We're All Stories in the End

this was a long undertaking but i’m beyond excited to post what i believe is the most comprehensive daemon-finding quiz to date, featuring 33 categories of animals and 272 total possible outcomes! from insects to owls to seals to wild cats, you’re sure to find a unique result that fits your personality.

Here is some more helpful identification knowledge of birbs

steve is the soldier who fought in world war 2. he’s the tail end of the glory and honor of war. his reasons for fighting are clear cut, moral, as far as he can tell. but the weapons used are too deadly, too fatal for glory and honor, really. there’s the attempt to treat enemy combatants with respect, with honor, all while killing them quick than has ever been possible before. there’s the unease of the shift from the old style of fighting to the new. there’s the tiredness that only comes from a second global war in only two decades. there’s the closure that comes from unprecedented total destruction. the thought of “maybe now we can go home. maybe now we can build lives like our parents, those of us that are left.”

bucky is the soldier who fought in vietnam. he’s the one that couldn’t dodge the draft, that couldn’t evade the fight no matter how hard he tried. he’s the one who followed the orders he had to, and rebelled against all the others. his uniform was askew, more civvies than not. he didn’t look a soldier, and he didn’t fight like one either. he didn’t know why he was fighting, who he was fighting. he saw too many innocents die by the hands of his comrades, of himself. he felt agent orange burn his lungs, saw orphans crying in the streets. he came home, the rat-a-tat of machine guns echoing in his ears, always. he disembarked a plane, and was spat on by anti-war protesters. he couldn’t even be angry– he agreed with them. he participated in the winter soldier investigations, confessed what he’d been forced to do, and that almost abated the weight on his shoulders. almost.

But of course he was.

It started in the autumn of his fifth year. The fifteen-year-old marched through the corridors, feeling rather important, a badge pinned to his robes.

Filch caught him within the first five minutes. To be fair, James hadn’t tried to run. (If he had, he would have gotten away). He had no reason to. Still, the caretaker grumbled threats of torture as he dragged the Chaser to Professor McGonagall’s office.

“Pretending to be a Prefect,” Filch snarled.

“I’m not pretending you old—” James eventually broke off as he realized that there was no use shouting at the lump of clay that was the caretaker. And so, he turned to Professor McGonagall and said, “I’m a temporary Prefect for the night.”

“Are you?” she asked, with a flicker of amusement. “I don’t seem to recall appointing you as such.”

“You know, Sirius’ brother told me something interesting the other day,” James said. “Did you know that if you looked at the night sky, you could see a star that represents them both? Isn’t that strange. Look for yourself, Professor.”

And she glanced out the window and saw the stars in question. Right next to the nearly full moon. Her face gave away nothing, but she curtly dismissed the caretaker, who seemed surprised if not furious.

“Surely you want me to stay to deliver the punishment?” Filch asked.

“There will be no punishment,” Professor McGonagall said curtly. “You caught a Prefect out of bed. That’s not exactly against the rules, is it?”

James could have hugged her.

As soon as the caretaker was gone, she pushed the tin of biscuits towards James. It didn’t even need saying at this point. He grinned and took his favorite kind. She always had them.

“I didn’t even think…” she whispered. “It’s not full for another three days.”

“I know,” said James. “But he’s really sick this time.”

“He should have told me,” she said. “I would have given him the time off.”

“Yeah, well,” James shrugged. “You know Remus.”

She smiled; she did indeed.

“Did he brief you on your responsibilities?” the professor asked.

“If by ‘briefed’ you mean ‘went into a three-hour lecture on what I should or should not do’ then yeah.”

“You know that I can’t make this official,” Professor McGonagall said. “People would talk.”

“Nah, I know,” James said. 

“You can’t brag about this.”

“I know.”

“You can’t abuse your privileges.”

“I know.”

“Take another biscuit.”

He grinned and did so.

“I believe you have work to do,” she said.

James gave her a mock salute and marched away. He performed Remus’ duties all night, never once abusing the power, knowing that doing so would tarnish Remus’ reputation. He performed them the next two nights as well and told a very skeptical Professor McGonagall that he was sick on the night of the full moon. (”Oh dear,” she said. “I hope your illness stagnates.”)

Truth be told, James was a Prefect almost as much as Remus was.