Goblin Diaries: A Day At the Pond (Patreon)

>Feb 12th: the weather's surprisingly nice for this time of year. Not exactly hot, but an early Spring kind of setup. Scrappa's a little wary about the kids, but that seems to be strictly out of goblin survival instinct (what you might call cowardice). I ask her why and she says she's afraid of predators or traps or one of them getting hurt. I hug her tight and tell her that her Bicka knows best and that I'll protect every last one of them. It takes a little coaxing and bribing her with a quick fingering in the bathroom while Sahara babysits, but she complies.

>It's overall easier said than done. I have to keep my head on a swivel to keep track of all the girls. Scuttle is happy to get something taller than the kitchen table to climb, and Boosa will run over and just start uprooting bushes and weeds to find out if she can eat them. I let her go with anything that doesn't look distinctly thorny or poisonous; just means less cooking later. Junka stays by me, and since the blood gave her nightmares last time, I make a point to pick her up and cuddle her if the pups go sprinting after something. Leashes would have felt demeaning to us all, but I feel like cartoon trailer trash before long. "Nicki, don't throw rocks at your sister. Junka, stay where I can see you. Rixin, either swallow the butterfly or let it go. Don't torture the poor thing." Just that all the way to the pond.

>The kids seem to have their minds blown by the lake as they just hurry over and stare at it. I guess they haven't seen that big a body of water before... or any, really. The water they know comes in bowls and bottles. They've only been about a quarter mile from the house in their entire lives, and I'm not sure if I'll ever take that further than that. It's a little sad to think of, but at least the house they live in is about as far from humanity as the area gets, and surrounded by some beautiful scenery.

>Speaking of, the lake is just pristine. The pixies must have kept away mosquitoes, leeches or the like, because it's absolutely quiet here. Even the birds are pretty shy about the place, which I guess makes sense if what looked like pesky little balls of light lived there. It leaves the pond to ourselves, and I set out a backpack of food and towels by a beat up old blanket. It's the best I can do for now as far as a little family vacation, but I'll have to ask around for any secluded spots in the area. I might be able to get the kids to lay low in the back seat for a while if there's somewhere nice to bring them to.

>Scuttlebutt is the first to actually go up to the pond. She makes faces at her reflection for a bit before she trips in the muddy shore and her foot hits the water. She squeaks and jumps, shaking her foot out. She looks at me, as if gauging if she should be afraid or not, and I just smile as I sit with her mama. Let them make their own decisions. Of course, Scuttle's decision is never "don't do it."

>It must be something I picked up from Grandpa, because I'm still studying my family like science projects. It turns out that there's no clear answer to "can goblins swim." It's definitely not instinct to them, that much is clear. I asked Scrappa, who shrugged and didn't know what I was talking about. The pool's only about 3-feet deep; a little higher than they are tall in the middle, but nothing I can't just wade into if they get in trouble. Scuttle gets in there and it's a little awkward, but she starts paddling around. It reminds me of when I saw a monkey swimming on the natural channel; big loping strokes followed by short rests for a second or two. When she stops to eat some kind of lily pad, the other girls stop being shocked and rush in after her.

>The reason I say the swimming test is inconclusive is because there seems to be 3 levels of response to water: yes, no, and unclear. Most of them paddle around a little, nothing special but buoyant enough between all their body fat and oils. Debrii and Junka are unclear, because they can wade around the water just fine. When they get the water up to their breasts, it seems to hit them and they go into goblin panic mode. The kids have been surprisingly mellow for the most part, but it happens time to time, and Scrappa's entered it on occasion. Panic mode is basically responding to anything scary by using every single part of your body at once; kicking, punching, screaming, spitting, biting, and rolling around. It's presumably to try to be scary, but it comes off as grating. It's no wonder that the goblin survival rate isn't fantastic. Still, the thrashing seems to keep them afloat, but it appears to be by accident.

>Boosa 100% cannot swim. It might be her weight or her just not getting it, but she can walk right to the middle of the lake and stand there, ears poking just above the water. Theedy and Nicki try to show her how, but she keeps dipping back under whenever she lays out to try to kick or paddle. I generally dish out snacks and towels as they need, and wade in to break up fights or fish out the girls who get too deep or stuck in the the deeps or mud.

>Scrappa stays fidgety though. Something keeps her on edge and her ears keep twitching, and I assume it's her natural paranoia. She takes a few minutes to head to a nearby tree and mark it with her juices, which is cute when Rixin comes over and helps her. Rixin's been doing it lately where she sits down, spreads her legs, and uses her giant tongue to lick her own clit until she tastes cum. I swear the thing's only gotten long as she grows... but I assume it's the outdoors smell. Scrappa doesn't even like it when I don't smell like her.

>Eventually, I end up having to go break up Junka and Debrii when one twin bites the other while eating moss. I get back to shore with a goblet under each arm and notice Scrappa is missing. It's just enough to concern me, because I know she can do it when she wants to, especially after her whole maternal intelligence kicked in. I start to dry off the girls when there's this piercing screech from somewhere deeper in the woods. The pups freeze, and then try to rush in the direction of the noise. Even if the noise sounded like Scrappa, it was NOT the response I was expecting from the girls who didn't like sudden noises or deep water. It makes my blood go cold to realize it must not be a warning so much as a battle cry.

>I sprint after them and grab two or three, but I can't hold them all. I set my eyes ahead of them and tense my throat in that painful way she showed me a while back and speak her name. "Sahara!" The pitch black cloud of smoke races through the air a few moments later landing in front of the kids. The pups I have squirm in my grip, as if not understanding why I'd hold them back, and the smoke closes around the girls like spectral hands and lifts them off the ground. "What's all this noise, now, handsome?" the djinn yawns, striding out from the smoke in her usual dark skin and Arabian attire. I tell her to watch the kids and I'll be right back. It's all I can think to do, and I'm not sure how long Sahara will actually stick with them. I'm not her master, and she may be relatively harmless to us, but she's fickle and can tire easily away from her hearth. I just get the first decent-sized stick/club I can and book it for Scrappa as fast as I can go without tripping.

>It's not as bad as I'd expected, but definitely stranger. My lizard brain must have assumed it was a bear or snake, but not more goblins. Scrappa is on top of another female goblin with a few more males around them watching, all dressed in similar (if lower quality) scraps. The new goblin has dirty, ice-blue hair down to her ass, as is scrawnier than Scrappa in general besides a broader nose (with a crude metal stud in the nostril) and wider hips. Scrappa is in a sort of weaponized version of panic mode: she won't stop moving, but every piece of her is being used to attack, attack, attack. She and the blue-haired goblin are going at it like cats, punching and clawing and biting everything pretty ineffectively. Every so often, Scrappa swings a fist wildly around her, enough to drive back the other goblins if they try to shimmy closer. Most of them have some kind of primitive knife, and there's a stone and wood spear discarded not far from the fight.

>One of the males looks up as I appear, baring ugly little needle teeth and spraying spit as he hisses in gobblish. "Big and ugly go away," basically; pretty much one of the main phrases Grandpa translated since they use it a lot on humans.

>"Put down the pointy and get off my mate, leg-humper." He drops his knife, but his wide-eyed stare makes it look like it was in surprise, not because of my kickass oneliner. Probably the last thing he expected from me was a legible reply in goblish. The new goblins look up at me, which just lets Scrappa deliver a perfect punch to the pierced female's nose. She squeals like a startled pig and manages to slide out from under Scrappa, snorting a blob of pinkish blood from her nostril. Scrappa lets her back off, but is still in berserker mode. She won't stop stamping her feet and furiously shrieking "MEHT! MEHT!" at them, the goblin word for "mine." I step in past the goblin males, who give me aim their crappy blades at me threatening but don't do anything yet. Even rubbing a hand over Scrappa's head doesn't calm her down.

>"These are our woods!" the blue girl demands. "Bicka Doprup owns 'em!" Scrappa screams some more before I remember what I'm dealing with, and pull HARD on her hair. I rip her off her feet and push her a foot or so behind me. She seems to remember her place and shuts up, but I can hear her growling.

>"New bicka here," I tell her. "Bicka… Steve. Tell your Doprup he's too late and to go shit somewhere else." She snorts and looks me over, but her face goes between disgust, approval, and a little bit of fear.

>"Big Bicka Doprup takes over," she insists. "I am 'best screamer' Aket, and I get to talk for him. We were here first. You just get to be in our tribe."

>Territory was weird with goblins. Wherever they lived, that was their territory, and they believed they owned it no matter what. They basically lived off the rule of dibs, except that nobody else got to play. "Good point," I note calmly. "On the other hand, look at it this-" 

>I spin around and go for a grand slam swing with my tree branch that hits one of the random,  unexpecting goblins in the face. It sounds a lot like that time I cut a melon in half with a meat cleaver, and blue blood sprays out of his mouth and nose as he goes flying a few feet, bouncing another foot or two before he comes to a stop, staring at the sky.

>Goblins can take a hell of a beating in terms of blunt force. It's why slapping and spanking Scrappa tends to just get her excited. Any damage I'd do with a club would likely just grow back in a day. Of course, goblins don't care about that. The boys stare at their downed brother and I remember one of the first things Grandpa's book said about goblins: they use their numbers and ambushes to fight, but the easiest way to stop them in their tracks is to plainly remind them that they can die. Or in this case, just get their asses kicked, but they get the point. They get over the shock and haul ass out of there, screaming as if a human with a tree branch was, in fact, a very cleverly disguised volcano about to erupt. They make zero effort to save their comrade, but he gets up in another ten seconds and bolts off deeper into the woods. Not the direction his friends are going, so basically a death sentence. Goblins don't tend to fare well on their own. I'm no slayer, but I think Grandpa would be proud how I handled a bunch of goblins threatening my family

>Scrappa does explain all that on the way back. It was her old tribe, but a chief's name she didn't recognize. She'd smelled and heard them with her sharper senses and snuck off to drive them off while I watched the kids. Scrappa snapped pretty quickly when they mentioned taking over their old land and smelling goblin pups, wanting to take them into their tribe. Scrappa's just puffed up with pride when I tell her that the pups tried to charge to the rescue when she gave her battle cry, and they flock to her when I show them she's okay. Sahara kept them in line, but she's yawning deeply when I thank and dismiss her. Scrappa does sport a few small bruises and scratches, most of which are already halfway healed.

>I finally convince her to cool off in the pond. She's exhausted from the fight and greasier than ever, and she says she could use the chance to wash off the other goblin bitch's stink. It doesn't keep her from giving me a lot of wiggling hips and a little striptease on her way in to splash around naked with the kids. I also find out that Scrappa is another type 2: she sinks like a greasy green rock.

>I don't tell the kids what happened with the other tribe, but Nicki looks concerned and Rixin was sniffing around a lot. They don't pry when we get home and I tell them to stay in the house without one of us; them being on lockdown isn't really anything new. They're getting bright enough to know when they'll doze off, so at night we just walk them down to their basement bedroom instead of having to lug seven girls into bed each night. I'm amazed again at how quickly they're growing and maturing as I ease the lid down on their trap door.

>That night, I make sure to give Scrappa a hero's welcome. Every position she likes for as long as she can stand it. Carefully easing the greasy milk out of her swollen breasts that had taken such a beating in the scrap. Whispering praises in her ears of how brave and strong she was for her bicka. Calling her “pretty” and “piji-riti” and all her favorite pet names. Her pride alone seems to make her break her old record in orgasms that night, which is an assuring sign of the goblin condition and how firm a grasp I seem to have on her mindset. When she's got cum in every orifice and looking so happy she could melt, she finally dozes off. I'm only updated the journal now because I made sure there was a baseball bat or equivalent near the bed and each of the cabin doors.