#halloween tradition

[nakathemoth]

Robert Walton was so incredibly horny for Victor Frankenstein it's hard to read if I was Margaret I'd tell him to stfu

[vhstape]

we eating shark coochie

[fuzzyhimbo]

👻🎃Happy Halloween!🍬👾🍫

Log in Boop, and super Boop. Cant scary booo till night time. Log out. Wait an hour log back in. Repeat hahaha all the boops!!

[xo-courtneylynn]

A Halloween Tradition

Sean and I technically have two Halloween traditions, throwing a Halloween party and spending Halloween night eating grilled cheese with tomato soup and handing out candy. It’s nothing elaborate but we love them. With moving we aren’t having the Halloween party but we are still having out yummy grilled cheese and tomato soup. So today I wanted to share the tomato soup recipe that I’ve been…

[theotherendcomics]

[zombiechoir]

I Put a Spell on You (From ”Hocus Pocus”)

[potato-lord-but-not]

HALLOWEEN TIME BB

[themapisonfire]

Happy Halloween from my original spooky gal

[halloweenhangouts]

Bats have long been associated with the mysteries of the night. Being nocturnal creatures, they remain hidden from view during daylight hours, emerging at dusk to begin their hunting expeditions. 

[jayeltontoro]

A nod to an old N European tradition, peel an apple in front of the mirror at midnight on samhain/all hallows eve; when you are done look in the mirror and depending who tells it you'll see either the man you are to marry or the devil looking over your shoulder 😍

'All Hallow's Eve' by John Collier, 1895

[ameinasworld]

I am Amina, a graphic designer and I know how to draw too, but the war has destroyed my dreams, my work and my ambitions, and I have nothing left. A good friend helped me draw these drawings for my campaign, and I hope that all humanitarian artists will help me because we are now going through an unprecedented famine. I hope that everyone who can help in my campaign will help, and anyone who can support me financially will help in my campaign. Any amount helps, even if it is small.

I hope that everyone who sees the post and can help and point out known artists who can help, I hope that they do so because hunger is starting to destroy my children and my daughter needs urgent treatment. Thank you all.

PayPal

https://gofund.me/1187cba0

@deathlonging @briarhips @dirhwangdaseul @mahoushojoe

@rhubarbspring @pcktknife @sawasawako @appsa

@strangeauthor @irhabiya @wellwaterhysteria @tamamita

@deepspaceboytoy @ezrazone @khanger @kibumkim @neechees

@kyra45-helping-others @7bitter @tortiefrancis @log60

@toiletpotato @fromjannah @omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @evillesbianvillain

@aristotels @komsomolka @xinakwans @heritageposts

@amygdalae @ankle-beez @lonniemachin @dykesbat @charlott2n

@watermotif @mavigator @lacecap @yugiohz @vakarians-babe

@socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sivavakkiyar

[tizeline]

Sorry, he's an only child, he never learned how to share </3

[eliasericson]

possum had a successful trick or treat!!!

doodle request from my p@treon ☆

[a2zillustrations]

More in my ghosties series! Anyone have any ideas for more? I’m obsessed

Prints of all these available on inprnt ✨✨🍁🍁

[unofficialchronicle]

Johnny Cash reading Robert Service’s poem “The Cremation of Sam McGee,” the American Frontier’s “Tell Tale Heart” story. (5:33 min recording)

Link to the poem as well: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45081/the-cremation-of-sam-mcgee

The Cremation of Sam McGeeBY 

ROBERT W. SERVICE

There are strange things done in the midnight sun      By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales      That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,      But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge      I cremated Sam McGee. Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows. Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows. He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell; Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell." On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail. Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail. If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see; It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee. And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe, He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess; And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request." Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan: "It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone. Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains; So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains." A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail; And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale. He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee. There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven, With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given; It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains, But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains." Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load. In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring, Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing. And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow; And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low; The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in; And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin. Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May." And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum; Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum." Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire; Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher; The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see; And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee. Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so; And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow. It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why; And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky. I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear; But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near; I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside. I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide. And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar; And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door. It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm— Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm." There are strange things done in the midnight sun      By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales      That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,      But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge      I cremated Sam McGee.

[kateammann]

Happy Halloween!!!🎃🐦‍⬛