ArmouredGrub

Scopophobia - fear of being watched or stared at.

Character design I’m working on, they are called the Argive (in reference to Argos/Argus the many eyed giant in Greek mythology). They are a Nightmare and can change their features at will. They aren’t a shape shifter per se, but they can change how they look. Not always feminine presenting.

“Ever dreamt you were not alone? That someone was watching you — when you wept, when you lied, when you imagined things you’d never admit aloud? That creeping sense that the shadows have eyes, that the crack in the door is not empty, that something gazes through the peephole, the window, the dark corner of the room.”

“Dreams like this imply secrets — of truths you bury, of impulses you hope no one will ever see. But the Argive sees. It sees you at your rawest, at your worst. How does that leave you feeling? Stripped bare? Ashamed? Defensive? Or does it make you desperate to change, to confess, to scrub clean the paranoia carved into your bones?”

Some doodles/wips of him

After what happened in Mikoshi, Johnny was almost in auto pilot. He was able to amble away from the Arasaka tower, shooting any stray Arasaka soldiers with his Malorian, his mind was racing, so much so that he could barely make out his own thoughts. His body hurt and yet it seemed to move on its own.

He instinctively made his way to V’s apartment in the mega building, his feet just moved. None of it had felt real, he didn’t feel real. He stumbled into her apartment and slumped to the ground against the cool metal door. His heart was pounding and he could barely hear. He shoved his face into his hands and tried to steady his ragged breathing.

‘Breathe.’

Finally feeling the ground beneath him he shifted slightly, the pressure hurt.

He was slightly distracted by Nibbles pawing around in on the coffee table. The soft and comforting hum of the apartment almost put him at ease. A stifled sigh escaped his lips, the smell of some candle the chakra chick had given V still lingered in the dingy little pad. It vaguely reminded him of rain and trees.

‘Don’t forget me, asshole.’

They were home, they made it, something he desperately wished he could say.

No ‘we’ anymore, or did you forget?

The cooling comfort of V’s apartment all but fell away when he suddenly felt so alone. Johnny almost forgot what had happened, maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the all too familiar pounding head. He shuddered at the thought and clutched tighter. He couldn’t feel her anymore. She was gone.

V is gone.

He sat there, for what seemed like hours, his hands clutching over his eyes, the ache in his head had ghosted away and the hum in the apartment was no longer one of comfort but a reminder of how lonely he felt.

You were supposed to save her. Wasn’t that the deal? Your promise?

Surprised you couldn’t cut it?

‘The man that saved my life.’

“Fuck…” the word was a broken thing weak and defeated. And what was worse? It was her voice he could hear. It all felt like a cruel joke, like a nightmare. He willed his hands from his face and stood, his body still ached, so fucking much.

Hobbling his way to V’s bathroom, he hesitated for a moment near the vanity, he wanted this to be a nightmare, desperately. Maybe V was dreaming?

You know she’s not.

His teeth gritted, painfully grinding over themselves, something V would do.

‘Keep that shit up and you’ll be toothless by 30.’

By 30? Never had a chance. Know why, Johnny-boy?

‘But it’s my body!’

He peered into the mirror and his stomach dropped and his heart sank.

It was her face. Her hands. Her tired, tired eyes. The heart he could feel sinking, it was hers. The head that finally ceased throbbing, hers.

With her hands he washed her face.

‘I’m so damn tired, Johnny.’

Cleared of the dirt and the blood, he tentatively looked back up into the mirror.

Defeated.

That dark voice was chiming in again and fuck if it didn’t burn in him. It hurt, it hurt so fucking badly. So badly he could hardly breathe.

A guttural and desperate cry escaped his throat, which was muffled by the clasping of fingers over his mouth. His one free arm strained painfully as he slumped onto the vanity.

His chest grew cold and the inside of his nose stung. Her all-too-familiar warmth was gone. He’d lost his best friend.

She was more than that.

Lost the last person who genuinely gave a damn about you.

He lost a part of himself.

‘Thought this concert was important to you.’

‘It was, but not more important than you.’

He wilted further, back to the cool floor. Cradling his head again, trying to stifle heavy sobs.

She’s gone.

Gone.

Defeated.

Died for dirt.

Died for you.

Bit of a long standing WiP my laptop was compromised and I’m waiting for it to be fixed.