[sharpcdges]

SHARPCDGES ⸻  an independent and private multi-muse blog. written by Katherine.   she / her. 32.

graphic credits by drearyknight.

CARRD. -- PROMPTS -- OPENS -- HEADCANONS. -- WISHLIST.

Affiliations: @drearyknight // @squarecranks // @antiibow // @salaciouscript

[primordialnyx]

I have learned much of decadence through the eyes of a god. Moderation is optional.

Let it be as it is written. - r.c.

[robntunney]

TV Appreciation Week '25 Day 1 : first tv obsession | CHARMED (1998)

According to the Book of Shadows, one of our ancestors was a witch, named Melinda Warren. And we have a cousin who's a drunk, an aunt who's manic, and a father who's invisible.

[literaturereads]

"And Cain says, “When you split me and my brother in the womb, you did not divide us evenly. He got kindness, and I got longing. He got complacence, and I got ambition. I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.”

- Nathaniel Orion, "Hevel"

[sharpcdges]

who are you when you’re alone at 2 am?

Adrian Tepes. The Sentimental Nostalgic. You remember your life in chapters, not dates. A whole year collapses into the weight of one jacket worn thin at the cuffs, carrying the smell of rain, public transport, and a version of you that didn’t yet know how things would end. A month lives inside your record collection, every song still capable of pulling you back with surgical accuracy. Memory understood something you couldn’t articulate yet, something that needed time to form its own language. Old journals each version of you filled with uneven handwriting. Polaroids you could not bring yourself to burn -- messages and timestamps scribbled on their edge, fragments of proof that something once mattered. Notes saved “just in case,” though you are not entirely sure in case of what. Each item is less a souvenir and more a reference point to what once was. You are drawn to stories of all kinds, thought you love best those where nothing dramatic happens and everything shifts. Years pass between glances, silence becomes dialogue, and meaning accumulates quietly, almost politely. You do not fear nostalgia. You don’t romanticize it either...most evenings. You treat your space like an archive --- handled carefully, categorized mentally, unfolded with intention. You revisit moments not to suffer, but to contextualize. You want to understand who you were, why you felt that way, what changed. Healing, for you, is documentation. There’s something profoundly gentle about how carefully you hold your past. There is something tender about the way you anticipate the future, and the morning sun greets you in kind.

Tagging: @salaciouscript (Dante) ; @villainpowers ; @holyguardian ; @lyc4nhunt ; @ulfhrafnx ; @thruteeth (Lightning) ; @vyrulent (Amy) ; @laperlina ; @constellationcursed ; Note: If any multimuse blogs would rather do this quiz for another character than the one I listed, pls feel free!!!

[carmahnart]

Hey y’all I have an announcement! My web app that I’ve been working on, Afro Index, is now live! It’s a visual reference library of Black hairstyles, for artist, animators, writers, and anyone who wants to learn more about them!

Check it out at afroindex.org! 💛✨

Afro Index – Black Hairstyle Reference Library

A reference library for Black hairstyles with accurate naming, structured filtering, and curated reference images.

[anthologicals]

❝  natalia-  are  you  ready?   ❞ 

the  patriarch's voice  echoed  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  walls,  way  down  from  the  lower  floor  near  the  brim  of  the  rosewood  stairway.  no  noise.  not  even  a  tiny  shuffling  of  shadowed  footsteps  underneath  the  door.  just  what  was  that  girl  doing  in  there?  maybe.  .  .  trying  on  some  of  the  newer  hand  me  downs  from  polly?  in  the  bathroom,  putting  on  makeup?  or  whatever  else  girls  her  age  did  these  days.  well,  he  sure  as  hell  didn't  wanna  march  straight  up  there  to  find  out.  didn't  feel  like  getting  yelled  at,  either.  not  this  early.

brows  furrow  impatiently,  eyes  lowering  to  his  wristwatch  to  gander  the  time.  10:13  a.m.  it  wasn't  like  it  was  a  set  date  per  se,  only  asking  @sharpcdges  to  pick  a  day  out  of  the  week  to  practice  driving.

❝  natalia!  ❞  hands  encompassing  his  mouth,  tone booming  louder  through  the  air  this  time.

[sharpcdges]

She got up before the sun, fuzzy blue slippers keeping her toes off the cool hardwood floor. Her bed, situated across the room from a second, possessed a neatness to it that even an absent Moira's did not: hospital corners and a stack of pillows arranged by size and texture. In the middle of the plush collection sat Lottie, of course, her nearly furless limbs worn thin by time and night-long hugs. One of her eyes had needed sewn on twice over five years before the button finally clattered to oblivion, but Kathy had worked her stitching magic and left the bear with a perpetual wink.

The girl had avoided all of her usual haunts and ignored her routines for a three-hour long stint in the bathroom, content to amuse herself with the climbings and goings of a fat orb weaver as it waddled across her knuckles. ❝The lonely one offers her hand too quickly to whomever she encounters. ❞  An iteration of a voice passed her lips, for they both had one of course. The girl drew her arm to eye level, two peering into eight, as the spider considered her unflinchingly. Her mouth turned downward at the slight. The girl extended an arm to the open window, where the weaver at last crawled off and toward the crisp morning air. ❝ You would have been smart to bite me, ❞ she said, and sent the bathroom window squealing down its warped track.

The weaver died quietly, abdomen bursting upon impact, and the girl lifted the window a few inches to examine her handiwork. No connective joints remained to curl its legs inward, and it possessed no vocal cords to scream and no nociceptors left to process damage.

—-— ❝  natalia!  ❞

Natalia started at the sound of her name. Blinked, processing. Decorative hand towels, freshly laundered from the night before, hung in their usual spots. Moira's forgotten hair product lined the sink in its place. A candle scented like milk and almonds sat on the window, more to cover the stain of an old ashtray. Her eye caught the smear of something dark, something with hair, something that once had legs. A spurt of pale blue fluid stained across the white windowsill. Was that...? She leapt upward with a gasp, flung the bathroom door open, and took the stairs two at a time. Nearly bulldozed right into a barrel chest as she rounded the corner, and Natalia felt the teeth of his jacket's zipper bite into her cheek. "I'm--I'm here! Sorry Bar--Dad. I was sleeping..."

[sharpcdges]

What Enters the Room Before You Do?

Albert Wesker. THE ARMOR. You arrive already assembled. Posture aligned. Voice measured. Boundaries humming quietly beneath the surface. There is no rush in the way you enter a space - only intention. People feel it immediately: you are not careless with access. Respect forms before familiarity does. This isn’t distance for distance’s sake; it’s discernment. You learned, at some point, that softness without structure gets bruised. Those who earn their way past the armor find something rare - warmth that chose to stay, not warmth that leaked everywhere. Colours: Polished steel, charcoal, deep forest green Scene: Leaning against a wall at the edge of a room, observing first, deciding later who deserves your full attention.

Tagged by: @anthologicals (ilu) Tagging: @prodigiumamare (Rosaleen) ; @drearyknight (Maria) ; @salaciouscript (Claudia) ; @priceforeverything (Johns) ; @personaei (Yuna)

[sharpcdges]

Blade | Headcanon

As a dhampir (half-human, half-vampire), Blade is said to have gained all of vampires' strengths and none of their weaknesses--except for the thirst. The MCU also states that Blade ages like a human and is mortal, while the comic verse lists him as immortal.

In this portrayal, Blade is...technically both, depending on his choice of lifestyle.

If Blade were to go extended periods of time without imbibing either his blood-serum or fresh blood, he would begin to suffer from weakness, fatigue, tremors, hallucinations, an increasingly animalistic state of mind, and loss of control and his faculties. (In increasingly serious stages). If such starvation were to continue, the effects would eventually be fatal.

On the other hand, Blade can survive off of either substance.

In the event that Blade continues to rely on his serum, he will maintain his strengths and age as a mortal man.

If he drinks fresh blood, even as a last resort or in micro-doses, this will effectively kickstart a biological regression that allows his body to slowly recover to peak physicality and youth. This regression is slow and steady, depending on the frequency or sheer volume amount of blood consumed.

Considering the kind of man he is, Blade's ultimate goal is to allow himself to age as a mortal and pass the mantle. Unfortunately...he's consistently forced to rely on blood at inopportune and desperate times.

Ergo, he's effectively immortal...despite his wishes otherwise.

[sharpcdges]

"you'll have to teach me. i'm new to this." - to Blade!

VULNERABLE CONFESSION PROMPTS -- Accepting

"Could've fooled me with the way you handled Korrosion."

He's not real used to having a partner fall into step beside him, let alone climb out of the passenger seat of his '68 Charger. Blade's more than fine with it. More bodies means greater difficulty slipping between a distracted businessman here, a pack of giggling schoolgirls there.

But for once, they're not on their way to lob off a few heads or detach a clawed arm from its body. Not immediately, anyway. He passes over an old rail line, cuts through a park. A lump of old rags, stinking of piss and hooch, coughs something phlegmy and turns on its side on the picnic table. Blade's head turns, almost imperceptible, even as he continues down the path streetside.

Not a vamp. Supposed to be a hot night, and with the way that drifter stinks from here, someone would have to be a helluva a bottom feeder to take a bite.

"Caretaker already asked me to help, and I said I would. You'll get what you put into training. Until then--"

Finally, he stops outside Yemen Cafe, looking affectionately over the bright, blocky colored mural on the restaurant's facade. Only two outta five spotlights are still working over it, but the dim orange glow's more enough a beacon to say, Welcome home.

He still remembers the day the local high school's graduating senior class got out took care of the whole thing. Yemen's owners fed kids out here twice a week, even when absent parents failed to step up and do the damn job.

Blade opens the door and waits for Magik to step inside. Murad, the owner's eldest son, breaks out into a grin and shouts into the back. His mouth curves into a faint smile.

"Try the Fassolia Sandwich. Or the Gallaba. Hell--just try whatever Murad puts in front of you. He won't take no for an answer anyway."

@deviillry // answered!

[sharpcdges]

@drearyknight was insubordinate

Expect the Unexpected. Every team memorialized the S.T.A.R.S maxim each year since its inception: stenciled in centered bold letters atop the Training Manual’s cover, soldered onto a brass plate that hung within the Main Hall. Most recently, scrawled across a bedsheet in greasy spray paint—an abysmal submission to the R.P.D. Banner Contest that rightfully earned last place. The eyesore now hung in their break room, an ode to failure, slovenliness, and all things S.T.A.R.S allegedly were not.  

Peer pressure and banging one’s oversized knuckles atop a hard surface befitted a school playground more aptly than it should the Raccoon City Police Department’s elite unit. 

Amidst the buffoonery, Officer Chambers failed to catch the tell-tale creak of the door behind her. His boots, silent across the office tile, landed his lean bulk in perfect position behind the Rookie; the moment her cohorts fell silent, it was already too late. 

“Is this how Bravo spends their down time?” Captain Wesker tapped his index against a bicep, entertaining the image of snapping her neck backward like flower stem. “Our first floor colleagues continue to perform diligently, and our contributions have amounted to…?” 

He waited a heartbeat—several, accounting for the dovelike terror fluttering behind Chambers’ breastbone, Aiken’s sugar-induced mania, Sullivan’s calm, if age-ragged pulse. Wesker’s mouth twisted in displeasure as Marini’s secondhand crew answered his inquiry with silence.

The late evening sky opened up, and within seconds, thunder rumbled through the building’s brickwork. Weatherbeaten and laden with age, the roof one story above their head groaned. 

“Ah, hell…I left my windows down.” Frost muttered. He rose to his feet, bandana falling back over his hairline, and nearly slipped on a pencil.

First to flinch, first to die—or suffer the consequences, at any rate. Wesker’s prize guinea pigs still had life in them yet. “Your filling in for Dewey is appreciated, Officer Frost. Nevertheless, I believe our traffic patrolmen are down a body. Take your parka and see that they have a support on the street. Sullivan, you have trace evidence left to sample from the McKinney case. The others had better make themselves scarce; there are more than enough statues to polish in the Art Room and old files to digitize in the Records Office."

Aiken slumped in his seat, groaned, and held his head. Frost heaved the remnants of a half-melted Firecracker into the garbage and stomped, red-faced, out of the room.

"And you—" The Captain’s gaze was icy as he regarded the team’s newest member. Delicate little thing. Irons had nearly suffered an aneurism when he’d passed her file, and his personal recommendation, across the Chief's desk, embarking on a twenty minute-long tirade about media perception and preservation of a traditional model, unified by strength. Wesker had allowed him to rant, legs crossed and finger delicately pressed to his temporal vein, if only to see that squashed face take on the color of plums when the phone rang to mandate his decision.

Rebecca Chambers exuded the same wide-eyed vulnerability--the same soft, unmarred skin--that game-sodomizing pig sought during his hunting trips.

The same ravenous hunger for unraveling science's greatest mysteries that Umbrella valued in a researcher.

The same eager naiveté that had both Alpha and Bravo crowding about her, shielding her like a faun.

Wesker turned on his heel with militant precision and stalked toward his office. “With me, Officer Chambers. Now.” 

[mcflymemes]

VULNERABLE CONFESSION PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

it's been a long time since i did anything like this.

be honest with me.

i have something to tell you.

do you have a second to talk?

i've never said it outloud.

you shouldn't feel ashamed.

you are destined for greater things.

i don't remember anything about my parents.

i think i deserve the truth.

how long have you known?

i can't believe i trusted you.

you should have told me from the start.

i won't judge you, no matter what you say.

i'm not sure how to do this.

i owe you an explanation.

you don't have to hide this any longer.

when was the last time someone held you?

i've never been kissed.

i've been alone all my life.

this feels weird to me.

it will feel better if you tell me.

you are the only one who can save us.

you should know the truth.

i'm not ready to do this.

no one's ever really loved me.

i was kept in the dark all my life.

i don't know what love feels like.

tell me the truth. it's okay.

take your time with this. it must be very hard on you.

my parents died when i was very young.

i should tell you the truth.

there's no shame in this.

i can't believe i never knew.

i'm sorry, but i don't believe you.

i can't do this.

are you sitting down?

you are the chosen one.

it's safer if you never know the truth.

this never should have happened.

i regret everything.

i've never been with anyone before.

there's something i should have told you a long time ago.

i'm afraid of heights.

they thought you'd be better off not knowing.

you should have told me.

you were hiding this from me?

don't laugh when i tell you, all right? promise?

you've been kept in the dark for far too long.

you're the first person i've told.

so? what do you think?

maybe it was silly to hide that.

i didn't feel comfortable telling you.

they deserve to know.

what happens now?

you'll want to sit down for this.

you will save us from this evil.

i should have listened to you.

you'll have to teach me. i'm new to this.

i don't have much experience.

they didn't want you to know.

i never knew them.

i don't even know my own name.

everything you've been told is a lie.

i'm not ready for that.

will it always be like this?

i've been hiding this from you.

i didn't want you to know.

there are more pressing matters to attend to.