Ectoplasmic Veins
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My names Alex. I love art, old fashion horror movies, gallows humor, sci-fi, comics, cartoons, and anything on the levels of strange and macabre. Danny Phantom is most definitely one of my favorite shows along with Courage the Cowardly Dog, Goosebumps, Eerie Indiana, The Addams Family, Dexter, and Hannibal. Art is a passion of mine and so some of my own art might appear on here.

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Fukai Kuni
July 30th, 2014


Commission for Snow!! 
 I hope you like it bb!! This was immensely fun to draw~ Click on it tho, it looks better when it’s bigger I swear @w@ I hope it’s not too dark for your screens either 0w0 I can change it if it is!

July 30th, 2014


You know why the angels failed?
Not a hard question, not hard at all if you know Dean Winchester. I’d say they were unlucky, unlucky that in a country filled with thousands, maybe millions of Jimmy Novaks (pious, faithful, god-fearing men) they got stuck with a man who felt he owed God nothing. They got stuck with Dean Winchester who can smirk in the face of death.
Why should Dean Winchester have an ounce of faith in his blood anyway? His mother burned to death, his father abused him mentally his entire childhood, he never had a stable school life, stable friends, his dad died for him, he watched his innocent little brother bleed out in his arms. When God wouldn’t intervene, Dean did, and he got to burn in Hell for 40 years for it.
I’m sure the angels kept an eye on the Winchesters, but much the same way a rather apathetic neighbor might keep an eye on a hamster while the owner’s away. “Is it still there? Yeah. Still breathing? Yeah. Okay my work’s done.”
In fact, Dean never needed to be kept alive anyway. When he died, the angels probably just made a note to spring him before the apocalypse started. 
What the angels failed to understand was how emotionally-driven humans are, humans like Dean especially. They didn’t get how simple spite over an absent God and a shitty life could make Dean so stubborn, and this is Dean at his most stubborn. Hell hardened him. Hell broke him. Hell gave him no reason to value his own life or own well-being. He thinks he’s watching Sam turn into a monster, and this is the one and only case in which Dean would be willing to let Sam die—to protect him from turning into something he’s not.
More than anything, this makes me want an AU where the angels realize this was their failing. They’ve made it perfectly clear that they’re not above using time travel to try to kick off the apocalypse. I want to see an AU where the angels plan to reroute Dean’s entire life, give him reason to be faithful, give him reason to say yes.
"Angels are watching over you"? For once, yes.
Mary is killed by a demon? Nope, not with Zachariah watching.
John has to sell his soul to save you? Not this time, not when Castiel has you under his wing.
Little brother Sammy dies in your arms? No chance in Hell when Uriel has your back.
The angels plan to redo Dean’s life with an active hand. They want to make their presence known. They want to prevent everything that has hardened Dean to the world. Let him have his family. Let him have his friends. Let him go to school, to college, get a job, lead a normal blessed charmed life with guardian angels always overhead. 
If you’ve lived 30 years of your life, faithful to no end, knowing you owe all your happiness and safety and prosperity to the benevolent angels above, how could you say no to any of them? Jimmy Novak thought he was doing God’s holy work. I bet most all the vessels thought the same thing when they said yes, and they didn’t personally owe the angels anything. They were just good, naive, trusting people. If Dean grew up like them, but with evidence of the angels’ kindness at every corner, there’s no way in Heaven or Hell that this Dean Winchester would say no.
Before all this, I want Cas to get wind of the plan. I want him to rush to Dean and tell him in detail what the angels have prepared. “The angels are planning to reset your life, protect you, protect all your loved ones in hopes of winning your favor when the apocalypse comes.” I want Dean to have to choose, to know he’s got this one and only chance to set everything in his life right for real, but at the risk of turning out unbreakably loyal to the angels. 
I want to see the look on his face when he realizes he has to say no.

I’ve been putting more thought into this, and I’m imaging Cas protects himself and Dean from the timeline reset. They’re still themselves but thrown into this new reality.
When Dean tracks himself down, he sees himself, Mary, John, some nameless woman, and two kids sitting down to dinner. No Sam. He sends Cas to the door with a cover story because he can’t imagine the confusion it’d cause if he showed up at his own house while he was still inside.
However when Cas rings the bell and current!Dean answers it, a huge smile spreads over his face and he greets Cas with “What a blessing! Mom, Dad, Alyssa, Castiel has come by for dinner!”
They take him in and the kids swarm him like a beloved uncle because the Winchesters have grown up with the angels stopping by periodically to bless them to help them or just awe them with their company.
So when Cas pulls him aside, pulls him into the kitchen and lets in a gruffer, dirtier, more scarred-up version of himself, current!Dean is less than willing to believe that the angels have been using him all his life. 
Rather flippantly, rather annoyed, he remarks, “If you want to bash the angels, go talk to my brother Sam.”
"Sam? Sam hates the angels?”
"Oh yeah."
"But he always…why?"
Current!Dean snorts. “What, like there’s just one reason I can rattle off to you. It’s a bunch of things. It’s Sam mostly. Apparently everything wrong in his life is the angels’ fault.”
"Like what?"
"I don’t know…he didn’t get into the college he wanted, and that’s THEIR fault somehow. Lost his job three years back—angels’ fault too of course. His girlfriend left him—look, it’s his problem okay? I don’t speak to Sam anymore. We don’t, if you are me.”
"Wait wait wait why does he think this is the angels fault?"
Current!Dean looks at traveler dean with distaste. “Because apparently they told him”
"Told him?"
"Yeah Sam says the angels explicitly told him they caused…whatever’s currently wrong in his life. I could understand if he were jealous, but I really wish he’d tell me honestly." Dean licks his lips. "The angels do nothing but help."
Because, yeah, they need to be in Dean’s good graces if they expect him to say yes to Michael, but more than that, they need Sam’s unending hatred to make him say yes to the devil in order to smite a bunch of angels.
Most importantly, they’d need Sam and Dean to hate each other enough to agree to destroy each other in an all out holy war.
July 30th, 2014

Cecil in palette 7 requested by neodios
July 30th, 2014

Finished Fanart~ Welcome to nightvale
July 30th, 2014
Welcome to Amity Park


(Remember when everyone was doing DPxWTNV crossovers? Yeah, I did one too and forgot about it)

Try not to worry about the future; we’re all dead here anyway. What kind of dead person worries about their future?

Welcome to Amity Park

Today’s top story: our town mayor, the insufferable Vlad Masters, has instated a fine for all residents found floating in the clearly marked “no floating” zones. He claims this offensive floating encourages feelings of freedom and is bad for the local gravity.

I personally find it quite infuriating that our dear mayor would make such a law simply because he is one of the few residents still in possession of his humanity. That, Mr. Masters, does not make you better than the rest of us. I too am still quite in possession of my humanity—here, in my back pocket—I keep it on my car key ring. Although you cannot see me, dear listeners, I encourage you to imagine me becoming human. I just did it. And look at me, I work in a radio station. Continue to imagine you are looking at me. Look at what I’m wearing. Aren’t I dressed the same as everyone else? Look at the way I sip my coffee: upsidedown, and through tiny, howling slats I’ve punctured in the side of my cup, just like everyone else, Mayor. While we may still have human forms, that does not mean we’re special, you and I.

Additionally, I find the law quite insensitive, as 35% of Amity residents no longer have any recognizable corporeal form, and therefore lack the necessary feet to stand on any given patch of ground. This ignorance of our residents’ physical bodies is inexcusable, and should reflect poorly in this September’s popularity polls. For shame, Mayor, for shame.

Oh, what’s this? I’ve got an intern in the sound booth with me—Thank you Jean—who’s handed me a….letter…oh. It seems I’ve received a letter from the mayor’s office. He did not like my earlier criticism of his legal actions, and has declared I will be ritualistically executed tonight on the lawn of Casper High at 8:30 PM sharp.


I encourage all citizens of Amity to come around tonight, as the front lawn in quite spacious, and the mayor’s secret police are known to distribute light snacks and apple juice to anyone in attendance. It could be a fun date idea, or a nice family outing before this weekend is over. Additionally all profits from ritualistic executions are donated to Ghosts Against Ectoweaponry, a truly, truly worthy cause.

For once, well done, Mayor. A fun community-wide activity that donates to a great cause. Well done. Even I am looking forward to this: Just remember folks, we are DEAD, and my physical body will reform from molten remains 5 or 10 minutes following the execution. Stick around if you like, and we can chat over light snacks and apple juice.

Again, all proceeds go to Ghosts Against Ectoweaponry. How else will we keep our undead, immortal children safe except through total, ruthless, militaristic control of the sale, distribution, and possession of all weapons?

Carrie McDonald, the woman living alone in the Amity Park train station who huddles in the dark tunnel of line G7, the line dying people take to metaphorically cross into the next world, reported that she found a lost puppy today. She was unable to contact the owner, as unfortunately the phone number printed on puppy’s collar was in another language. Carrie says she simply watched over the puppy for a few hours, since the train on line G7 is metaphoric, and therefore does not exist.

She did not keep the puppy in the train station very long, as the puppy was gravely ill, and was rushed instead to the nearest veterinarian office. How heart-breaking: finding a lost, sickly puppy along your metaphoric train line.

The puppy, which Carrie now calls Buster, was reportedly running a high fever, and leaked a constant stream of air from its nose and mouth. Carrie even reported hearing a faint, frantic pounding knocking from inside the puppy’s intestines, just drumming away, trapped, and probably suffocating. These, the veterinarian confirmed, are the telltale signs of being alive. That poor, sick puppy.

If any of you listeners are capable of reading the language this telephone number is written in: Please. Call us. Or if you are the owner, please listen when I say your puppy is very, very alive, and you should attend to this as soon as possible.

A correction from earlier. As it turns out the charity Ghosts Against Ectoweaponry does not exist, nor has it ever existed. Nobody uses ectoweaponry, except maybe for those pesky men in white spotted near the Nasty Burger earlier this month, and all ectoplasmic fighting is done with the innate power each of us possesses. It would be quite simply silly to believe we could control that in any manner. Most of us cannot even control ourselves.

The proceeds from tonight’s execution will go instead to the purchase and slaughter of trafficked humans to the great Observers above. Now, our typical means of sacrifice—the well beloved blood blossom crown which I look forward to sporting tonight—has thus far proven ineffective on our human sacrifices. Still these sacrifices will be made to sit together unharmed, in formation, while wearing beautifully woven crowns. The Observers, without whom we would have perished long ago, will hopefully understand out intent.

I hate to cut this broadcast short, but the mayor’s secret police have arrived and given their signal that I am to go with them. They have gently torn down our station door, cautiously slammed our interns and tech workers against the walls, and courteously smashed most of the equipment in our office. 

Mayor, I do not agree with your policies, but I admire your adherence to proper arresting procedure. Our mayor, despite his faults, still understands that secret police are meant to strike fear into the hearts of those they protect. As ghosts, how else can we show our affection except through terror, and brutality?

I must leave you listeners. I am expected to fight, and struggle, and blast away at the intruding officers with the vain but optimistic hope of escape. And then writhe pathetically against the handcuffs they lock around one wrist, but not the other. 

They are slamming their thick, intangible hands against the recording booth now. The slamming makes no sound, and instead their fists pass noiselessly through the door and swing through empty air. That is my cue, listeners. I must go, and I hope to see all your smiling faces at the execution tonight.

For now: Goodnight, Amity Park. 


July 30th, 2014
July 30th, 2014
July 30th, 2014
July 30th, 2014


reblog if ur a disgusting piece of shit

July 29th, 2014