With the end of TOH not only capping off Disney's "loose Trilogy" with Gravity Falls, & Amphibia, it pretty much marks the end of this Golden Age of Original Children's Cartoons with Heavy syndicated storylines that started back with Adventure Time. While I don't discredit show that aren't syndicated stories or even the "brand cartoons" Like Star Wars, Transformers, or TMNT there was something magical about seeing people come up with original tales from stuff they were big fans & grew up on to create a whole era that made it cool for adults to have these theories, Excellent fanart, & to be something more then what we were used to in our youths.
I can only hope I'm wrong & one day we'll see another TOH or Steven Universe or Kipo, or Centaurworld, or Adventure Time, or Regular Show, or etc. But with recent events it leaves me less enthused. But I'll still cherish that the 2010's to the early 2020's was this marvelous & revolutionary age for TV animation.
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You and Miguel trip over each others feet, drunkenly, landing on the softness of your cozy bed with your back gently bouncing amongst the thick warmth of your blanket and his towering, stocky frame looming over yours protectively...admirably.
His soft hues of hazelnut irises gaze down at you with such tender and allure. Briefly glances down to the plushness of your pretty, fully lips promptly back up to your glimmering, hazy eyes. Contemplation roaming through his foggy mind.
Your gentle and sweet giggles lure him out from his thinking, eyes focusing more intently into your gorgeous eyes. Sinking and basking in the sheer beauty that resonates from your reeling optics. A lazy, half witted smile weaving across his strong cheeks.
"¿Qué es tan gracioso, preciosa?" he chimes with the same smile, watching you softly roam your tinier hands all over his wide, firm chest. Leaving a trail of arising goosebumps beneath the thin layer of his black shirt that snugged ever so nicely around his bulked stature.
"Y-you Miggy...you're so funny" you emit a small hiccup, fingers still grazing over the soft, light fabric that atoned to his fit body ever so perfectly. Your wandering irises stilling into his directly, nipping back your bottom lip as your palms smoothly, gradually glide their way up and around the juncture of his strong jaw to the back of his neck. Easing in the closeness between the two of you.
He raise a thick brow in curiosity and interest, chuckling lightly as he hums to the light invitation your fingers were hinting at, at the back of his head. Twirling and curling ever so delicately and diligently in between the soften locks of deep mahogany.
"Am I now? do share, dulzura" he keeps his adoring, flaunting smile on his beautiful face. Watching you ever so intently and longingly with every motion you'd make, consuming the intoxicating feeling of your welcoming gentle touches.
You giggle once more, another loose hiccup reverberating through your throat. Your hands clasping more securely around his neck and pull him down to meet your warm, tender lips. Hardly ghosting over the shell of his right ear.
"I can s-see you fighting back the u-urge to kiss me Miguel..." you whisper ever so daintly, smoothly deep into the depths of his ringing ears. You feel his muscles tense under your touch, arising a more coy and playful smirk to tug amongst your heated cheeks.
His head tilts lightly, lips skimming over the flush of your flawless skin, suavely rakes both of his large hands up along the strut of your calling body.
"...Would you be against it, mi amor?" his voice tremored with such lowered bass, rasp like as he grazes your cute cheeks with a teasing touch of his warm lips. Grinning oh so cheekily against the supple flesh as he feels you writhe and squirm a bit beneath him.
Your hands weave more profusely into his curly, brunette hair. Fingers curling and combing through each soften strand, as you pull him more closer towards you.
"O-of course not dummy...that's w-what I've wanted all this time" you breathe out faintly, listening to the sudden hitch of his breath settle at the back of his throat. His dilated pupils following over to remeet your coyish, yearning gaze.
It didn't take him much convincing afterwards to have his hungry lips lap over your own with such dire need and desire. A mixture of dizzying passion and aching want, fueling his ignited action against your lips. Devouring every moan, whimper and breathy gasps that slipped off your trembling, candied lips.
Diligently, wallowing in the devoted and amorous kiss.
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Trauma-Dumping on your plants: The Anthony J. Crowley Chronicles
This has been living in my silly head rent free for so long, I finally decided to slap it on here in hopes of thinking about it a little less (than three times a day. It's been years. I need to get over it.)
Also, I'm absolutely certain I'm not even remotely the first person to realize or post about this, since it's not the hardest of parallels to figure out. Alas, I still shall, because out of mind, out of sight and all that. So:
Let's talk about how Crowley is using his houseplants to work through his own Trauma of the Fall. Or, well, maybe not work through it per se, but more so roleplay it to give it somewhat of an an outlet because he never got over it. Lol.
It's not rocket science to figure it out and God Herself actually gives us a pretty spot-on explanation of it in her own narration.
Crowley's plants are perfect. They're, as God Herself tells us, the most luxurious and beautiful in all of London. He takes great care of them, waters them, mists them. Does any and everything to give them the perfect conditions so they won't have a worry in the world.
And yet, we're immediately shown that despite the seemingly perfect conditions they're living in, Crowley's plants still get *gasps quietly* spots. And we all know how Crowley feels about that:
It seems like such an unnecessary tiny thing to get upset about, right? Like, plants get spots all the time. They're not perfect, they're part of nature and nothing is ever perfect in nature. Crowley would know that by now. Imperfection is the whole point of nature. If everything had stayed exactly the way it always was, nothing would have ever changed or evolved.
Besides, Crowley is a demon. If it were merely about aesthetics to him, he could easily miracle away any spot with a blink of his serpent eyes. But he gets so angry about it, it's almost comical. At first we think it's just to show us, the audience, that, in contrast to Aziraphale, who cares very dearly and lovingly for his books, Crowley is a mean, mean demon who, instead of being outwardly nice to the things he loves (like Aziraphale does), yells at his plants because he's a mean meanie.
But! If you look at the whole scene and what God says, it's pretty obvious what he's actually doing is something else entirely: "What Crowley does is he puts the fear of God in them. Or, the fear of Crowley. The plants are the most luxurious and beautiful in London. Also the most scared."
Folks, this man dude serpent is literally roleplaying the concept of God/Heaven threatening angels with their Fall in order to keep them obedient ... with his houseplants.
Have I mentioned yet that I am absolutely obsessed with him and also desperately wanna get him a therapy voucher?
Because what does he do once he sees a plant disobeying his rules of perfection and acting out? The same thing God did to her questioning, equally disobedient angels (including Crowley): Parade it in front of the very scared rest, making an example of it ...
... only to then, well ...
... quite literally chuck it out.
To anyone else, this seems like a completely ridiculous thing to do over a tiny, minuscule spot. There would have been a bunch of other ways to go about fixing that spot.
Figuring out what it was the plant needed that might not have been given to it yet.
Taking care of it in a different, individual way so it would have been able to thrive again.
Listening to the plant and letting it tell you why its spot appeared in the first place.
Telling the plant, that loves and relies on you entirely, you love it too, despite it not being without fault, despite of it not fully living up to your unreachable standards of perfection.
Caring for the plant not because you want it to be perfect, but because you're okay with it being imperfect.
(We're no longer talking about plants here, as you are probably aware.)
Alas, this isn't what Crowley does. Because it wasn't what God did, either. We still know very little about Crowley's actual Fall and the Fall of Lucifer and the rest. But we do know that Crowley was never like or even with them.
All he did was ask some questions. A tiny spot. A seemingly insignificant blemish in the luxurious, beautiful flora of Heaven.
And yet, before he knew it, he did a "million lightyear freestyle dive into a boiling pool of sulfur". Cast out, chucked away, just like his little spotty plant. And for what? Well ...
... to keep the others angels plants check, for the rest of time.
***
(Addendum from the comments: If we go by what the book tells us, Crowley doesn’t actually end up violently throwing out the ‚bad‘ plants. He just finds a different place for them and makes sure they‘re looked after. So much to him being a big, bad, meanie-mean demon.)
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