The whispers started small. A compliment here. A scroll tucked under a spell jar there. A casual “cutie” or “nice head scarf” thrown Ma’s way during war planning. Nothing big. Just enough to wrinkle her brow.
Ravi was a Nestling. Not born of the holler, but dropped in like a stray, to be trained and maybe shaped into something useful. Trouble was, he came with more charm than stars, and it didn’t take long before that charm started orbiting Ma.
He wasn’t one of the OG cousins.
He had bravado and a decent hit ratio. He followed war instructions, nodded a lot at the strategy scrolls, and earned his keep just fine.
But he wasn’t raised by Ma and Pa like the others.
Didn’t take long before the flirting started. Light at first. Compliments that could be passed off as polite. A cheeky grin here, a scribbled parchment there. One morning Ma found a folded leaf beside the potion kettle with a note scrawled in crooked handwriting:
“Nice hair ribbon today, Ma.” With a heart scrawled next to it.
Another day, a bark scroll tucked under her door read:
“You spice things up around here. We should go play games outside the holler sometime, just you and me. More privacy that way..”
Then a drawing of stick goblins, one with a head scarf and one looking suspiciously like the nestling, holding hands in the forest.
Ma didn’t answer at first. Just looked at the leaf, tilted her head, and took a long sip of her tea.
Eventually, Ma left a response of her own. A short scroll pinned to Ravi’s bunk post with a sprig of thistle:
“You want attention, win stars. You want rewards, win the Star Challenge. You want to flirt, go find a goblin who ain’t busy runnin’ a damn clan.”
And that should have been the end of it.
He didn’t stop.
One evening, as she was restocking spell jars, Ravi wandered up all casual and asked:
“Hey cutie. Am I flirtin’? What do you think?”
Ma blinked slow.
“I think I got potions to stir. What do you want? A juice box?”
He looked deflated. “You think of me as a kid?”
“Yes. Because that’s what you are.” Ma answered simply, turning back to her task.
And it wasn’t just Ma he was distracting. Word spread. Cousins started whispering. Ellie Mae swore she saw Ma roll her eyes hard enough to trigger an earthquake spell. RG nearly challenged Ravi to a duel with dull spoons until Ma waved them off.
She tried ignoring it. Shrugged it off. Muttered “damn kids” under her breath when he hovered too close offering to carry her basket.
Pa had been watching from a distance the whole time, arms crossed, half amused, like a farmer watching a rooster try to flirt with a scarecrow.
“He’s just talkin’, Ma. Let the boy dream,” he teased one evening.
But Ma had her limits.
“Listen,” she told Pa after one too many leaf scrolls fluttered her way, “I’m out here fendin’ off 25 year old rogues like a tavern keeper with a busted broom. I know you’re more war logs than love songs, but these baby goblins out here flirtin’ like it’s goblin Tinder and I’m the grand prize. I need you to activate Husband Mode. Throw an arm around me in public or pin a scroll to the war barn. I don’t care which.”
Pa kept grinning, but he heard her. She wanted protecting, and that was part of his job. So he gave her back a quiet pat as he passed, then said the words that always settled her shoulders.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Ma spotted it mid morning, halfway through her chores, on her way from the potting shed to the well when something caught her eye.
A large parchment scroll.
Pinned to the side of the war barn.
With Pa’s dagger.
She stepped closer, squinted at the recognizable handwriting.
I wasn’t gonna say nothing
But apparently some goblins read with their hearts instead of their eyes.
So let’s break it down.
If you leave Ma a love note on a leaf…
If you call her cutie twice in one war cycle…
If you suggest she should “come play games” with you outside the holler…
Then congratulations:
You’ve mistaken a clan matriarch for a matchmaker quest.
Ma ain’t your side mission.
She’s my co-leader, potion making, spell slinging, ribbon wearing terror of TH16 bases.
And NO, she don’t want your bark poetry, or your late night flirting.
She’s already paired with a goblin who knows better than to compliment her head scarf before she’s had her coffee. Or her nap.
So unless you’re ready to 3 star my base
SIT. DOWN.
— Pa “Tired of the Leaves but Not of Her” Goblin
By the time she finished reading, her brows were high, lips parted, and one hand was planted firmly on her hip.
“Well, alrighty then…” she muttered, half impressed, half exasperated. “Guess that’s one way to handle it.”
She looked around, but Pa was nowhere in sight.
Of course.
Ma shook her head, smirked just a little, and continued on toward the well, certain that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t.
The next morning, the holler woke to shrieking.
Ellie Mae and Nickie had found it. Another scroll stabbed into the side of the war barn, same dagger, same unmistakable handwriting.
“MA!” Ellie hollered, practically breathless. “He’s doin’ it again! Come look at this!”
Ma was halfway through gathering herbs when the commotion reached her ears. She trudged up the hill, apron still dusted with sassroot, expecting a busted cart or someone stuck in the rain barrel again.
Instead, she found half the cousins gathered around the war barn, cackling.
Ellie pointed, eyes wide and delighted, Nickie giggling beside her. “Pa’s buildin’ a monument.”
And sure enough, at the bottom of the parchment, in neat script:
The 12 Days of Holler Warnings
Day 1: Know Your Place
Ma Goblin ain’t flattered.
Ma Goblin ain’t impressed.
Ma Goblin ain’t yours.
Ma squinted, read the scroll once, muttered under her breath: “Good Lord….”
By the next morning, word had spread. The cousins were up before dawn, crowding around the barn like it was Winterfest. No one saw Pa, just the fresh scroll, dagger still warm.
Ma had just fetched water when she saw a cluster of cousins gathered around the side of the barn, having knocked over a wheelbarrow in the rush. She raised an eyebrow, dropped her bucket, and approached.
Ellie pointed, breathless. “Pa’s at it again!”
“I swear he’s sleep-postin’!” Nickie exclaimed.
Ma read the scroll, took a slow breath.
“Well damn,” she muttered with a half‑smile.
She turned back toward chores. “He’s finished, right?” she asked.
Ellie just grinned and shook her head. “Who knows? It’s Pa!”
Ma sighed.
Day 2: Leaf It Alone
If you’re writing love notes on leaves
you best be prepared to get raked
That morning the cousins pounded on Ma’s door.
“Scroll, Ma!” Krypto hollered. “There’s another one!”
She trudged up to the war barn, hair in a loose braid, apron dusty, eyes amused. When she read it, she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“No punctuation this time?” she teased quietly. “Someone needs a proofreader.”
This time, the cousins brought snacks. Ellie Mae had a biscuit in one hand and a notepad in the other. Nickie had a full bag of popcorn.
“Y’all think this is a love letter or a threat?” Looty asked.
“Both,” said RG. “It’s Pa.”
Ma shook her head and turned to go back to the cabin.
Day 3: Not Your Ribbon
That ribbon you keep admiring?
It’s decorative. Not an invitation.
By the time Ma reached the barn, the cousins were already gathered in a half-circle, reading aloud with varying degrees of scandal and glee.
Ellie was fanning herself with a biscuit wrapper. “He did not just call you a ribbon again!”
“He did,” Nickie snorted. “And he bolded it this time. That’s war font.”
Ma squinted at the scroll. “By the stew pot, he really did. He’s got metaphors now.”
Alexis leaned in, arms crossed. “If I get called a ribbon, someone better be tying me to a jewelry box, not postin’ scrolls with passive aggressive poetry.”
RG grunted from behind them. “If Ravi so much as mentions a ribbon again, I’m tying him to the sapling out back and lettin’ the squirrels judge him.”
“Where has he been, anyway?” Looty asked. “Think he’s seen the scrolls?”
“How could he not?” Krypto replied. “We ain’t had this much excitement since RG tried to fly a super dragon through the moonshine still and burned off his eyebrows.”
Ellie screeched. “or….or…since y’all got RG drunk and dared him to duel that raccoon!”
Ma turned in shock. “What’s that? When did that happen?”
Nickie handed Ma her tea, trying to distract. “Pa’s on a warpath, and it’s got glitter glue and bite.”
Ma sipped, lips twitching. “He’s too old to be this dramatic.”
Ellie grinned. “Yeah, but it’s romantic dramatic. That’s different.”
Ma just shook her head and turned back toward the cabin, muttering, “Lord help us all if there’s a Day 4.” Then she turned and said, “Y’all stay outta Pa’s shine. No more racoon dueling or it’ll be the spoon for all of ya.”
Day 4: Flirt Score – 0 Stars
Same as your attack.
Day four’s scroll had bite. Ellie gasped so hard she choked on her biscuit.
“Flirt score: zero stars?” she howled. “He’s rating RIZZ now?”
Ma shook her head. “He’s gonna get himself a paper cut, scrollin’ like this.”
This one had the cousins howling and re-reading lines aloud.
Ma folded her arms.
“That’s one way to mix war stats and shade.” She rubbed her arm thoughtfully. “At least he’s consistent.”
Day 5: Hit Your Target, Not on Ma
Last I checked, she ain’t the base.
So stop aiming like she is.
Ma was gathering herbs when cousins sprinted past her.
“Ma! You gotta see this one!” Alexis shouted as she ran past.
Ma strolled onto the barn slope, read the scroll, and pinched her lips against laughter. “Lesson learned: she ain’t the target,” she said flatly.
The scroll was crooked this time, like Pa had stabbed it harder than usual.
“Yup,” laughed Nickie. “That one hit a nerve.”
Still no sign of Pa anywhere.
“I’m startin’ to think he turned invisible,” Looty said. “Like a protective war spirit.”
“War spirit with petty tendencies,” Ma added and shook her head. “He’s building a case file.”
“A monument,” Ellie reminded her.
Day 6: Ma Don’t Matchmake
This is Clash, not Cupid.
Swipe left, and upgrade your troops.
Ellie was already at the barn before the rooster crowed. “I dreamed about it,” she confessed. “Scroll had glitter.”
“No glitter,” said Nickie. “But it is bolded.”
RG scratched his head. “How many daggers does Pa actually have?”
“A lot, I guess,” Krypto said. “Guess we’ll find out.”
Ma cleared her throat, reading. “Cupid’s got nothing on clash tactics, apparently.” She laughed softly, glancing up the hill, Pa invisible still.
Day 7: Ma’s Not Part of the Challenge
Star Challenge rewards gems, not girlfriends.
By now it was a game. Who’d spot it first?
Looty swore he heard the dagger thud at 3 a.m.
Ma caught the edge of a smile, watching them scramble like squirrels. “He’s feedin’ y’all like it’s a serial scroll venge,” she said. Ma found laughter leaking from the war barn before she even got there.
“He says she’s off the roster completely’” Alexis giggled.
Ma read the scroll, shook her head.
“He’s not wrong…but damn,” she whispered. “He’s turning sass into sound strategy.”
Day 8: You Can’t Outflirt the Axe
I built her a clan.
Now guess who she fights beside.
This scroll gathered them early. Ma stepped out to join Ellie, Nickie, and half the clan reading it aloud. Day 8 was sharp. Like, extra sharpened scroll edges.
Ellie just stared. “He said he built her a clan. Y’all. He’s not postin’ scrolls, he’s buildin’ a damn legacy.”
“He built her a clan?” Ma said in a stunned whisper. She looked down the hill, face soft with grudging pride.
Day 9: Scrolls Don’t Equal Consent
One more note, and I’m using your bark love letter
as kindling for my rage spell.
Nickie brought a folding chair. “I live here now,” she said, chewing on licorice. “This is entertainment.”
Pa? Still hadn’t been seen.
Some claimed they saw movement in the woods. Others swore it was just Bacon the pig.
Either way, a scroll showed up.
“Ma,” Ellie whispered, reverent, “He’s a myth makin’ art.”
“How long you reckon this will go on?” Krypto inquired.
Day 10: She Chose Me For a Reason
Let that sink in.
Then sink yourself into your war plan.
“This one’s got smoke around it,” said Krypto.
“It’s just myrrh incense,” Ma told him.
“…he scenting them now?” Ellie gasped. “He’s scrollin’ in 4D!”
Day 11: The War Log Remembers
Just like Ma.
And trust me, neither forget when you cross a line.
By the time Day 11 hit, even the eldest goblins were setting alarms.
Nickie had a folding stool. Ellie brought a whistle. RG claimed he saw a shadow near the barn at midnight, “’bout the height of a goblin with bad knees and a grudge.”
Ma? She just stood at the edge of the hill with her arms crossed, watching the chaos below.
“Y’all actin’ like scroll watch is a sport,” she said.
Ellie spun to face her, eyes wide. “He’s gotta be runnin’ outta material soon, right?”
Ma exhaled, shook her head slowly.
Day 12: Flag on the Moon
This ain’t flirtin’ territory.
It’s claimed land.
I planted the flag.
I built the barracks.
I am the holler husband.
So leaf it alone.
The goblin cousins went silent. Scroll #12 wasn’t just posted, it was planted. The dagger held it so deep, the barn board was cracked.
“Flag on the moon,” Ellie read aloud.
Nickie whistled low.
“Does that mean he’s done?” Looty asked, mouth full of marshmallows.
Ma just shook her head and chuckled.
That evening, the holler was quieter than usual. The goblin cousins had finally worn themselves out retelling each scroll like campfire legends, arguing over which line had been the pettiest, the sharpest, the most romantic.
And teasing Ravi.
Relentlessly.
The poor goblin hadn’t said much since the first scroll. Sat near the fire all night with his hood pulled low, mumbling apologies whenever someone tossed a flirt joke his way.
Looty kept calling him “Scrollbait.”
Ellie claimed she saw him trying to write a retraction on birch bark.
Even Alexis asked if he needed directions back to the Nest.
He took it all with a red face and humbled silence without saying a word about the chaos he started.
Inside the cabin, the hearth crackled low.
The cousins had trickled out one by one, the holler finally settling under a blanket of quiet. Outside, the snow had started again. Light. Soft. Like the world had taken a deep breath.
Ma moved around her shelves, putting things back in order. Spell jars lined up, sassroot bundled tight, herbs tucked into crocks with care. She was humming something under her breath, half lullaby, half war song, when her fingers paused on the shelf.
Tucked between a jar of sleeproot and the chamomile powder was a scroll.
Small. Unsealed. Folded neat. Like it had always belonged there.
She opened it with a practiced hand. Just a few words. Just enough.
You wanted Husband Mode.
You got it.
Steady. Watchful.
You’re always protected.
Ma’s lips curved, slow and knowing. She didn’t laugh. Didn’t speak. Just let her thumb brush the edge of the parchment once before setting it aside.
Behind her, the cabin door creaked open.
Bootsteps, steady and familiar, thudded softly across the floorboards.
Ma didn’t turn, but she did speak. “Ain’t never seen someone make claims with so much splinterin’,” she joked.
Pa crossed the room without a word, dropped into the chair by the fire, and began cleaning his bow. Calm. Methodical. Like always.
She kept working, measuring out balm, tucking leaves into jars, her movements as calm as the hush settling outside.
The flicker of the flames danced across the steel and varnish, and for a few quiet minutes, the only sound in the room was the soft scrape of cloth on wood and the occasional clink of a buckle being fastened.
When Ma finally turned back toward the shelf, scroll still open in her hand, her eyes lifted toward the fire.
Pa stopped his movements and looked up at her. Just a glance. Brief. Barely a beat.
But enough.
No words passed between them.
She gave a small nod. He blinked once, slow and sure, then turned back to his bowstring.
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