🎔 ⭒ ⁽ ¹ˢᵗ 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 ᵎ ⁾

indie & mutually exclusive multmuse curated by chasen. 21+ ft. veronica sawyer / mary jane watson / truman burbank / & more !

alice  oseman  ♡  solitaire  //  jeff  loeb  ♡  spider-man:  blue  //  assorted  panels  from  the  amazing  spider-man  //  taylor  swift  ♡  invisible  string  //  jenny  holzer  ♡  truisms  //  rachel  mannies  ♡  the  naomi  letters  //  isaiah  49:166  //  richard  silken  ♡  litany  in  which  certain  things  are  crossed  out  //  marc  webb  ♡  the  amazing  spider-man  //  breno  tamara  ♡  gwen  &  spider-man  //  sam  raimi  ♡  spider-man  3  //  regina  spektor  ♡  samson  //  trista  mateer  ♡  the  dogs  i  have  kissed  /  tony  isabella  ♡  what  if?  Vol 1 24  //  gallery  gerard  ♡  orpheus  &  eurydice  //  pierre  gautherot  ♡  pyramus  &  thebes

& i long for a time when a girl i knew with an incredible smile & so much good in her heart made me think . . . life can be great.

what's content to the little lady is an overwhelming splurge of city pollution to the devil. early evening traffic exploded, the working - class of manhattan took to the roads as a labor intense day concludes. matt purposefully left the curtains astray in his office, feeling the warmth hit the back of his neck, leveling him when the case, of which sat upon his desk, had a brutal headache pulsing between the ears. his fingertips bruise alongside raised ink, making out each letter in a slow, lazy process of gaining information. truth be told, he'd rather be doing anything but this. the day had gone on a bit longer than he'd like and he knew he'd be behind his desk later than usual. and so, when the secretary announced the blonde looking for unexpected respite, he welcomed her without worry.

( her scent is familiar, i could recognize her by perfume alone. it lingered nicely in the hallway, didn't have to hear her voice to know who came to visit after hours. her footsteps are gentle and poised against the oak floors of my office. we sat in silence for a beat longer than expected, i can't help but assume it may had something to do with the spider plastered across city newspapers. i take in the anxious pattering of her heart and it was obvious something heavy was weighing on her ).

 ( ! )         ♡          the  banality  of  the  implication  bites  something  small,  but  vicious  in  her.  as  if  this  were  a  trite,  mundane  argument  between  bickering  lovers  *  she  tenses  in  her  seat,  newly  furious  at  her  forced  induction  into  peter’s  secrets.  the  world  grew  ten  times  its  size  in  an  instant  &   gwendolyne  is  small  with  the  weight  of  it  all.                        ❛❛  it’s  not  my  secret  to  share,  ❜❜                     her  words  are  bitter  with  the  faint  hypocrisy  she  tastes  as  she  speaks  them.  the  agitation  of  it  all  gives  to  restlessness  as  she  adjusts  again  in  her  seat,  manicured  nails  twirling  idly  between  flaxen  locks,  lip  bitten  to  pause  in  conversation.

                      ❛❛  have  you  ever  been  in  love,  matt  ?  ❜❜                      finally,  after  long  silence,  gwen  speaks.  her  voice  has  softened  now,  despite  the  anger  still  fuelling  the  unease  &  discontent  in  her  anxious,  fiddlesome  hands.  it  would  be  nice  to  be  uncomplicated  in  the  wake  of  it.  to  hate  him.  to  not  feel  guilty  for  being  angry  or  the  desperate  need  to  wrap  around  him  &  sink  into  that  accustomed  warmth,  tender  comfort  of  his  body  against  hers.  HOW  SHE  COULD  CRY  !  little  girl  grown  &  alone,  across  from  quiet  catholic   as  she  spoils  her  evening  further  with  the  burden  of  emotions  tangled.                          ❛❛  not  just  in  love,  i  mean  —  truly,  really,  desperately  adore  someone  ?  ❜❜                notes  of  heartache  &  longing  seep  into  the  lilt  of  her  voice.  she  shifts  her  chair  closer  to  him.                       ❛❛  i’m  so  angry  with  him  i  never  want  to  see  him  again,  but  it  makes  me  cry  when  i  don’t  see  him  for  a  day.  ❜❜

scent of european tobacco clung to tailored shoulders, his preferred attired blending seamlessly with that of snob-nosed gala attendees. it almost made him regretful of his choices; any assumption at all he belonged to the higher tiers of moneyed men made his ears burn. sherlock holmes only belonged where there were discoveries to be had, his observant nature having already dissected everyone in the room. what they wore, personal items presumably acquired through unordinary, unethical means and what exactly they were there for. aside from the obvious. gust of air made it's way out of trapped throat, her comments amusing him far more than anything the night had yet.

" should it be any consolation, my eyes are capable of differentiating between bottled and natural. " wagered with an awkward swirl of his own glass; whiskey neat to dissolve the rest of steeped boredom. one brow rose at aimed question, head dipping to assess himself. " well, i am still in my twenties, and- you are correct. this is hardly the place i wish to be during a night like this. " proving her right in a way, the veil shedding and melting the illusion. lips met now room temperature glass, a burn at the swallow. " you don't seem particularly thrilled with this circumstance either. what might you be here for, miss ... ? "

 ( ! )         ♡          if  there  was  any  offense  to  be  had,  she  wagers  he’d  taken  it  with  good  humor  *  he  laughs  (  or  something  like  a  laugh  )  &  drinks,  watched  in  each  gesture  by  the  bright  blue  eyes  of  captured  youth,  just  happy  to  converse  with  someone  more  present  of  personality.

                     ❛❛  STACY.  gwendolyne  stacy,  ❜❜                   she  extends  a  hand,  lace  gloved  &  friendly  enough  for  his  taking.  at  the  head  of  the  stage  sits  a  large  display.  a  series  of  portraits  adorn  the  face  *  one  with  singular  rose  pinned  beside  it,  in  memory.  the  man  is  trim  &  stern,  with  eyes  as  soft  &  inviting  as  the  ones  that  look  its  way  before  she  continues  speaking.                     ❛❛  my  father  was  captain  george  stacy,  one  of  the  men  they’re  mentioning  with  honor  this  evening.  i  was  meant  to  go  dancing  with  my  friends,  but  there  was  someone  i  was  hoping  to  run  into  here  tonight.  ❜❜