HE FUCKING DIED

HE FUCKING DIED

My name is Hermes. I ain't a poet. I stole this poem just to show it. And my. My son died. I can save kids but i can't save mine (what!)

Omg guys it's Jason

Why do people stop commenting on fics if they’re more than a week or two old? Please comment on old fics. Tell me you like my one shot from 2014. Tell me you like my old multi-chap I finished in 2016 that I spent a year writing. I will be fucking thrilled.

[ID: A page of a play. It reads as follows, "Theseus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. / Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. / Theseus: Stain them, I don't care." End text.]

Herakles - Euripides (Tr. Anne Carson)

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

[text ID: Antoine St. Exupery once mourned the loss of a man and the secret treasures that he held inside him. I loved Exupery; I will read him again, and he will talk to me, not being dead, or gone. Is that life after death — mind living on paper and flesh living in offspring? Maybe. I do not know.]