#hootie

[madewithonerib]

my little owl is back! He was just hooting a second ago :D although his hoot pattern is different, the pitch is the same; while nice to hear, it doesn't mean as much to me since he left me once already, I can't help it—but he is still an absolute cutie, special.

[tbalderdash-art-blog]

Ok to tag as ShadeNite, but please do not bring romance into this

[vintage-tigre]

Me and Mongo Santamaria are going foraging for mushrooms this weekend, don't text.

[apple-blood]

I needed a place for my hoard of Owl House pins and I had a ✨vision✨

The idea called for more vines, but practicality won in the end.

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All the Belos were designed by @a-magpie-in-gravesfield

The sick af angel Clawthornes came from UltraInfinate

The sweet little flowery palisman staffs were made by Hitsujinu

Teeny tiny Owlbeast and elixer

The pretty stamp!

[hootiee]

you can now pet the hoot

hootie

click the hoot

do it now 👆

[hedgiwithapen]

for Dammit Hedgi Day: Pat and Hootie after everyone else is gone

In the week it took to get back to the headquarters, a layer of dust had settled on the table. It was sparse, but there. It turned Pat’s stomach. He closed his eyes for a moment, and started to wipe it off. Outside, the chill of January muffled everything, but inside, the cavernous hall echoed with every footstep. It was too empty. He could see the banners, blurred bright colors marking the places to set everything into place. Hawkgirl’s mace and her partner’s helmet had a layer of dust on them, as well. Pat ran a hand over the brassy nth metal. They were supposed to be reborn. Maybe they’d come back here, someday. The Thunderbolt’s pen already lay on a stand under Jonny’s beaming picture. Pat winced at the cheerful pink. He’d looked for it, but he’d guessed There wasn’t enough for proper memorials. Just like there hadn’t been much for funerals, for anyone but Sylvester and Ted Grant. The ISA had cleared out of their half-ruined manor, but they hadn’t left much of anything but rubble. The Lantern had been scorched and half buried in ash. Hourman had helped him find Wildcat’s body in the woods, but it had fallen to Pat to bring the gauntlets and helmet here.

Hootie ruffled his feathers, gripping his perch with his talons. Pat followed the Owl’s gaze to the hallway, the closed door. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick. It was not from the dust, and he didn’t bother even trying to lie to himself that it was. “He’s gone.” Hootie clacked his beak, shifting his wings again. He looked at Pat, then twisted his head again towards the door. “He’s not coming back,” Pat said quietly. “You should--go. Fly away. There’s nothing…there’s nothing for you here.” Hootie fixed him with a stare. Pat looked away first. “Just great, Pat,” he mumbled. “Talking to a bird.” Dr. McNider always had. Like Hootie could understand him. But he wasn’t Dr. McNider. He approached, a little more nervously, arranging the backup pair of goggles, Dr. McNider’s prototype cape. Hootie flapped his wings and let out an accusing “Hoo.” “I’m sorry,” Pat said again. “I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save any of them.” Hootie kept staring at the door. Pat understood. It was all he wanted to do, either, sit there and wait for this all to have been some awful fear toxin dream. But it had been a week. He’d washed the blood from his fingernails. He’d buried his brother. Hootie flapped his wings again, in anticipation of taking off. Pat had seen him do it a thousand times, and the sound filled the room, echoing. “Don’t you understand? Dr. Midnite is dead, you--you--” his voice, raising, cut off before he said dumb bird. Charles would have been offended. “He’s gone.” He sank to the floor, reaching out to hold the Staff. It didn’t do anything but sit in his hands. When he left, he took it with him, the display case under Starman’s picture empty. Hootie watched him go without a sound. 

[dailyjsa]

JSA Returns: Smash Comics #1

Writer: Tom Peyer

Artist: Stephen Sadowski

Inker: Michael Bair

Colors: Noelle Giddings and Jamison