This As A First Post Ig..guh It's Quite Old But My Newest Drawings Are Kinda Shit And I Have School So

my john and hosanna (the only acceptable horse for john)

need more “guish” words. anguish. extinguish. languish. great for when a character is bleeding out on the floor

Art by Essi Välimäki

i’m sorry i don’t want morston fix-it’s or hurt/comfort or fluff or domesticity morston is just better if arthur is dead and john is wholly consumed by grief and guilt and shame and longing

and what good will your vanity be when the rapture comes by hanif abdurraqib x john marston

john + dutch + snow = the holy trinity

john marston has never seen snow without blood

he is trying his best to be good he is trying his best to be clean but his hair never stops growin’ and the blood never stops flowin’🩸🕊️❤️‍🩹

i love epilogue john with short hair oouuuuhooo i love him there is just something about it auuhhhhh something something trauma and recovery and intense desire to rid himself of this brutal past that haunts him so deeply but he never can and never will and it will never be enough, he will hide his face and introduce himself as an imposter until his real name sounds like a vulgar obscenity on his tongue, he will bite his tongue and bury his nature and keep his revolver holstered until his hands twitch with excitement and he tastes iron and feels at home, he will scrub his skin raw trying to erase phantom hands and he will cut his hair with a dull knife until his head is bleeding his knuckles ache and his back itches and the river will carry the hair, the blood, the grime and shame and longing scrubbed from the tender skin between his legs downstream and he will imagine that he is clean, he will imagine that he has cut the last bit of them out of his life for good, he will imagine a life of peace and forgiveness and acceptance until he feels a cold breeze on his bare neck and a sickening warmth in his gut and a heavy gnawing pain in his chest and he hears those terrible, awful, heartbreaking whispers of “son” and “brother” on the wind and he isn’t crying, he isn’t crying, he isn’t crying

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

Brothers fate,