All the spiders in the Mitchell Flats: well fuk u too Willard 🕷🕸
hello vonnie
Cosmic Funnies
wallacepolsom
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Keni
noise dept.

JBB: An Artblog!

trying on a metaphor

Kaledo Art

blake kathryn
One Nice Bug Per Day
YOU ARE THE REASON
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
we're not kids anymore.
Three Goblin Art
occasionally subtle
Sade Olutola
Monterey Bay Aquarium

Andulka
seen from United States

seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Singapore

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from Croatia

seen from United Kingdom

seen from South Africa

seen from Peru

seen from Malaysia

seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
@isawthelight
All the spiders in the Mitchell Flats: well fuk u too Willard 🕷🕸

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Not to be extra chivalrous and shit but Willard brushes the spiders and spiderwebs off the clothesline for Charlotte every morning before he leaves for work
Some people are just born to be buried.
The Devil All the Time (2020)
Willard was in the Army in the book and he was a Marine in the movie. And yet, this still manages to accurately depict both. 🤣🤣
MUSIC MEME
rules: share five songs that represent your muse! repost, don’t reblog!
ONE. Chapter Four by Avenged Sevenfold
I've come here to kill you, Won't leave until you've died
Murder born of vengeance, I closed my brothers eyes tonight
TWO. Drivin’ Nails In My Coffin by Ernest Tubb
I'm just drivin' nails in my coffin every time I drink a bottle of booze
I'm just drivin' nails in my coffin, Lord, I'm drivin' those nails over you
THREE. Don’t Fence Me In by Roy Rogers
Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above
Don't fence me in
FOUR. Fightin’ Side of Me by Merle Haggard
Yeah, walkin' on the fightin' side of me
Runnin' down the way of life
Our fightin' men have fought and died to keep
FIVE. Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground by Willie Nelson
And I patched up your broken wing
And hung around a while
Tryin' to keep your spirits up
And your fever down
***
Tagged by: @mkbell (thanks! xx)
Tagging: @peculiarbunch, @olivierperrier, @camillelafaye, @hxdxgun / @stayingtxgether, @morethenahundred / @untamedvargulf, @timidstrcngth & anyone who wants to!

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WILLARD | ARVIN Russell Parallels
↳ Part One / Part Two
I SEEK IT OUT
mkbell·:
How utterly illicit it felt to draw breath on this soil; to tread on the back of this behemoth stirred something acidic in his blood, a betrayal of his bygone patrimony. Not that Bell would voice such a notion aloud - a fanciful thought best reserved for one more poetic than he.
He had hit the ground at sunrise, let loose by a fool with a fortune, armed with a volatile disposition inclined to hold a grudge - and so be it.
Who was he to judge? Bell was a capricious weapon to be directed at the will of the highest bidder - and whether he would trade it all to be back in Berlin at that very moment was immaterial. Besides - he had been reimbursed for this little jaunt rather generously.
Knockemstiff, Ohio…
The words had twisted in his throat and caught on his tongue; the gangly youth behind the counter of some fluorescent gas station had snickered without a hint of repentance when he had stopped to inquire. Equilibrium had been restored swiftly enough; with his airway constricted it had been Bell’s turn to claim ignorance to his rasping pleas - yet the retch and thrash of unfiltered terror in the throes of asphyxiation was - as it turned out - universal. Russian. German. American. It made little difference; they all squealed like stuck pigs when they went down.
With a mile or so more between his impromptu execution, a looming beam emerged from the dim and smeared his shadow across the asphalt like inky roadkill. Bell turned, one hand raised to shield from the light, whilst the other - against his better judgement - shot out to hail a ride.
Two, three, steps out of the direct glare, four, five up to the purring body of a beast - they didn’t make engines like these at home - and he leaned down with as affable a smile as he could muster.
“Would you take me wherever you’re going?”
Willard Russell had a sick wife at home. Sick? How sick? Doctors like to use the word ‘terminal’ when referring to the missus’ cancer. Prior to Charlotte Russell falling ill, Willard had only heard the word ‘terminal’ when boarding planes or buses. He met Charlotte while on a bus route home from the war. After fighting on the front lines, it was a wonder Willard had returned at all. He still had nightmares about the air raid sirens. Gasping awake from an armchair situated next to Charlotte’s bedside, Willard begins to cough, feeling his sleeping spittle caught down the wrong pipe. Charlotte, deep in a peaceful sleep brought on by morphine, doesn’t stir ... doesn’t rouse. She sleeps so still Willard hastily gets up and steps towards her bed. In a frightful hurry, he feels for her bare neck through her tangle of hair and slouched nightgown. Charlotte’s pulse takes a moment to register against her husband’s big, weathered hand. But when it does, relief washes over Willard so profoundly he has to hold on to the headboard to prevent falling. The Lord was testing him. And Willard was not about to give up. He considers a more ... satisfactory offering for the prayer log. The sound of Willard collecting his pick-up keys preludes his departure into the night.
It was late. But if Charlotte or anyone asked, Willard was driving into town for food, Charlotte’s prescriptions, the essentials … Willard’s boot eases off the gas as he spots a pedestrian wandering on the side of the road. Deer and other scurrying animals tended to wind up dead when they did that sort of thing. Willard feels like doing the stranger a favor and stops where the boy stands hailing a ride. At this hour, Willard finds the boy’s cocksure strut to the pick-up truck to be unusual. No matter the hitchhiker’s predicament or jubilation for hailing a ride this time of night, Willard considers it may be strange to only him as he did not anticipate it to be this easy to find a potential lamb … Feeling his luck was turning around, Willard says nothing as the boy barters for a lift. From beneath the brim of his earth brown-fedora, Willard leans forward in his seat and looks the boy over in what little light the late night provides. ❝ You ain’t runnin’ from the law—in some kind of … trouble, are you? ❞ Willard asks in a slow, deep drawl complementary to the engine on the pick-up truck that continued to rustle beneath the bonnet even as Willard remained parked. He was serious in his inquiry and expression. Eyes that haven’t slept proper in some time bulge from Willard’s head as he tensely awaits the boy’s response. It would sure shoot a hole Willard’s plans to if he had to drive off and look elsewhere for a tribute ...
Ohio Gothic
You’re pretty sure you just passed that corn field… Oh, you just passed it again. Best not to look anymore. You might go blind.
The beaches of Lake Erie aren’t made of sand. You’re not sure what they are made of, but there’s teeth. And finger nails.
If you’re in the middle of nowhere, then why are you hearing footsteps? They only come when you walk, like they’re following but don’t want to catch up… Why?
When you dive the highway at night, no time passes. The road is an infinite loop, and headlights glare at you from in front of you, and in back. but they never catch up.
Everyone talks of the amusement parks and plan their vacations around then, if they can ever find them. They don’t. And they never come back either.
In the fall, it’s best not to go into the forest. There aren’t forest fires, but no one looks forward to spontaneous combustion.
Children scream in the distance, at the park. No one goes to help. No one wants to die.
In the summer, lights blink from the forest. Lock your doors. Those aren’t fire flies. You don’t want to know what they are.
the shadows get big and long when the sun sets. you better run on home. doppelgängers are a bad sign. You don’t want to be replaced.
It snows long into the new year. food is scare, but someone has to go… Everyone hides. No one wants to go. Eeny meeny miny mo.
Spring comes around after great loss. The trees bloom in blood. Iron fills the air.
Winter leaves hungry mouths to feed. They’re lying in wait in the roads. Road kill isn’t enough. You can’t drive safely anymore.

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bill skarsgård as willard russell in the devil all the time ( part 3 / ∞ )
I found Willard’s birthdate in the book ( February 15, 1936 ) and I discovered he’s an Aquarius. . . I have no idea what to do with this knowledge lol
@monstrousproclivities ~
bill skarsgård as willard russell in the devil all the time (2020)

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Okay, so no one—absolutely no one—was going to tell me the actress who plays Sandy Henderson is Elvis Presley’s BIOLOGICAL granddaughter?!?????