#Dogs is 'their song'

[kakashi-bby]

Listen. Several times have Harry & Jean gotten obliterated off drugs and lay together on someone's couch motionlessly listening to Pink Floyd while everything spins around them in the middle of the night

[a-confusion-of-doctors]

Maestro: got some straight gas. this strain is called “the devil’s chord” you’ll be zonked out of your gourd 

Me: yeah whatever. I don’t feel shit.

5 minutes later: dude I swear I just saw a drag queen come out of a piano

My buddy Paul McCartney pacing: I’ve got a dog, he’s called fred, my dog is alive, he’s not dead, I love my dog, he loves me too, I haven’t got a cat, only a dog, my dog my dog my dog my dog, I’ve got a dog, I love my dog, he’s my dog, he’s not your dog, if you want a dog, get your own

[mayomkun]

Bet on losing dogs

[sabh0]

Old Chuuya drawn over that Angel with a Shotgun nightcore version thumbnail

for that one person asking about it muah

[one-time-i-dreamt]

Sabrina Carpenter wrote a song called “Who needs a boyfriend when I have a dog” about how men’s company is useless compared to the companionship of a dog and I was crying so hard bc I love my puppy so much and I woke up crying as well.

[raccoonwxrks]

May I present to you my Zombiezai au? 👁️👁️

[minkkinii]

Pretty please, come on over and ruin my life

[canisalbus]

✦ For a moment, when I'm dancing, I am free ✦

[heartorbit]

searching for a star that's still unknown to anyone!

[927ccs]

the game of who needs who the worst.

[swordhearte]

Devotion: profound dedication, loyalty, or love for a person, activity, or cause.

To love like a dog. To give everything and receive nothing but table scraps. To always want more.

[whoisnotmyname]

if you play da2 backwards you get your family back

[creantzy]

Day 1 of trying to free myself from art block:

Doodle like it’s a dance! Instead of working towards something specific, I just listened to music and let it guide my flow, rhythm, color choice and drawing pace without caring if it would look good or if it‘s even consistent with my usual style, so that I could losen up and focus on the moment. (This time, I happened to be listening to some songs by Kikou)

So this little mischievous Fyodor came out😈

And, instead of rating whether I’m satisfied with the result or not, I want to instead highlight how I felt about the act of making it. In this case, energized!!

[dcxdpdabbles]

A cult managed to summon the one true king among the dead. Danny Fenton, reincarnation of Elvis Presley, is summoned while performing Viva Las Vegas (or any other Elvis song) for the school talent show

The cult got the best of them, which is a really frustrating pill to swallow. If there was one thing the Gotham vigilantes pride themselves on, it was the ability to plan so well that others accused them of being Seers.

A few others thought that Batman and his kin were not from this planet or this plane of existence. Yet when it came down to it, they were all, in the end, mere ordinary humans.

That's why their stupid trapped worked so well. It was based on magic, which is much harder to track when the stuff makes their equipment go haywire.

They had each been fooled into coming to the same warehouse at the same time, believing that the call was sent out by one of their own, only to step right into a magical circle that bound them. Now, here they sat, unable to break out of their chains because it wasn't metal but conscious manipulation of light.

Duke tried his best to get them out, but the light had magic constantly moving, and it was hard for his powers to get a proper grip on it. Meanwhile, the cultists surrounded the circle, chanting in a tune to a set of drums.

It would have been an interesting ceremony to observe in any other situation. Bruce has always been fascinated by the various cultures he encounters, from the various worlds on his home planet to those outside of it.

He's never been one to judge others' beliefs, especially after all these years as Batman. He may not have a god, but he's fought alongside some and taken down a few himself. Really, he would have left them alone if they weren't kidnapping people and murdering them.

That was a big no-no.

"My children," The leader of the cult, The Children of the Realms, shouts voice somehow carrying over the bang bang bang of the drums, foot stops of the cults, and the sing-like chanting of the other cultists.

They weren't wearing robes, which was a nice change of cult, but instead dressed in suits and gala-like dresses. Their skins were painted blue for the men and green for the women, with some slight white highlights.

Bruce noted that the Cult leader was the only one not in a black suit but rather a white one. This might be the color of rank, seeing as there were a few women with a slit on their dresses that had white fabric edges and a few men with a white tie. The others were dressed black on black.

Bruce might have mistaken them for the court of owls, but their faces were visible, done up like the group was going out for a night of classy fun instead of camping out in a broken-down warehouse.

"We have captured the fools who claim themselves protectors." He gestures to Bruce and his kids, each staring back with an impassive expression, sharpening the loathing on the man's face. "Their actions drove away our king, but tonight, we finally bring down the heathens! Tonight! We call upon the True King of the Dead and offer him the fools who took his title!"

He left his arms, grinning madly at the crowd. "Tonight, we enter his kingdom, the worthy few! We, my children, will be allowed eternal life within the realms! While we rejoice in the wonders of the Realms, all the sinners will perish for their inability to provide the King with sacrifices to hunt properly! They will die and vanish while we move on to bigger and greater things!" He drops his arms just as the drums and the chant stop. There is a heavy silence before the cultists start cheering.

They embrace each other, smiling, laughing, and crying like they were all just saved—like a devastating war that tore their homes apart has just ended, and they are on the winning side.

The man didn't just yell; they would sacrifice people to their mysterious god for a hunt, not for food or to appease him but for the King's entertainment.

"Now, my children," the cult leader beams after everyone finishes congratulating each other. "Offer your blood as protection, and call forth the King!"

Around the circle, the cultists pull out various knives. Most look like switchblades, but none hesitate to slash their palms and slam them down to smear the blond along the drawn chalk lines.

Bruce's facial expression doesn't so much as twitch, but he's reeling back on the inside as the chalk glows a dangerously dark color. There is a few cracking sounds as green lighting zaps out of the circle and a loud woosh as a portal is ripped open.

A strong wind picks up, blowing everyone's clothes and causing a few to blink and close to their eyes

"Get into position!" the leader commands over the roar of the wind. He rushes behind him to climb into a coffin that Bruce had not noticed earlier.

It's white with silky, soft green plush inside. The Leader lies in a comfortable position, closing his eyes and crossing his arms. The rest rush to the side of the room, where more coffins await them, climbing in with child-like excitement.

None seem to care that theirs are all wooden coffins with nothing of the dazzle or comfort the Leader does. At least they are painted black, even if it only further highlights the quality difference.

It hits Bruce: The reason they are dressed this way is that they are dressed for their funerals. None of them were expecting to get out of this alive, and that's what they were all hopeful for.

"Shit," Duke swears lowly next to Bruce. He starts thrashing around, no longer caring if the cultist notices his attempts to break out of the chains of light. "The shadows are surrounding us. It's going to pull us in!"

Bruce doesn't see anything, but if his son claims it, he has no choice but to thrash around. His other children attempt to do the same. He barely manages to get his feet under him in an attempt to leap when he feels something grab at his ankles and pull.

Drag by an invisible force towards the circle's center, Bruce still attempts to kick his feet. The concrete burns against his cheek and rips his chin a little, and his children let out grunts and startled yelps when they, too, are taken by their legs and dragged right beside Bruce.

They wind up right under the portal, the more minor burst of electricity zipping along his skin like a soft shock one would get from the doorknob after rubbing one's feet against the carpet. He refuses to bow, even if a few cause a flinch or two because right above him, the portal finishes forming.

The wind stops, and the electricity shuts off. There is no sound in the room; everything is still as the vigilantes hold their breath, waiting to see what will happen. Duke is still working on the light chains, sweat pouring down the side of his face.

Sudden smoke fills the room as rays of colorful light beam from the portal. A guitar riff is heard, quickly followed by a set of drums in a rhythm oddly familiar to Bruce.

He raises a brow, confused as the smoke clears to find a teenager dressed like a famous singer his parents used to adore, standing in front of a mic, eyes closed and singing.

Singing and dancing in a perfect imitation of the King. And by that, Bruce does not mean the King of the Dead but Elvis the King.

The boy was signing Burning Love, moving to the music and dancing in place, seemingly unaware he was being moved. Behind him, the portal created an entire stage, complete with modern lights and amps that let him know there was no way this was the man from the fifties.

The portal vanishes once it finishes recreating the lights and hanging on top of the poles that the spotlight hands from a banner read "Casper High Talent Show".

Oh no. Did the cultists kidnap a child by accident? Magic was always a bitch when it came to selection of words.

He finishes his set, letting the last few a hunk, a hunk of burning love, be overshadowed by his rather impressive electric guitar solo. He lets out a breath, then slowly opens his eyes.

A sparkling blue that can not be human peaks out at Bruce as the boy says, "Thank you, everyone, for listening- WHERE AM I!?"

"Do you take requests?" Dick yells back, smiling his disarming grin meant to calm down civilians. "Can you play Hound Dog?"

[heynhay]

i am the dog

[technically-human]

Ivo: I won't miss you

Ivo, missed Stone: I missed you Stone

Ivo, breaking up with Stone: you're gonna stay until I've cloned you

Ivo, is about to just explode: I'll miss your lattes with steamed Austrian goats milk, I love the way you make them

Ivo, just explodes: ...

Stone, emotional whiplash: Ŏ^Ŏ

Romance needs clarity but baby that don't work for me

I'm not even gonna link the kofi thing this time