#rabbit and bunny are interchangeable here honesty

[verdictionist]

A silly little bunny + Kimono deign

[alifeincoffeespoons]

a wolfstar good omens au

because i LOVE the art of @maria-tries​ and have had this headcanon living rent-free in my head ever since i saw this

i. 

Sirius is cool. When he walks, it’s with a swagger. He knows the right way to smirk to make strangers blush. He knows how to make his hair fall perfectly around his shoulders and catch the eye of every passerby. He knows how to wear his leather jacket so it fits him perfectly, no matter what he has on underneath. It comes with being a demon, after all.

(This is not entirely true. Most demons don’t pay attention to the way their hair falls or the perfect way to smirk. Sirius is the only demon who actually cares to learn these things. It’s true that every demon is capable of these things; most just don’t particularly want to, especially when they could be torturing idiotic humans instead.)

This makes him particularly good at temptation. Other things Sirius is good at include inventing devices and structures to lead humans onto the path to damnation (his more recent ones include Twitter and inauthentic poke bowl chains), raising tropical birds, and caring for his motorbike, a 1940 Harley-Davidson. 

Things Sirius is apparently not good at include caring for children, given that he’s lost the fucking Antichrist. 

“What do you mean you’ve lost him?” Remus hisses, and wow, this is the angriest Remus has ever looked, which isn’t very angry at all, to be honest, given that angels aren’t actually capable of being angry. To an outsider, he just looks a bit befuddled. 

“You lost him too!”

“Yes, but you were the one who brought him to that hospital.”

“Satanic convent.”

“Is this really the time to be precise?”

“I mean, a lack of precision was what got us here,” and it looks like angels actually are capable of being angry, since Remus’s current blank stare is absolutely terrifying.

“Are you sure?” Remus paces around the grounds of Malfoy Manor, where the birthday-boy-who-is-apparently-not-the-Antichrist is laughing at the hired magician, a pompous narcissist named Gilderoy Lockhart, who’s just failed to pull a bunny rabbit out of his top hat. Sirius makes a mental note to use Lockhart to tempt more people into rage sometime; if this is how horribly arrogant he is at a child’s birthday party, he can’t wait to see the damage he could do on a date. 

(Over the course of Gilderoy Lockhart’s short existence, he’s managed to seal the damnation of thirty individuals already. He would be a very good demon. Gilderoy Lockhart himself, of course, was hell-bound before he even reached his second year of university, by the force of his unfortunate habit of stealing the research of his fellow students. This, coincidentally, was also how he managed to get expelled from university.)

Multiple people would probably end up with black eyes at the end.

“Well, there’s no hellhound—”

“Don’t say that in front of the humans!”

“Oh, come off it, no one’s listening, everyone’s either getting drunk or throwing food at the magician—”

“Still!”

“There’s no dog here, and Bellatrix was just kind enough to inform me that the hellhound has arrived safely at the Antichrist’s home, so I’m pretty damn sure this is the wrong kid!”

“But how could we have lost him?” Remus looks like he’s going to either scream or cry, and neither is particularly appropriate for this occasion, even if Draco Malfoy’s birthday party is shaping up to be an unmitigated disaster even without the Antichrist Problem, given that the guests have begun throwing around chunks of the birthday cake topped with edible gold. 

(Which would have been a bad idea even if Lockhart wasn’t a hopeless magician, given that no eleven-year-old’s palette is nuanced enough to appreciate the delicacies of edible gold. Alternatively, edible gold is never a good idea, as it is simply capitalism at its worst. The second is more likely.)

“I don’t know, but we have, so we better fucking do something about it,” Sirius says. 

ii.

Doing something about it apparently means getting the hell out of Draco Malfoy’s disastrous eleventh birthday party and hunkering down in Remus’s bookstore to do research. Research means, in this case, Remus muttering furiously as he flips through dozens of prophecy books in hopes of finding something useful and Sirius annoying Remus as Remus mutters furiously. It’s very fun, annoying Remus. His angel isn’t very easily flustered, to be honest, which makes the pay-off even more worth it when he becomes flustered, in Sirius’s opinion. 

(Remus’s cheeks go all red and his freckles become even more prominent. If Sirius was the type of demon who went around calling things adorable, he would call Remus adorable. As Sirius is not that kind of demon, thank you very much, he thinks of Remus, secretly, as delectable. Honestly, the two are fairly interchangeable.)

Over the course of his 6,000-year-plus tenure on Earth, he’s also discovered that there are many things that annoy Remus. These include, and are not limited to:

Flipping through one of his books loudly and sighing whenever possible, making sure to say “boring” in an audible tone;

Eating Remus’s chocolate and then leaving the wrappers everywhere for him to find;

Calling Remus “Moony-Moons” in a sickeningly sweet tone (a nickname acquired after an unfortunate incident wherein some superstitious residents of Edinburgh mistook the angel for a werewolf in the 16th century);

Taking the motorbike around the block near Remus’s bookshop, making sure to rev the engine very loudly every lap; 

Humming “God Save The Queen” off-key, just loudly enough for Remus to hear. It’s doubly annoying, because he tips his chair back to creak on every off-beat.

Right now, he’s in the process of repeating the fifth option for the third time when Remus slams the book shut. For a moment, he thinks Remus is going to whisper-yell at him. 

(Hot.)

Or maybe he’s going to kiss him. 

(Even hotter.)

Instead, Remus simply stands up. 

“Right. I think we need to find a book.”

“Remus, you have almost every book written in the past five centuries and then some in this bookshop.��� This is helped by the fact that Remus keeps very odd hours, always opening late in the afternoon and closing early in the morning. This isn’t even to mention the week he takes off every month, without fail, which has helped spread the rumor, again, that Remus is a werewolf. Sirius has not mentioned the existence of this rumor to Remus, because he finds it hilarious. If Remus needed to actually make money, he would be exceptionally poor, given that the last time he sold a book was three weeks ago, and it was a two pound guide book of Paris. 

Remus gives him a look. “Unfortunately, I don’t, actually, though that would be very nice. I’m missing Cassandra Trelawney’s Book of Strange and Mystical Prophecies.”

“Remus, all this prophecy bunk is rubbish. It’s just humans trying to scam dumber humans out of their money.” Sirius would know. He’s very good at creating ways for humans to scam dumber humans out of their money. He invented Juicero, after all. 

“It’s not, actually,” Remus says. “Granted, a lot of the prophetic books are, especially those from the 19th century, but Cassandra Trelawney’s is exceptionally accurate.”

“Aren’t you the one always going on about ineffability? How can any books be written if everything is ineffable anyway?”

Remus sighs. His angel is exceptionally good at sighing. Secretly, Sirius likes to think that they’re a sign of affection. 

(Actually, they are. Remus has a specific sigh for Sirius, which can best be translated as “you’re quite annoying, in all honesty, but for some reason, I’ve grown very attached to you and don’t know how I could bear to live without you at this point.”)

“The Plan may be ineffable, but Cassandra Trelawney was a true seer. This is just a shot in the dark, honestly, but if we could get our hands on it, it might help us find out who the Antichrist actually is.”

“And then what do we do?” Sirius asks. “What, we find this Antichrist, who’s probably been influenced by Downstairs already, if he has the hellhound, and what? We talk to him about how this world is actually very nice, so please don’t end it, please? You really think that’s going to work? This is the literal spawn of Satan, Remus. It’s not just another idiotic eleven-year-old. And what, do you think that prophecy book is just going to hold all the answers? That it’ll give a perfect description of the Antichrist and his exact address, and we’ll just find him?” 

“Well, what else can we do?” And there’s that Remus flush. Delectable, indeed.

“Run away with me,” Sirius decides suddenly. Remus gives him an incredulous look.

“To where?” he scoffs. “Sirius, if we can’t find the Antichrist, all of this will be gone.”

And that hurts, it does, because Sirius loves Earth, loves everything about it. He loves the solidity of the ground under his motorbike, loves the wine (he has taste, sue him), loves London especially, all the cafes where he can watch Remus sip tea and fawn over chocolate pastries. But if they find the Antichrist, and everything goes south anyway, because that’s what will probably happen, in any case—

“What if we find him and it’s gone anyway? Remus, if we fuck this up—and given how solidly we managed to fuck up taking care of the right Antichrist—one of us will probably be dead in the next month.” I can’t lose you, he doesn’t say, because he doesn’t know what he would do if Remus doesn’t feel the same way. “Remus, we can go—we can go to fuck, I don’t know, Alpha Centauri. Or anywhere else. You read all those books about exploring the galaxy, well, we could do that.”

Because Remus is far more principled than Sirius, for a moment, he seems to be gazing into space, and then he just sighs. 

(In that moment, Remus thought about running away with Sirius to some distant galaxy, where they could be something besides an angel and a demon, something unnameable and perfect in that unnameability, and it was all well and good for that moment, but then he thought about all the families that would be torn apart, all of the people who hadn’t done anything wrong at all, really, and would be condemned for simply happening to exist at the wrong time, and he knew he couldn’t.)

“We can’t. We just—we need to find him, and we can go from there. Look, has anything terrible happened yet?”

“It could be,” Sirius says sullenly. “And something terrible is always happening.”

“More terrible than usual, I mean. Earthquakes across the world, volcanic eruptions, Martians destroying London—and don’t give me that look, we’ll know if that happens.”

“Not yet,” Sirius has to admit. 

“Well, there you have it. We can save him.”

“Oh, so because he’s not currently destroying the world, he’s suddenly not the Antichrist anymore?”

“I never said that,” Remus replies mildly. “I’m saying that he’s a child, even if he’s the Antichrist, and he can’t be expected to be a soldier in a war he doesn’t even know he signed up for.”

“You and your fucking logic. Where are we even going to find this book of horrible prophecies?”

“I may have an idea,” Remus says.

(This idea, it must be said, is less of a fully-formed idea and more of an inkling. In short, it is not a very good idea.)

will i ever write more of this? who knows. maybe? i just Love the idea of sirius as crowley and remus as aziraphale so very much. 

(harry’s the antichrist, of course. but a good one!)