*very late claps*

I am full on disgusted at these haters, their kindergarten level insults are actually TOO FAR. I may have been a young writer, but I’ve seen these and even though they aren’t at me, I’m full on DISGUSTED. These haters are too toxic to be in our hub, so all of you help us downvote em to the ground!

Slither slithering out!

PS : I swear if one of those toxic readers are reading this, don’t you dare try and throw negativity at me, it never works.

So let me tell you a story about how I tried

To find some friends to talk to in dododex’s dyes

When I opened up the tip section to my surprise

An all out war unfolded before my eyes

The heroes that remained were mighty and strong

They banded together to right the wrong

From a tiger to a shadow to a green god of mischief

The power of their friendship had me blowing into a handkerchief

And that is the story of how I tried

To find some friends to talk to in Dododex’s dyes

-The newbie,

Sovereign Spino

Black Ghost

Six

Over the next week, Quiet’s pack began to decline. It had started with the elder- what had his name been?- becoming sick and then passing. Then went Gentle. Then Giant and Rough. And now the litter of pups were deathly sick, one of them having already died. The rest of them were certainly not far behind.

Two days passed and the entire litter was gone and now buried in the ground. What had previously been a pack of sixteen had been reduced to seven. What Quiet didn’t understand was how any of this death was happening, nor how she had survived that long. If there really was a murderer amidst them… why hadn’t they killed her?

These thoughts kept the mute coyote up at night. She lay in her lonely den, curled up with her back pressed against the dirt wall behind her, nose tucked under her tail, as she pondered what could possibly be happening. There was so much sickness, so much blood. The sickness had to be coincidental. It had to be. There was no way in all of the stars that their murderer- whoever they were- could make the coyotes fall ill. There was no way. No way at all.

And yet… despite the way that she argued with herself at night about whether or not that could be possible, something deep down inside of her knew. It knew exactly what was happening- exactly who was doing this. But that small part of her, the section that held the final piece of the puzzle, refused to open up to the rest of her mind. It refused to let her realize who and what was doing this.

So she simply laid and pondered.

When Quiet finally dipped into sleep, morning came far too quickly. She was woken by a shrill cry. The cry of one of her pack mates.

Jumping to her feet and shaking sleep away from her, Quiet quickly blundered out of her sleeping place to find her aunt Soft hunched over something in the center of the clearing. Her head was bowed, eyes screwed shut, all while whimpers escaped her mouth.

As Quiet drew nearer, she saw that it was two somethings on the ground; Elegant and Grace. They were twisted, mutilated, so bloody that at first it was hard to identify which was which. Their stomachs were ripped wide open, revealing their hollow insides. Blood-coated organs were scattered around on the grass around them. Grace’s lower jaw was ripped away and lying beside Elegant’s tail. Elegant’s face was so shredded that it was impossible to make out whether or not her eyes were even still intact. Huge claw marks were scored down their sides, long and caked in blood. Quiet felt queasy just from looking at such a horrific sight, and she felt bile rise up in her throat as her stomach begged to vomit.

The rest of the pack was gathering now, letting out fearful cries and whispering to each other. What had been seven was now five. Five pack members left.

Black Ghost

Five

What felt like years passed before Rough and Giant returned, and finally the odd silence was too great for Quiet to bear. But before she could turn around and wander back over to them, HE appeared.

The black wolf was standing there beside her, smiling at her with nothing but a dead look in his eyes. The more he appeared, the more he made her skin crawl. But the longer that time went on, the more he came. It was as if he didn’t even have to travel to her- he could just appear out of nowhere with no sign of his presence beforehand. And then he would be gone again. Gone like the wind. Gone like…

Oh, Quiet, he mouthed ominously, a grin lacing his face. He crawled closer to her so that he was only a mere few inches away, lowering himself so that he could be level with her. He truly was a huge wolf: bigger than any she had ever seen before. It made her envious in contrast to her small size. So good to see you. With a swish of air he pushed his face up so close to her’s that their whiskers touched, his pale eyes boring into her own. Don’t you agree?

Quiet swallowed, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Unable to mouth anything, she nodded after a moment, forcing her head to move. No, she thought in contrast to her response. But I’m not going to tell you that.

Backing up a few steps, she spun around and looked back towards where Giant and Rough were apparently taking their sweet time on burying Gentle. She stopped in her tracks, stiffening as she stared back towards the flowering tree.

A tall pile of dirt was scraped up alongside a hole dug into the ground. Gentle’s body was nowhere to be seen- presumably in the grave- and Giant and Rough were splayed out on the ground, their front halves drooping limply down into the hole. Quiet’s breath quickened as she stared at their motionless bodies, rushing over.

Blood was running out from underneath the two of her pack mates, sliding through the dirt and grass and running down into the open grave, spilling onto Gentle’s corpse that was beneath them. It was one of the most gruesome things that she had ever seen, and it sent the fur all along her back standing up with intensity.

Slowly turning to look back, she saw that the black wolf still standing there, watching her with a smile twisted across his face. And then when she blinked, he was gone.

Black Ghost

Three

He stood with utmost silence, his expression ominously blank. His eyes, empty and lacking pupils, showed no emotion as they stared straight forward in her direction. He was several feet away, standing beneath a burly oak tree which littered dark scarlet leaves across the forest floor, canopy slowly thinning.

You don’t scream, he said soundlessly, mouthing out each word with exaggerated slowness. Quiet hesitated for a long moment before shaking her head, replying soundlessly with Cannot.

Mute? He asked, understanding what she mouthed within seconds. She nodded, which received her an emotionless smile as he slowly stepped closer. She stayed rooted, though stiffening her legs in case the need for fleeing came. He stopped a few inches away, his dry, ancient-looking nose hovering just above hers, close enough that she could smell his hot, sour breath on her face. Me too, he uttered finally, still fixing her with that deadly smile. Quiet blinked slowly, staring into the white pools of his eyes, feeling a chill zip through her veins.

Finally, she breathed, What is wrong with you?

He didn’t respond, instead turning and away padding into the trees. Quiet started after him and then delayed herself, pausing with one paw up in the air as he padded slowly through the brightly-colored leaf litter and then disappeared from sight all together. She stared after him for a long moment before ducking her head and sprinting back to her home.

As she arrived back in camp, her aunt Soft found her. Soft had two daughters, both of which were considered perfect; their fur was extravagantly colored, dappled with gray and streaked with black and blonde. They could both see, hear, and speak perfectly well, and Quiet knew that her mother had great envy towards her sister’s offspring. “Quiet!” Soft exclaimed the moment that she stepped out of the bronze-colored underbrush. “Where have you been? Captain wants every wolf accounted for to ensure that no one else is sick.” Her voice was scathing, her tone shameful. Quiet felt a surge of rage towards her aunt: could she not see the worry in Quiet’s eyes? Could she not feel the anxiety that rolled off of her like waves? Why did no one care?

Hiding the anger that she felt bubbling within her as best as she could, she followed Soft over to where the rest of the pack had gathered, nearby the elders’ den. Captain, their alpha, was making his rounds and giving a good sniff to every coyote, inspecting them to ensure that they were healthy. Quiet sat, sighing through her nostrils, and awaited her turn.

The black wolf appeared in her dreams the next following nights. He always repeated the same thing: Angry, angry, angry you are. I will help. Let me help. His voice was nonexistent, sounding like the breathy wind itself, and yet without even seeing his lips move to form the words that he repeated, Quiet knew that those words were what he was saying. And it scared her.

The longer that the ominous wolf hung around in her mind, the more frustrated she grew. No one would try and listen, try and read her lips or watch her motions to try and decipher what she was saying. Not even her own mother. Her perfect cousins, Elegant and Grace, barely acknowledged her existence, much less wanted to sit while she flailed around and tried to mouth the words of her anxiety. The black wolf was the only one who listened, the only one who was willing to wait patiently as she worked out how to mouth the words properly so that others could understand. And he had the very same problem, lacking a voice so instead needing to speak entirely through body language. It was hard to think about anything other than her mysterious acquaintance. She knew that it was wrong to speak with him, to seek him out when she went on a walk through the woods. And yet… although she knew that it was wrong, it felt so, so right.

Black Ghost- a President Loki short story =)

One (1/2)

Although Quiet had never been able to retell them herself, she had always loved hearing ghost stories. Well, not quite ghost stories… coyote packs didn’t tell ghost stories, for they found the affairs of the non-real supernatural world pointless to even acknowledge, so they never retold them. That was for the wolves to recite to their pups. Coyotes only told stories that were real: stories that had real proof of their existence. Memorable tales to warn coyotes of the cruelness of the world, such as the Blood Sky, the Bone Beast, and Death Claws. Quiet was just under a year old and nearly fully grown, and she still enjoyed hustling her way into the warmth of the pup den and listening to her own mother, as well as others, tell the pups stories. No one minded when she did so; coyote packs were all about family, all about closeness. And with her unfortunate disability that made her unable to speak or make a sound, the pack was happy to include her in other activities.

“The Black Ghost,” Quiet’s mother, Gentle, was saying, “is a wolf who can’t speak. He haunts the packs of wolves who have angered him, sometimes killing their weakest members in revenge for his exaggerated life. You may sometimes hear him called the Plague. The wolves believe that he’s the source of sickness and unfortunate health, but we know differently. And some stories even say that he’s invisible.”

“Because he’s a ghost,” one of the pups, Obvious, said judgmentally. He lifted his nose blatantly into the air, sniffing incredulously. “Ghosts are invisible.”

Ghosts aren’t real, Quiet wanted to say, but was disagreed with by her nonexistent vocal cords. She shifted her paws, looking down at their dusty brown color. She was so… so plain. So basic, boring… so pointless. Sometimes she wondered why she was even on this earth. For punishment? What had she done? And who could be punishing her, if ancestors didn’t exist?

Gentle shook her head softly, smiling at the pup. “You’d think so. But ghosts don’t truly exist,” she corrected in a gentle voice. “He’s called invisible because he’s a black wolf: he can hide in the shadows. He isn’t a ghost at all, just an old, old wolf who happens to be a cannibal.”

“A carnival?” Elude imposed, tilting his wide head in confusion. Gentle chuckled, shaking her head. “Cannibal,” she informed him. “A wolf who eats his kind.”

A chorus of tiny pup voices, all shouting “Ew!” simultaneously, was what urged Quiet to make her way out of the den. Even when she was still young, the stories had become watered down. Turning, she made her way in the direction of the forest, her tail swishing behind her. She let out a silent sigh, a puff through her nostrils, as she slid through the browning ferns and vanished into the trees.

The overhead canopy had recently turned from a natural green to brilliant gold and mud brown and the blazing brightness of red and orange, a sight that had never before assaulted their forest. The leaves broke from overhead branches and spiraled down onto the walking paths, stiff and crunching upon impact. It was an amazing spectacle, one that Quiet couldn’t keep her eyes away from. The air had grown cooler, chilly winds sweeping cold nights into their camp and blowing the blazing-colored leaves off of the trees. Any chance that she could get, Quiet would be out in the forest, looking at the beautiful trees. It gave her a sense of peace, a sense of calmness in all of the chaos in her life. And, out in the quiet forest, she wasn’t the only thing that was silent. The trees were still and solemn, the wind whooshing by with barely a whisper, keeping her in a mute company.

Curiously, today felt different. The Black Ghost story still hanging on the back of her mind, she ventured her way through the trees with a slight hint of wariness. Ghost stories always fascinated Quiet, but they also gave her a sense of fear and precaution. It usually took her a day or so to get the details of the story out of her mind, freeing her of any additional anxiety.

The longer that she walked the more anxious she felt, and soon she was looking around, casting glances over her shoulder every few steps. The undeniable feeling of being watched had overtaken her, and it caused her fur to tingle all along her body. And yet, she couldn’t see, smell, nor hear any sort of hint as to there being another living soul out in the forest with her. Even the birds and squirrels seemed quiet for such a well-weathered day.

*blows fiercely into a tissue*

entering the dyes, is a poet so fine,

Welcome to our realm!

The haters here are saltier than sea brine,

But the people here are swell!

I’m but a bard, you a fine poet,

Everyone should know it,

I am Songwriter, but this majestic Spino,

Is the greatest poeeeeeeeeeet *breathes a deep breathe*

AND ALL SHALL KNOW IIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!

Sovereign Spino, a great poet, going into the hall of fame, he is.

…

Songwriter. I know I’m bad but I tried to welcome Soverein Spino with a song.

Hello DTG. I don’t know if you saw my post, but I really do want to thank you. In my mind, you are sort of a founding father of it. You inspired a lot of fanfictioners out there. They and you inspired me. The you gave me tips. Then you said I need the storm piñata. I wasn’t planning on doing it at first, but then I realized you were going through some hard times, so I did I it. Little did I know that I would send Alex to her doom, bring General Grant into the story from ragnarok, and because of the time I spent on that section, I had time to come up with a bazillion great ideas for the extinction. Also, loving dodo tails. Keep up the good work!

#FF4L

- The Nazgûl