Today's Document
oozey mess
we're not kids anymore.
#extradirty
Love Begins
Cosimo Galluzzi
JVL
if i look back, i am lost
tumblr dot com
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occasionally subtle
izzy's playlists!
pixel skylines
Not today Justin
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Three Goblin Art
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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ojovivo
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@gutspilt
hello all! it is with sadness i announce that i have temporarily moved spencer to a multi-muse, just because i’m finding it difficult to manage this many single-muse blogs. i would be happy enough to continue any threads over there please either like this post or message me privately. this switch could be temporary, but right now i know it’s what i need! i love you all.
@surviveir !
❛❛ ——– absolutely not. but i can promise you that you will not be alone. ❜❜ a multi-muse writing blog including nadia vulvokov & alan zaveri of netflix’s russian doll, ft. characters from teen wolf, the 100, the walking dead, until dawn, revolution & more! written by harmony.
wanlidas:
still, the stubborn parts of her mind are battling her heart, desperately wanting to tell him to stop ——- not because she wants him to, but because she feels like she has to. she has to be cold, she has to fight him, she has to keep a distance. but why can’t she let down her walls, just this once? just for him? she fears that if she does, she may never stop —— that if she gives in to the comfort of his arms, then she’ll never stop pouring herself out for him, and then what happens when there’s nothing left of her? what happens when she loses him, too? noticeably, shoulders fall as his hand moves away. the absence of his touch makes her feel all too empty —— it’s painful, she didn’t realize how starved for this affection she was until now. but she can’t ask for it; she won’t. it would only hurt her pride, and she can’t give that up now —— not when it already feels like she has nothing left.
she peeks up at him, expression not changing despite her heart beating faster. the compliment is one she so desperately needed without realizing, because she doesn’t believe it herself. any mirrors in her home, she avoids —— she can’t even muster the courage to tell herself that she is strong. ❝ that’s how we all hav’ta be. don’t have a choice, ❞ she mumbles. because that’s what she has to tell herself, that she can do this, that she has to do this, that there’s no choice but to endure. ❝ you’re strong. don’t have another way to be, ❞ she points out —— because it’s something she has to remind herself too. spencer knows loss. he knows it firsthand. grief is no competition, not when they’re all experiencing it seemingly all the time. but they all deal with it differently —— and maybe spencer’s way is more healthy than hers. it doesn’t mean it will change her mind. it only GROUNDS her for a moment. she gulps, eyes on his for a brief moment before she offers a small nod. ❝ have to be, don’t i? ❞ for abraham. because, despite not knowing him long, so much of who she is is because of him.
his next words make lips purse together tightly, her eyes averting again. ❝ ain’t any different, ❞ she mutters. she is —— physically, mentally, emotionally. this has hardened her, more than she already had been. it makes her whole body feel hollow with nothing but rage inside to keep fueling her. and it’s a dangerous route she’s on, one that if she’s not more careful, she may end up just like them soon enough. she is different, and if anyone should know, it’s him. it’s not because he knows her better than the others she has been with longer —— he doesn’t, not entirely, but he knows her in a way they don’t. he has witnessed a raw version of her, one that has been vulnerable and weak and OPEN. he has seen her entirely exposed, both physically and emotionally, and maybe that’s why she has such a hard time letting her MASK falter. he has already seen her weakened before; it’s as if she has something to prove now, to show him that she’s strong ( even if he already believes it, she can’t stop fighting for it. )
❝ y’don’t need to look out for me. i know that’s what you’re trying to do. ❞ because he is GOOD. more than that, he’s a good influence. that’s part of why she’s so afraid of being with him. because he WILL ground her, he will help her relax, and she doesn’t know how to get there right now. she doesn’t know how to accept that she may actually deserve that. ❝ i’m fine. can handle it myself. ❞ too much of her life has been spent relying on the help of others, relying on them to take the reigns for her so that nothing would ever be her fault, that she would always be taken care of ——- but all of this has taught her that she has to have her own back. relying on others is dangerous. and it’s a crushing feeling, even more so the way her heart still beats so fast just being this close to him ( she wants to give in. she wants to bask in the comfort she knows he’s willing to give her. can’t she let herself have it just this once? ) she gulps, a glare remaining on her features that contradicts her next words. ❝ y’don’t have to leave. ❞ stay, stay, stay. that’s what she wants to say, but the alternative feels easier. it feels like less pressure, less vulnerability. ❝ just sayin’, no babysitting. i don’t need it. ❞
the last monroe... spencer overheard his newly acquired coinage in passing, one of the more gossipy alexandrians procured it for what spencer deemed a poetic purpose. but life wasn’t a poem, spencer no longer had a soul to connect with & his neighbours wanted to don him a thespian tragedy? ---- it sickened him. thus, with naivety accompanied an altered state of mind, & perhaps all the meaningless thoughts & prayers & baking fucking casseroles was their unique way of surviving a travesty ---- but spencer’s family were dead, and everything is just... so much worse now.
if anyone knew loss it was her, she hadn’t the choice ---- sure, alexandria was a sanctum but it did not ensure an indefinite guard. there were monsters, with sentience & thought alike, that dwelled inside & out. it was the ones with determinate faces, that wielded gun & weapon, that didn’t gabble & salivate over promises of flesh... they were the ones to be feared. spencer knew that now. for rosita, he’d hang onto every word she uttered, her complexion perturbed yet saccharine, a battle between silk & steel lived there, in the empty spaces of her skin.
lips part in implored desire to contest her damnations, but only the looming overture that they all communicate with temporary sentience, borrowed from the reaper’s clock itself, causes him to withdraw. spencer could remind her that relying on others was not necessarily a death sentence. he could inform her that humanity was doomed to demise without intimacy ( if only procured in a form of companionship ). in fact, there’s many a word he could say to respond to her gloom... but he doesn’t. the words die before the match of his tongue could strike a flame. instead, he audibly suspires, the sigh extravagant like yielding to her plea ruptured pain within ---- there’s so much unsaid, it surrenders no satisfaction. ominous orbs survey the room with uncertainty, before finding her [ he’d always find her. ] & the bronze-like bloom of her cheek, the auburn circle of her iris, the rose-petals that shaped her lips... spencer knows the right answer, conceding her quarrel that way he always did. ---- his fragility was preserved by rosita espinosa, and the things she faulted humanity for donned him a hypocrite. she was his weakness, after all.
❛ no babysitting. ---- no bullshit. ❜ buoyancy altered a chime, accompaniment to the forefinger that brushed from own rib to breastbone, procuring an indiscernible cross over the residing tenor beneath his skin. cross my heart, hope to die.
shecorrupt:
‘ i wasn’t — i wasn’t gonna hurt you. ’ she’d misjudged where would’ve been a safe place to move to next, which box to hide behind as she followed him. perhaps what she says is a lie, but really, she just wanted to find safety. if she wasn’t able to, what was the harm in trying to take his things to ensure she could live? it’s not like they knew each other, and she’s always near starving when she gets this desperate. she hates leaving the safety of whatever hole she’s found herself for the night; the walkers terrify her to no end. ‘ i was just… seeing where you were going. for — to see if it was safe. i promise. ’
❛ so, what? you ---- were following me? for how long? ❜ threatening demeanour can only exist comfortably for so long: heartbeat hummed trepidation’s hymn. power dynamics could shift in a matter of seconds & spencer knew too well the consequences of signalled weakness, so excuse his palpable inactivity. firearm remains subsequent to his hip however, not poised nor probed, as instincts implore him to assist. ❛ jeez ---- you nearly gave me a heart attack. ❜
temprflare:
❛ this place it’s nice . safe … it drives me fucking crazy . ❜
𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐓 . not the people , but the comfort it began to offer . an uneasiness that ran through the body & mind . there was the potential for it to fall . which was what caused her the anxiety . too much uncertainty that could only lead to another downfall of society .
❛ it can do that to you. ❜
𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘: it left many debilitated with a promise of temporary stability & perhaps the hindrance she echoed was not in the mundanity of it all, but the palpable consideration that one day they could be left with nothing. they took it all that bit too much for granted, spencer included, for he poisoned the dullness in a whiskey bottle. ❛ you think we can ever truly be happy, living like this? ❜ living like devastation hadn’t destroyed their cities.
today austin nichols posted a video of himself running on a treadmill only to bump his head on the fuckin CEILING if that ain’t the most spencer monroe shit u have ever heard......
have a munday taken on a sunday ! wow, mixing it up ! Xx 😘
rosient·:
𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲? you could say that again. you don’t know why, but his nonchalantness pulls at something in you: dull, unmoving. you think it’s rage. whatever it is, it’s simmering in your belly & you’re doing your best to keep it at bay.
& this clandestine admission confirms two things for you: 1. you’re not ready to face what you feel for him; it’s evident in the way his words cast your gaze to the floor. 2. negan could’ve killed you. he should’ve killed you. [ you’re still not sure why he didn’t. ] ❝ so did he. ❞ you remind him, umber irises finding the courage to witness him again. because you’re a damn near perfect shot, & next time you set your sights on him, you won’t fucking miss.
the silence that gnaws on the spaces in between this lead weighted conversation nearly swallows you whole; you contemplate excusing yourself, but then he changes the subject — all but asking you to leave, & you’re reeled back in. the two of you are cursed to dwell in this constant push & pull, aren’t you? with brows furrowed, you stand & move closer, shaking your head ever so subtly, in a way that causes stygian curls to dance slightly along your collar bones. you want to stay. ❝ let me help. ❞ what’s more shocking is that you aren’t afraid of letting him know.
❛ no, you don’t ---- ❜ [ maybe they were fated to be a mass of words unsaid ] her meaningful aid yearns him to fold in on oneself; sheathe the ghastly image from prying eye. panic struck like a bolt ---- breathe, spencer. he’s a pariah among good men, built from torn pieces ---- the alexandria beau no longer dwelled within his skin: the awry stitch of his abdomen made damn sure of it. [ maybe it’s what he deserved, let the punishment fit the crime ] lips purse indefinitely, the distance between her footfalls & where he sat closing ---- but time is relative, & each step dawns another year.
trepidation dips adam’s apple, the echo of her movements foreboding the imminence of scarred reveal ---- spencer knew her in his marrow. knew that a feeble reasoning would not stand in the way of her intent, but he knew he had to try ---- for her sake. alas, the gnaw of a crude stitch caused him fervent anguish & the looming reveal drew somewhat nearer. ❛ believe me, this isn’t something you want to see. ❜ it’s huffed through a tragic laugh ---- his hamartia lies within torso’s abyss, the perpetuity of a knife embedded almost kin to his spine & he hurts... unwilling to share the torment to his gut with another.
rosient:
❝ — 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ? ❞ words lick your lips like a flame struck by your matchstick tongue, with intentions to scorch. you hardly flinch. make no mistake: you’ve been avoiding this, & now you’re caught like a trapped animal, left looking for an exit. that’s why it’s taken you so long to come & talk to him, isn’t it? aside from the occasional drive by check in. a slew of ‘how’re you feeling’s & ‘sorry, i can’t stay’s have kept you comfortably at arm’s length until now. you just couldn’t put it off anymore — the guilt avoidance caused is eating you alive. [ but you didn’t think he’d jump in the deep end so fast, when you’re still not sure if you know how to swim. ] ❝ i don’t know what you want me to say. ❞
did you? did you do it for him? the intimacy of the question begs you to unfurl. your gaze averts. you’re fighting tooth & nail against the exposure. arms cross while you mull it over, mind flickering through sanguine - soaked memories you’d buried weeks ago in hopes you’d never have to stare that kind of carnage in the face again, & yet … you remember sitting in the dirt, face wet with streaks of tears & blood & listening to the sound of death taking your friends from this world too soon. people you loved. you remember being asked to lay down & take it; to lower your gun & hand it over, along with everything else worth having anymore to the reaper himself. but you couldn’t go gently. not after what he did. [ there’s a war running through your veins, battle girl. they should’ve known it’d go that way. ] so, you found another gun, & you had a bullet made. one bullet, one chance to end this once & for all. to balance the scales. now everything’s still off kilter, & all you have to show for your attempt at justice is olivia’s rotting corpse & this scar on your cheek.
❝ i did it for me. ❞ you whisper, finally, emotion threatening your composure & it’s the truth, spilling from you like a broken dam: ❝ because i couldn’t live with him walking around after what he did to glenn, & abraham. i had a plan, & then you … & then he fucking gutted you, spencer, & you were on the ground, bleeding & i — i thought you were dead. i thought he took you too, & i panicked. drew too quick. … i thought you were dead. ❞ you don’t know if that’s the answer he’s looking for; you just hope it’s enough.
i did it for me. words are requisite for progression: she advocates his desire to move forward, her blessing ribbon - tied, the chide of spencer’s closeted ardour concealed for a day longer. maybe, he was hopeful that in death, she’d procure her motive: the fires of his adversity burning along with his corpse. [ BUT YOU’RE ALIVE, AREN’T YOU? ] the late-night fumblings courted them into nothingness, a match burnt out ---- sometimes, that simply was the way things went, until... hope glimmered. ---- a flame rekindled from umber flecks: a single declaration & the way his name sounded against her tongue... god, spencer was smitten, sick with adoration once more... how fallible was man?
& then you... [ had spencer spoiled solitary opportunity to end this? ] gilded irises present themselves within the murk, studying the complex curves that defined elegance from afar. the mar of right cheek does not even register a blemish, but instead a story, a chapter ---- a symbol of enhanced beauty to spencer, & likely all those who dared look upon her. the scar prods own battle wound, blood clotting beneath aged cloth... sometimes, he can still feel the ghost of a knife embedded within. ❛ i guess i got lucky... ❜ spencer understates his tragedy: sublimity tugged him from grave, miraculously he awoke with faculties ( though still somewhat agonising in performance of basic tasks ) fully functional. he was dead, but rose again. ❛ we got lucky. i mean, if i woke up & you were gone too... ❜ dialect trails off into quietude, the ignition of feelings proclaimed was sure to spark fury ---- take the hint, spencer. head rids ill - thoughts with side - ward motion, death not willingly discussed amongst them. ❛ anyway... i have to change these, so you might want to... ❜ [ leave, before perception reduces to horror. ]
what is lunchmeat i feel like american tv doesn’t explain this enough
raps upon wood echoed thrice through monroe home, a conundrum that shrewdly pervades the silence of solitude. enthralled by melancholy, he had been stretched out upon sofa, whiskey-chalice enclosed by left hand. what had it been --- 3? 4? enough to send him into drowsy state, that was for sure. he’s far too preoccupied by company calling to dispose of evidence, the secrecy of hamartia was bound to be discovered by scent alone, but it made the evenings all the less daunting. family gone ---- what else did he have? mourning made demons of us all. digits run through a mass of coiled locks to tame them for visitor, but it’s to no avail, as the door opened to reveal a hot mess. umber hues scrutinise the world beyond his porch, before landing on the person who knocked. ❛ uh, what’s ---- is everything okay? ❜
@harmodia.
bravery fought with dismal mien --- under scrutiny, spencer attempts a smile to sheathe the turbulence within, sentiments unshared with most. gilded hues seize the untidy AIDEN inked onto alexandria’s wall & it’s a finality, when penmanship dries, aiden’s lifespan reduces to a lost corpse & 5 capital letters. ---- other than one minimal reminder, aiden was gone ---- just like that. spencer exhales an extravagant sigh, judgement of scruffy lettering clouded by the yearn for a life stolen. ❛ it seems unnatural, for your little brother to die before you do. one time, when we were in our 20s, we had an argument so bad, we went 2 years without saying a word to each other. but i never thought i’d truly be without him. i’d do anything to get those years back, tell him what an ass i’d been, just to see him walk through those gates. ❜ spencer doesn’t recognise the sound that vocalises thoughts, doesn’t perceive them until silence prevails once more, & he feels vulnerability at words shed. ❛ sorry ---- you don’t want to hear all that stuff. ❜
@doerns.
❛ you find anything? ❜ expeditious in house looting, it becomes spencer’s craft, cupboard upon cupboard cast open without an item to appease him. as the years stretched on, their luck worsened & spencer began to lose all hope in scavenging, resources were sparce on good days. fruitless findings gained him a pack of batteries ( too small for trusty torches ), duct - tape, a can - opener, all futile things he had plenty spare of, until... ❛ i got a single can of peas, circa 2015. ❜
@catwomna.
a breath is to be taken ---- inhale, exhale. breathe, spencer, for you are alive, the dawn reckoning is one more you are gifted to see. fatigue darkened sockets, sunk cheekbones, he’s tired in his marrow & the simplicity of breathing seemed to be the most daunting of tasks. his bones were lithe against woodland, clothing astrew & weapon cast aside in the struggle, but all to show for it were the blood & gore of his assailants, dispersed tempestuously through the foliage. congratulations, you are still alive. spencer had yet to acknowledge combatant, the only who had so ably rescued him from imminent demise & through rapid breaths, spencer mutters, ❛ you’re a pretty good shot with that thing. ❜
@tenebrismusa.
❛ i used to be so scared of becoming one of them... ❜ heart is tempestuous, thumping wildly against concealment as gilded hues peep out of their prison. a temporary blockage welded shut their barricade ---- yet, faceless strangers continued to claw violently at the door, intent for perpetual famine to cease... thus, spencer can’t help but stare through a besmirched lens, witnessing splintered fingers soil the paint with blood & broken nails. it was darker now, but the pry of the undead never lessened. ❛ used to think, what if i get bit & i get trapped in that... body where my purpose is to run around eating people? but they’re dead... aren’t they? ❜
@delatiierra.
❛ i can’t be here. ❜ torment rots in skull’s abyss, he often pictured a sibling’s body torn by tooth, it’s harrowing depiction did well to orchestrate spencer’s dreams. though coveting burial, balancing calculate risks & willing accompaniment, spencer knew the futility of even finding the corpse, aiden’s whereabouts ( & movements, had he turned ) unknown. but, if only for his own sanity, he needs it. ❛ my brother, he’s out there... & i need to bring him back. ❜
@heartrot.
