#also on deviantart

[actiaslunaris]

Crowley loves...

[real-duck-bacon]

Hey fellas. I’m breaking my long, LONG absense on here to tell you that I’m no longer actively running stuff on here. If you want to see my content put out at a (usually) regular pace, go check out my Twitter. (https://twitter.com/DB_202X)

I’ve got several reasons why I’m no longer sticking with Tumblr, most of them due to the mass exodus of artists last year due to it’s banning of NSFW stuff. Being a guy who doesn’t make any NSFW content, I honestly didn’t mind that much, but that, coupled with the usual stigma about this website ended up making me completely lose interest.

So yeah, this blog is effectively dead from now on. It kinda sucks, but I never really was one to update it anyway. So I guess this is the end. For the handful of people still there, be sure to keep up with my recent exploits elsewhere.

I don’t know what else to say. Farewell, I guess.

[sinnabinbun]

eh guess i’ll post this here too since i need to post more here.

also i need to get used to Tumblr.

its an art trade with @blueiceegirl. she owns lady on left.

[wrongwarp]

We’re getting there! Positivity about art was probably also a resolution

[ocarinaofmist]

Commission I did for Black-Falcon01 on Deviantart! I’m happy I could bring Circe and her wolves to life!

((I’m sure I posted this on my main blog as well at some point))

Commissions are open!

[autistic-bee-blog]

My World is a Kaleidoscope

My world is like a kaleidoscope, I want to tell them Soft pastels bleed into a setting resembling a Monet painting, while a single thread of focus holds my attention A book, a particularly rhythmic piece of music, the bliss of a soft pair of pants It sounds silly, to say it out loud, but my world is not the same as your world Or maybe we just experience it through different lenses I won't lie, it isn't all beautiful The sound of someone using a paper towel grinds on my ears like the shriek of monkeys If you say something to me in the wrong tone of voice, I have to try and convince myself you aren't angry People tell me I look nice with my hair up, but what they don't know is that wearing it down makes my neck feel as though a million pine needles are rubbing against my skin I couldn't wear jeans until I was in middle school, because their fabric felt like sandpaper on my skin When I went to primary school in England, my mother had to order special shirts for my uniforms because if someone tried to put a polo on me, I would cry and scream because the collar felt like someone was strangling me There used to be a commercial about recognizing the signs of a stroke, with Sharon Stone in it She wore all white makeup, and the lighting would menacingly flicker in, and she'd talk in a deep, monotone voice And every time I saw that commercial, up until I was 12 or 13 and they stopped airing it, I would instantly feel my blood go cold and my skin go clammy My heart would start beating really fast, and since I didn't know what was happening to me, all I could do was scream until someone else ran in to mute the commercial It was involuntary, I have no idea what it was about that commercial, but I remember it vividly I remember being ashamed, embarrassed, that I could not control myself That part never went away I want to tell them that I am an artist When I was little, I mean, like two years old, I used to memorize the names of all the Crayola colors in the box And when I went to pre k, and everyone else was learning red, green, blue I knew magenta, burnt sienna, turquoise, sky blue, royal blue, violet, periwinkle, lime I said these colors like they were the gospel because to me they were something beautiful, and I loved all of them I couldn't hold a pencil until I was in third or fourth grade, and I had to get special permission to type my assignments My hand didn't have the fine motor skills necessary for writing, which meant it didn't have the motor skills necessary for coloring or drawing neat little pictures But everyday, I'd bring my parents piles of artwork, piles of colored pictures, all outside of the lines, all scribbled glory and unabashed youth Kids used to make fun of me, and I spent so much time crying out near the cubbies because I couldn't color like they did, or write my name like they did Then they made fun of me for crying, but I kept drawing Today I've won county, state, and regional contests, when I was a freshmen my art made it to a national contest through 4H And still, sometimes my hand will drop a pencil, or fling a utensil out in front of my desk for no reason And everyone will look at me, but I don't cry anymore Never in front of them again I want to tell them that I love science When I was very young, I mean, 4 years old, my mom pulled up videos of amoebas on our home computer I thought those were the greatest, funniest things in the world, the way they ate up the other organisms and absorbed them into their own mass I used to look up different types of bacteria, strep and staph and their different strains, I looked up genetic diseases and the rarest medical conditions My favorite show was House M.D. as a fourth grader When asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said a neurologist, than I said neuro-genetics, and now I say biochemistry and genetics I used to be ashamed and scared of my interests, and nobody ever wanted to talk to me about CRISPR or gene therapy or cloning, and now these things are assets to me I've been lucky enough to know what I wanted to do since I was six, and I think how many people get to know what their passions are before they even know how to write I want to tell them about my family My sister, the nonconformist who loves to read and despises fractions with a passion Whose wit is sharp enough to slice steel, whose stubbornness and perseverance earned her the affectionate nickname "little buffalo" My little sister with perfect pitch, who plays two instruments and isn't even in middle school yet My sister who has the best stories but can't spell to save her life, who is the most creative mind in school but is confined to fill-in-the-blank standardized tests that confuse her My sister, who people keep reminding me "isn't like me," they see me the say "prodigy" And they see her and they think "unfocused, doesn't apply herself, isn't academically gifted but has a great personality," which is to say they only value creativity when it's measureable, profitable My mother, who knows what I am going through and sees too much of herself in me for this to be an accident Who grew up dissecting animals on the farm because she loved anatomy, who couldn't follow social conventions, who never had the opportunities I do now My mother who grew up in a time where people like my sister and I weren't accommodated but beaten, whispered about, stared at in the middle of small town gatherings My mother who lost friendships with other parents who took personal offense to me as a child, who raised me with no knowledge on what Autism Spectrum actually meant My mother who has grown so much, who sees her own childhood and experiences finally explained in me and through the information now available My father, who is so quiet and also the entire comforting roar of ocean waves He is an artist like me, but also a builder, a thinker, an innovator A master of blending in, and still I recognize an air of familiarity In the exhilarated discussion of the Everglades and tropical fish, and in the brutal scrutiny in his carpentry I hesitate letting him in on school projects because even though I know that with him it will be absolutely perfect, he will spend an hour trying to get the paper on the poster board straight My father, the kitchen's beat boxer and repeater of words, the artist and builder and crafter, who loves my sister and I and understands as closely as anyone will ever get I want to tell them that I, that we, people like me, are not accidents We're not just mistakes in genetic code, or a series of environmental factors, or puzzles waiting to be solved If they really want to get to know us, they can just ask us Our lives aren't always easy, we suffer sometimes, I know I've suffered sometimes Sometimes we can be tedious, our needs may be difficult to pinpoint, our behavior may shock you or horrify you or scare you or bewilder you But then, at this point I ask, doesn't everyone have moments like this We are all burdens, we are all gifts, we are all worthy of living as we are I want to tell them that I don't want to be fixed, because there is nothing to be fixed Maybe I'd like to not bang my head against a wall when I'm stressed, or not be too uncomfortable to be hugged, or not scratch and pick at my skin when I'm anxious, or not be unable to talk sometimes, or not feel like my brain is stuffed with cotton during verbal conversations Maybe I'd like to be able to write like other people, to be able to copy down pictures and graphs in my physics and math classes with ease like they do, to be able to read numbers like they do, to be able to go to parties and malls and social gatherings without feeling like I'm floating away like they do But I think of all the things I'd potentially be giving up if they would have their "cure" My drawings, maybe I'd still be an artist, but I never would have had the determination, the passion I do now because I would have known what it was like to color inside the lines, my art would not be the same Maybe I'd still like science, but I would never have spent hours researching the human brain and psychology and genetics, I would never have known the joy and amusement I felt when my mother showed toddler-me the amoebas Maybe my sister would still be a musician, but she would not have the focus to listen to the same song over and over, the ability to recognize when a note is flat or sharp or just right without looking at sheet music She'd never have the compassion and open-mindedness she has now because she knows what it's like to truly function differently from everyone else and be ridiculed for it Maybe we wouldn't have our problems anymore, but we also wouldn't be us anymore Our experiences would be taken from us in the name of our own good, our passion exchanged in the name of normalcy They can argue with me all they want, tell me I don't know what I'm talking about, call me a liar, dare to call me "high-functioning" But they will never know what it's like at all, they'll never see the world as a kaleidoscope And that's okay, but what I really want to tell them, is that they don't have to be afraid I want to tell them that their children are going to be okay, and they are too I know it's hard, I know it's confusing, but they will get through this and their kids are not broken, they too will persevere I want to tell them that vaccines did not cause this, we have always been here I want to tell them that people don't grow out of this, there are plenty of adults on the spectrum, and that's okay I want to tell them that trying to make their kid "normal" only teaches them to be ashamed, and only teaches them to hide their true nature, which only causes more problems I want to tell them that even if there was a cure, they'd be altering the entirety of a person's mind, their interests, behavior, personality, potential experiences, and I don't think that that is a choice anyone should get to make I want to tell them that they'll never entirely understand, no one can entirely understand another person's brain anyway and it would be foolish to try and generalize anyways I want to tell them that's okay We just experience things from different lenses

[warcraftedtardis]

The Last Hurrah!

So college is going to start in six days for me and I want to do some writing stuff. Basically, yougive me a prompt (emotion/ character/ event) and a resonable word limit (500, 1k, 2k, 3k, etc.) through notes (or messages/answer if on tumblr). I'll pick my favorites and write them. Then people will vote on which one shot they liked the most and the first place winner will get a full color and shade of one Character/Oc/Environment, secondplace will get a flat color of one Character/Oc, and thrid will get a cleaned sketch of a Character/Oc (I'm poor so I can't do anything w/ money anyway, besides literally also the one writing the one one shots. Everyone who enters will likely get their prompt written and there is no fee.)

Who’s got an idea?