#simon 1

[vampodile]

realized i missed the simons birthday. i was horrified and distraught so i whipped this up

[gonewiththeyoosung]

Inspired by @gwynheimer‘s post here. Simon probably got used to the bleeding eventually, enough that it might’ve became his everyday routine. I also like the idea that he lived a long, full life, even with the accident. Threw in a few distorted images because I thought they turned out well.

[personalized-plates]

SIMON 1

[melisasenkcn]

Who: @simonheywood Where: Julian's yacht

While Julian was wanting to take things slow, Melisa had no issues respecting his wishes. She was the one who had left him, so she wanted to match his pace. Melisa was grateful he had decided to give her a second chance, her feelings for him hadn't died over the years. Even going slow, she felt happy around him. Half the town may still hate her, but when Melisa was around him, she felt like things were going to be alright. When they had woken up that morning, Melisa had enjoyed waking to his embrace as they tangled between the sheets. So when he left to go pick up some pastries and coffee, Melisa had reluctantly let him go. They still had the rest of the day free to spend time together. So when she heard a knock while lounging around and reading, Melisa knew it was a guest not for her. Still, she saw the figure catch sight of her and knew she couldn't hide. Answering the door, she tugged at Julian's shirt she was wearing to make sure it covered everything. But seeing Simon Heywood on the deck, Melisa froze before her lips became a thin line. "Simon."

[augurdivinus]

@ductilesuit

The humid stench of petrichor hung heavy in the air, weighed down with the rain that still fell from the heavens in a light drizzle. Micolash could feel it sticking to the skin beneath his robes, in the breath in his lungs.

As it fell, the rain coagulated on the pavement in puddles slick with oil from the streets dripped from car exhaust. One vehicle splashed up such a puddle, soaking his robes in dirty water. Not that he minded, his coat was already quite dusty and dirty, oily water wouldn’t add much more to it, but he flinched all the same, and paused to examine how far up his side the splash had reached.

That’s when he heard it; a voice, low in pitch and muttering curses from a darkened alley. From the strange quality of the sound, he would have mistaken it for something coming from a television or radio had the figure not had a distinctly human-shape to it, though the oddly glowing nodules begged to differ.

The eyes turned to meet his, and he hesitated. Bright red, piercing the dark easily. 

“Do you ail?” It was a genuine question, at first. The being seemed to be clutching at itself and near doubling over in clear signs of physical distress. But it opened up the possibility of getting closer to seek answers of what exactly it was that he was looking at, and what he could possibly gain from it. 

[na-vidya-na-avidya]

Simon I, “Switzerland in June”