Reminder!

CHAPTER TWO IS POSTED GO MY FOXES AND ENJOY ^^

@invisobang posting week is over with over 50 authors and artist! Due to image size limits we can only shout out 20 groups but we encourage everyone to check out the official blog tagged above, and to check out the #invisobang 2023 tag for more amazing works!

Welcome to the Parade!

What is the DP OC Parade event? The DP OC Parade event is an event built specifically around Original Characters made by artists in the Phandom from their love to the show! We know how few of them there are, but hopefully with this event we can spark the imaginations of the talented artists of this community to create characters of their very own!

How does it work? Follow the daily prompts for the week and use the tag DP OC Parade or DP OC Parade Event (with or without the year is fine) and this blog will repost your submission should they be fitting of the rules of the event (see below). These prompts will change from year to year, as this is year 1 we are just testing the waters.

Does the event have a Discord server? Currently, no, but we are working on one! This server will be open all year long so that people can share their OCs with each other and how far they've progressed!

What OCs are accepted into this event? Specifically we're looking for Danny Phantom related OCs, but you may also enter other characters you have created that would fit within the realm of Danny Phantom too! These characters can be ghosts, citizens of Amity Park, self-inserts, anything really! As long as if you were to drop the characters into the show nobody would bat an eye then they're good to go!

Can I use multiple characters for this event? As this is the first time this event is taking place, no. The first and last prompts of this event is meant so you introduce your character and at the end of the event other artists may use that first prompt to pick from any submissions into this event. HOWEVER this rule may change next year depending on how many people may join.

I don't have an OC yet, can I make one and join? Of course! Your character doesn't need to be fully fleshed out before joining this event, they can just be a goofy little blob that needs further development. Maybe this event will get you to want to make more art with them or make them into a more fleshed out character? This event isn't made just for people who have OCs, we want people in this community to make even MORE of them!

Can I draw someone else's OC from outside of the event for the final prompt? No, the last prompt is strictly for participants within this event, this rule may change next year but for now please keep that last prompt solely for those in this event ONLY. You can find OCs to use from the event by searching for the event tag or looking through this blog.

Rules

As with any event, they come with rules, don't let Walker catch you breaking them!

No AI-generated images will be accepted in this event, this event does not approve of AI 'art' and any submissions to the event will not be put through.

Please use YOUR OWN OC in this event and not your friends, this rule may change later but currently we'd prefer it if people made/used their own characters in this event, it's to share your characters. If your friend would like to have their characters used in this event they're welcome to participate. Artists of all skill levels are accepted! ^^

Do not insult or negatively compare anybody else's OC's, these guys were made out of love for the show, we shouldn't be putting down any artist's creations.

Do not make art of any OCs that the creator would not approve of (gore, squicks etc), the last prompt is to draw someone else's OC, don't draw anything someone wouldn't want their character to be in.

No problematic-ship next-gen OCs, I'm talking MinorxAdult / Incest kids etc, ghost fusions are fine.

Do not harass other participants to draw art of your characters for the final prompt, this event isn't just so you can get free art of your OC, it's meant to help you build on your character and appreciate other people's creativity.

If you agree with these rules, in your Introduction post please add the passphrase "Blorbo" at the end of your post, this will let us know you've read the rules and are willing to abide by them.

~ Phantom with Breakfast ~

The meaning behind my pseudonym. Exposing myself—yet still anonymous.

—

TW: Emotional Distress (Mental health struggles—Don’t read if you’re emotionally sensitive)

—

Morning. Or is it? The light through the curtains is dull, muted, as if the world itself shares your mood. One day. Several lives. That’s what they call mood swings—shifts that come and go like storm clouds on a broken horizon. What’s wrong? Everything. Nothing. Both. Always.

Getting out of bed feels like peeling yourself from a grave. The sheets cling like a second skin, but the voices—they don’t let you rest. They don’t let you be. They scream, they demand, pulling you from the oblivion of sleep. “Wake up.” Why? They never answer that. They just keep calling, louder, sharper, until the silence feels like a wound you can’t stop bleeding.

You listen because there’s nothing else to do. Sometimes they’re funny. Sometimes they argue. Sometimes they tear into you like glass shards in a blender. You laugh with them when they’re kind, but the laughter feels foreign, hollow, like it belongs to someone else.

Your feet hit the floor. Cold. It reminds you you’re alive—if that’s what this is. You shuffle to the kitchen, grabbing your favorite coffee mug, pour liquid that tastes like tar but promises to make you human. You sip, letting the bitterness spread through your mouth, hoping it’ll mask the bitterness inside. You sit. Try to be still. Try to prepare for the day, as if there’s anything that could ready you for this.

But then the unease creeps in, soft and insidious. A sound, a feeling. Just a creak, a whisper, a nothing—but it’s there. Your heart clenches. Your breath quickens. Your hands shake, but you clench them into fists, nails digging into your palms until it hurts, until it anchors you. But it doesn’t. The panic is already here, crawling through your mind like a shadow you can’t outrun. You tell yourself it’s nothing. But your body doesn’t listen.

Then there’s that person. The one who makes you feel like the world isn’t so bad, the one who keeps you afloat. They smile at you, and you try to mirror it. Your lips curve upward, but it’s a lie—one you tell well. The mask fits perfectly, even when it suffocates. Inside, there’s a storm, raging, roaring, screaming to break free, but you hold it back for them. For the illusion.

And then—snap. A trigger. Just one. Small, insignificant to anyone else, but to you, it’s the needle that bursts the dam. The anger floods in, sharp and hot, blinding in its intensity. You split—fractured, raw, and all the worst parts of you take control. You lash out, words or actions you can’t take back. You watch yourself do it, powerless to stop, even as something inside begs you to. But it’s too late. It always is.

When it’s over, all that’s left is the void. Hollow. Empty. You sit in the wreckage of yourself, confusion gnawing at the edges of your mind. You don’t understand—how it began, why it happened, why it always does. You want to scream, to cry, but all that comes is silence.

One day. Several lives. Too many emotions. Too many masks. Too much of everything—and nothing at all.

———————

The only escape, the only fragile thread keeping you tethered to something resembling sanity, is the therapy you’ve made for yourself—drawing lines that bleed onto paper, writing words that scream louder than you ever could. You pour yourself out, ink and graphite carrying pieces of you you’re too scared to hold onto. But even here, even in this, there’s no freedom. Just another cage painted with pictures.

You lose yourself in the fantasy. You get lost because it’s safer than being found. It’s a world you’ve made, a labyrinth of stories and shapes, yet every corner feels familiar, like a path you’ve walked before but don’t remember choosing. Stuck. Yet moving forward. A path you might not know, but somehow, you know.

And yet, the real world seeps in. Overwhelming. Heavy. A storm crashing through your carefully built walls. You stand, trying to stay grounded, trying to feel the floor beneath your feet. But deep inside, there’s nothing. Or maybe too much. A cold stream winds its way through you, freezing your core, numbing everything you might have felt. Everything you should feel. And then there’s the heart. That stupid, stubborn heart. Beating. Keeping time. Letting you know you’re alive. Or are you?

You want to fly, the night sky is calling you, infinite and empty, getting lost in the stars. To be weightless, to forget everything, floating in nothingness. You stretch your arms wide, soaring, even as you know the ground is still far away beneath you.

For a moment, it’s perfect. You hover in the darkness, suspended between nowhere and nothing, and it’s like the world finally lets you go. But then—there it is. The pull. A weight at your back, clawing at your chest, dragging you down when all you want is to stay. A tether you can’t see but always feel, yanking you back to earth. Back to reality. Back to everything you were trying to leave behind.

You fight against it, heart pounding as you push higher, trying to go faster. But the pull is relentless, tightening like chains around your ribs, and suddenly you’re falling. The sky slips away, the stars dimming, the cold air turning into something suffocating.

And then, you’re on the ground again, feet planted, heart racing, chest heaving. The freedom you tasted is gone, leaving nothing but the weight. Always the weight. You stand there, trembling, wondering why you thought you could escape. Wondering why you keep trying.

———————

Life feels like walking on a tightrope in the middle of a storm. The wind never stops, and neither do the voices. Some days, the rope sways so violently you think it’ll snap, and other days, it’s your own hands letting go because holding on feels too exhausting. The world demands balance, but balance feels like a cruel joke—like asking the ocean to stop its waves or the wind to still its breath.

Your mind is a carousel that never stops spinning. Thoughts flash past so fast you can’t grab onto any of them. You start a task, drop it, pick up another, then forget why you started in the first place. Time slips away, hours melting into each other, and you’re left staring at the mess you didn’t clean, the calls you didn’t make, the life you’re failing to keep up with. Everyone else seems to move forward while you’re stuck in quicksand, fighting to breathe.

And then there’s the chaos inside—the storm of emotions that never rests. One minute you’re fine, or at least pretending to be, and the next, anger surges out of nowhere, sharp and uncontrollable, leaving you staring at the wreckage of another bridge burned. Then the guilt follows, creeping in like a shadow, whispering that you’re too much. Too loud. Too broken. And maybe you believe it.

You feel everything too much and yet not enough. Your highs are dizzying, euphoric, like touching the stars, but they never last. The crash always comes, slamming you down into the hollow ache of emptiness. The kind of emptiness that sits in your chest like a stone, heavy and cold, reminding you that no matter how hard you try, you can’t outrun it. It always catches up.

You want to scream, but the words get stuck. You want to cry, but the tears won’t fall. You want to stop feeling, but the numbness terrifies you more than the pain. You try to reach out, but how do you explain the whirlwind inside? How do you make someone else understand when you don’t even understand yourself?

Unstable. That’s the word they’d use. But it’s not just instability—it’s exhaustion. It’s the weight of carrying a brain that never quiets, a heart that feels too much, a soul that’s always searching for a place to rest. You’re tired of the fight, tired of pretending, tired of holding on when you don’t even know what you’re holding onto anymore.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, there’s a tiny spark. Faint, flickering, but there. The part of you that still hopes, still dreams, still believes that maybe one day, the tightrope will steady, and you’ll find your balance. Until then, you keep walking, step by shaky step, because that’s all you can do.

———————

It starts as a flicker—just a small distraction from the chaos of your mind. A character on a screen, a name in a book, a voice that feels like it was made for you. They’re not real, but they might as well be, because they feel more alive than you’ve ever felt. They become a lifeline, a beacon in the overwhelming storm of your thoughts, pulling you in until you can’t let go.

At first, it’s comforting. A safe place to rest your mind, a world where you can lose yourself without judgment. But then it grows, consuming every quiet moment. They slip into your thoughts like a thief in the night, stealing your focus, your time, your energy. You find yourself obsessing over every detail—how they’d sound if they spoke to you, what their touch might feel like, how their presence might fill the hollow ache you can’t escape.

It’s not just admiration. It’s need. It’s longing so intense it feels like your chest might crack under the weight of it. You replay scenes in your head, write stories where they save you, or maybe you save them. Because in those stories, you’re not too much. You’re enough. You’re seen. Loved.

But reality doesn’t bend that way. They don’t exist, and you know it. Geez, you know it. But the knowing doesn’t stop the wanting. It doesn’t stop the way they haunt you, like a shadow that clings to your every step. You try to let go, but the thought of losing them—this one thing that makes the noise bearable—is unbearable.

Your friends don’t get it. “It’s just a character,” they say, as if that makes it easier. As if you can just turn it off. But they don’t see the way you’ve built a connection, a whole life in your head where things make sense, where you’re not broken or empty or drifting. They don’t see how it feels like this person is the only thing keeping you from falling apart, even if they’re not real.

And yet, the obsession comes with its own kind of pain. You hate yourself for needing them this much. For the hours lost scrolling through fan art, watching clips, reading and rereading their stories, like they might change if you just look hard enough. For the nights you lie awake, wishing they could step out of your screen and pull you into a world that feels safer than your own mind.

It’s suffocating. You know it’s unhealthy, but it’s the only thing that feels like it fits. They don’t judge you, don’t get tired of you, don’t leave. They’re perfect in ways no one real could ever be, and maybe that’s why you hold on so tightly. Because the real world is messy and loud, and people always seem to find a way to hurt you. But they? They never do.

And still, it’s lonely. Because no matter how much you adore them, they’ll never doing it back. You scream into the void of your own mind, wishing you could pull them closer, wishing they could save you. But all you have is silence. And it hurts.

It hurts more than anyone could ever understand.

———————

Eventually, I found myself searching for the bright side sometimes, guided by a quote I made my own:

‘Better crazy and a freak, than being normal and boring, right? Right.’

———————

You can find my phan fic stories here.

———————

This drawing of Danny reflect the moods I navigate through on certain days—not every day, but on those days when everything feels heavier. It starts with coffee—a quiet moment to steady myself—but it always ends with a random trigger that flips the day on its head. Whether it spirals into euphoria, anger, or deep depression, the shift is sudden, uncontrollable, and all-consuming.

It’s like a heavy breakfast that lingers through the day, even when you feel like a ghost—like a phantom. A Phantom with Breakfast.

The Fenton siblings decided to go on a stroll in the park, their chaos might have attracted a few friends

This adorable lineart is by @minnowmarsh

Hey, it’s your truce gifter! 👋 Could you could elaborate a bit more more on what you meant by “Wild and Danny shenanigans”?

I’ll be incredibly honest, I’ve blanked on my submission of prompts, so I suppose just have fun with it TwT

I’m so sorry!

dannymay2021: day 11 - MIDNIGHT

they may see each other all night fighting ghosts all the time but it’s still nice to hang out and have a regular ol sleepover sometimes

Team Red Collab

We didn't quite make the event deadline, but my teammates and I still wanted to share the Collab we did for @green-with-envy-phandom-event ! We decided to color this fun lineart by @things-i-cannot-do-in-amitypark !!

Color Breakdown:

Spectra- colored by @furiarossa

Technus- colored by @brothebro

Ghost Writer and Cujo - colored by @fuyuthefoxwriter

Danny and Skulker - colored by @echo-does-art

Ember and the Background- colored by @ectoblastfromthepast

Johnny 13- colored by @half-deadmagicperson

Here's a closer look at Johnny!

Short DPXDC Prompts #965

Diana Prince and Mr. Lancer are in an online club about the arts.

FINALE

[image ID: the first image is of Snoopy, a white dog with black ears, a black spot on his back, and black fur at the base of his tail. he's wearing a red collar and standing upright. the second image is of Cujo, a small, glowing green dog with a purple tongue, red eyes, and black ears. he's wearing a spiked collar. the third image is of Bingpup, a tiny black dog, with large eyes, and pink pawprints and blush marks on his cheeks. on his forehead is a red heart. he's looking out a red, circular window with intricate designs around the edges. just to his left is the green-robed shoulder and long black hair of a person. end ID]