hannah

isn’t it so interesting the way he branded all that he touches? - last night, ricky montgomery

last day of @widojestweek! future au to leave you with something nice :)

“Momma, you told me the next time we were here, you’d let me try the black moss cupcake!” the little human child whined, tugging at the skirt of her mother’s dress with a very pouty look she inherited from her, the same curves to her face as she. Jester smiled, her fangs flashing for only a second before she scooped her daughter up into her strong arms with one smooth motion.

“If you can pronounce the city name, I’ll let you try it,” she bargained and almost burst out laughing when her daughter’s face darkened at her own forgetfulness. Hearing a psst, she turned and saw Caleb try to grab her daughter’s attention. “Hey, don’t help her!”

“Who, me?” he grinned at her and she tapped him teasingly on the arm with her tail, sticking her tongue out. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

Jester slotted her key into the door, turning the key before she opened the door, her mouth opening to announce she was home— that is, if she didn’t just hear a very alarmingly loud clatter and then a cat’s yowl. That didn’t sound good.

“Cayleb?” she tentatively asked, hoping she wasn’t in the middle of being robbed, locking the door shut behind her and taking her boots off on habit. “Frumpkin? You there?”

She breathed a sigh of relief when Frumpkin came poking out from the kitchen and she strode forward to scritch him behind the ears when she noticed that he was not his usual clean self and frowned. She set her messenger bag against the couch and crouched down, opting to scritch him under the chin. “Aww, what happened to you, little guy?”

Frumpkin, who has always been clean in comparison to Caleb, seemed practically indistinguishable from him now in terms of filth. Flour caked his fur and in his paws and she could smell cinnamon in his fur. Weird— she didn’t own any cinnamon? “Jester— is that you?”

“Cayleb! Yeah, it’s me!” She stood up and walked closer to the kitchen, Frumpkin nipping at her heels. She stopped dead when she saw her kitchen— or whatever was left of it, really. Vaguely, she felt Frumpkin weave through her ankles and hiss at his owner. “What happened?!”

“I was, uh,” Caleb startled, struggling to find words and her gaze as he stood sheepishly in the middle of the kitchen caked in flour and the kitchen looking like a hurricane went through it, “trying to bake something. For you.”

art under the cut! all it is is just some silly au stuff

(turn brightness up) hello my one reason to smile’s birthday is today and I just wanna appreciate him @thearcanaweek