HOW YOU YEARN

𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙳𝚈𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚁 written by rhys.

[executis]

hi im rhys

01.    he / him, pst, selective & plot centric 

02.    this is a writing blog for my original character, michael ( leander ) montgomery

03.    this blog is not to be used as inspiration. generally i don’t even bother making a this kind of disclaimer, but i plan to expand michael’s story outside of tumblr, so i take stealing from his character very seriously.

04.    i use bill skarsgard as a faceclaim though i rarely icon.

05.    my formatting is minimal. i don’t care how you format

06.    the movie battlecreek is the role of skarsgard’s in which i take the most inspiration for michael’s visage.

07.    general decorum applies. no one at this point should need a manual on how not to be shitty

pinterest / carrd / google doc

i am affiliated with @prayar, who writes michael’s sister

you can also find me on @janeives 

if you have any character related questions or want to plot my discord is available on request!

thanks ! 

[medusiac-deactivated20240828]

𝙼𝙴𝙳𝚄𝚂𝙰𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴𝚇 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂!

hi all! if you follow me on twitter, you may be aware that i’m in a little bit of a uhmmm unfortunate money slump and jobs are keeping on telling me no. to remedy this even just slightly, i wanted to open up commissions! 

as a heads up, if anyone is looking for graphic design stuff in general for non-tumblr shenanigans, please let me know, i can also take on that sort of stuff happily! we can discuss pricing based on what the needs are :-]

***  some of you may have seen my things before, but in case you haven’t here are some samples:    3  PANEL  PROMO,    4  PANEL  PROMO,  4  PANEL  PROMO,   4  PANEL  PROMO,    6  PANEL  PROMO,    6  PANEL  PROMO,   EDIT  &  ANOTHER  EDIT  (same pricing as promos!).   you can also check out my mobile headers on blogs such as @screwcool, @pyshcic, @ophliea, @everyjedi and @screwcool-a​.

𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝚂𝙰𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴𝚂!

please contact me via dm if you’re interested! preferable methods of payment include venmo or paypal :-]

[executis]

michael is a pathological liar in the most clinical sense. he is not acutely aware that he is lying at times, and he lies for little to no reason much of the time. this was a skill he learned from an early age, adopted to avoid his mother’s sometimes severe punishments. in adulthood, it has become somewhat habitual.

[executis]

clancy ,    b .

i      look    at    him    with    wild    eyes.      another    ?    he    already    looks    like    he    isn’t    having    the    hottest      time.      it    doesn’t    seem    like    he’s    freaking    (…)      ?      but    even    i    was    feeling    a    bit    guilty    for    doing    this,    and    i    do    this    all    the    time.    maybe    it’s    because    i’m    with    another    person.      watching    him    get    fucked  up    kind   of    feels    like    looking    in    a    mirror.      i    divert    my    eyes    to    the    floor.      ❛                that    was    all    i    had.              ❜            fucking    liar. 

         ❛                sorry.              ❜    

he    knows ,    of    course ,    that    beau    is    lying ,    but    michael    isn’t    one    to    prod .    he    nods    without    exertion ,    fitting    the    key    into    his    pocket    and    letting    the    closed    fist    linger .    he    fidgets    with    it    a    moment ,    running    its    ridges    over    his    nails .    one    key ,   no   chain .    michael    did    not    have    a    home    to    lock    up    at    night .    michael    had    a    blue    truck    with    a    small    bed ,    and    in    three    weeks    time    it    would    carry    a    uniformed    body   to    its    watery    grave .  

features   raise   with   innocent   guile  .    “ y’know    beau ,    my    sister    would    like    you .    she    needs    an    honest    friend .    i    don’t    trust    the    boys    she    puts    herself    around .    they    ain’t    all    good    for   her .    not    after    good    either .  ”

[executis]

clancy,    b.

❛        sorry,  michael.  that  must  have  been  tough.       ❜   i’ll  be  honest  some  day.   but  that  day  is  not  today,   and  quite  frankly,  i  don’t  know  how  much  longer  i  have  until  i  destroy  someone  else.  i  don’t  want  to  hurt  this  one,  he  seems  kind.   i  don’t  think  i’m  made  for  that  kind  of  friendship.    ❛       i  knew  a  kid  who’s  brother  died  from  some  sort  of  respiratory  disease,  i  think  it  was  lung  cancer.  it  ruined  him.       ❜

it    occurs    to    michael    surreptitiously    that    the    matter    of    deceased    parents    and    boys    with    cancer    was    not    a    conversation    that    was    worth    having    sober ,    and    as    his    heart    worked    hard    to    recycle    the    litter    in    his    blood    with    a    clean    supply ,    michael    began    to    pale .    an    image    of    his    mother    made   itself   acutely    present    at    the    forefront    of    his    mind .    she    made    herself    comfortable    wedged    there ,    and    michael ,    uncomfortable .    she    rocked    to    and    fro    in    her    creaky    wooden    chair ,    she    sucked    on    a    cigarette ,    she    spit    cherry    pits    into    a    porcelain    bowl .    look    away    from    me ,    michael .    you    look    like    your    father .    beau’s    anecdote    about    the    brother    seemed    like    an    ache    they    shared    yesterday .    michael    fishes    the    key    from    his    coat .    “ can    i    have    another ? ”

[executis]

clancy,   b.

❛        do  we  have  to  talk  about-…      ❜   images  flash :  a   crucifix    on the floor,  the  sound  of  a  tightening  noose  […]  then  comes  the  other  senses :   that  smell  from  the  oven,   the  feeling  of  a  blade  on  my  upper  thigh.   make  it  stop ,  make  it  stop,  make  it  stop.    ❛        i  did.   they  died…  car accident.      ❜   

i’m   such  a  liar.      maybe  i  am  as   dirty  and  rotten  as   people  think.          ❛        are  your  parents….?      ❜

“ dead    too . ”    his    eyes    open    with    the    laconic    assertion ,    unexpected    candor    with    the    frankness    of    which    one    might    go     on    to    describe    an    expired    gallon    of    milk .    the    request    to    move    on    to    lighter    subjects    seemed    to    have    gone    over    michael’s    head    as     he     carried    on    with    dim    direction    their    conversation    was    heading .   

 “ my    mother    was    a    suicide .    didn’t    know    my    father    much .    some    kinda    illness . . .    of    the    lungs ?    he   went    when    i    was    three . ”

[executis]

clancy,   b.

❛        that’s  kind  of  a  long  story,  i…       ❜          what  did  i  expect  ?  of  course  he’s  going  to  ask  questions  and  of  course  i’m  going  to  over  share  and  he’ll  know  everything  about  me,  just  like  everybody  else.  stop  talking,  stop  filling  up  the  room  with  your  stupid  voice,  beau.          ❛      when  i  was  younger,  my  parents  didn’t  let  me  do  anything.  i  got  bored.  one  day  this  guy  in  the  school  bathroom  stalls  was  selling  &  i  took  a  bag  home  and  did  it  there.  i  suppose  i  don’t  have  a  reason   .  i  just  like  the  way  it  makes  me  feel.  there,  that’s  your  answer.      ❜          i  feel  that  kick  in  my  system,  like  a  sudden  feeling  of  clarity:        i  am  a  piece  of  meat,          and  i  feel  it.  my  throat  feels  numb.          ❛      i’m  sorry,  this  was  a  bad  idea.  it’ll  be  over  soon.      ❜

“ no ,    i’m    fine .    it’s    nice . ”    poorly ,    he’s    lying .    he    wills    his    muscles    to    relax .    he    closes    his    eyes ,    ordering    his    body    to    accept    its    current    state ,    or    at    the    very    least ,    to    embrace    it .    moments    pass ,    and    coping    with    the    feeling    of    fire    ants    beneath    his    skin    doesn’t    seem    to    be     getting    any    easier .    a    wave    of    nausea    follows .    with   his    eyes    still    closed :    “ so    where     are    your    parents    now ? ”    michael    strikes    conversation ,    and    this    time    he’s    hoping    for    distraction .    “  you    live    with    ‘em ? ”

[executis]

clancy .

i    feel    bad.      i    feel    like    shit,    actually.      i    don’t    know    what    i’m    doing    (…)      with    my    life,    with    myself.    i    don’t    want    to    turn    someone    into    something    as    fucked    up    as    me.    but,    still,      he’s    here,    the    first    friend  i’ve    made    that    doesn’t    make    me    feel    dirty    (      or    whatever    ‘worldly’    actually    means      ).      if    i    was    back    home,      i    know    everyone    would    laugh    at    me  .    look    at    beau,    trying    to    coax    friendship    out    of    a    stranger    with    a    baggie    of    coke    !                he’s    being    awfully    nice,    i    think.    i    don’t    know.    i    don’t    think    i’ve    ever    met    someone    as…    straight    faced    as  him.

❛        bring    it    up    to    your    nose…      ‘n    close    a    nostril    .      ❜              fuck    me,    what    the    fuck    am    i    —    i’m    really    doing    this,    aren’t    i    ?      i    make    sure    he’s    holding    the    key    ,    trying    not    to    get    the    substance    on    my    person.    i’m    partial    to    wearing    all    black.        ❛          make    sure    you    don’t    blow    out.        ❜          

and   as   is   his   nature,   michael   does   as   he’s   told.   he   executes   beau’s   order   perfectly,   surprised   that   it   doesn’t   sting   as   badly   as   he   had   expected,   feeling   the   blood   flow   more   freely   as   the   veins   beneath   his   skin,   buzzing   with   a   foreign   ecstasy,   widen.   it   is   only   briefly   that   it   occurs   to   him   that   some   terribly   heavy   thing   had   been   lifted   from   off   his   chest.   that   an   artificial   fluorescent   had   been   cast   upon   a   dark   and   ugly   space   he   harbored   someplace   between   his   eyes.   but   in   the   moment   of   this   succinct   knowledge,   a   fear   so   cold   it   was   sobering   took   its   hold.   michael   felt   his   jaw   become   clenched,   palms   clammy,   his   fingers   locked   in   fists.   he   suddenly   remembers   beau   in   the   room.   “why   do   you   take   it?”

[thrivingx]

Visit Original Link

Khruanbin & Leon Bridges - Texas Sun

[executis]

clancy.

@executis ·.     

❛                come  on,    michael.    live    a    little.              ❜                    i  know  this  isn’t  what  regular  people  do.  i  know  people  talk  about  weather  and  sports,  and  about  interests  and  politics.  but,  all  of  that  pains  me.  it  feels  so  impersonable,  and  we’d  been  on  the  road  for  a  few  weeks  now.  him  &  i.          i  wonder  what  he  thinks  of  me.          does  he  even  think  of  me?  i  extend  out  a  car  key  (his  car  key),  a  small  clump  of  dust  resting  atop  it.      ❛                you  don’t  have  to  if  you  don’t  want  to.  it’s  just  a  little  bit  of  fun.              ❜              

there   isn't ,   in   the   grand   scheme   of   his   life ,   much   of   a   reason   to   tell   beau   no .   the   small   sliver   of   moral   reasoning   that   once   held   high   ground   over   michael   has   since   been   pronounced   eight   years   dead ,   and   in   his   formidable   years ,   he's   found   little   reason   to   entrust   the   ghost   of   his   mother   or   word   of   god   with   the   direction   of   his   life's     course .   eight   years   of   prayer ,   after   all ,   had   done   little   to   grant   him   answers   to   the   many   questions   a   fourteen   year   old   motherless   child   might   think   to   ask   up ;   and   even   less   to   offer   him   the   direction   of   a   boy   that   has ,   in   time ,   wandered   off   from   the   path   of   both .  

it   is   perhaps   why   he   has   somehow   landed   himself   in   the   chair   of   a   junkie ,   or   addict ,   or   any   colorful   array   of   names   his   mother   might   have   thought   up   to   describe   beau   clancy .   and   in   any   case ,   michael   was   rarely   one   to   disobey .   it   is   with   the   same   passive   obedience   he   has   displayed   from   birth   that   silently ,      he   reaches   out   to   retrieve   his   key .   "   show   me   again   ?   "

[executis]

eileen g.

heart perched heavily in her throat, she found her words in a mumble. eyes shot to the floor, overcome with shyness. ‘ not selling nothing. uh, it’s nicki graham, right? ’ felt odd saying the name. felt wrong in her mouth. she forced her head up, staring at the unwelcoming face in the door. she tried to smile and the words finally came to her. ‘ it’s eileen. eileen graham. i’ve been wanting to meet you for a very long time. i know it all seems strange but i came all the way from kentucky, that’s where i’ve been living. my brother’s in the car … ’ she trailed off, shaking her head. ‘ not my real brother. his mom took care of me for awhile. she’s dead now. but i wanted to come see you. thought maybe … you’ve wondered some where i was. it’s been a real long time. ’

all the while , nicki graham won’t break the gaze that locks them ; and had she not turned toward a ringing telephone the two of them may have died on that doorstep . another gust of that terrible air rushes out as the door slams shut . there is the sound of metal sliding across metal and the last rattle of a chain before nicki graham is hurrying her in , suspicion eyeing the brother and the blue truck on the street . she chains up the door behind them . 

her frame is small and starved . the skin on her face and arms resembles the skin of prunes weathered out by the sun . she stands no taller than 5 foot 4 . her teeth are stained . the telephone continues to ring . nicki doesn’t yet say a word . she takes a drag off a cigarette and the smoke it produces swirls around them in a confused haze . directionless in the stale room , it hangs on the air between them . nicki sits in a sordid recliner . she motions across her , toward a green corduroy couch , and the ring of the telephone dies abruptly . “ well go on and sit then . but i ain’t got money . if you’re here for money i ain’t got it . ”

[nemfrogfilms]

In the desert. Land of Geronimo. 1945.

Prelinger Archives

[executis]

eileen g.

‘ yeah, well — that’s different. she doesn’t even know me. i don’t even know her. ’ she’s dreamed about this moment for awhile now. daydreams, real dreams, nightmares. she’s done it all. the only thing she hasn’t done was make it an actual reality, and now that she was so close doing just that, she wanted nothing more than to turn and run. eileen fidgets in her seat, reaching for the car door, stopping suddenly, drawing her hand back, and then reaching again. ‘ just wait here ‘till i come back. ’ she gives him no time to respond ( like he even would ) as the passenger door swings open and shut. she’s moving fast up the walkway, fingers playing nervously with the end of her shirt like a child would. one firm knock given to the door, then two. she waits — and the uncertain and frightened part of her hopes and prays that nobody was home.

“ s’pose it is . ” that’s the last he’ll say . he’ll hold his cheek between his teeth and they’ll be pulling into a bar . he’ll park off to the side , he’ll come around to drape her shoulders with his coat , she won’t put her arms through . they won’t be carded as they duck under a dim yellow light and he’ll light her cigarette and say “ two rum and coke . ” from the moment she exits the car , michael will be silent until then .

a chain linking the door to its frame rattles to allow for the hollow shape of a woman’s face to peer out from a crack that leaks some god awful smell like cat piss and smoke . “ i’m not buying nothin’ girl . ”

[executis]

“ no . ”    eileens    cheeks    go    as    red    as     the    horizon .    he    watches    her ,    watches    through    her ,     watches    the    splintered    wood    door    of    the    old    derelict    house    belonging    to     MISS   NICKI   GRAHAM .     middle     name     unknown .    he    focuses    back    on    her ,    his    quietude    clinging    to    her    skin     in    the    way    that     made    it    crawl .    the    way    she    would    often    go    on    about .     in    the    car ,     feet    dangling    out     the    passenger .     mouth    kicking    up    a    storm .    “  it’s    not    stupid .    if    my    momma    was    somewhere    behind    a    door    i’d    wanna    go    and    meet    her    too .  ”     /     @prayar 

[executis]

“  what   about   your   momma   -   what   was   she   like ?   was   she . . .    cold ?   girls   with   cold   momma’s   don’t   ever   turn   out   right . ”   /   @adeloes 

[nemfrogfilms]

[s4wyer-deactivated20190126]

“Are you okay? Yes, you say. I am. Mom sits in her wooden kitchen chair, her head leaning forward, resting into her hands. I don’t understand you. I really don’t get how someone can look me in the eyes and lie to me. I know you / I know you. She lets out a long sigh and you have splinters in your eyes now. You can’t seem to blink them out. Can’t blink them out. Blink / Blink. You hear her mumble something but you’re too focused on the wood. The mahogany looks beautiful. Beautiful / Blink. I mean, look at you. Are you crying? I know you. I know you like the forest knows trees. She smiles. The wooden floors, the wooden chairs, the wooden in your eyes all become too much. It’s so beautiful / Simple / Blink / Lovely. She doesn’t say anything else. Blink. Her sigh resonates inside your mind. You think of a casket, a wooden one. Blink. It’s all so wonderful / Sigh. I’m sorry, you say. I’m sorry. Blink.”

— MAHOGANY CHAIRS (via laurel-am)