Parasite
Let's play a little game, shall we? This is a quick picture I drew some days ago, I thought maybe you guys would like to drabble something based on this picture. You can just write something in the comments with anything this picture makes you think is going on. :) If you want, that is!
( I told her things I didn't want to say. I need her and I hope she'll understand. Parasite Lady, Parasite Eyes. No need to cry. )
( I told her things I didn't want to say. I need her and I hope she'll understand. Parasite Lady, Parasite Eyes. No need to cry. )
Comments 9
He wished it was cool, hard, calculated.
But alas, he was feeling the rage that had drove many tormented, mad souls to the Pit. The rage that consumed him and made him lust for another's energon on his hands for the injustices that toppled around him, missing his own life, but not sparing those he was closest to.
The worst part of it all was that he knew it was all a hallucination, that this parasite within his helm as some dirty political warfare was making him see things, making him feel like Unicron himself, sword raised, poised to take down any threat.
The image of Jazz, splayed and tortured, assaulted him, making him arch into the restraints. Inside his own mind, he was a vigilante. But in the real world, he was going completely mad.
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“Jazz, calm down, please.” Prowl worriedly glanced at Jazz's flickering visor. “I need to recalibrate your systems. They are running at very dangerous settings.”
'No!' The visored mechs mind screamed. But he was injured and not in a state to even speak. He was captured by the Decepticons, tortured and they planted something in him. Something bad ( ... )
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All that tension and drama. And the ENDING! <3 It really made me giggle wickedly.
You made my morning! :D
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Slow, like a predator. Cold, like shards of ice. Hollow, like his spark casing.
It was spreading, and there wasn't a thing in the world he could do about it.
Prowl could feel the rage inside him, storming like an Earth thundercloud about to break. But not even that rage created an spark of warmth in the hollow cold he felt. All he felt was the cold loneliness, the bitter taste of sorrow.
Megatron was dead. The war was over. Earth was their new home.
But none of it mattered, not to Prowl. The one thing that kept the coldness at bay was gone, and he found it hard to remember everyday what the warmth had felt like.
He found it hard to remember what the happiness had looked like as it lit up his visor. All he could remember now was the pitying looks, the low murmurs, and the cold, dark visor that greeted him on Earth ( ... )
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