another part in the Scrapa story while being something of an aside. I know some people wondered about the non-goblin residents. I check in on everyone who's not directly related to Scrappa in this one, and introduce a few more members of the populace that Steve wasn't so aware of. It's thoroughly canon and stuff I'm pleased with, but just don't mind if it's wanders a bit from Scrappa herself for a bit on this entry.
>Feb 8: Scrappa has the kids pretty under control today, so I decide it’s time to take inventory on the old place. I’ve been feeding Gruunda and tossing some flammables to Sahara, but I’ve been neglecting a lot of the studies I’ve been doing on my local goblins. I tell Scrappa I’ll be out to check up on things and bundle up to go back out into the woods.
>Gruunda’s right out back in her shed. It’s pretty cloudy out, so she’s a bit less cringey to come outside. She still has that weird octopus body, popping out of the small space and filling out when she’s in the open air without seeming to need to stretch. She gulps down some pasta, old bread and chicken wings, bones and all. I ask what she’s been up to, and she talks about how she’s been having a lot of fun working the internet. She’s started a deviantart page that she links to my email, and she “namefags” around on 4chan drawthreads. I later found out that her page had some remarkable artwork on it: detailed stuff she’s doodled out, mostly human form stuff. I guess her skills in crafts and detailed work extends to art. I make a note to get her a reference book, but she apparently already got a drawing tablet. APPARENTLY a package came for her when I was out at work one day. APPARENTLY people started commenting on her deviantart, and now she’s taking commissions after enough people asked for “draw more tits.” She used that money to Paypal some supplies for herself. I make sure she’s not leaking any kind of important information about the monsters living here, but she says trolls know how to stay secret.
>Ven and Tiniel are holding up nicely The centaurs have got a simple setup, sort of like a barn with a lot of human touches. Kind of a 3-walled box with a roof, with plenty of room for them to walk around and a curtain of what looks to be a bear skin. They’re relaxing out by a fire pit, Ven resting with her head on Tiniel’s breast while the big one pets her hair and tends to the fire. They’re still pretty adorable together, and the big badass centaur gently wakes her lover to tell her they have company. Tiniel invites me for lunch, which I decide to take her up on. I planned to be out for a while anyway. Ven fetches a pot of water while Tin gathers up some of the meat and veggies from bowls in their shelter. It’s… a lot more gruesome than I had planned on, since the “meat” is a good portion of a badger corpse. Tin carves it up with a knife while hardly flinching, even wiping some of the blood off on her flank.
>While I have her alone, I ask how she ended up with Ven. It’s… quite the story, and clearly one that she savors telling. It’s got a lot of poetic descriptions about Ven (“eyes like sunrises” and “hair woven by the goddess”), but it sounds like the frailer of the centaurs is some sort of “wizened longbow.” It’s something about a bloodline that was kept pure for generations and some of the best leaders and skilled magic users of their kind were a part of it. When I press, Tiniel shrugs and admits she’s kind of a princess. Tiniel had offered to leave the herd to thin their numbers like she’d mentioned (apparently they were eating too much and too crowded to hide easily), and Ven had sort of defied the norm by sneaking off to go with her lover. For the big scary bodyguard type, it’s cute to see the nostalgia and just plain love in Tiniel’s eyes when she talks about her partner. It reminds me of the softer looks that Scrappa gives me.
>The stew’s not bad. The meat’s a little tough, but their knowledge and magic with plants makes Ven good at using spices and such to help with the taste. Apparently the hunting’s good out here, and they haven’t really needed much besides me lending them a few cooking pots when they first got settled. The ladies offer me some tribute for my hospitality in the form of some bear meat they had leftover, but I settle for some wild carrots.
>When we’re finished and Tiniel starts to clean up, Ven brings up that “It was out there again. I took care of it.” Tiniel grunts in annoyance, and I ask what’s up. Tiniel brings up the fairies that are starting to wake up, but they’re still slow in the chilly weather (one of them managed to pinch Ven’s butt when she went by the lake, but it got swatted by her tail). The real oddity was they’d been seeing this skeletal figure on the grounds. Every so often (between a few weeks and a few days), one of them will see something stumbling through the woods. Tin shot it the first time and found it was just that: an actual skeleton walking around. She shoots it down each time she sees it, but either it or another one show up later regardless. She hasn’t seen it start any trouble, per se, but it’s not something they like lurking around.
> I remember grandpa’s books talking about skeletons kind of being the lightweights of the monster world; they were no goblins, but they were clumsy, brittle, and easily surprised. If nothing else, I’m curious. It could be another inhabitant, if it’s friendly. Otherwise, I know he left a ritual for undoing undead curses on one of the pages.
>I tell them I’ll check it out. I get a solid branch off a tree and head out to the river. It’s nothing especially big or deep, just enough to get most of your boot wet if you stepped in it. I have to go looking for a while before I finally see her. It’s hard to put any details on a skeleton; it’s plain, old bones, something on the short side of just under 5 feet, though pretty clean for something stumbling around the woods. The skeleton has this lost and empty look to it, just sort of lurching around and looking just ahead of it. I stay far enough away that I don’t think it notices me, and consider taking it out for them. I decide I should get that ritual ready first and leave it be for now. I starting back towards the house when I start hearing some rustling in the grass. I turn around too late to realize that the skeletons don’t just shamble; they can sprint. I'm tackled to the ground and boney fingers pin down my wrists. The smell hits me and it's... flowery. Again, surprisingly clean, and up close, her bones don't really have any apparent rot or cracks beyond just being bones.
>Now... I'm not really sure how to describe being fucked by a skeleton. It's not even what you think it'd be, with a dick in the pelvis or anything. She sort of just frantically pulled my pants down, sat on my thighs, and started humping the space an inch or two away from my dick. I still stand by the idea that I was only hard from living with Scrappa for so long, and being expected to fuck as much as six times a day. There's sexy monsters living on my grounds, but come on. A man has his limits.
>The skeleton starts to make these moans... again, not what I expected from her. The noises are clearly feminine, and like a woman in the throes of ecstasy. Whatever she thinks she's doing, she's enjoying it. She's surprisingly strong and heavy for being literally bones, so I can't exactly escape, but she's not really hurting anything either. Her bony jaw hangs open as she starts to pant rapidly and... I see her face. It's a spectral glow, but it outlines a plump woman's features. The outline runs down her body and big breasts bounce on her chest. Wide hips grind along over the pelvic bone, and while still intangible, I can see where the would-be flesh would be grinding on my shaft. While I'm not quite penetrating the skeleton, the spirit inside seemed to think that I was. I decide to keep quiet and let her run with that train of thought rather than correct her.
>her vague moans turned into encouraging whispers in her ethereal voice. "Yes, yes," and "Harder! Please!" I start to move hesitantly, sliding into her slowly more and more visible body. It just makes her wilder, shouting and moaning as she grabs my hips rather than my wrists as if she's convinced I won't run at this point. I watch her rapidly appearing and disappearing shape ride on me, and I'm even starting to feel a faint pressure on my shaft in the last few moments. When she spasms with her orgasm (apparently I was hitting her metaphysical g-spot), and her pale form manifests in full. Enough to make out a fair-haired woman, short and chubby and looking in the ballpark of her early forties. She appears just long enough for her "o face" before there's a burst of cold liquid on my lap. She cums ectoplasm onto me, this silvery blue liquid that sticks to my skin, just to slowly vanish about a minute later. The skeleton's grip on me goes weak and she falls off of me into the dirt. The skeleton doesn't move for a bit, but the transluscent ghost form lingers longer.
>"That was the best time of my life," she wheezes, despite not having any breath to be out of. I tell her I have some bad news about that.
>The spirit is incredibly calmed down after her pseudo-sex (she only calls it "boning" once). The journals mentioned some ghosts could feed off of life force, like draining youth and beauty from women, and she seems a lot more lively and talkative as we go on, suggesting that she considered sex a sign of life. Or maybe it was the precum... like I said, she looked like a woman by the end and there was some kind of unseen pressure going on (look, I'm telling myself it wasn't necrophilia if I didn't initiate anything).
>I find her name was/is Abigail, and that she's been dead for about two hundred years. She was a lonely washerwoman who was lured out to these woods someone started strangling her from behind her (maybe fae or goblins, given the location). I talk her through it until I find her last thoughts were that she was going to die a virgin, which explains a lot. I get the working theory that she's a ghost using her old bones to move around, rather than a traditional skeleton. She's shown she can exit the skeleton (astral projection style) and let it drop to the ground, where the bones look a little more worn and old than when she's inside them. Ghosts are often bound by something, whether it's an event, motive, or an object. So... Abby's unfinished business was getting the D. It's no "avenge my wife's murder" level revenge story, but I guess it works.
>Abby's a bit harder to piece together what to do with than the rest. She doesn't really need for or anything, and the sex seems to have invigorated her rather than send her on to the afterlife. She says she's thinking more clearly and feeling stronger after our encounter, so it sounds like it's good for her. It sounds like as long as she's self-aware like this, I can convince her to leave the centaurs alone and talk to them about what's really going on. Abby's main problem is she had a lot of self-esteem issues back then. She's not bad-looking, but definitely a big woman and heavy on the freckles. I remember Scrappa and how she was just weeping with joy when I finally got her to think she was beautiful, and try applying a little of that.
>By the late afternoon, I've brought what I think is a more long-term solution. I take her back to the cabin and introduce her to Scrappa. She squints and looks at me funny for showing her a walking pile of bones, and I think it confirms that goblins have zero perception of the dead (or lacking a 6th sense, if you will). She doesn't see even the fully manifested Abby, even when she manages to lift and toss a rock with her spectral form. She agrees with me to give up a few things that she's not using, and to keep the kids from trying to eat her bones while I fetch some things. When I'm back, Abby's making the girls giggle by taking off her skull and tossing it around in a little show of dexterity. Pretty nimble for a dead woman.
>I give her a few skirts, a long dress I never got around to modifying for Scrappa, a bit of makeup, some underwear, and an old blonde wig from a Halloween long past that I didn't have the heart to trash for some reason. She puts on the dress and seems to appreciate the touch of femininity on her old naked bones. The last one was a bit trickier, but it looks like it will do the job; the books included some simple sigils, some kind of ancient markings that affect the metaphysical properties of objects. They can be made to burn the undead or detect the presence of certain creatures, so long as the marking stays in tact. Scrappa has a number of sex toys that she doesn't use much anymore, so I passed on onto her. Basically, one quick rune later and I have essentially invented the ghost dildo. I use it to tap Abby on the arm, and her eyes go wide at the implications and gladly takes it with her bundle of clothes.
>I take her back for one last trip before I come home to cook dinner. Sahara doesn't take up much space, but I'm not sure how Abby would fit in the house where the girls eat everything that doesn't move and fits in their mouths (there is no such thing as childproofing for hyper-learning, hyper-growing omnivorous goblins). I introduce her to the centaurs, who give her a sort of open door policy and offer to build her a hut some time soon. Along the way, I head down river with Abby to check out this lake. We swam there once or twice when I was young, but even in the Summer I was never super big on swimming. Thankfully, I don't remember anything about being pulled under by fairies
>There are a few of them buzzing around like shimmering dragonflies. They're human shamed with big eyes, each about the width of two toothpicks at any given point. There's just enough curve to their faces and chests to look female, but even nude it's hard to tell. They start to swirl around me curiously when I arrive and try to strike up a conversation. "I'm Steve. I live a little way over there, and I sort of own the property. I wanted to know if you girls-"
One of them bites me on the finger. I recoil from that and another one steals the button off my coat. A third steals the button off my pants. Three of them swarm down there, tugging at my pants with needly little teeth and strong little fingers. I felt like I'd been raped enough for one day, so I swat them away. One flies in front of my face and sticks her tongue and butt out at me, so I give her a flick that flings her into the water. I can see why the ladies asked me to talk to them. The books later confirm that these are pixies, basically the shitty kind of fairy. They're little balls of chaos and magic that just like to make pests of themselves.
>It takes some effort not to try and squash a few of them. I end up just walking Abby back to her general place to let her rest and play with her new toys. I head back and do some reading on how to deal with pixies while I cook up some spaghetti and warm up some bread for the family. The main thing I find is ways to bait them and how "cold" iron (basically anything with a high enough iron content) is the best way to deal with them. They're easily tempted or bribed with bread, milk, butter, alcohol, or jewelry, apparently. Pixies are too chaotic and dimwitted to ever create anything, and they're certainly not good with animals, so those creations are hard to come by. I cross-reference that with the fairies entry, and it shows how fae of all sorts will not break a bargain or else suffer mind-blowing pain that usually destroys them on the spot. It gives me one last idea.
>I head back out just before it gets dark with my flashlight and the tupperware. The pixies are easy to spot by night, like big feminine fireflies. They gather around the light for a bit, but then I crack open the tupperware a bit. They flood to it, only to find it too small to fit inside that crack. I've come armed not with iron, but with spaghetti, marinara, bread with disgusting amounts of butter on it, and a squeeze bottle of some whiskey we had leftover. They buzz around and grab at it, but I planned enough to wear thick gloves and keep the items tucked tight under my arm.
>"Leave the pond," I state clearly like there's extra weight to my words. "Go live upriver or deeper in the woods, and don't bother anyone." They freeze up and chitter something in their chirping little language. Everything just sounds like "pip!" to me. "Do that, and all this stuff is yours. I'll double it next month, and bring it again every month after. Is that a deal?"
>The dozen pixies hover in front of me, staring with their big, pupil-less eyes. They huddle up and give some more "pip pip!"s at each other before one floats up to me, nods firmly with her hands on her tiny hips, and holds out a hand. I take it between three fingers to shake it, and it feels like there's a tiny pricking on my hand. I pull it back and see what looks like a scratch from a thumbtack on my palm, a tiny drip of blood coming from it. The blood coats the lead pixie's hand, which she doesn't bother to wipe off and nods. "Done," she chirps in this hyper helium tone of voice. "Gimme." I make a quick head count and then pass off the goods. The pixies have to work together to carry it all, but they fly off like shots into the woods.
>It feels good to settle these kinds of things. I get back home and the kids all dogpile onto me, grabbing and kissing and wrestling me after missing me all day. I make sure everyone gets their hugs and kisses back, but they don't want to let go. I settle on just cuddling up on the couch and watching some cartoons with Scrappa and the kids. It's not until the kids are put to bed and I'm done having sex with Scrappa that I realize I've cleared out the lake and the girls have been pretty much cooped up in the house for their first few months... I wonder if stale pond water would be better for them than a bath
>Feb 8: Scrappa has the kids pretty under control today, so I decide it’s time to take inventory on the old place. I’ve been feeding Gruunda and tossing some flammables to Sahara, but I’ve been neglecting a lot of the studies I’ve been doing on my local goblins. I tell Scrappa I’ll be out to check up on things and bundle up to go back out into the woods.
>Gruunda’s right out back in her shed. It’s pretty cloudy out, so she’s a bit less cringey to come outside. She still has that weird octopus body, popping out of the small space and filling out when she’s in the open air without seeming to need to stretch. She gulps down some pasta, old bread and chicken wings, bones and all. I ask what she’s been up to, and she talks about how she’s been having a lot of fun working the internet. She’s started a deviantart page that she links to my email, and she “namefags” around on 4chan drawthreads. I later found out that her page had some remarkable artwork on it: detailed stuff she’s doodled out, mostly human form stuff. I guess her skills in crafts and detailed work extends to art. I make a note to get her a reference book, but she apparently already got a drawing tablet. APPARENTLY a package came for her when I was out at work one day. APPARENTLY people started commenting on her deviantart, and now she’s taking commissions after enough people asked for “draw more tits.” She used that money to Paypal some supplies for herself. I make sure she’s not leaking any kind of important information about the monsters living here, but she says trolls know how to stay secret.
>Ven and Tiniel are holding up nicely The centaurs have got a simple setup, sort of like a barn with a lot of human touches. Kind of a 3-walled box with a roof, with plenty of room for them to walk around and a curtain of what looks to be a bear skin. They’re relaxing out by a fire pit, Ven resting with her head on Tiniel’s breast while the big one pets her hair and tends to the fire. They’re still pretty adorable together, and the big badass centaur gently wakes her lover to tell her they have company. Tiniel invites me for lunch, which I decide to take her up on. I planned to be out for a while anyway. Ven fetches a pot of water while Tin gathers up some of the meat and veggies from bowls in their shelter. It’s… a lot more gruesome than I had planned on, since the “meat” is a good portion of a badger corpse. Tin carves it up with a knife while hardly flinching, even wiping some of the blood off on her flank.
>While I have her alone, I ask how she ended up with Ven. It’s… quite the story, and clearly one that she savors telling. It’s got a lot of poetic descriptions about Ven (“eyes like sunrises” and “hair woven by the goddess”), but it sounds like the frailer of the centaurs is some sort of “wizened longbow.” It’s something about a bloodline that was kept pure for generations and some of the best leaders and skilled magic users of their kind were a part of it. When I press, Tiniel shrugs and admits she’s kind of a princess. Tiniel had offered to leave the herd to thin their numbers like she’d mentioned (apparently they were eating too much and too crowded to hide easily), and Ven had sort of defied the norm by sneaking off to go with her lover. For the big scary bodyguard type, it’s cute to see the nostalgia and just plain love in Tiniel’s eyes when she talks about her partner. It reminds me of the softer looks that Scrappa gives me.
>The stew’s not bad. The meat’s a little tough, but their knowledge and magic with plants makes Ven good at using spices and such to help with the taste. Apparently the hunting’s good out here, and they haven’t really needed much besides me lending them a few cooking pots when they first got settled. The ladies offer me some tribute for my hospitality in the form of some bear meat they had leftover, but I settle for some wild carrots.
>When we’re finished and Tiniel starts to clean up, Ven brings up that “It was out there again. I took care of it.” Tiniel grunts in annoyance, and I ask what’s up. Tiniel brings up the fairies that are starting to wake up, but they’re still slow in the chilly weather (one of them managed to pinch Ven’s butt when she went by the lake, but it got swatted by her tail). The real oddity was they’d been seeing this skeletal figure on the grounds. Every so often (between a few weeks and a few days), one of them will see something stumbling through the woods. Tin shot it the first time and found it was just that: an actual skeleton walking around. She shoots it down each time she sees it, but either it or another one show up later regardless. She hasn’t seen it start any trouble, per se, but it’s not something they like lurking around.
> I remember grandpa’s books talking about skeletons kind of being the lightweights of the monster world; they were no goblins, but they were clumsy, brittle, and easily surprised. If nothing else, I’m curious. It could be another inhabitant, if it’s friendly. Otherwise, I know he left a ritual for undoing undead curses on one of the pages.
>I tell them I’ll check it out. I get a solid branch off a tree and head out to the river. It’s nothing especially big or deep, just enough to get most of your boot wet if you stepped in it. I have to go looking for a while before I finally see her. It’s hard to put any details on a skeleton; it’s plain, old bones, something on the short side of just under 5 feet, though pretty clean for something stumbling around the woods. The skeleton has this lost and empty look to it, just sort of lurching around and looking just ahead of it. I stay far enough away that I don’t think it notices me, and consider taking it out for them. I decide I should get that ritual ready first and leave it be for now. I starting back towards the house when I start hearing some rustling in the grass. I turn around too late to realize that the skeletons don’t just shamble; they can sprint. I'm tackled to the ground and boney fingers pin down my wrists. The smell hits me and it's... flowery. Again, surprisingly clean, and up close, her bones don't really have any apparent rot or cracks beyond just being bones.
>Now... I'm not really sure how to describe being fucked by a skeleton. It's not even what you think it'd be, with a dick in the pelvis or anything. She sort of just frantically pulled my pants down, sat on my thighs, and started humping the space an inch or two away from my dick. I still stand by the idea that I was only hard from living with Scrappa for so long, and being expected to fuck as much as six times a day. There's sexy monsters living on my grounds, but come on. A man has his limits.
>The skeleton starts to make these moans... again, not what I expected from her. The noises are clearly feminine, and like a woman in the throes of ecstasy. Whatever she thinks she's doing, she's enjoying it. She's surprisingly strong and heavy for being literally bones, so I can't exactly escape, but she's not really hurting anything either. Her bony jaw hangs open as she starts to pant rapidly and... I see her face. It's a spectral glow, but it outlines a plump woman's features. The outline runs down her body and big breasts bounce on her chest. Wide hips grind along over the pelvic bone, and while still intangible, I can see where the would-be flesh would be grinding on my shaft. While I'm not quite penetrating the skeleton, the spirit inside seemed to think that I was. I decide to keep quiet and let her run with that train of thought rather than correct her.
>her vague moans turned into encouraging whispers in her ethereal voice. "Yes, yes," and "Harder! Please!" I start to move hesitantly, sliding into her slowly more and more visible body. It just makes her wilder, shouting and moaning as she grabs my hips rather than my wrists as if she's convinced I won't run at this point. I watch her rapidly appearing and disappearing shape ride on me, and I'm even starting to feel a faint pressure on my shaft in the last few moments. When she spasms with her orgasm (apparently I was hitting her metaphysical g-spot), and her pale form manifests in full. Enough to make out a fair-haired woman, short and chubby and looking in the ballpark of her early forties. She appears just long enough for her "o face" before there's a burst of cold liquid on my lap. She cums ectoplasm onto me, this silvery blue liquid that sticks to my skin, just to slowly vanish about a minute later. The skeleton's grip on me goes weak and she falls off of me into the dirt. The skeleton doesn't move for a bit, but the transluscent ghost form lingers longer.
>"That was the best time of my life," she wheezes, despite not having any breath to be out of. I tell her I have some bad news about that.
>The spirit is incredibly calmed down after her pseudo-sex (she only calls it "boning" once). The journals mentioned some ghosts could feed off of life force, like draining youth and beauty from women, and she seems a lot more lively and talkative as we go on, suggesting that she considered sex a sign of life. Or maybe it was the precum... like I said, she looked like a woman by the end and there was some kind of unseen pressure going on (look, I'm telling myself it wasn't necrophilia if I didn't initiate anything).
>I find her name was/is Abigail, and that she's been dead for about two hundred years. She was a lonely washerwoman who was lured out to these woods someone started strangling her from behind her (maybe fae or goblins, given the location). I talk her through it until I find her last thoughts were that she was going to die a virgin, which explains a lot. I get the working theory that she's a ghost using her old bones to move around, rather than a traditional skeleton. She's shown she can exit the skeleton (astral projection style) and let it drop to the ground, where the bones look a little more worn and old than when she's inside them. Ghosts are often bound by something, whether it's an event, motive, or an object. So... Abby's unfinished business was getting the D. It's no "avenge my wife's murder" level revenge story, but I guess it works.
>Abby's a bit harder to piece together what to do with than the rest. She doesn't really need for or anything, and the sex seems to have invigorated her rather than send her on to the afterlife. She says she's thinking more clearly and feeling stronger after our encounter, so it sounds like it's good for her. It sounds like as long as she's self-aware like this, I can convince her to leave the centaurs alone and talk to them about what's really going on. Abby's main problem is she had a lot of self-esteem issues back then. She's not bad-looking, but definitely a big woman and heavy on the freckles. I remember Scrappa and how she was just weeping with joy when I finally got her to think she was beautiful, and try applying a little of that.
>By the late afternoon, I've brought what I think is a more long-term solution. I take her back to the cabin and introduce her to Scrappa. She squints and looks at me funny for showing her a walking pile of bones, and I think it confirms that goblins have zero perception of the dead (or lacking a 6th sense, if you will). She doesn't see even the fully manifested Abby, even when she manages to lift and toss a rock with her spectral form. She agrees with me to give up a few things that she's not using, and to keep the kids from trying to eat her bones while I fetch some things. When I'm back, Abby's making the girls giggle by taking off her skull and tossing it around in a little show of dexterity. Pretty nimble for a dead woman.
>I give her a few skirts, a long dress I never got around to modifying for Scrappa, a bit of makeup, some underwear, and an old blonde wig from a Halloween long past that I didn't have the heart to trash for some reason. She puts on the dress and seems to appreciate the touch of femininity on her old naked bones. The last one was a bit trickier, but it looks like it will do the job; the books included some simple sigils, some kind of ancient markings that affect the metaphysical properties of objects. They can be made to burn the undead or detect the presence of certain creatures, so long as the marking stays in tact. Scrappa has a number of sex toys that she doesn't use much anymore, so I passed on onto her. Basically, one quick rune later and I have essentially invented the ghost dildo. I use it to tap Abby on the arm, and her eyes go wide at the implications and gladly takes it with her bundle of clothes.
>I take her back for one last trip before I come home to cook dinner. Sahara doesn't take up much space, but I'm not sure how Abby would fit in the house where the girls eat everything that doesn't move and fits in their mouths (there is no such thing as childproofing for hyper-learning, hyper-growing omnivorous goblins). I introduce her to the centaurs, who give her a sort of open door policy and offer to build her a hut some time soon. Along the way, I head down river with Abby to check out this lake. We swam there once or twice when I was young, but even in the Summer I was never super big on swimming. Thankfully, I don't remember anything about being pulled under by fairies
>There are a few of them buzzing around like shimmering dragonflies. They're human shamed with big eyes, each about the width of two toothpicks at any given point. There's just enough curve to their faces and chests to look female, but even nude it's hard to tell. They start to swirl around me curiously when I arrive and try to strike up a conversation. "I'm Steve. I live a little way over there, and I sort of own the property. I wanted to know if you girls-"
One of them bites me on the finger. I recoil from that and another one steals the button off my coat. A third steals the button off my pants. Three of them swarm down there, tugging at my pants with needly little teeth and strong little fingers. I felt like I'd been raped enough for one day, so I swat them away. One flies in front of my face and sticks her tongue and butt out at me, so I give her a flick that flings her into the water. I can see why the ladies asked me to talk to them. The books later confirm that these are pixies, basically the shitty kind of fairy. They're little balls of chaos and magic that just like to make pests of themselves.
>It takes some effort not to try and squash a few of them. I end up just walking Abby back to her general place to let her rest and play with her new toys. I head back and do some reading on how to deal with pixies while I cook up some spaghetti and warm up some bread for the family. The main thing I find is ways to bait them and how "cold" iron (basically anything with a high enough iron content) is the best way to deal with them. They're easily tempted or bribed with bread, milk, butter, alcohol, or jewelry, apparently. Pixies are too chaotic and dimwitted to ever create anything, and they're certainly not good with animals, so those creations are hard to come by. I cross-reference that with the fairies entry, and it shows how fae of all sorts will not break a bargain or else suffer mind-blowing pain that usually destroys them on the spot. It gives me one last idea.
>I head back out just before it gets dark with my flashlight and the tupperware. The pixies are easy to spot by night, like big feminine fireflies. They gather around the light for a bit, but then I crack open the tupperware a bit. They flood to it, only to find it too small to fit inside that crack. I've come armed not with iron, but with spaghetti, marinara, bread with disgusting amounts of butter on it, and a squeeze bottle of some whiskey we had leftover. They buzz around and grab at it, but I planned enough to wear thick gloves and keep the items tucked tight under my arm.
>"Leave the pond," I state clearly like there's extra weight to my words. "Go live upriver or deeper in the woods, and don't bother anyone." They freeze up and chitter something in their chirping little language. Everything just sounds like "pip!" to me. "Do that, and all this stuff is yours. I'll double it next month, and bring it again every month after. Is that a deal?"
>The dozen pixies hover in front of me, staring with their big, pupil-less eyes. They huddle up and give some more "pip pip!"s at each other before one floats up to me, nods firmly with her hands on her tiny hips, and holds out a hand. I take it between three fingers to shake it, and it feels like there's a tiny pricking on my hand. I pull it back and see what looks like a scratch from a thumbtack on my palm, a tiny drip of blood coming from it. The blood coats the lead pixie's hand, which she doesn't bother to wipe off and nods. "Done," she chirps in this hyper helium tone of voice. "Gimme." I make a quick head count and then pass off the goods. The pixies have to work together to carry it all, but they fly off like shots into the woods.
>It feels good to settle these kinds of things. I get back home and the kids all dogpile onto me, grabbing and kissing and wrestling me after missing me all day. I make sure everyone gets their hugs and kisses back, but they don't want to let go. I settle on just cuddling up on the couch and watching some cartoons with Scrappa and the kids. It's not until the kids are put to bed and I'm done having sex with Scrappa that I realize I've cleared out the lake and the girls have been pretty much cooped up in the house for their first few months... I wonder if stale pond water would be better for them than a bath
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