#only by saying 'WHAT IF THIS WAS LYCANTROPY'

[myriadparacosm]

Sirius' Weird Taste

Sirius has very peculiar taste - which is good and thankfully he doesn't make that a big part of his personality but you can see it just with Remus, who at an early point of their relationship really considered if Sirius wasn't dating him because of his lycanthropy. After all he has a lot of scars and this affected his whole appearance since he got it very young. He isn't attractive by popular standards although he is tall but too lanky for it to look natural and his skin has some dents from the scars even when it heals back to his natural skin colour. He also has too much hair, be it facial or anywhere else, and whether it's natural or not too much wrinkles and eyebags for his age. It has happened that students took him as a new professor if he wasn't wearing his school's robes.

His point is that by all standards Remus would be considering ugly, something he has stopped saying at loud because every single one of his friends would bemoan or scold him and come up with senseless arguments. He will never know if he would have looked any different without the bite so he learnt to deal with it but it still leaves the question on how Sirius Black ever fell for him. Remus isn't stupid or oblivious like he might like to act time to time which is why he is fully aware that Sirius is smitten with him - despite everything; although Remus honestly can't judge him on that because if Sirius is down for him then Remus is so far down he might fall off the earth for Sirius.

Sirius has assured him many times that he doesn't like Remus for his lycantropy - which is a bit of rude question when we just snogged twice Moony - and that even without his fancy scars he would bend over for him. All his friends have helped him make peace with his werewolf counterpart, Sirius particularly, but only because they are the same person with just one side more moody - but you give Moony a fair opponent, Sirius said before kissing him.

Remus has learnt all Sirius' whims and his likes or dislikes - how he dresses up like a bloody deity before bringing the ugliest looking sweater ever as a gift because of how amazingly ugly it is which is why it's pretty? He also noticed how Sirius likes crups or hippogriff, always trying to pet them with compliments, but what really seems to really make him go is the weirdest things. The first time Sirius saw a platypus at the zoo, one of their dates, he couldn't stop laughing and yet didn't want to move on - Who cast a spell on it? What is it supposed to be? Why did you pick that nose and short legs you dimwit? You look silly. Let's get one!

Murtlap? Sirius insults them over their 'haircuts' and 'why are you still naked you twat' as he fed and pet them in their Care of Magical Creatures class. Which is surprisingly not him making fun of them but just his weird way of loving them, with silly insults and teasing.

Remus has realised it is exactly how Sirius and Regulus act with each other so the insults really must be just obscure petnames. So Remus supposes that sometimes that's how Sirius just show his love; it's not like they never insulted each other before and while kissing or cuddling.

So Remus is used to Sirius' surprising taste even if he can't always predict them. Like this weird-shaved cat that he proudly shows him. It looks like it came back from war but not in one piece with how odd its black dark grey fur looks to the touch and some spots almost completely naked. You could easily think that someone did it because the poor cat has no fur around his eyes and mouth.

"What is that supposed to be?"

"It's a werewolf cat."

"What?"

"It looks incredible, doesn't it? I know we are dog people but I love her and she is very sweet," Sirius explains as the cat rubs herself against his chin. "The muggles call them werewolf cats because of how rugged they look so I thought she fits perfectly for us. Also sometimes she will be butt-naked because she moults but we don't want a pervert prancing in our home so I'm going to make her clothes."

So they call her Garou - because we have a theme Moony - and she is very sweet with Remus, rubbing, slow-blinking and all at him - because you are related - even if he almost got a heart attack when he went to the loo in the middle of the night and she stood there like a dead animal ressurected. While Sirius and Garou spend their time badmouthing each other, or at least he supposes because Garou likes to meow whenever Sirius talks about her. What did I tell you about strutting around naked? Oh you don't speak to me like that you bald lady. If you didn't look already homeless I would throw you out.

Sirius tries to teach her to attack Regulus but somehow James becomes her prey. Sirius also goes out with her, walking or shopping, throwing dark looks at anyone who looks at them weirdy.

Remus finds no reason to complain and if anything he is more amazed and amused every time.

[unreadpoppy]

RANDOM OC ASK ATTACK: Tell me about one happy or pivotal event in their life. Also. What’s their love language?

happy event? Ma'am, we don't do that here

Pivotal, however, there's plenty. The one that comes to mind is Elizabeth's wedding day.

Being the daughter of a duke, she knew, at some point, she was going to get married off, and so, when she was 16, she was to marry the son of this other noble family.

Wedding day arrives, it's happening in a chapel in her family's estate, and everything's going well, it's a big event, everyone of both families are there, and when the ceremony's getting close to an end, a fire starts. No one is sure how it happened, but soon, the place was engulfed in flames.

People ran towards the doors but they were sealed shut, same with the windows. With so many people together in a tight space, Elizabeth was knocked on the burning ground. As she began to loose consciousness, both due to the pain of the burning and also because of how much smoke she was inhailing, she heard the sound of a window breaking, and she could see a figure moving around in the fire. Weakly, she called out for help and then blacked out.

When she woke up, half of her face was covered up in bandages and the person who rescued her, a tiefling named Kallista, told her that she was the only survivor of the fire.

It's after the death of her family that Elizabeth ends up joining the blood hunters, gets infected with lycantropy, meets the love of her life and enters the adventure she is on, so, pretty pivotal, i would say.

[narcissa-black-supermacy]

Thats the whole point of fanfiction tho. It's about alternative universes

I am not saying don't write AUs

But if something is an integral part of a certain character, you need to find a way to reflect that somehow.

Disability in the form of lycantropy is essential to Remus as a character. If you choose to write him in a muggle setting, you need to find a way to keep that in some different way. Otherwise you're writing an OC.

"What if Harry was in Slytherin" "what if Cedric never died" "what if they were pirates in the 1700s" are AUs. "What if they were just high school kids who never experienced trauma and terror that made them into who they are" is not an AU, its erasure of everything they are. Nobody can stop you from writing it, but that has nothing to do with the canon characters, you're only using their names to get traction to your original story.

The entire story of HP is about war and death. These characters are shaped by it. Without it they would not have been them, they would not be interesting, and I do not think that this is something you can just take out of the story without having an at least half way decent parallel to that

[solmints-messyocdiary]

I know weve talked about it a little bit before but for the love interest thing what are your thoughts on Odile x Milo?

Also "Alice" x Ava and Kari x DogFace are popping into my mind 👀 thats a lot omg im so sorry 🤣

Is okay~ Give me the pairings!

We know that these two would trauma bond and feel connected that they themselves have ghosts of their past. I do see her latching hard on milo, though, and she can be very overwhelming with her love and care, jealousy too... not to mention the cannibalism part. Hopefully, he'll be able to handle that and not be too freaked out about it.

However, she'll be very eager to learn anything about him and listen to him or just be in comfortable silence. Odile will also help him with the gravedigging if he wants. She's a sturdy girl despite how lanky she is. Also, many caresses, and combing his hair with her fingers might hum a little tune while doing so. I think they'd be a cute and odd couple for sure. 🥺

-

Okay, the fact that a cute alternative girl that can play the guitar got interested in her in the first place has "Alice" quaking. She'll find Ava so cool and pretty she wouldn't know what to do herself, tbh as she isn't used to the attention. Pretty women make her more nervous than pretty man because she tends to compare herself at times with them lmao.

"Alice" is a weeb who likes Jrock and vaporwave, but she's open to listening to anything Metallica Ava likes. In a way, she's also quite insecure and sometimes doesn't dress the best, so she'll be scared that she won't be able to fit Ava's aesthetics... just saying that Ava is allowed to give her a full-body makeover~

-

DogFace, in general, is scared of romance/sex of any kind, so it would be difficult, if not impossible, to pursue him in any capacity. It's not only Kari he'll be weary of, it's everyone. However, knowing how fearful he is of others who are stronger than him, I don't see him reacting the best if he finds out about Kari's lycantropy. 😭

He'll have to trust Kari and see her as a dear friend at first before he even reacts calmly to it. But... I do think he'll find her sweet and bubbly personality irritating but endearing at the same time!

[violet-fire-cat]

A question for your vampire/werewolf au; dunno if you’ve been asked this before or have put it in a fic so don’t answer me if you have already!

but can someone who already has some magic ability (say… a werewolf) be turned into a vampire, and if so, does some of their abilities change or will it just be added on or just nurfed, because of the mix of both bloods?

(I’m mainly asking bc I wanna write a sort of off fic based off the au as a gift or something)

Hiya! I believe I've talked about this sort of thing before but it's probably buried amongst the AUs tag on my blog or only mentioned briefly in the fics. So to sum it up!

Humans with magical ability can still be infected with lycantropy or vampirism, though depending on what magic they have they can be more resistant to the curse. Exactly how being turned would affect their magic though, I'm not sure. But again, it would likely depend on what sort of magic they had originally.

Werewolves and vampires however, cannot be infected with vampirism or lycantropy respectively. A werewolf drinking vampire blood will still make them sick, and a vampire being bitten by a werewolf will still hurt like hell and take a while to heal. But the curses don't stack. You're either one or the other, you can't be both.

Hopefully that answers your question! This is how I've established things in the au, but it can be played with. And for things like magical humans being turned there is still stuff to figure out. But yeah! Hope this helped!

(And if you do write something based off the au then I very much looking forward to seeing it! Makes me so happy to see this au inspiring other people to write! :D )

[justshapesandaus]

(So on Afrothunderxx96′s discord I made a stupid mistake in saying while looking at Spinel scrunched up ‘what if that was Lycanthrapy?’ and then lo and behold someone drew their Lycanthropy as that Spinel, and then it wasn’t over, i soon said ‘ Barracuda: I just love that part were Blixer spends the rest of his days on this nowere plain with a bunch of nobodys. Ly: Hey that's my line!’ AND THEN AGAIN THAT SAME PERSON  @justs1l3nt DREW BARRACUDA IN SPINELS CASE, AND THEN IT ALL WENT DOWN HILL FROM THEIR WITH ME DRAWING THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Characters belong to @afrothunderxx96

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Secrets in the Moonlight

After the disappearance of his uncle, coming back to Hogwarts is harder than Derek could have imagined. Especially now that he has a secret.

 For @overthetopobsessed​

  “Mr Hale?”

Derek shook himself from his thoughts, straightening in his seat and looking up with wide, alert eyes.

Mr Harris stared at him with the same cold, unyielding glare he always wore, but his voice held a note of irritation—bordering anger.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Derek apologised quietly.

There was a quiet buzz of whispers around the room.

“Can you tell me the difference between a werewolf and an Animagus?” Harris repeated the question.

“No, sir,” Derek replied.

Mr Harris opened his mouth to lecture Derek when a voice called out from the back of the classroom, interrupting him.

“An Animagus is a witch or wizard who can take the form of an animal and return back to their human form at any time and of their won free will, whereas a werewolf – or any were-creature for that matter – changes form against their will based on the lunar cycle.”

Derek glanced over his shoulder at the boy who had answered.

Stiles Stilinski.

The boy met Harris’ gaze defiantly, a smug smile – a common trait among Slytherins – turning up the corners of his mouth. His dark brown irises glimmered with amusement at the professor’s stunned silence. His eyes shifted to Derek, his gaze softening and his smugness fading as a friendly smile played across his lips.

“Correct, Mr Stilinski,” Harris said, his voice tense—as if saying those words pained him. “Although, next time, I would appreciate it if you showed some degree of manners and respect and raised your hand before answering.”

“Sorry, sir,” Stiles replied, but his voice was dry and everyone knew he didn’t mean it.

Harris screwed up his face bitterly, drawing in a measured breath as he held his composure. “As for you, Mr Hale—”

Derek turned back around to look at the professor as Harris took a step closer and stood at the corner of Derek’s desk.

“—leave the day dreaming for outside my classroom and don’t come to class unprepared, understood?”

Derek swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and bowed his head guiltily.

“Yes, sir,” Derek answered meekly.

“Very good.” Harris let out a huff before turning sharply and strutting back to the front of the classroom and continuing the lesson.

Derek waited for a second before glancing over his shoulder.

Stiles met his gaze. Derek didn’t have to say ‘thank you’; Stiles could read it in his eyes and winked mischievously in response.

Derek turned back to face the front of the class, his heart skipping a beat and a soft rosy blush colouring his cheeks, but the feeling didn’t last long.

He looked down at the text book that lay on the desk before him, the pages open to the monstrous illustration of a werewolf. It didn’t look remotely human: its limbs were elongated and its body hunched over. It was covered in fur with the bony nubs of its spine sticking out rigidly. Its arms hung by its side, hands flexed to reveal its sharp claws. The face had been elongated into a snout, the creature snarling and bearing its jagged teeth. But what stood out the most was the bright red ink that had been used to colour in the creature’s irises, giving it the illusion of glowing red eyes that stared at Derek, making his heart fill with dread and terror.

Below the illustration, bold black letters spelt out ‘LYCANTROPY: WEREWOLF’.

Derek swallowed hard against the bile that rose into his throat, burning at his insides. A wave of anxiety and fear clutched his heart. Unease settled in his gut as he dropped his gaze—unable to look at the picture and not wanting to look up in case someone saw the fear in his eyes.

 ------------------------------------------------

 “What’s this I hear about you getting in trouble with Harris?” Laura asked as she caught up with her brother and walked alongside him through the crowded hallway.

Derek looked at her. She was as radiant as ever; her long brown hair cascading past her shoulder and the bold navy blue of her Ravenclaw tie bringing out the sparkle in her dark eyes.

They used to joke about needing a fourth sibling since the three Hale siblings were sorted into different houses: Laura into Ravenclaw, Derek into Hufflepuff, and Cora into Slytherin. All they needed was a Gryffindor and they had a full house.

“I wasn’t in trouble,” Derek replied. “I just didn’t hear him ask me the question.”

Laura tilted her head slightly as she looked at her brother sceptically. There was a glimmer of worry in her dark eyes.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” she said, trying to gently coax the truth from him.

“I know,” Derek replied, trying to reassure her.

It didn’t work.

She kept her gaze fixed on him.

“I’m fine,” Derek insisted.

“If you say so,” Laura said quietly, backing down; she still didn’t believe him, but she knew him better than to keep prying—Derek would only shut down if she did.

Derek drew in a deep breath.

“I’m fine,” he reassured her. “I’ll see you at the quidditch game.”

“Who are you cheering for?” Laura asked—calling after her brother as he began to walk away.

Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff.

And his big sister was Ravenclaw’s star player.

“You,” Derek answered. “Like I always do.”

Laura offered him a sweet smile, but it fell from her face as her brother turned his back and disappeared into the sea of people. The worry still lingered in her eyes as she watched him leave.

 ------------------------------------------------

 The library was a large space filled with towering shelves full of old hardcover books, leather bound journals and other books that looked like antiques, all bound in magnificent colours of scarlet, burgundy, deep green, gold, and grey. The spines of the books were decorated by gold or silver lettering that read the titles, adorned with small metal studs and a few were even fastened with small hinges that looked to be made of brass or silver.

The shelves covered all the walls, large ladders on casters were scattered about the room where the occupants had last left them. Higher up, there was a small platform that stretched around the room, a mezzanine that allowed them to access another storey of bookshelves that the ladders couldn't reach. High above everything was a dome-like sky light, the slightly misted glass allowing the golden light of day to drift into the large library and illuminate the shadowed space.

Several books moved on their own, returning to the shelves and sorting themselves into the right places.

On the far side of the room was a small fireplace with a marble mantelpiece. Atop the mantelpiece sat a few of the sturdier-looking books, some candles and a vase of flowers that never seemed to wilt—probably because the librarian hexed them. Before the fireplace sat two arm chairs and a larger couch, each made of beige fabric that were covered in a faded floral pattern. Two Gryffindor students sat on the rug before the fireplace with their books sprawled out in front of them as they talked quietly.

Derek sat on his own among the rows of tables and chairs set up for students to study.

The library was quiet, which was both a blessing and a curse: it was a place where Derek could get away from all the noise and chaos, but it also meant he was left alone with his thoughts.

He tried to drown them out, focusing on his homework.

A stack of textbooks were piled up beside him, several more lying open on the desk before him as his quill scratched at the paper of his notebooks, leaving elegant scrawls of ink in its wake.

“This seat taken?” a familiar voice asked.

Derek glanced up, his aventurine eyes meeting the smoky quarts depths.

“Uh, no,” Derek stammered. He gestured to the seat. “Please.”

Stiles set his books down on the table and pulled out the chair across from Derek. He sat down and opened up his books.

Derek bowed his head and glanced up through his eyelashes, watching as Stiles’ dark eyes danced across the pages as he read the lines of text.

“I didn’t get the chance to say thank you for this morning,” Derek said.

“No need. Harris is an ass and you didn’t deserve that.”

Stiles glanced up at Derek, offering him a friendly smile.

Derek smiled in return.

He wasn’t like the other Slytherins that Derek knew—he wasn’t obnoxious, prideful, arrogant or snarky. Maybe that was because he wasn’t a pureblood like most of the others; his mother was a witch, but his father was a muggle—a police officer, apparently. Stiles had grown up in the muggle world, far away from magic. He tried to make up for it—working twice as hard to prove he had what it took to be there, but he didn’t need to; he was smarter and more powerful than any other student. His only weakness was he was powerful, but he had no idea how to control it.

The hiss of whispers reached his ears. Derek turned his head slightly to see two students glance at him before turning away and gossiping.

“Ignore them,” Stiles said softly.

Derek turned back to his text book, feeling his chest tighten and his heart hammer against his ribs.

“They’re talking about my uncle, aren’t they?” Derek asked.

“Most likely,” Stiles replied.

Peter Hale was well known in the wizarding world, but he disappeared the week before Derek and his sisters went on break. No Aurors had been able to track him down and many believed he was dead. When the Hale siblings returned to Hogwarts, everyone looked the other way or talked behind their backs. The whispers followed Derek everywhere.

Derek looked up at Stiles. “Thank you.”

Stiles lifted his head, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “What for?”

“For not treating me different.”

The corner of Stiles’ lips turned up in a kind smile.

Derek bowed his head, trying to focus on his homework, but his mind kept going back to the monstrous illustration.

“You know a lot about werewolves,” Derek remarked, unsure of how to start the conversation.

“I guess so,” Stiles said modestly. “I tend to take in a whole lot of information—most of it is useless.”

“Is it possible for a werewolf to become an Animagus?”

Stiles sat back in his seat, thinking it over for a second. “I don’t know for sure, but I did read something about a werewolf gaining control of their shifts by defying their alpha. But that either means defeating them or finding an anchor strong enough to keep your humanity in control of you psyche.”

“An anchor?”

“An anchor is something meaningful to you; you bind yourself to it to keep your human side in control,” Stiles explained.  “It can be a memory, a person, a place or an object—it just has to mean something to you. At least that’s what I read about Animagi Transfiguration, so I guess it would be something similar in the case of a werewolf controlling their transformation.”

Derek nodded thoughtfully.

“A werewolf becoming an Animagus is extremely rare and probably very difficult,” Stiles continued. “But I don’t think it’s impossible.”

Derek felt the tension in his gut ease, letting out a sigh of relief as hope found its way back into his heart.

 ------------------------------------------------

He felt the burn of power flow through his veins, setting his nerves on fire as the lure of the moon hummed ignited his senses.

He made his way out of the castle, sneaking out through the passage his uncle had told him about back in his first year—the one Peter had found during his time at Hogwarts. The cool night air met him, offering little relief to the searing heat that flooded his veins.

Beads of sweat gathered on his brow, soaking through his shirt and making the fabric cling to his skin.

His breathing grew heavy as he staggered towards the shelter of the forest that bordered the school.

A piercing howl rang out through the night, making Derek’s heart leap in his chest.

There was a sharp rush of air as a figure appeared before him. His dark hair a tousled mess and his clothing dishevelled. He clutched his fir wand, the pale wood standing out against the darkness.

“Stiles?” Derek rasped, feeling fear clutch his heart. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” Stiles replied. “I nearly got caught sneaking out of the dorms. I was trying to get to the Gryffindor dorms; seems like I missed the mark.”

Stiles froze, his eyes widening as he looked at Derek.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice edged with worry. “You don’t look too good.”

“It’s not safe out here.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles asked, his voice catching in his throat as hesitation and anxiety filled his chest.

“You have to go.”

“Derek, you’re starting to scare me.”

Derek opened his mouth to say something but his words caught in his throat as a low growl echoed from the shadows.

Stiles wheeled around, his eyes wide and his heart hammering in his chest.

The bushes rustled, clumps of leaves and low hanging branches crackling, shaking and breaking as a big black shadow slinked into the open, broad feet thumping the ground. Their claws dug into the mud, upturning the dirt and releasing the sweet earthy scent.

A pair of glowing red eyes emerged from the shadows, the thin veil of moonlight illuminating the creature’s figure as it stalked forward. The creature rose up onto its hind feet. Its large form was unhuman; standing tall on curved, slender legs. The bright red eyes were set above an elongated snout. Long arms hung at its side, disfigured hands – hairy like a wolf’s paws – stretched, thick, curved claws lit by the bleeding streams of moonlight.

Stiles froze, eyes wide.

It snarled, baring its ivory teeth as it focused its glare on Stiles.

Stiles staggered back slightly, his mind screaming at him to run but he couldn’t move; his body was frozen in place.

“Derek?” he rasped, glancing over his shoulder.

The clouds parted, exposing the moon.

Derek winced, doubling over in pain.

“Derek?” Stiles called, alarmed.

Derek’s eyes flew open, his pale adventuring irises glowing crimson.

“Run,” he growled.

Stiles flailed about, stumbling backwards. His feet pedalled beneath him. He lost his footing on the uneven ground, falling against the damp earth. He turned, using a hand to steady himself as he leapt to his feet and tore into the darkness.

He ran along the tree line, glancing over his shoulder as he saw a dark figure charge towards him.

He sprinted through the dense forest, weaving his way through the labyrinth of thick tree trunks. He sprung over the fallen trees, broken branches and thick shrubs, his nimble legs and spring-locked ankles projecting him over the large logs. The thick undergrowth and claw-like twigs dragged at his feet. He tried to keep himself upright, struggling not to stumble or trip as he sprinted away from the massacre.

The sounds of low growls and spine-chilling howls drained away, disappearing behind him as he ran further and further into the dense forest.

He took a sharp turn, heading back towards the castle grounds. He broke through the tree line, slowing his pace as he neared the Whomping Willow. He turned, running on the spot as he looked back at the forest—checking to see if anyone – or anything – had followed him.

He let out a sigh of relief, letting his nerves calm. He drew in heavy breaths, trying to slow his breathing.

Stiles was tackled to the ground, letting out a pained wheeze as the air was knocked from his lungs. His eyes flew open wide, looking up at the glowing red irises of the werewolf.

He thrashed about, letting out a vicious animalistic cry as he tried to fight the creature off.

The werewolf pinned him to the ground, sharp rocks tearing open Stiles’ pale skin as the werewolf pushed them against the ground. Stiles felt a sharp wave of pain flood his arms, his bones near breaking.

Then, all of a sudden, the weight was gone.

There was a rush of air as the second werewolf tacked the alpha off of him, knocking him to the ground and fighting him.

Stiles rolled onto his side, scrambling to his feet and sprinting towards the swaying branches of the Whomping Willow. He dodged past the branches that swung at him, the thick wood hitting the earth with a heavy crash that snapped off twigs, shook the earth, and sent dirt flying through the air.

Stiles dove towards the trunk, something catching his eye. Among the twisted aged wood of the tree was an ancient door.

Stiles pulled open the small door that was built into the base of the tree. He pulled the ricket wooden door shut behind himself, staring at it for a second before slowly backing up.

He made his way down the flight of rickety stairs, following them into a large room. The windows were all boarded up, the moonlight bleeding through the thin gaps enough for Stiles to see.

He drew in steady breaths, calming himself as he looked around. The wind that blew past the windows echoed like screams as it rattled the glass and a draught blew through the warped wooden walls.

“Shrieking Shack,” Stiles muttered.

The wooden panelling of the doors were broken in, some doors lying off their hinges. The walls had patches of plaster missing, exposing the wooden framing beneath. The decorative wallpaper was peeling off the walls, the wooden floorboards warped, worn down with time and covered in stains. Every piece of furniture was moth-eaten and broken—as though someone has smashed it in a fit of rage.

There was a thin layer of dust over everything.

He stepped through one of the other doors, looking down the old staircase and into the foyer of the Shack. There was an old chair that had one of its legs ripped off.

He stepped back into the room. Beside him was an old four post bed, the wooden base snapped in half and the frame that had once held up the canopy had fallen down.

He edged over to the bed, lowering himself into the shadows that dwelled in the corner where the bed met the wall. He shrunk down into the darkness, pulling his knees up to his chest.

He waited.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, stopping him from falling asleep, but his eyes grew heavy as he stared at the warped hardwood floors.

The light of dawn began to creep through the cracks in the boarded-up windows.

There was a loud crash as someone came sprinting down the stairs that lead up to the Whomping Willow.

Stiles’ heart leapt into his chest. He shifted, crouching behind the bed as he readied himself to run.

“Stiles?” a familiar voice called out.

Derek stumbled into the room, his shoulders heaving with heavy breaths as he frantically looked around the dark, decrepit interior of the Shrieking Shack.

Stiles shifted slightly, rising to his feet and stepping out from behind the bed.

Derek let out a sigh of relief. “Are you okay?”

Stiles tightened his grip on his wand, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. His voice was quiet and raspy, but firm as he said, “Explain. Now.”

Derek dropped his gaze. “When my uncle went missing a few weeks ago, I stupidly thought I was the only person who could find him. I ran away from home to go look for him. A few hours after walking through the woods behind my family’s estate, I was attacked. It was a rogue werewolf.”

“One that holds its shape,” Stiles confirmed.

Derek nodded.

He fell silent for a minute, feeling his chest tighten and his gut twist in knots.

“It bit me,” he admitted.

“You’re a werewolf,” Stiles said. A thought struck him, a look of realisation washing over his face. “That’s why you asked whether a werewolf could become an Animagus.”

Derek nodded.

“And the, uh—the other werewolf. Was that the rogue that bit you?”

Derek nodded again.

“I’m so sorry… I never meant to put you in danger,” Derek said, his voice breaking and full of pain.

“You didn’t put me in danger,” Stiles replied. “I just have a tendency to stumble right into it.”

“Are you hurt?” Derek asked, his voice full of concern.

Stiles looked down at himself, his pale flesh was caked in mud and covered in bloody welts where sticks and stones had scratched open his skin.

“Just a few bumps and bruises,” Stiles said dismissively. “Nothing too bad. How about you?”

Derek seemed taken back by the question.

“I—I’m fine,” he said. He glanced down at his arms, the tan flesh marred by dark bruises and faint pink lines where thick gashes were stitching themselves back together. “Werewolves heal quickly.”

Derek glanced back over his shoulder, up the stairs at the door that lead back outside.

“We should gat back,” he said. “Everyone will be waking up soon.”

Stiles nodded, slowly edging towards Derek.

Derek took no offence to Stiles’ hesitation; he was surprised that he trusted him at all. He led the way up the stairs and pushed open the rickety door at the base of the Whomping Willow. He squinted slightly as he stepped out of the cool shadows and into the world lit by the golden glow of the morning light. He looked up at the thrashing branches, feeling his chest tighten anxiously.

Stiles stepped up to Derek’s side, both of them keeping their back pressed against the thick tree trunk. He held his wand out.

“Immobulus.”

The branches stilled, frozen mid-action.

Stiles drew in a measured breath and took a step forward, and then another, making his way across the divots and dirt holes that covered the ground beneath the Willow.

He and Derek made their way back across the open field and up to the gates of Hogwarts, where Mr Harris stood, his arms crossed over his chest and his cold eyes staring down at the boys. Beside him stood Coach Finstock, his dark unkempt hair sticking up at all angles.

“Mr Stilinski, I expect this kind of behaviour from you, but Mr Hale – I must admit – I am surprised to see you,” Harris said, his voice cold.

“Everyone’s looking for the two of you,” Coach added. “I hope you have a good explanation for this.”

Derek bowed his head, his stomach twisting in knots as a sickening wave of bile rose into his throat. This was it; he’d be exposed and sent to Azkaban.

“I was helping Derek study,” Stiles lied. “We nearly got caught outside of the dorms after lights out and we panicked, so we apparated and ended up outside where we were attacked by a werewolf.”

Derek blinked in surprise, glancing out the corner of his eye at Stiles.

Harris looked at him, his face deadpan with disbelief. “A werewolf?”

Stiles met his gaze defiantly.

“A werewolf,” he said firmly. “We were chased into the Shrieking Shack and hid there until the sun came up.”

“That’s quite the fanciful story, Mr Stilinski.”

“It’s the truth,” Stiles insisted.

Harris opened his mouth to say something but Coach Finstock held up his hand, interrupting them.

“We’ll decide what to do with the two of you later, for now go back to your dorm rooms and clean yourselves up,” Coach instructed. He turned to Mr Harris. “Why don’t you go tell the others that we’ve found them.”

Harris let out a measured breath and turned sharply, storming off down the hall.

Stiles and Derek turned the other way and began to head down the hall.

“Mr Hale, a moment,” Coach called after him.

Derek stopped, glancing at Stiles before turning back to Coach.

Coach lowered his voice. “I know things have been tough for you since your uncle went missing, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to start acting recklessly and breaking the rules. It’s not going to change anything.”

Derek bowed his head.

“Your sisters were worried sick when they found out you were missing,” Coach continued. “I know things are hard for you, but you’re not alone; think about them.”

Derek nodded.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Coach said. He gently patted Derek on the shoulder “Now, go get yourself cleaned up.”

Derek nodded again, turning and making his way down the halls. He made his way to the shifting staircases, the buzz of chatter reaching his ears. He glanced up to see crowds of students gathered on the stairs and the landings, staring at the walls and talking quietly.

Among the crowd he spotted a familiar face.

“Cora,” he called out, hurrying over to his sister’s side.

“Where the hell have you been?” Cora growled.

“It’s a long story,” Derek dismissed. “What’s going on?”

“The paintings,” Cora said.

The crowd parted and Derek saw what she meant. The paintings that hung on the walls were destroyed—the canvases were slashed, the frames broken or hanging crooked, and the living portraits injured and cowering in fear.

“What happened?”

“The paintings say some kind of wolf tore through the castle,” Cora replied.

Derek’s heart sank into his gut.

“A wolf?” Derek repeated, his voice catching in his throat.

His eyes followed the trail of destruction, a path winding around the walls and leading up to the higher flights of stairs—to the Slytherin dorms.

“Stiles.”

 ------------------------------------------------

 Stiles dragged his feet across the smooth wooden floorboards of the dorm room. His eyes were heavy and his movements slow and lethargic as he shrugged off the mod-stained hoodie that he wore. He tossed it over the end of his bed, stepping over to his trunk and pulling out his uniform.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears. His brow furrowed slightly in confusion; no one else should be in the dorms.

He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder to see who was there. His heart dropped.

He barely caught a glimpse of the alpha’s glowing red eyes before he lunged at Stiles.

Stiles dove aside, reaching for his wand, but the werewolf tackled him to the ground. He thrashed around, his elbow colliding with the creature’s jaw as he tried to fight back or break free.

The werewolf pinned him to the floor, pressing their weight against the teen’s wrists until his frail bones threatened to break. The alpha’s jagged talons tore through the pale skin of Stiles’ arm. The bitter metallic smell filled Stiles’ nose as streams of blood coursed across his skin, the searing pain igniting every nerve in his body and flooding his veins.

Stiles cried out in pain.

The alpha let out a low growl, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl as he leant in closer.

Stiles felt the heat of the creature’s breath against his skin, squeezing his eyes shut as tears fell from his eyes.

He let out a broken sob.

There was another growl, one more fierce than the alpha’s low, threatening rumble.

Stiles hesitantly opened his eyes to see the alpha tackled off of him. He turned his head to see Derek thrown back.

Derek let out a stifled grunt as he hit the solid wooden frame of one of the beds. He bared his teeth in a vicious snarl, his eyes burning with rage as he charged at the alpha.

He slashed at him blocking his bows and fighting back as he put himself between the alpha and Stiles; protecting him.

The alpha snapped and snarled, his claws tearing at Derek’s clothes and clawing open his skin.

Streams of red stained Derek’s skin, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He fought back, but the alpha was too strong for him.

The alpha threw Derek back against the far wall. His head slammed against the rough bricks, bursts of light and colour blinding him as he dropped to his hands and knees.

The alpha grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off his feet.

Derek let out a strangled breath, kicking out as he tried to free himself.

The alpha’s grip didn’t waver.

The crimson glow of the creature’s eyes was full of bloodlust as he raised his arm, flexing his claws; ready to kill Derek.

The alpha froze, his body stiffening.

His grip weakened.

Derek fell to the floor, coughing, sputtering, and gasping for breath.

The alpha collapsed, hitting the ground with a solid thud.

Derek looked across the room to see Stiles, half slouched against his bed with his other arm outstretched and his wand in his hand.

Stiles slowly lowered his wand, his shoulder rising and falling with heavy breaths.

There was a thundering crash as the door to the dorms was thrown open.

Harris and Coach rushed into the room, skidding to a halt as they looked around the room.

Harris’ eyes fell on the werewolf, growing wide.

“Quite the fanciful story, huh?” Stiles said bitterly between broken breaths.

Harris shook himself from his stupor, straightening as he looked between the two boys. “Let’s get you two to the infirmary.”

Derek sluggishly pushed himself upright, bracing himself on the wall and he rose to his feet. He staggered across the dorm room, holding his hand out to Stiles and helping him to his feet.

A crowd od students gathered behind Harris, craning their necks to look in through the doorway.

A small figure shoved her way through the crowd, pushing past Harris and into the room despite his objections. She rushed across the room, throwing herself into her brother’s arms.

Derek let out a small sigh, wrapping his arms around Cora’s narrow shoulders and holding her tight.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m okay.”

“Oh my God,” Coach uttered, his quiet voice catching their attention.

Cora stepped back. Derek and Stiles turned, following Coach’s gaze to where the alpha lay on the floor, shifting back to his human form.

Coach grabbed a blanket from one of the beds, draping it across the man’s body.

Derek couldn’t take his eyes of the man.

The slender body lay bare on the ground, his fair skin covered in pale white scars. His chest slowly rose and fell with even breaths. Black ink stood out on the underside of his forearm, the Slytherin crest tattooed into his skin and a bold black triskelion on his wrist. His light brown hair was streaked with grey and longer than Derek remembered, but the man’s weary face was the same as always.

Derek’s heart stopped.

“Peter.”

[qwertythepopstarian08]

Feeling Blue, Part 2

Finally! FB Part 2 is done!

This was a bit of a hassle to get through, and I’m still not entirely sure I like how the battle scene turned out, but it’s here! The battle’s pretty short, but there’s a ton of feels in this chapter, and I’m pretty proud of it. Hope you enjoy!

Description: A run-in with an old foe makes Fresh rethink his choices.

Warning for slight angst and canon-typical violence. Also, Lycan is a bit of a brat.

The familiar beat of Lycantropy’s song thrummed in the air. Lava spewed from the craters beneath them, an inferno of liquid flame searing all that it touched. The corrupted blossom thrived in the heat, however, their spiky fur bristling with excitement.

It was a setup for a true battle, the threatening song shaking the very ground with a bass-heavy beat.

Blue stood their guard, their claw-arms tensed. They didn’t want to fight, but…

The wolffish blossom cackled, “This oughta be fun, heehee! I haven’t had a real fight since that little square.”

Blue felt Fresh shudder behind them. They stole a glance behind themselves to flash a reassuring smile, although they couldn’t hide their own nervousness. Tears had welled up in his eyes, and his gaze had adopted a haunted, distant glaze. He was lost in bad memories, fearful of the enemy before them.

Before the cube could react, Lycan suddenly pounced. A spray of lava followed them as they rushed forth, claws outstretched. The cube sidestepped narrowly, yet Lycan seemed to foresee this, catching their arm in a painful grip. They dragged Blue down with themselves, sending them both tumbling towards a pool of lava.

Painfully, pink raced up the cube’s arms. Lycan could no longer harm them with their powers, but the lava was hot enough to singe.

Fresh leapt to his feet, rushing to catch them. “Blue, no!” He managed to narrowly grab the edge of their jacket, the fabric snagging on his claws. Lycanthropy was sent flying from the inertia, nearly landing in the lava only to catch themselves on a nearby rock. A relieved sigh left Fresh, and he stood, approaching the wild blossom.

Blue stood shakily, a frown spreading across their features. Some of Fresh’s normal demeanor seemed to return as the formerly pink shape made his way towards Lycanthropy, his eye glowing in anger.

He stopped when he was only a few inches away from the blossom, casting a threatening shadow over their form. Even in his harmless, blue state, he still gave off an aura of danger, showing that, although he couldn’t hurt anyone with magic, he was willing to put up a fight.

“Now, listen, you spiky mutt,” he hissed. Lycan scrambled to their feet, their ears flattening in fear. Fresh’s voice lowered to a gravelly snarl as he continued, “Blue didn’t ask for a fight, so-”

“You’re one to talk, cyclops!”

He was cut off as Lycan suddenly pounced forth, screeching. Their music blared with violent intent as they clawed at their opponent. Eye wide, Fresh scrambled backwards, hollering. The pink blossom’s very touch hurt, and not just from their spikes.

Each inch of his form burned from the mere contact, and he suddenly knew exactly how Cyan felt. As a blue shape, he was now deathly vulnerable to pink. Startled, he managed to throw Lycan off, landing a solid punch to the creature’s midsection for good measure.

The beastly blossom was sent flying, slamming against a stalactite before tumbling to the cave floor, crumpling like a battered insect. As suddenly as it had began, the music faded out, stuttering like a broken record before dropping into silence.

Blue watched, tense, wondering what would happen next. Fresh scowled down at the defeated blossom, although he made no move to attack, his offensive stance dropping.

After a moment, Lycan twitched, groaning. “You… you’re in for it…” Their voice shook, muffled. “When I stand… up…”

They attempted to stand, to be stopped by a hand. They looked up, seeing Barracuda looming over them, a haunted look in his eye.

Voice low, he breathed, “That will be enough, Lycan.” His tone dropped to a low, warning inflection. “There is no need to fight.”

The blossom opened their mouth to retort, although the snake-like shape’s glare was enough to subdue them. Growling, they relented, allowing themselves to be picked up by the triangle, held in their arms like a doll.

They pouted like a petulant child, ears flattening against their head. Barracuda slithered back to his previous perch, mirthful glint shining in his eye.

He turned to look at Blue. “I apologize for Lycan. They get very… fiesty around visitors nowadays.” He added with a small growl, “No thanks to your friend.” A slight concern filled the triangle’s voice as he looked over at Fresh, who seemed to be staring into space again, his anger having worn off. “Speaking of the nuisance, are you alright, Fresh?”

The formerly pink shape failed to respond. He stared towards the wall where he’d thrown Lycanthropy. Still as a statue, he seemed to be focused on his own arms, his gaze darting between the singed wall and his hands.

Worried, Blue called, “Fresh…?” After his momentary return to normal, the idea of a relapse made the cube nauseous.

The magenta tint that had previously spread up their limbs retreated, banished by their normal, nervous blue shade. Approaching Fresh slowly, they tapped him on the shoulder, slowly turning him around, hoping that his gaze would be filled with something other than a lost, empty glaze.

What they saw was much worse.

Even Lycan could be heard gasping as the formerly pink shape turned around. His eye was watery and wide, a deep fear clear in his gaze, which Blue followed to see his arm.

A spiderweb of fractures lined his arm, like a network of broken pieces. The fissures glowed very faintly, sizzling with fresh, magenta energy, energy that had burned and broken that part of Fresh’s form. The breaks started at his palms, racing up to his elbows like gauntlets of pain.

Eyes wide, Blue held their friend’s damaged limb, careful not to aggravate the wounds. Filled with concern, they questioned him, “Are you okay?” The answer was obvious, but they felt it was a nice sentiment.

They gently guided Fresh by the arm towards one of the larger, rounded rocks, where Barracuda leaned forward to inspect the injuries.

Still cradled in Barracuda’s arms, Lycanthropy piped up, “He’s definitely not okay, heehee!” Their voice became squeaky with sadistic glee as they cheered, “He’s gonna shatter, he’s gonna shatter!”

That earned them a passive-aggressive pluck in the ear by Barracuda, who glowered down at them before returning his gaze to Fresh. He tilted his head, eye narrowing.

The triangles above Blue’s head tilted downward, flickering in fear. They voiced their anxiety, frowning. “He’s not going to…” They couldn’t say the word without breaking down, but Barracuda seemed to understand, shaking his head with a sigh.

“Of course he’s not going to shatter. It took your small square friend at least three good hits to break, right?” At Blue’s nod, the elder triangle hummed, “Then Fresh will be fine. His body is just adjusting to being blue, that is all. As long as nothing else happens, he will recover.”

Lycan took the opportunity to scramble onto Barracuda’s head, batting at his face with their pawlike hands. “You know I’m gonna make trouble for ya, kitty cat!” They kept cackling even as Barracuda grabbed them again, holding them in a restraining bear-hug. “Serves him right, serves him right!”

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Barracuda addressed Blue again, his tone mildly irritated. “It appears to be obvious that neither of us can help much.” He ‘stood’ to his full height, slithering over to eye the wagon full of equipment that Blue had brought. “So… now that both parties have done their part… you may leave.”

Blue felt their cheeks flush with annoyance. Crossing their arms, they growled, “We just got here, though!” They reached for the wagon with an indignant huff, only for a group of Barracuda’s snakes to block the way, hissing. The creatures had materialized from a bright magenta magic, their glow resonating with a threatening aura. Blue looked back to the triangle, arguing, “All you did was hurt Fresh!”

Barracuda hummed in mild amusement, “I helped to the best of my ability, little cube.” He chuckled darkly, his eye glowing in the dim light, “And I refuse to let you leave without payment.”

The cube lingered, glaring at the constructs, although they ultimately relented, grabbing Fresh’s hand and beginning to drag him out. “If you can’t help us,” they started. “Then so be it.”

They stormed out of the cave, already feeling their internal power spike with anger. It was a minor anomaly, although the cube wanted to leave as soon as possible, lest they cause another battle.

They weren’t entirely sure how much more they could take before breaking down, their nerves on edge from the situation itself. Fresh didn’t seem to notice the slight shudder of their arms, too focused on his own predicament to care.

Blue felt a twinge of sympathy for him; unlike Cyan, who was used to being thrown around, Fresh’s only experience with being almost shattered was during the incident. Fueled by nothing but rage and leeching off of the Treeangle’s power, the tyrannical shape had attempted to blast Cyan into oblivion.

It had been a miracle that the little square had survived, even with their odd ability to rewind time, to defy death. In retaliation, the empowered square had given Fresh exactly what he’d dished out, cracking his fearsome Annihilate form like an eggshell.

As they exited the recesses of the volcano, Blue breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be free of the lava-spewing cavern. They glanced over at Fresh, who seemed to be lost in thought, cradling his injured arm.

Before they could ask if he was okay, however, the formerly pink being spoke up, his voice airy. “This is hopeless.” His catlike ears had folded back, showing his despair. There was a quiver in his tone, his eye watery and unfocused as he whispered, “Let’s just go home, Blue. No one’s going to help us.”

Blue shook their head wildly, crossing their arms. “That’s not true, and you know it!” They scowled, disappointed with their friend’s desolate attitude. “You’ve proven more than enough times that you don’t just give up when someone tells you no.”

That seemed to strike a chord. Fresh looked up, his frown twitching. The light in his gaze seemed to reignite, if only for a second, before he looked away again, sighing. “You don’t have’ta remind me, y’know.” He hugged himself, voice wavering. “I’m stubborn, yeah, but… I think it’s time to throw in the towel on this one, Q-Bee. I’m just blue forever, now.”

Fresh felt as shards of his body flaked away, watching with dim eyes as his very form glitched out and cracked, hair-thin fissures spreading across his arm. It hurt to move, and each sting of pain sent a wave of guilt rushing through him. And yet… he could only watch, powerless to stop it.

He’d broken and corrupted countless other shapes during his rampage. Cyan still didn’t trust him, and Lycan’s friend, Leyland, that poor cactus whom he’d battered for no reason other than the fact that she was in his way, was still terrified of him.

He’d scattered the shards of helpless shapes in a path of destruction, leaving deep scars, both physical and emotional, that would never heal. Even those who had just been corrupted still held echoes of their tainted powers, including Blue.

To him, it felt like retribution to be subjected to a powerless existence.

Voice soft, Fresh restated, “It’s fine, Blue. Like I said before, it’s probably for the best.” He averted his gaze, trying to hide the tears in his eye. “At least I can’t hurt anybody anymore.”

There was no answer besides the faint whistle of the wind. Confused, the formerly pink shape looked up, expecting to see Blue frowning at him, preparing to scold his attitude again. Despite their own easily saddened disposition, the cube always tried to cheer him up, if only to see someone smile. The lack of retort puzzled Fresh, but when he looked around, he realized the reason behind the silence.

No one answered him… because Blue had already left.

No one was there, and Fresh was all alone.

[regulusfilliusinxomine]

We’re still in the Doomwood, and shifting focus from the Frydae’s, we’re going to talk about the real ruler of the endless night. Safi! Safiria! And I know it’s been a long time but if you’re here by happenchance, thanks for reading!

Before we go into Drakath’s view of the vampire queen, I dearly love the retcon they had with safiria and Frydae! 

When she woke up from her 200 year nap, Frydae drooled all over himself and threw himself at her feet for like several years. Safifira herself came off as a fufufuf I’m a scheming villain that may or may not be your friend.

Both, over the time skip, had a huge jump in class and it’s kinda like the writer(s) wanted you to vaguely remember what happened but to disregard it. That’s not important so I’m going to treat it like that too. What happened in book 1 isn’t super important outside of Thursday meeting the hero and getting help with not getting bitten by her grandad. What’s really important is all the stuff in Book 3. I guess I should have mentioned that in the Frydae post. 

Neron mentioned in “Bloodwork” that Safiria has been feared for hundreds of years, referring to her as “the ancient Queen,” but has always ruled in the shadows. Even though Neron is a higher ranking member of the Rose with access to information, and would have to be researching because he’s stationed in Amityvale, that kind of talk hints that this knowledge may be common. 

He also said that it’s been theorized that she was one of the first vampires. Alive way before the endless nights, knowing the Frydae family well. She’s got such an influence on the area but tends to be primarily concerned with vampire affairs. Darkovia affairs at the most. So I don’t really think she cares that much about the Drakaths. Mortal kingdoms rise and fall all the time. I kind of doubt she’d even bother to remember their names (unless she was just saying that as a calculated flex).

And vice versa if the Drakaths were feuding with the Frydae’s and there’s no evidence of them looking to get Safiria in her sleep. Well, no evidence for now at least.

A few theories to why this is. 

One, Darkovia obviously isn’t a very tantalizing bit of land so maybe they left it alone until the stuff with the Frydaes. 

Two, let’s say the Drakaths wanted this bit of land but Safiria was wide awake, trying to have a nice night out with Amaris, and would shank anyone looking to ruin it. The Drakath’s aren’t going to admit that they’re shaking in their boots, they’d just say that they didn’t want this stupid Darkovia in the first place. And then they jumped on the Frydaes like that scary brown monster thing on the scary yeti thing from that Christmas card meme the moment safi took her nap.

Three, guess who’s talking about the damn werewolves again. Me…………

Alright look, it’s been mentioned by the devs before that Dragonfable has its own Lore that’s not going to match with the other games. That being said, we could have very similar things, especially from AQ, the progenitor. In that game, lycantropy was also a disease like in DF. But way way back in the past when Drageth Slugwrath was from a line of princes instead of the main King trunk (I don’t know what to call royal family trees), he discovered a small group of people infected by the disease with the help of Seth Cay Dhows (kinda like the mysterious stranger but it gets real complicated). In a bid for the throne, they captured more people to infect, including Constantin who would later become the werewolf king. The werewolves then had a violent clash with Safiria and her vampires. Skip to the present of AQ, Drakath is aware of Seth Cay Dhows and Drageth but may not have knowledge of the entire story.

Probably not how that goes down in DF but it’d be really cool if we ever come back to the origin story or Darkovia in general. If the Drakath’s really did have a hand if spreading lycantropy, then Safiria would have a way bigger grudge to nurse. 

As for Drakath’s view of Safiria and vampire-kind in general, I believe he’d hate them? Oh, very surprising. 

Well, that is if he believes that Safiria exists. It’s a trope in a lot of work where the arrogant villain insults someone he thinks is just a myth created by dumb peasants, and then Safiria shows up and spanks his skin off. I think it’s a good trope, and I might write it myself if I have to. 

Back on track though. Not only are they “invaders” of his family’s territory, touting a false crown when the real throne belongs to him, they’re monsters. Blood sucking, abominations taking the guise of human beings. It could anger him that these beasts are acting sophisticated when they’re leeching off of his land. I imagine the view would get worse having to serve under an undead like Sepulchure. 

That’s all lip service though. He’s not going to strike a vampire down on sight the way he is. I think one could bump into him by accident, be polite enough to apologize, and he might start sniveling. In the face of the Vampire queen herself,  oh Drakath who? I’m just passing by…

Maybe he’d try to talk down to Safiria for a bit if he had some support from the shadowscythe’s forces before backing down again. Safiria just has that pressure around her, that makes you really think twice, and Drakath isn’t dumb enough to push too hard. He will a little, and if he ever gets his throne back, he’d throw warm body after warm body into Doomwood to get back at her for staring at him in such a scary way.

And that’s if she’s nice. If Safiria rips him to shreds with her words like every other dumbass that treads too close, he’s going to die. He’s going to start foaming at the mouth at how bad he’s getting dressed down. Missed opportunities T_T

[themonsterblogofmonsters]

Thank you by the answer about werewolves. I missed the most important post because I only searched for posts tagged as werewolf and that post was with the tag lycantropy. Werewolves won't be good coloners to Mars then, as it's a moon the factor, not our Moon and there would be two of they.

Oh! And about Trelanwey, she had a lot of problems in accepting the limitations of Divination, but it's show in the books that, excluded the 'drama queen' tendencies, the previsions are rather right, even excluding the profecies. I don't remember anything about Astrology, but the tea leaves at the first class were rather accured.

Yeah, I need to re-tag that post, though I have now added the article post to the Magizoology page, I don’t know why it wasn’t there before, so that should be easier to find. And yes, it’s to do with the affect of the moon - the tides - more than it is which moon it is.

Trelawney, I personally think, was a limited Seer. She might receive a prophecy and repeat it but I don’t think she could use the various other methods to See the future - I think she was a one-note Seer, while her ancestress, Cassandra Trelawney, could See in a multitude of ways which is why belief in these various other things remains. I imagine if someone had some genuine ability as a Seer then they could use these methods to See, use the patterns to un-anchor their minds in time just long enough to see the future, but if the pattern isn’t for them, or if other things trigger their Sight. I have a post on Seers in my Drafts, so I’ll cover this in greater detail in that.

Trelawney’s predictions are not often correct, or more accurately, they’re correct in unexpected and questionable ways. Something Lavender dreaded did come to pass... but she hadn’t dreaded or expected that specific thing to happen and she only received the news on that day, it didn’t happen then. She believed what Trelawney said, however, because it fit. When you ache to believe something it’s very easy to have confirmation bias - believing anything that you think might indicate it was correct even if it wasn’t. Likewise, the prediction of Harry’s death - yes, he does die in order to remove the fragment of Voldemort’s soul however many others from their class also died because there was a war on. Trelawney did not predict any of these deaths. Likewise, “when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"- look at the Wikia:

On Christmas Day, 1993, Sybill Trelawney, professor of Divination at Hogwarts, joined several of her pupils and fellow teachers for Christmas dinner in the castle's Great Hall. She was fearful upon noticing that twelve people were dining in the hall, believing that were she to sit down, the first of the thirteen seated to rise would be the first to die. Fellow professor Minerva McGonagall expressed doubts regarding her fears. [3]

However, if Peter Pettigrew in his Scabbers disguise is counted as a person, there were thirteen people before Trelawney arrived. Since Dumbledore rose from his seat to greet Professor Trelawney, and assuming Derek and two other unnamed students did not die before Dumbledore's death in 1997, Professor Trelawney's prediction was correct.

In 1995, thirteen members of the order dined together, and the first to rise was Sirius. Sirius was the first to die of those thirteen people.

One is possibly accurate, depending on interpretation and unknown factors - we don’t know if those students died or not and it is dependent on if Animagus forms count - and if Pettigrew was even dining, given he was a rat in Ron’s pocket. The other is probably accurate, but it could also be pure coincidence rather like the warning to Lavender.

A lot of what Trelawney says is the kind of superstitious prediction you see in the daily Astrology column in the newspaper. Only accurate if you believe it to be so, and vague enough it could apply to numerous things. I would say that only her specific prophecies are true, though there is one very good fic - readable Here - which posits that she’s more aware of the future than first seems to be the case in a way that inclines me to maybe believe it.

[violet-fire-cat]

What is different between human blood and werewolf blood? Like, how can you tell the difference? Would it taste or be different to vampires or would it be just like human blood to them? If it does taste different, how? Like is it something like a salty taste or something? Is it very noticeable or just a little difference?

As far as vampires are concerned, werewolf blood does taste different to human blood, yes! But how different it tastes varies by the phases of the moon. About a week either side of the full moon werewolf blood tastes- well, most vampires would just say it tastes gross. Some will say it tastes more like animal blood and they'd be right too.

Blood tastes metallic to us, but vampires perceive that more as sweetness (among other things). At least in humans anyway. Animal blood lacks the same properties as human blood, and tastes kind of unpleasant as a result. Possibly more the way we taste it, or possibly something else. I'm not quite sure. (Though vampires can sustain themselves on it, it's not as good for them, they'll get weaker after a while and it doesn't taste great, so the majority avoid it)

When the full moon is close, the wolf is more active, and that results in the werewolfs blood seeming less human to a hungry vampire. Meaning that it does not taste nice. Most wouldn't knowingly feed on a wolf that close to the full moon unless they had no other choice.

If anyone else were to taste it though, it would just taste like blood. And if you were to look at a werewolfs blood and a humans blood under a microscope, it'd be the same. It's only really the vampires (and whatever gadget Doc has that detects lycantropy in blood) that can tell the difference.