Text bubble reads "That is supposed to be for summoning demons." Further descriptions in alt.

Slytherin hubby. Just stop it. My cat is very discreet.

They’re crying again, aren’t they? 

“Housewife” oil on canvas on Instagram by Andrey Shishkin  (1960-)

Sincerely I don't know anymore what they want. I help, I'm not adequate enough, I don't help, I'm a lazy fuck who will never be able to marry because my husband will hit me (that's my mother favorite insult)

Hex wasn’t just any familiar—he was the High Priest of Bad Attitude and Unwanted Sass. Midnight fur, eyes like he’s seen too many retrograde seasons, and a tail that could hex a man just by swishing.

One novice tried to put a flower crown on him for Beltane. Hex responded by dragging the crown into the litter box and performing what could only be described as a banishing ritual.

Agnes bustled past the window, humming something suspiciously cheerful. Mortimer flattened his ears. He knew that tune. It meant "seasonal nonsense." Moments later, the door creaked open, and Agnes emerged clutching a knife longer than Mortimer’s tail. She beamed at the nearest pumpkin. "Alright, Gerald," she announced, patting its lumpy side. "Big day! We’re carving you into something terrifying." Mortimer snorted. Gerald looked about as terrifying as custard.