I Filled An Entire Sketchbook Page Recently With Just Doodles Of Simon Based On Various Photos Of Jerma

I filled an entire sketchbook page recently with just doodles of Simon based on various photos of Jerma I hope you guys understand—

Combining these two requests. Specifically, Simon being threatened by the townspeople, and vampire!Simon. Tried a more experimental writing style to emphasize his disjointed thoughts. I hope you both like it! @chibishortdeath @dopearbiterdreamland-blog CW: blood and injury

The morning sun burns his bloodshot eyes. Another sleepless night has come and gone. Simon is slumped against the outer wall of Bodley mansion, shying away from the encroaching sunlight.

Daybreak offers little protection in these parts, where Dracula’s influence still hangs heavy, but it is far better than the night. Simon can now try to get more information from the townsfolk of Doina, not too far off.

Simon attempts to stand, and his legs won’t obey him. Instead, he uses the dilapidated wall of Bodley mansion as support as he hoists himself up to standing with great difficulty.

A gloved palm moves to press over his eye. His head is pounding. Surely due to a combination of exhaustion and lack of nourishment. Food and drink has been a rarity over the last few days, and while Simon knows that his body needs it, time is against him. He hasn’t the luxury to slow down, rest, recuperate… no, even if time feels stagnant in the mansions, too, it still flows.

His illness is worsening with each passing day. With each acquired part of Dracula’s cursed body in his possession, the air feels thinner. Hunger worsens.

If nothing else, he needs to drink water, and soon.

Simon suddenly remembers the holy water strapped at his hip.

God forgive him for what he’s about to do. Trembling hands retrieve one vial. Lacking precise coordination, he manages to uncork it.

A gentle prayer for forgiveness and Simon brings the vial to his lips. He takes a swig.

Golden eyes flash open as Simon is sent to his knees. Palms land firmly on the ground in front of him, shattering the empty vial on impact.

Simon does not focus on the glass puncturing his hand.

His throat burning is far more painful.

Simon does what he can to expel the fluid from his body, but the damage was done: his throat and mouth are blistered and raw. The texture on the roof of his mouth is all wrong. The only comfort he has is the sensation of his own blood pooling his mouth. It’s soothing in the worst way.

He wheezes as tears, opaque and red, brim his eyes. Blood drips from his mouth onto the ground beneath.

Why?

He crumbles further, bowing his head.

Why would holy water burn him? Was it poisonous?

…No.

Of course not.

Of course.

Using his undamaged hand, Simon moves gracelessly to retrieve a cross in his satchel, trembling.

The metal is hot. He grips it harder. The heat is unrelenting, even through his gloved palm.

Soon, there’s a stink of hot leather.

Then burning flesh.

Simon grips the cross as hard as he can until he can hold it no longer, and he releases it reflexively.

The metal cross clatters to the ground, and Simon examines his hand.

It’s badly blistered.

Of course.

A wheeze—a pathetic attempt at a laugh—escapes him.

The hunter had become the very thing he set out to destroy:

a cursed creature of the night.

No…

Simon’s forehead is now on the ground. He’s gritting his teeth, hard, as he processes.

It can’t be, he—

His lip trembles, and a foreign sound escapes him:

a sob, broken and distorted through his damaged vocal folds.

He has brought shame to the Belmont name. Besmirched their bloodline. This is beyond what even Soleil Belmont had endured before him. And Simon is well aware of what followed for him.

Possession was horrendous enough, but to become…

The crushing weight pulls Simon down further into despair.

He mutters pleas for forgiveness from God, begs him for an explanation. What manner of beast is he now? Has God deemed him a sinner? Is this a punishment? A test?

Oh, God.

He can’t return home. Not like this.

He cannot hope to return to his wife and his child as he is now.

He can’t hold them, with the hands of a monster…

After he finishes his quest, Simon has no choice but to—to—

blood streaks down his cheeks as he weeps quietly to himself.

One of the rare moments he’s grateful for his perfect solitude. He doesn’t want anyone to see him this way.

But he’s wasting precious time.

After he rides out his sorrow, Simon hoists himself to standing at last. He wipes the blood from his cheeks and his mouth before drawing his cloak over his head. Hopelessness anchor each of his heavy and imbalanced footsteps forward, seeking temporary sanctuary in the town of Doina.

He swallows the blood in his mouth as he enters the town gates. He takes note of the first person he sees. Simon tries with all of his might to look presentable as he approaches.

He doesn’t even need to open his mouth before the man is staring daggers at him.

“Belmont,” He seethes. “After Castlevania, I warned you not to return.”

Simon tries to make himself non-threatening as he whispers through damaged lips: “I beg your understanding, I only need to purchase food and water. Then I will leave.”

The stranger scoffs, stepping aside to grant Simon entry. Bowing his head, Simon hurries into the first shop he finds.

Simon enters quietly, noting the stagnant, dust-filled air. The stink of garlic and sage accosts his senses next: the people of Doina seem equipped to fend from vampires.

Normally, Simon would be thrilled to see them take their precautions.

Instead, he fights the nausea that threatens to send him to his knees as he crosses the threshold into the room.

An older woman stands behind the counter. Immediately, she is wary of him, without even needing to look at him.

“What would you like to buy?” She asks, strained.

“Water, please,” Simon croaks, fishing around for coinage in his satchel. “And food, if you have any to spare. Anything will do.”

He places a bag of coin on the counter, and the woman takes it, but not before noting Simon’s blistered and bloody hands.

Her gaze follows upwards to Simon’s face.

She gasps as she takes in his face: gaunt, sullen, stained with blood

and his eyes, undeniably inhuman.

The woman drops the coins on the counter before she grabs an item nearest to her:

holy water.

Simon recoils with recognition as she readies it in her hand.

“Get back!” She shouts, raising her arm in a threatening way.

Simon merely raises his hands in obedience, stepping back and out of the shop as quickly as he entered it.

He hurries deeper into town, tightening his cloak around his face.

Was his countenance really that frightening? Do they… know?

Is it obvious?

Is he really—

It doesn’t matter. He needs water. He needs food. Information, most of all—that’s his primary objective, no matter what. He can get water and food elsewhere. He’ll hunt something. Back on task.

How many days has it been?

How many days are left?

Simon grits his teeth as he tries to calm his building anxiety, approaching another villager.

He skips the pleasantries this time: “sir, I beg your patience—do you have any information concerning Dracula?”

The other quirks a brow in reply, saying nothing as he studies Simon before him.

Stifling his exasperation, Simon clarifies: “Forgive me, I’m Simon Belmont, I’m seeking information to bring an end to Dracula’s curse on his land—“

“That’s in poor taste.” The other scoffs. “It’s a bit late for that, ‘Simon Belmont’. Do you take me for a fool?”

“No, sir.” Simon replies readily, trying to process what he has done to upset this stranger.

“You look nothing like Simon Belmont,” the other criticizes.

“Forgive my countenance, I’ve travelled a great distance hailing from Jova—“

“He wouldn’t dare show his face here again. Simon Belmont is likely sitting in his estate blissfully unaware of our suffering here.”

Simon’s mouth falls open, how can he even reply to that? This person thinks he’s lying. How could he be seen this way, after everything he’s done, after everything he’s—after—after—

There’s no time.

There’s no time, damn it!

Simon is unable to control the rage that boils over as he takes the man by his cloak, hard, and shoves him against the brick wall behind him. He pins him there with all of his might.

“Tell me what you know! Now!” Simon barks, bearing his blood-stained teeth.

“Vampire!” The man screams in recognition. “There’s a vampire among us!”

Simon’s eyes widen at the implication, and he’s quick to release the man and break away.

His walk turns into a jog as he hurries past prying eyes, taking refuge in an empty alley.

He paces, hands moving to wipe his face. He spits the blood from his mouth.

What is he doing?

He’s wasting time.

Simon, concealing himself tightly in his cloak, moves to exit the town.

Someone obstructs his path—the man from the gate entrance, he—

has a stake in hand.

“You’ve upset the people,” he growls, taking a step forward. Simon recoils, stepping back.

“There has been a misunderstanding,” Simon tries.

His pleas fall on deaf ears.

Simon battles emotions that threaten his composure: rage, shame, sorrow.

Have his efforts meant nothing to the people of the realm?

His sacrifice? His illness? He’s trying, even now—all of these years later. For God. For the people. For his family.

Simon fights with all of his might and yet—

“Now get out of town!” The other yells.

Simon knows, in his heart, that the stranger won’t try to drive that stake into him.

But their words have damaged him enough.

Simon squanders his emotions as he walks past, exiting the town.

Only when he is a safe enough distance away, does he allow his sorrow to come to the surface.

Tears of blood blind him as he wanders to the next location.

I guess these count as shitposts, they’re just based off of some random text posts I was looking through on Pinterest tho idk. :3

A recent Simon doodle ft. a couple different filters on it, it’s sketch, and another similar perspective practice. Blood is so fun to draw. :3

So, little attempt at comic stuff :3. I’ll be putting what the text says under a cut in case it’s still hard to read. Unfortunately this isn’t as high res as I’d like it to be but it was either do this or end up splitting an already short comic into two posts and eh this works, it’s an experiment anyway X3.

Text under here ⬇️

(Angel’s Hill)

(Simon walks through the foggy cemetery, all graves say “Belmont”.)

(He stops at one. The grave also says “BELMONT” on the top in bold lettering, but the bottom section is worn and only the names “Christopher” and “Cyncia” are readable.)

-

(Simon begins speaking, somberly.)

“It’s been a while since last I came to visit. I’ve been…

…reflecting on things lately—

too late— but about what happened then that day and now… well…”

(He hangs his head, shadows of his hair covering his eyes.)

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

(Simon looks away to the side towards the cliff’s edge for a moment.)

“I—”

(The waves are fairly calm below.)

“I won’t be coming back anymore. I came to apologize, say goodbye.”

(He reveals a blackened, shriveled, scarred hand from his cloak.)

“I think my time is getting near, it’s getting worse… again…”

“Everything has these past months, or years really… the townspeople, the nightmares… and this… this… sickness.”

—

Yeah so that’s it so far, not too many events happening, but it’s based on like a single line or so of the Japanese manual story. I’m kinda considering almost having like all of CV1 be a quick prologue cause it’s important context for story things I wanna do later. Simon’s story is both simultaneously comparatively short, but also somehow a lot (TwT ).

It was my birthday today so my family and I made this goofy ass Nas’hrah cake hahahahskshksj. He looks like Sesame Street Rasputin I love him X,,,,D

Bonus of some silly in progress photos cause this is horrific, absolutely cursed, Nas’hrah would burn me alive for this asdfghjkl. It looks like straight up peanut butter but it’s coffee icing lol.