Rott3nlamb - Rotten

please just let me go

“If you desire to be good, begin by believing that you are wicked.”

— Epictetus, Fragments

deep deep long dreadful inhale I THINK WE ALL NEED TO TALK ABOUT JOHN’S DEAD MOTHER AND DEAD DAUGHTER MORE !!!!!!!!

At my funerals play the entire perverts album of ethel cain or ill make a big ass storm and become an evil entity

ooohhhhhhhhh this makes me emotional the dead eye marker over the hickeys oooohhuhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

tightly had to crop this one for tumblr :((

don’t be a stranger

“The greatest pleasures are only narrowly separated from disgust.”

— Cicero, De Oratore

John but he's wearing leather chaps that form a heart around his butt

morston just hurts sooooo good if they never even fucked each other and the only bit of intimacy they’ve ever shared together is arthur locking eyes with john through the cut linen of dutch’s tent — john’s eyes are hollow, wet with tears and red with a young boy’s rage, his jaw is slack, bleeding strangled hymns, his darkly shining hair is splayed over the cot, forms a twisted halo around his skull — arthur feels sick, wants to gag, almost does, wants to run and he almost does that, too, but he can’t bear to leave john alone like this, wonders how many times he’s been alone like this — with dutch — and when dutch hunches forward to run his hand over john’s chest and grasp at his throat his wide frame shadows john, swallows him all up until arthur can only see dark shimmering eyes peering up at him over dutch’s shoulder, refusing to look away and it all makes him feel deathly ill, stomach twisting, the stench of rot in his nose and when john cries and cries and dutch groans, hitches himself flat to john and holds fast there, lips twitching into a smirk, heaving with pride, arthur trembles with anger — fists clenched at his sides, fingers twitching because he can’t decide whether he wants to beat dutch to a bloody mess of fractured bone and mush or fire into him until his body is so full of holes that’s it’s nearly shredded in half — but he just keeps watching and he hates himself for it, and when dutch finally lifts off the boy and moves across the tent and john stays there, torn and shivering, glistening with sweat and tears and perversion, warmth, not hate, not fear, fucking warmth returns to his eyes that never once strayed from arthur’s.

u guys have got it all wrong morston songs (and just john marston songs in general) are every townes van zandt song and that’s it nothing else ever shut up