dan eating a peach in the background while phil does his nordvpn spon is KILLING MEEEEEE
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Here's a thought.
Sam has been irrevocably changed since his coming back from hell (and jumping in of course). So often I find myself looking at later season's Sam, a Sam who's not a firey rebel against what the world wants of him, a Sam who would fight for himself. This is a quietly submissive Sam who can't stand to disappoint Rock No.1. Someone who takes on pain again and again and again because he's so used to it.
Sam from the first seasons it's not the same Sam as the later. This is a broken, traumatized man who excels at being high functioning and I am SO sure of it.
He LOOKS resigned and tired a lot of the time. And it reminds me of hell!Sam begging himself not to remember. hell!Sam knew what he was talking about and what we're seeing in later seasons is his reflection.
And let me throw in a Silmarillion reference because why the heck not. Like the souls of elves go to Mando's halls, Sam's soul needed to go to heaven and heal from all the years of hell he suffered (earthly ones and hell ones). He was not ready to be reembodied in earth and now he's come wrong.
Like 5 different entities warned us about Sam's shredded to ribbons soul. To me, that doesn't sound like a soul that should've been put back in a body.
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Taken by the amazing fantastic wonderful @wilxfyre
I commissioned them to take some sappy shots of Vice and So Mi because all of their work is just so impressive, and I am still not over how fucking adorable and wholesome these are. Every soft, tender moment they get together fills me with so much joy, it heals my soul.
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LES DEUX BOUTS DE L'ÉCHELLE, PIERRE
𝘑𝘦 𝘳é𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘴: 𝘔𝘰𝘪, 𝘫𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦 𝘳ê𝘷𝘦𝘶𝘳;
𝘑𝘦 𝘮'𝘦𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘤ô𝘵𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦
𝘋𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘭'𝘰𝘦𝘪𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘴é, 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘫'𝘢𝘪 𝘱𝘦𝘶𝘳, 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦,
𝘋'é𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘪𝘦𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘶𝘳.
𝘑𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘶𝘳,
𝘊𝘢𝘳 𝘭𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘦, 𝘪𝘤𝘪-𝘣𝘢𝘴, 𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘹 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴
BOTH ENDS OF THE LADDER, PIERRE
𝘐 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥: 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳;
𝘐 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩
𝘖𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘴, 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬,
𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳.
𝘐 𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴,
𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩
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having a really old dog is just repeating the mantra to yourself "i am grateful for the time i've been given and when it comes time to let him go i will do so gracefully. i am grateful for the time i've been given and when it comes time to let wait why are you not pooping normally WHAT IS GOING ON WHY WON'T YOU POOP ARE YOU DYING" and then calling the vet in a panic, being told actually he's fine but give the probiotic some time to do its thing and then let us know if anything changes, and then you take a deep breath and go "cool. yeah. obviously he's fine. anyway. i am grateful for the time i've been given and
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me: there's cinnamon in the tea? ugh I don't like cinnamon in tea.
"you're so picky. you have to go to an unfamiliar house, so what're you gonna do if your mother-in-law likes cinnamon in tea? don't have such preferences. it's not attractive on a girl 😄"
yeah I'm busting my ass off and greying my hair and losing weight at an unhealthy rate for my degree so that a lady who I have never met in my life can dictate my life choices before I even meet her. okay.
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