art block is finally leaving me alone at the same time i finish tma, so now we’re here-
this one is partially based on a poem i wrote, which is under the cut along with some of the alternate versions of the painting ^-^
with the sketch as a bg:
just the sketch:
and the full poem:
There was a time when the moth hated the fog. When it kept him from seeing everything he wanted to, the light that he was certain he needed to find, that he was so sure the fog was just getting in the way of. The moth couldn’t say exactly how long ago that was now.
Did you know that moths are a symbol of transformation? Of change? He’d never thought much about it until the sky opened up and swallowed him whole in light, until the world ended and the candle could burn with that white-green spark that let him see everything.
And the fog? At that point the moth didn’t mind it. It cared, was there, and, most importantly, it trailed behind him while they walked. It didn’t blur his vision anymore, it let him see and didn’t get in the way.
The fog knew it loved the moth, tried to help him when it could, tried not to be a burden. It was grateful for all the times the moth had decided to stay with it, even when he shouldn’t have. After all, sight was as important to him as the light that drew him every closer, and the fog didn’t want to cause more problems.
There really was so much weighing down on the tiny, frail, flightless bug. It’s no wonder that when he got his chance to finally, silently, and ever so intentionally (because he knew, as moths all do, that the light is their final knowing), be seen by the blazing, glowing eye of the candle that he’d watched all this time, he took it.
And it was only after the now-singed moth was enveloped by the fog, which had promised, as always, to follow, that he realized. The fog, in its grey and fleeting wisps, was a different sort of light. It cooled the burns and dulled the pain and let the moth at last stop having to watch.
So he could understand that its light was so very much to him, beautiful and real in all the ways that lanterns and candles and lighters and the sun could never be.
And the moth begged the fog to take him completely, to give him the grace of no longer having to see any other lights, to let him stay in its misty embrace. And the fog obliged, and the moth closed his eyes one final time.
Martin obliged, and Jon closed his eyes
one final time.
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Right, considering the current state of corporate politics on this site, and that it seems that only those affected seem to be actively speaking on the matter, it is up to I, the only fucking cishet on tumblr, to drag this out to a wider audience.
REBLOG IF YOUR ACCOUNT IS A TRANSFEM SAFE SPACE.
We need to show these higher ups how much we truly value them.
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me? liking center framing and pretty skies? pshhhh nooooo i’d neverrrr
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Reblog if you’d be okay if your friend came out as transgender
let’s see how many transphobics we can weed out
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