RED DEAD REDEMPTION II ⋆ Scenery (10/?) → Gif Set Inspired By The Album Preacher's Daughter By Ethel

giant in the cave thinking a lot about 1907, john and his loneliness. how he copes with it, and how he talks about it with strangers. he knows it well. i'd write a whole 10k text wall about his loneliness but it goes hand in hand with mine and i don't really want to dive into it. drawing little pictures is easier than talking about stuff

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

rip john marston u would’ve loved led zeppelin and dressing like jimmy page

deep incredible dreadful anguished johnigail thoughts every single goddamn time i listen to townes

everything eats and is eaten, time is fed

please just let me go

The giant of Illinois

oh my god get the fucking chatgpt shit out of my john marston tags i’m just here for sad dog art and cowboy kisses

Natalie Díaz, from “Wolf OR-7”, Postcolonial Love Poem

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