No one ever tells Obi-Wan that he is his Master's padawan.
Of course, for most people who had known Qui-Gon Jinn, telling someone else they resembled the the man would in fact be a thinly veiled insult. But still, Obi-Wan feels the absence of comparisons almost as strongly as he feels the absence of his Master.
There is no one for Obi-Wan to push against now, no strong presence at his side, ready to grab him by scruff and pull him back from another reckless stunt. It's an odd feeling. He has been set loose against his wishes. There is no one to his left and Anakin at his heels, but Anakin had needed, still needs, a strong, gentle figure for his prickly but sensitive heart. For even their worst bickering could not hold a candle to the scathing remarks he and Qui-Gon had shot at each other and Obi-Wan knows he cannot push and needle Anakin in the same way.
When Qui-Gon had been alive they had been an amusing, mirrored pair, the maverick and his rule-following padawan. Opposites clashing against each other, yet working together to complete the most difficult missions. Few saw that Qui-Gon's impertinence had indeed rubbed off on his padawan, cultivated from that small, angry initiate, because the only way to rebel against the rule-breaker had been to parrot the Council fastidiously. No one would ever get to see that again. Obi-Wan is one half of a mirrored pair trying to complete a routine on his own. What once was an impish, teasing compliance is now a betrayal of all his Master's values.
"How could Qui-Gon raise such a model Jedi?" He hears them say, "It's admirable that Master Kenobi was appointed to the Council despite his Master's maverick ways."
Padawan Kenobi would have yelled and kicked and screamed. Master Kenobi is serene. It should feel like an achievement. It feels like a disappointment.
Sometimes, Obi-Wan looks at the shape of the man he has moulded himself into, and aches to be his Master's padawan.
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Does fae!König get upset that Ghost and Love grew the baby that could have been his and liebling's? Does Love tell Liebling that Little Cabbage came from the thrown out seed? Canon or not, the baby is cute
I was already thinking about this. This is Liebling's nightmare scenario. Which means it's her POV.
You don't think you've ever seen Ghost enter the shop not looking like he's here for your immortal soul. Similarly you've never seen Love look so put together. You have also, and this is the most important part, never seen that baby before.
The little one asleep in the carrier strapped to Ghost's chest, a little pink scrunchy hat and hello kitty sunglasses on its tiny head as it snoozes. You're almost too distracted by the fact Ghost has the baby to notice Love's shirt proudly proclaiming in hot pink, "Baby Thief." Ghost grabs the back of her shirt collar before she can launch herself at you.
"Behave," He tells her in a firm voice, letting her go when she drops her arms from their grabbing position. "I'm going to talk to König, ask your question nicely."
"I'm always nice." Love tells him, Ghost hums like he doesn't believe her and wanders off further into the store. Love turns the full force of her attention on you.
"Who's baby?" You ask, eyeing her shirt.
"Mine." Somehow you don't believe her.
"You weren't pregnant. You would've told me." You remind her, gently as you can. She hums in the same tone Ghost did, nodding her head slightly.
"Funny story. You remember that weird seed you said you'd never plant in a million years because it could Audrey two your ass?" You nod, half listening as you watch König bend down to wiggle his fingers at the baby on Ghost's chest. You can see Ghost's mask moving, he must be saying something, his large hands holding up the baby's to point towards Love. "Well I figured I'd plant it since you didn't want it," No, not pointing at Love, at you, "and it grew a baby."
König's head snaps to look at you so fast you don't have time to process what Love just said before all your blood drains out through your feet. His eyes bore holes through you, cold fury radiating off of him almost visible in the way shadows seem to collect around his form. His limbs are all wrong, body wrong, eyes so red you think they might have invented to color. His teeth bare through his obscura. He takes a step towards you and you shove your hand in the small bowl of Iron rings on the counter faster than you can think. Unable to move and break his gaze, but at least able to make him think twice about coming after you right this second.
Ghost grabs König's arm, his grip as unflinching as the metal you slide onto your fingers, holding König steadfast as he speaks. Your breathing feels far too quick and uneven as you boyfriend takes a careful step back into his previous conversation(into his human form) and breaks your gaze. Love's grip on your arm comes into focus over the ringing in your ears, the tight warmth of her hand, you pull your attention back to her. The look of concern on her face is one you haven't seen before.
"I'm fine," You shrug off her hand. Your body too hot and too cold, darkness fuzzing the edges of your vision.
"Sit down," You sit heavy on your stool behind the counter, you hate when she does that, and shake off the tether she burned, "looked like you were about to faint. Listen I didn't come to give the kid back, she's-" Love looks over her shoulder at Ghost and the baby, you've never seen that look either, she shakes her head and looks back at you, "I came because I wanted to ask if you'd be her godmother."
"Is Ghost asking König to be godfather?" You ask, trying to process whatever the hell is happening in your life before you have a panic attack.
"God no," Love snorts, "Soap's the godfather." You have no idea who that is. "No, Simon's just showing off."
You both watch the specter of death lift the baby from her harness and snuggle her against the crook of his arm so König can see her. For all the softness, you can tell how watchful Ghost's eyes are, how closely Love watches as well. Almost on edge when König's fingers shake the baby's tiny hand. It makes you uneasy. What do they think he'll do? What were you afraid he'd do?
"Why are you asking me to be godmother?" You try to quiet your anxiety, bring Love's attention back to you. It works well enough.
"Because you're my friend?" She really only knows how to raise more questions in your life. You stare at her.
"We're friends?"
"Bitch." She snorts, you blink, not sure what's funny. She pulls out her phone and taps a few things with a shake of her head. When she turns it to face you it's your text conversation. "We text all the time every day, I come to hang out with you at least once a week, the fact that I can steal shit out of your house? Come on."
You're not sure what her sticky fingers have to do with your friendship, but she raises some valid points besides that.
"As long as you're not trying to give it back."
"Not on your life." Love grins, you do your best to smile back.
"Then sure, I'd love to be godmother." Well, maybe love is a strong word, but you're flattered and she's right you don't think you have a closer friend.
A tiny wail bounces through the store, Love's gaze snaps to Ghost where he's bouncing the baby. König has his hands up like he's afraid to touch it, or is attempting to maintain his innocence in the new tears. Ghost waves him off and makes his way back over to you and Love. Handing the fussy bundle to Love's waiting arms.
"Pourquoi pleures-tu mon petit chou?" She coos down at the baby, tucking it against her shoulder to bounce gently. You gotta admit it's a pretty cute little thing, still you're glad it's not yours. You grip your fist tightly, feeling the dig of metal against your palm as König hovers nearby.
"Wir werden später reden," He promises, low and dangerous, just for you to hear. You can feel his desire to touch you, held just at bay by the iron jewelry.
"I didn't know you spoke French," You smile at Love, anything to keep her around longer and delay the inevitable.
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I keep seeing people suggest Crowley's presentation in 1827 was feminine, and listen—headcanon what you want, I'm not your mom. But the justification is that he's supposedly dressed in feminine, as opposed to masculine, clothing? He isn't. You're just looking at Regency fashion with 21st-century eyes.
Both Aziraphale and Crowley are exemplaries of well-dressed gentlemen of the early 19th century, just in different styles.
On the left, a many-caped greatcoat like the one Aziraphale is wearing; on the right, a coat with puffed sleeves and a narrow waist like the one Crowley is wearing. (Both images seem to originate from Journal des Dames et des Modes, 1811 and 1826, respectively.)
I also saw something about Crowley's fob watch actually being a chatelaine?
Again, I have to disagree. What Crowley's wearing just looks like a watch chain, which both men and women wore. What you can see is the chain and a charm at the end; the watch itself is tucked into a pocket (same as with Aziraphale's).
Watch chain (left; another plate from Journal des Dames et des Modes) vs. chatelaine (right, from here).
While a chatelaine could possibly refer to a decorative watch chain, the chatelaines specifically associated with women are the accessories worn by female heads of household or housekeepers (hence the name) to hold keys and other useful items. They could get quite elaborate. Crowley's doesn't look particularly like a chatelaine more than it looks like a watch chain, to me.
To sum up, there's not really anything I can see about Crowley's fashion choices in 1827 that specifically says "female presenting"; it all fits in with men's fashion of the time. You can headcanon whatever you want! But this particular era isn't one in which Crowley's wardrobe and styling definitively reads as feminine.
Note for a couple people with poor reading comprehension: TERFs are not welcome on this post. Fuck off.
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