as the legal owner. I offer them a coffee shop in a couple of days and he says it sounds great. He asks if I have any other "guests," and in a way that sounds like it has quotation marks around the word. When I hesitate, he assures me politely that it's a secure line, and asks if I'm able to speak freely where I am. I tell him I have my family over, but that's not what he means. They need to know how many for legal reasons, and assure me they’re here to help. I take a minute to breathe and tell him I have ten that I know of. He asks me to double-check my math, and I count eleven besides myself; 7 kids, Scrappa, the taurs, and Gruunda. I don't itemize them for him, but he thanks me for my time and tells me to enjoy my day

>Jan 14th: Agent Decker is not what I expect... but what the hell has been lately? I've had sex with a goblin and have gay centaurs on my property? Fuck expectations.

>Anyway, Decker is this old woman (I pin her at a worn-out mid-50s) with a gray suit, graying dark hair, and ambiguously leather-colored skin. She wears a silver crucifix under her shirt collar, and her cuffs have pins on them of some symbols I don't recognize (only looks like some kind of rune or character, the other like some bizarre bird). An old, misshapen scar is near her jaw, as if she were bitten by something with crooked teeth. She's not rude, but she's quick and cold in her speech like talking to me is just another part of the job and customer service is not what she's being paid for.

>It's not hard to figure what she means; if the guy on the phone wasn't clear enough, she starts by shaking my hand and telling me that she had the utmost respect for Grandpa's work. She follows up by telling me that I can relax; she's not here to kill me, she's not going to take my property or my monsters, and that she's paying for the coffee. She just wants to know what's going on to keep tabs on things.

>I go over things loosely, with her scrawling things down in a folder on documents with official-looking seals and fine print, stopping me for weird details. How long was Scrappa pregnant? When exactly did "the North-American underbridge" find me? Have any coworkers had any physical or allergic reactions to the smell? It's... strangely surgical for her. She just does not seem to care. She hands me a few pages with lines for me to sign off on. She leans on the table and tells me that for various legal reasons, my grandpa's service to The Order, and the "druidic rite of sanctuary," I'm allowed the opportunity to declare Grandpa's property a monster preserve. So long as they remain in the area, Scrappa, Gruunda, and everything supernatural on the land is left immune to hunters (monster or mundane), government contracts, and most mortal laws. If someone wanders into my property and Gruunda swallows them whole, the feds will claim it was a bear and provide some minor cover up. If Tiniel were to gallop into town and shoot a civilian, they won't hesitate to bring her down and then come to me for answers

>I read things over carefully (pretending to know what half of it means), ask a few questions, and sign off on it. Basically, rather than waste the bullets, land, and cages on the monsters, they're letting them behave themselves and using me as a cover for them. It's partly them doing Grandpa a favor and part my legal right, but mostly a chance for them to wash their hands of the whole thing for a lazy way to hide monsters from the world. I just report to them if I take in any more

>She does say that for my age, I'm doing an impressive job in keeping a low profile. They only found me when they did their semi-annual check on Gruunda's bridge and then realized I'd nearly tripled my food budget in the last few months. So I leave the coffee shop with a few business cards, some legal documents, some laminated ID card, and a number for a doctor a town over who's "in the know" in case "symptoms" come up. I can't even pay my taxes with that little trouble from the government...

>oh, and a box of doughnuts for the girls. They tear through them as soon as I get home