#illuzijan

gift for @illuzijan ! two differently colorgraded shots of carla's watchtower, all built by me in Blender this afternoon.

the news is UNWELCOME. the feeling sitting there, uncomfortable and hard, at the back of her throat, at the pits of her stomach. ada supposes that the news of the dead rising was hardly something of a shocker for her... it's always down to the who, isn't it? and to be left staring at the photograph in front of her... well. at least she knew, with glaring clarity, and a sense of resolution that left her ill, that it was not her standing among that wreckage. and if it was not her, there was only one person who she knew who'd be both strong enough, and mad enough, to pull what she'd just read through in the docket in front of her...

CARLA. of course it was carla.

some humiliations never die, she supposes. and what was carla, if not a pointed example of what happened when fantasy was allowed to outstrip reality at a sickening rate. all simmons' romantic dreams... all those desires, twisted and odd, poured out into the unwitting. it's not THAT HARD to figure it out once it's laid out in front of her at the time, but it does nothing to lessen the feeling of violation that comes with it.

even killing THAT THING does nothing to ease the feeling. she buries it - just another thing to unearth in her final moments, regrets and what ifs, they'd only really serve to slow you down. but despite all these years, the feeling still sits, as shockingly raw-edged as it had in the beginning. knowing that she couldn't simply let this be. telling herself, it's bad business, when really, it feels like a matter of facing your demons, most literally. the lead takes her out west, ada slinging a bag over her shoulder as she eyed the cafe that her room was meant to overlook. there's a picture on her phone ; blurry, but she'd recognize her face anywhere. and as far as she knew? that last known coordinates of her particular target.

send me a 🔥 and i'll tell you one thing my muse finds attractive about yours - Still Accepting

"Your mouth. When it's shut."

" a paycheck, usually, " it's a lie. his self sacrificing attitude to help the greater good and the fact that he's forced to be apart of his division says a lot. there's a pause on his heels as he pivots back to look up at her.

" why? what are you in this for ? " his arms cross, successfully now pulled into the conversation. he can't imagine it's good reasons.

Carla’s agreement to meet in the park like this had initially surprised Jessica, but she didn’t think twice about it now. What better place to hide than in plain sight? Jessica took off her sunglasses, and she slid the small briefcase across the table. T-Abyss — her pride and joy — would be in good hands.

Jessica took a long sip from her glass of lemonade. She’d purchased it from one of the street vendors, a boy no older than twenty. With a little flirting, she’d managed to get both her and Carla’s meals ‘on the house’. No trace of shame ever crossed her expression.

Send in kinks you think my muse has.

Don't mind him, he's just rolling his eyes. "Very funny."

Prayer, usually. Every morning when he wakes, and every night before he rests. He refuses to use her name unless prompted to though. That is considered a blasphemy.

Gifts, too, if Carla accepts them. Handmade trinkets and baubles, simple things done with love and care. He'll also make little effigies of her, much like those seen in RE6 (he has a lot of mannequins and paint).

((I’m so glad you liked my prompt / meme blog and my poetry! I’d actually been wanting to do one on them since I got into this form of poetry, so I hope you enjoyed it! Left side is Ada, right side is Carla. I titled this one “Like My Sister”.