I Love The Way This Show Goes About Explaining How The Infected Are All Connected To Each Other, How

“We are not here to provoke- we are here to be heard.”

In case you lost it - a link to the eSIM donation guide. Even if you feel sick and powerless, you can at least do this. And even if you really, really can't donate, you can always at least share this and remind others.

https://gazaesims.com/esim-purchase-tutorial/

Hey I saw you from across the bar but my girlfriend didn't. Are you some manner of spirit

You stand above your brother in his bed, occupied now by more than just pillows and blankets, for the woman at his back is fair and terrifying, even in sleep. You look between them, and you stand above your brother and think -

Is it too late to kill him now?

There are no ships on the horizon - yet - and if you present a body along with the stolen wife when the husband turns up, will that break the omen your mother dreamed?

Is it too late to kill him now?

You drop your hand down - perhaps to close around his throat, another already clutching one of those many, many pillows, and in the dark it'd be easy, wouldn't it? All you do is caress his cheek, your fingers digging stiffly into the pillow. He exhales, a tender shallow ease of breath, and there is this little smile on his lips.

You stand above your brother in his bed, there are ships on the shore, and you have cursed him for a plague, a bane, a cruelty raised by the Olympian to bring your house down, and -

it's too late to kill him now.

It'd be easy to do it, however. You carry a dagger at your belt even now, having left your own bed. Or you could perhaps stir up one of your other brothers, the city, some of your father's council. The baby was almost killed once, after all; what would it matter if it was realized now? Kin-blood believed to have been spilled is surely no less polluting than it being done in reality. The attempt might only have been in the handing over of a fragile infant into another's hands, handed over into the bosom of a mountain, wild and no place for such a tender little being.

But the mountain had been merciful, and nurtured instead of torn asunder, and now you're standing above your brother in his bed.

It's too late to kill him now, but would anyone blame you, blame anyone at all they might suspect, as much as they hate him, a hatred unsaid? Simmering. You don't know how he walks through the palace, the city, his life and not cower from the knowledge; he can't not know.

Your brother - pretty, soft, laughing, shining - doomed and dooming all of you from the start. What does an infant know of causing death? Your father tried to kill an innocent. Some of your brothers attempted it next, an innocent only wishing to reclaim what he thought belonged to him and them not knowing who the slave they felt so insulted by was.

Perhaps it's only fair he will kill you all, merely by existing, by batting those ridiculous lashes to lure the woman still sleeping at his back out of her home, her marriage, her life, and into yours.

You stand above your brother in his bed, and brush your knuckles down his cheek.

It's too late to kill him now, and no matter that you've cursed him and wished him dead - to his face, to your parents' faces, but never to anyone else's - with every angry word to spit at him there's always this echo of the wide, wide eyes, the trembling hand in yours as you help him up from kneeling next to the altar in your head.

Your little brother, that you failed to protect when he was born. And what are you if you don't protect? It's too late to kill him now, anyway. Was always too late.

You meet the gleaming whites of Helen's gaze in the darkness, watching her smooth her grip on your brother's arm into a stroke. Both of you can feel the relief staining the air as you turn away, pretending like she wasn't ready to help you.

You leave your brother in his bed.

most jobs are anti-feminist because they discourage you from texting all the beautiful women in your life during work hours

why do office job guys talk so much about "e-males"......you got a boyfriend in that computer or something?

después de ver como una cantidad indiscutible de carentes de materia gris festejaran el cierre inconstitucional de agencia télam tengo la desgracia de decir que el daño ideologico que sufrió en este pais no se va a arreglar en unos años por ahí nunca. la única forma es viendo (otra vez) como el liberalismo económico y etc etc rompe el pais al punto que el dueño de mercadolibre no pueda dormir tranquilo del miedo y eso significa que tendríamos que seguir sufriendo. mientras tanto si el pais explota (que con años de la derecha haciendote creer que te mereces pasarla mal porque los k etc va a ser un estallido del tamaño de una bombita de esas de navidad) obviamente a los que van a pedir que esten en la calle y pongan el cuerpo va a ser a los mismos que siempre lo hicieron (la izq, peronismo, sector obrero etc) que después de esto igual los caputo en unos 30 años van a verse otra vez metidos en la política si vamos a cometer el error de ser muy civilizados y no cazarlos por deporte asi se extinguen de una vez.

están festejando que la gente pase hambre. te dicen que soñabas alto con pedir una vida digna si te quejas de el "ajuste" que no le metieron a nadie excepto a nosotros. te dicen que estabas delirando grandeza porque pagabas barato el tren cuando había gente que ya con lo que salía antes era un martirio pagar y te putean si saltas molinete. ojo que este tipo de pensamiento solo se da cuando ellos estan en el poder porque la miseria y el vivir mal cuando gobierna otro es inaceptable y cuando gobiernan ellos una muestra de moral y sacrificio y esa falopa.

me rehuso a creer que me merezco ser miserable porque el futuro del pais depende de las cantidades de hialurónico que se mete caputo jr en los labios de petero.

I have to admit. I am not living la vida loca

the Magnus Archives IS the gay agenda

joel absolutely would grow shit weed and have a therapist who hates his guts thank you so much hbo