#the hoot moot owl

[bossyball]

WHAT WHY DO YOU DIP YOUR FRENCH FRIES IN VINEGAR

WHY DO YOU NOT????

[eobe]

Today it seems to be my owly day 🦉 I hooted, I screeched – that's it! I'm over and my brain going... jsflsdkjfzzzyskjt 🪶✨

So here we are and you have to put up with my brain spitting out what sprawled when I later today described how I BRED fuzzy-fluffball-broody-caffeine-owly 🦉 over a solution for my ALT text mission, stealing Captain Gregor‘s ��Flirtation Mask‘ broody incubating ideas on it 🦉 and now lil Eo is done.

Fuzzy. Gregor‘s caf is in danger, I may dip my beak in… 👀

Enjoy or just deal with it 🫶 poor moots 🦉 moot moot

Sorry for that. Fuzzy fun. Funny fuzz 🪶

ALT text mission (adding 1 ALT text to a previous artwork for each new post challenge): The Outpost ❄️

Taglist (sorry heehee): @eclec-tech @lonewolflupe @bixlasagna @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @covert1ntrovert @general-ida-raven @vrycurious @dystopicjumpsuit

[writers-potion]

When to Use "O" Sounds

when writing a noble, honorable character

in speeches intended to arouse loyal or patriotic emotions

when the hero had died for a noble cause

"OO" and "OW" for spooky, dark moods

"O" + "P" = the vibes of a heroic leader

"O" + "N" = for sacrifices for a noble good

"OO"/"OW" + "S" = eerie mood

"O" sound words for loyalty:

honour, glory, noble, hero, throne, god, soul, lord, oath, rouse, follow, blow, foe, woes, broken, dole, moan, groan, oppose, cope

"OO" and "OW" sounds for dark and spooky atmosphere:

gloom, moom, moor, ooze, spook, hoot, mood, moot, soot, owl, howl, clouds, shroud, wound, growl

"OO" &"OW" for foreboding mood:

doom, soothsayer, loom

Other thematically unrelated words:

slow, low, know, mow, show, own, nose, moan, open, close, mote, broke, vote, cloack, coat, moat, throat, globe, whole, oboe, snow, owl, bowl, sole, role

round, bound, bloom, mound, proud, bout, found, pout, loud, snout, sound, how, cowl, now, found, tool, school, food, root, loot, zoo, pure, cure, hood, room, cool

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[senka-mesecine]

This may sound sooo weird but could I request some predator/prey play with Barnes? Thank u!

WARPAINT.

Robert Barnes x Reader

-

-"Dusk's settling. It's time."-

You remark standing on the threshold of the house looking out into the woods as you shrugged into your jacket, zipping it up for warmth there to ward off the chill of the great outdoors. The agreement was made. Was a done deal. Bob's impaled you on a stare from inside the house like he was hellbent on giving on a quiet head start and wordlessly intending to make sure you take it; in fact, those were the agreed rules of the game. You go on right ahead, start walkin', he said, and I'll be right behind'ya, because if I go at it right now, you won't make it past the front porch. And you believed him. Truly. You did. There was simply something quietly fascinating, perhaps a little daunting and curious how seriously he took this whole thing. Like it was an actual insurgence or ambush and not two lovers deliberately toying with one another. Like it wasn't mere foreplay, for lack of a better word. -"I'll just go out there and start strolling, alright?"- You carefully explain and re-explain as if though you weren't over this a hundred times before --- the whole cat and mouse thing? Needed to seem natural and spontaneous. Like you were truly someone caught unaware instead of a person genuinely chased. At first anyway. That was the impression that was meant to be projected. It was just that Robert was so very stern and grim looking you had the odd impression he already started the game, at least inside of his own mind, all while you were still here assessing the rules and preparing for it, fidgeting with your zipper, awkwardly staring out into the bosom of the forest. A distant pheasant shrieks somewhere in the bush and the sound nearly makes you shiver. God.

-"And please, come and find me soon, Bobby. I can't stand the dark."-

You borderline plead, disguising it, perhaps, as a tiny, mild mannered little joke especially once you pepper in an endearment for good measure, stepping off the threshold and across the porch, still talking to the man who hasn't even made a single move outside the house, merely assessing you, back leaning against the wooden pillar holding up the ceiling, almost casual in his body language. Something about his eyes relaying what you could only translate as him saying 'Bet' before you ran out down the trail leading into the tree lot, house becoming smaller and smaller behind you.

---

-"Robert!?"-

You call out, approximately what you could only deduce as a full hour later. Your voice echoes into the abyss, but no response comes. You vaguely pondered if bringing a wristwatch with you would make everything better or worse, but it was a moot point. You particularly cursed yourself for not having a flashlight, but you supposed you were the vulnerable, hunted party to exuberant degrees as it were. Didn't need to worsen your chances as much as you actually wanted to be caught prematurely, so Bob could take you back to the warmth of home so you could call it a night. -"You there!?"- You try again, understanding that the game wouldn't have you giving away your position this blatantly, but thing was you assumed he'd show himself sooner. After all, he's promised. Maybe he's changed his mind and you're merely being teased. You wonder. No, no. That wasn't Bob. When he set his mind to something he went through with it. This wasn't meant to be, in your mind, a chase in the woods at dusk, but you stumbling around in the dark, borderline as blind as a bat, your only relief of light coming from the half moon above head, careful steps following the pale ribbons of light squeezed through the foliage of the trees as you watched you step, the occasional dry branch or twig cracking underneath your feet, alerting an unseen hooting owl in the distance. Must've been ten at night by now, according to your vague assessment. Somehow, the gravitas of the situation settles in like a rock around your neck; if it was so scary, why was your heart thumping fast? Excited? Catching your breath on a downward slope you lean against the trunk of a nearby pine tree, leaning your back against it and using it as a momentary rest and refuge from sight. Love did make you do stupid things; if someone told you'd be in forests of Tennessee playing hide and seek with someone, you'd snort in amusement. You embrace your arms around yourself, around your torso and the jacket on it, keeping your warmth intact, imagining the hands were his. A distant echo cuts through the silence. You stir, breath hitching, calming only once you realize there was a silhouette between the pines; grazing in the distance in the moonlight, causing your shoulders to drop in relief. A deer. Just a deer that didn't notice you.

Scared the crap out of you.

It was late. You move, deciding you had to at this point, either heading further into the woods or back, towards home, following back the trail leading towards the house and hoping to God you'll run into Robert somewhere along the way only for the soul to jump out of your body, on the steep top of the precipice where the three lot started to thin above you, he was right there against the moonlit sky. You'd recognize the outline of him anywhere and before you can think, you yell, unsure if you feel happy or terrified to see him. Maybe both. How long was he there, how long was he there, long was he there and how on earth did you not hear him, your mind races, feverishly, looking for questions that didn't have any momentary answer and you feel it reflect in the way your voice comes out shivering like a leaf. -"Bob!? Where were you? I was waiting for you!"- You words crack in your throat, echoing all around you, getting no response back. -"What are you doing!?"- You inquire; sheesh, what took him so long? You watch his silhouette shift from one leg to another, leaning his weight sideways. He was about to taunt; you knew that stance. You knew that body language. It's just that you couldn't predict what he was going to say next no matter how cognizant you were of his mannerisms.

-"Deer huntin'."- He drawls candidly, stepping forward and shit ---

If you run, you run on pure instinct.

Your legs simply take off from under you like they were operating with a mind and a will of their own, rushing through a maze of trees, bushes and branches, making decisions independently from your brain and the rest of your body, giving you no time to process anything but the primal survival instinct that told you to flee. Flee as far as you can. You loved him. You understood that. But every atom in your body carried you as fast as it could out of there to the degree you couldn't even stop yourself. Even if you wanted to. If someone stopped you there and then to ask you if this was still only foreplay or if you were truly running from Robert Barnes you were convinced you'd have no precise answer to give with a head full of white static and noise, hearing his footsteps behind you loud and clear and swearing that it couldn't be him; must've been the frantic beating of your own heart in your chest, in your head, in your ears. The Robert you knew was too quiet for this. A moment of distraction is all that it takes. The sleeve of your jacket gets harshly tangled into a sharp branch, and with a volatile tug, the material rips, taking the fabric of your shirt with it along with some of your skin. You're scratched. You're bleeding. But, you're still running. The tattered remains of your jacket remain hanging limply and in tatters from a nearby pinecone riddled bough. Shit, shit, shit --- the pain's intense, even with all the adrenaline pumping through your system.

-"Mhmm-hmm! Lettin'ya flag get captured, girl."-

You hear him from behind you gloating like he knew something you didn't, almost humming in contentment, and when your own frenzy briefly allows you to throw back a glance across your shoulder, Robert's there, standing some twenty odd feet behind you, the dark outline of him anyway, holding up the remains of your sleeve like they're a trophy. He either moved like the wind, soundless and as fast as a hurricane or you were much slower than all of this subjectively felt and your mind was playing tricks on you. He could've caught up to you right now, you concluded, but he didn't want to. He wanted to hunt. You envied that deer from earlier just now, grazing in the dewy forest grass. Envied and understood it. Wanted to be quite as lithe and fast it probably was and slip into the night, never to be found again. The only thing that slows you down is the burning sensation stemming from your scratch; the fact that the blood was trickling down your elbow and that you could feel it pooling in your coiled fist, dripping down into the foliage. You stumble back like a wounded domestic animal, forehead lined with cold sweat. You ain't got no fuel or air left in you. You breathe, loud and ragged and desperately fast only to find him there, leisurely striding in your direction down from the hill, inspecting a blood stained piece of cloth with pursed lips like the sight of it almost entertained him in ways you couldn't comprehend.

He dips his finger into the bloodstained material, maintaining eye contact.

Bringing it up to his face and drawing a straight crimson line across his cheek.

Slowly, almost leisurely, like he wasn't in a tremendous hurry whatsoever.

Then repeating the exact motion with the scarred side of his face.

It was makeshift warpaint.

Warpaint made out of your blood.

A trophy made out of your own sleeve tucked promptly into his belt.

-"Bob, you're scaring me."-

You gulp hard, you exposed bit of skin erupting in goosebumps as you were holding up your hands defensively, speaking as fast and as firmly as your hyperventilation and lack of breath allowed you, catching yourself flying. It was a bold faced lie and you knew it even as it was spoken. Or perhaps a half-lie at best. You weren't just scared. You were aching. You were aching to stop running, walk towards him, give yourself up and let him do whatever he wanted with you here and now and be wholly content doing so, which was mad. It was insane. He was the most horrifying sight you've ever seen so to want this meant that, the way Robert himself would put it, you've gone dinky dau. Totally unhinged. You wanted to escape and never return here again just a second ago. Now you wanted him to fuck you. Were was the logic in any of this? God forbid some trekkers, mountaineers or hunters come this way and spot this scene; they'd think you're both unhinged or that you're about to be murdered. -"Hell's bells, so run, then, if'ya so scared."- He shoots back and judging by the harshness of his voice you felt like he was giving you an order and disbelieving you at the same time. It's like your mind's been read; he knew how turned on you were right now and how guilty you felt about not feeling guilty about it. -"You're talkin' the talk and not walkin' the walk, darlin'."- And there it is; he's taunting you again, stepping forward soundlessly, hit by a ray of moonlight, faced adorned with your own blood. He was right. You could've started running again by now, instead, you were here listening to his soliloquy, mesmerized. -"I'd reckon,"- He begins. -"y 'thought it'll be all fun an' games out'ere and the fact that it ain' made'ya feel alive."- There it is; hitting the nail right on its head, as always. At that point, you feel your thighs practically pulsate with need, your lurching guts tying themselves into a million tiny knots. -"And you want me for all my horrible self."- He tilts his head smugly. You were like a deer in the headlights. Just bleeding and not even being able to deny what he was saying. You were prey wanting to get caught. -"You ain' 'fraid of the dark neither. You thrive in this shit."- He takes your very own words, reformulating them and so deep is his influence that only once he tells you, and you know the words are coming, do you actually start sprinting again.

God, what did he do to you?

He was in charge of your very soul. You were literally obeying commands.

Robert wasn't hunting wild, untamed big game tonight.

He was hunting his domesticated, well-trained house pet he personally set loose.

-"Go on. Run, bun. I know y'love me."-

He quips with a hard, raspy baritone that shakes the forest and you attempt to run finding yourself clumsily stumbling about instead through the bushes, practically sobbing up; exhausted, hurt, burned out, you practically hear yourself whimper with every move. He catches you. Does so effortlessly. Could have done so ten times by now, but the fact he does it now when you're weakest sends a little wail past your quivering lip. -"No!"- You sniffle as his hand halts you in your tracks mid-movement practically having your whole body haul itself back like you were lighter to him than a feather, his index finger and thumb holding you right above your bleeding scratch; you hiss instinctively, captured. The last feeling in the long list of sensations you needed now was pain.

-"Oh, god, please."-

You moan, begging as he lifts the arm he had his vice grip around up, poking the wound with an index finger, almost as if inspecting it, or perhaps intending to cause you some unease in a bout of sadistic inspiration, no more than you could handle, right before he leaned his head down with eyes still on you in the dark like daggers, taking his mouth to the blood and sucking on it, tasting you, hot saliva cleaning away the dried ichor of your fresh scar and whatever specks of dust and dirty got caught in the surface like it meant nothing to him. You throb and your mouth parts as you cry out, more so when he lets go, done with savoring, hands around your waist once your back gets pressed into the trunk of a nearby pine tree, held in place by him, causing you to go lightheaded with exhaustion, never even noticing he's wrapped your own ripped sleeve tucked into his belt around your gash instead of a bandage or that his other hand produced a knife, doing away your sweat drenched, wet blouse, cutting it down the middle with a ripping sound no differently than cutting through paper, using his knee pushed between your legs to keep you from falling over, maintaining your thighs parted. You were certain you were as wet as a person can be by now. The prey's been caught.

He kisses you rough enough to bruise, all grunts and desire.

A kiss with the aroma of rust and metal; the lingering aftertaste of blood.

Leaving you no space to breathe.

You moan into the contact, your blood smeared over his face smearing back unto yours along with the potent cocktail of his sweat mingled with yours, feeling his hands everywhere, rough, heavy and calloused; ripping at the thin strap the held your bra together in the front, on your throat, squeezing, around your waist, pulling by the hair and yanking back rough, grabbing your jawline, puckering your face up, biting your cheek and leaving behind teeth marks you could feel like he really intended to fucking eat you alive, not a bit of finesse or poise to him, bloodshot, feral eyes glazed over, angry yet blank, seeing the moon and nothing but yourself reflected in them, finding his stare simultaneously hollow and beaming with something primordial. Around these parts people used to gossip how sometimes, if you look carefully enough, that Barnes guy, as they called him, had eyes that shine red in the dark and right about now, you believed them regardless of how much you never enjoyed them talking shit about your man, the rut that ensues being rough, crude and quick --- hungry --- without preparation or maybe this --- all of this --- was all the preparation you needed as he fucks you against the dark pine bark, back scraping against its surface. You were a hole. Just a hole for him. In this neck of the woods, here and now, anyway.

Would you be able to walk or stand up straight after this?

You had to wonder.

Probably not seemed like a plausible answer.

-"You animal."-

You whimper and gasp as you're grabbed with both arms, practically thrown on the grass, him standing over you, his legs on either side of his body as he loomed with his head against the pitch black sky, your clothes torn, flesh exposed here and there and everywhere for him. He was magnificent. Holding his cock in his hand pulled out through the zipper of his slacks and undone belt buckles like it was a barrel of a rifle about to shoot. Appearing like he wasn't offended by the moniker that slipped past your lips unwittingly, more as a statement of the truth than an actual tease; in fact, he smiles even though he smiled so rarely, his scars embossed into the surface of his skin reflecting the pale light of the moon, making his face appear like it was smashed to pieces, centered only by his teeth on display, still red from the blood he practically drank from you. He kneels over you as you catch your breath from being hauled down as you were, spreading your legs even further, deciding it seems he prefered to have you on the cold hard ground, rather than standing up. Your feeling, aching fingers coil into the dirt, bracing yourself. Deer about to be slaughtered and displayed above the mantlepiece. Bob? An animal? More like a whole zoo. This was going to be a long night. He leans down with his visage still drawn out with the scarlet fingerpainting camouflage for a second time, speaking so closely to you you feel his breath in your nostrils caressing you, all heat, liquor and nicotine. His tongue proceeding to trace the inside of his cheek like he was itching to chew into his own flesh, spitting on the nearby soil, frustrated and wild,

Right next to where your jacket lay discarded and forgotten by the root of an old tree.

Places his hand covering nearly your entire face against your mouth.

He liked doing that as a habit from time to time, containing your moans and screams and keeping them all to himself, like he didn't like to share even the faintest echo of your desire with the world, letting it wash against the skin of the palm of his hand like a muffled, trapped cry instead; not unlike something he could close around his fist and keep like a tangible thing long after he's done with your body. It was his. All his. Every part of you was. Your soul and the very breath in your lungs.

-"Animal?"-

His expression is raw, lips crooked to the side as he cocks his head.

-"Darlin', you ain' never seen what an animal is. Not half of it."-

[c00kietin]

@ghosty-0w0 AND MANY MORE OF MY MOOTS AND FOLLOWERS!

EVEN IF YOU AREN'T A FOLLOWER OF MINE,

Settle down with me, dear friends, and let me tell you the tale of:

THE OWL WHO COULDN'T SLEEP by 7/8 year old me :D

HEADS UP! Fart jokes (I hate them) and I copied some concepts from other medias lol

And that is the end. :')

Alas, if you couldn't read my handwriting (which is perfectly understandable), I shall type it for you, errors and all:

Once there was a Lovley forest called Leafcottage. There lived cute animals that loved to climb and run aroud. One day, the animals and the birds came together for a great festival. There was a Owl there called Hoot Hoot. He Was at the candfloss stand. He just Can't resist the rainbow flavour. While he was about to sit down, A wasp called Rocko Was flying side to side on his chair. When Hoot Hoot was sitting down, He felt something.

"OOOOOOOCCCCCHHH!" Hoot Hoot shouted. Hoot Hoot jumped up so high he nearly went to space. "What's the raket!?" Glowie said. "Glowie, a million Pardons," Said Hoot Hoot. "But I did'nt toot," Glowie replied in a truthful way. "I don't mean that" Hoot Hoot said. (I forgot, Glowie is a Glow Worm). "What's the Big Bum!" Shouted Rocko. That nearly Made Hoot Hoot Jump.

"That hurt's really badly" cried Hoot-hoot. When they finished the talk, it was soon Midnight. They Saw two glowing eyes. It was Claws the tiger. "You should be in Bed!" she shouted. They stomped away (exept Hoot-Hoot, He flew away). When He saw the Sign "Home Sweet Home", He karate-kicked it. "Silly Rocko, little eejit!" He thought.

Now this time, Since He was So angry, He Did'nt have any Dinner! Hoot-Hoot Stomped up the stiars Moodly. He farted so loud that the Whole town Smelled it too! [I cringed while typing that sentence] "Pooh ee!" Bertha the Bat Said. She flew over and shouted: CAN YOU STOP FARTING! (it is in Big capital letters Because she shouted). Hoot-Hoot did not listen, But stopped.

Talking in picture: "OMG He smells!" "Eww!" "Pee ew!" "That is even smellyier than me!"

"You need to sleep" Bertha said. "But I Just can't, There are Cupcake Wasp's flying around my Head." Oh No!

Talking in picture: "OMG means "Oh my God" cool right?"

"Like that one?" asked Bertha. "Yeah" answerd Hoot-Hoot. So Bertha Called a Yoga teacher, Mr M (Moose) and Music Players. "This Will ease your pain and calm you down" Mr Moose said.

"Ok!" Hoot-Hoot yawned, He farted agian. Claws watched. Oh no!

Talking in picture: "t-shirts can Be any colour. cool right?"

No! Lets go back to the story. "So where are we?" asked Hoot-hoot. "in the garden of William shakeshpere" Mr moose replied. "Hey, I was weeing here!!" A dog said. "forget him." Mr Moose said. The sun rose shine at dawn. Mr Moose had enough. He had a can of Beans. But they Were evil Beans. this is what they siad: Evil Beans: "Mwa Ha Ha!" Cupcake Wasp: "these are scary! Cool right?"

"I quit," A music player said. then everyone Did. Exept Bertha and Claw's. "Wait, you can say sorry!" said Claws. Hoot-Hoot heard every single Word she said. "Do not even think about singing a song!" he laghed. They went to Rocko's home. They knocked quietly. Rocko came out, Holding a cup of tea.

"You disturbed my Episode 159, but yes?" Rocko asked. "Well, I'm sorry that I was angry" Hoot-Hoot replied. "I fixed up your sign" said Roko. "YaY!" Hoot-Hoot said. Soon they were frenids. What about Glowie? He's on Mount Everest.

The End!

[desi-yearning]

A cow says ~ Moo

An owl says ~ Hoot

A Tumblr User says ~ Moot

[bossyball]

Ari help me

With a Danny Phantom problem. I am coming to you because you are an unbiased spectator

@coconurt says that Danny is fully alive, but I say he’s half dead because he’s half ghost and ghosts are dead

Who do you think is correct

Half dead, I believe

[bossyball]

@owlfacenightkit Was it you who argued with me about this or am I dumb?

[academicallyinsufferable]

Send an owl? Sure.

Hoot hoot, we should be moots :p

Aww yes omg I would love to ... But you have sent me msg as anonymous

[writer59january13]

Inextricably rooted with hair fixation

As a lad in grade school, yours truly, (a diminutive, intuitive, oversensitive, and vegetative potato head kid, whose voice exhibited a severe nasal twang) felt envious at other boys, especially those young bucks who sported budding antlers plus thick thatch of hair. Even now as a grown man of three score plus three earthly orbitz, (come January thirteenth add another Roman Numeral one), I (an aging long haired pencil necked geek) idolize guys genetically gifted with a full - high scoring rack plus luscious non dreadful locks. Mine grungy unkempt appearance immediate trademark characteristic feature for more'n half my existence on terrestrial plain, represented antiauthority, familiarity, insularity, minority, peculiarity, security, and vulgarity (nah), which most likely undermined my quest acquiring gainful employment, encouraging heterosexual monogamous relationships (prior to meeting the missus), and unearthing the Holy Grail. Analogous to Samson courtesy thru poetry, I exercise

futile search for Delilah;

She most likely wants nothing

from an old quacking geezer alternate self appellation for no particular rhyme nor reason;

Now bring unto one donning barren

“fake” trumpeting Caesar

seven salad dressings

deep in ego freezer

and lettuce deign at your plea azure.

Underneath façade of mien scruffiness can be found amazingly graceful fella with boyish good looks, innocence and naiveté to boot, especial body dysmorphic disorder regarding chicken legs re: spindleshanks, (which serve as laughingstock of dis hair reed ole coot) oft times clad with deep purple polka dotted sweatpants don nontrumpeting Norwegian bachelor galoot.

Asian old wise owl chimes and utters embarrassing non repeatable hoot, thus even bestowed with ample loot to purchase peloton bike would be laudatory suggestion, nevertheless vigorous exercise point iz moot cuz said skinny limbs foregone conclusion impossible mission anatomical feature aye, (nor anyone else could ever troubleshoot). See them dang toothpick spindleshanks aforementioned limbs accoutered for walking permanently stunted on par with boy build courtesy anorexia nervosa, I experienced during prepubescence wood comprise subject of mooch talking especially if yours truly wore shorts, or even daresay skivvies out in public. Both above listed portion of poem I write surprisingly, truthfully, and aye preferably, and uncomfortably uninvite today January 8th, 2023 actually tonight to rendezvous somewhere in cyber space/time after posting preposterous poem

electronically date/time stamped

01/8/2023 4:23:21 PM

present to these myopic eyes a scary sight

regarding regular instances I shower as occurred earlier... quite lamentable, these twiggy body parts gave Lesley Hornby Dame Lesley Lawson DBE legs her stock in trade, but blink to fast, and she becomes an oversight born September 19, 1949 still going strong, flitting light

to and fro, hither and yon an English model, actress, and singer renown during the nineteen sixties approximately 5′ 6″ in height widely known by the nickname Twiggy got serious money by the pound, when upstart me ten years her junior totally unbeknownst to her if so, she would serious take flight. Matthew Scott Harris bejesus, he tried (think self starvation) nearly successful being unseen, yours truly set his permanent physique as one wimpy, scraggly, and nerdy teen unlike above faded former star regaled as Twiggy on silver screen, yet his posthumous fifteen minutes of fame encompasses

poetic style like (like for real) never see arose during 2020 pandemic i.e. coronavirus COVID-19 quarantine and commenced quirky endeavor crafting slapdash poetaster faux philistine nonsensical, heretical (rather hair reticle), and atypical ridiculous rhyme wondering if ye keen find any redeeming quality courtesy this human haz been.

[hashirun]

17 Questions, 17 People

Tagged by: @kimhortons @whooolaanmo @angelic-anarchy @ja-i-ruh

1. Nickname : Kaye

2. Sign : Scorpio

3. Height : 5'2

4. Last Thing I Googled was : how to run an ad on Facebook

5. Song stuck in my head : Shinunoga E-Wa by Fujii Kaze

6. # of followers : 986

7. Amount of sleep : wala pa halos. Mga 2 hrs pa lang tulog ko mula nung gumising ako yesterday morning until now huhu

8. Lucky # : 11

9. Dream Job : National Geographic Explorer

10. Wearing : shorts, hoodie shirt, jacket.

11. Movies/books that summarize me : 500 Days of Summer

12. Favorite song : My current favorite is Angela Ken's Ako Naman Muna

13. Favorite instrument : i don't have any talent in music but i do like listening to piano music

14. Aesthetic : dark academia, light academia

15. Favorite author : JRR Tolkien, Agatha Christie, Haruki Murakami

16. Favorite animal noise : hooting owl

17. Random : currently obsessing on Spy x Family character Nightfall aka Fiona Frost

Tagging 14 moots @tenth-the-mad @beauinparanoia @yummerz @ace-impact @herm0sa @pettingnotslayinqdragons @allofthehousethatstood @hernarratives @boookscoffeeeandyouu @venisovich @teremisu @m3lisssss4 @kindclouds @mismam

[bossyball]

me too but I don't have school tomorrow so I don't need to sleep :) YOU however. go to bed

it is 3pm

[writtenbyevie]

hoot hoot moots I’m in my night owl era

[instruth]

OUT IN THE SNOW

Freaking out in the snow

For a late Christmas show

Misty outside my window

Sighting o sinking slow

Blurry mountain ranges

Cold wind swiftly changes

Rigging out challenges

In a fury of fifty flanges

Hurrying out to moot

Without any safety boot

A pair of owls hoot

At my freezing flat foot

Still I love it out there

Snowflakes I can wear

Mending the torn and tear

Blimey! Blessedly I bear

©Johnny J P Lee

22 November 2021

Photo Credit J. P. Lee

[bossyball]

Owl. Owl do you know how painful this is to read

Here’s a tip: don’t put chicken nuggets in fondue

[panatmansam]

Happy Birthday Sam... May you grow in love, joy and peace each day... May you always find something new to learn about... may you and your loved ones enjoy today and each day just a bit more then before. May you collect loving memories... and may you know that everyone is happier knowing you. Blessings.

Thank you very much! When I read this the morning is still quiet and the world dark here in San Diego. I hear only the bravest of the night dwellers now for the owls, bats and cats are out.

I sat here in this very chair for two years in the semi-darkness. Alone for most of that time save for the company of my two cats who wandered in and out according to the patterns of the sun as if they were fat contented lionesses after a kill on the African Savannah.

Wait If they are fat and happy. Just had lunch. That makes me, lunch? Anyway My hearing became very acute and I familiar with the hoots, caws, clicks and other noises. I could not catch scents though from the cat’s behavior I knew they were present. Scenting is a big part of the communication between mammals other than man and the other Great Apes.

I am lucky because my upstairs room funnels both sound and wind directly from the west. It is a reverse megaphone if you will. Yeah. I did take physics and passed it. I enjoyed it. I don’t remember learning about reverse megaphones. I might have been arguing moot court or some useless liberal art thing like that.