Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

No Particular Reference
By : LeavesofMyself
Category: Transformers > G1
Views: 2509 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: See full disclaimer in Chapter 1
Chapter List
- 18
- 19
- 20
LeavesofMyself: This is Part 2. Once more, be aware that this part is, by far, longer than Part 1.
Chapter Warning(s): Strong AU, Angst, Dark Themes, Some Sticky!, and slight hints of MPreg.
Chapter Rating: M
A/N: All notes are at the end of the chapter (i.e. when you see [a #])

Nous (pure intellect or reason) [5]
"All other things partake in a portion of everything, while nous is infinite and self-ruled, and is mixed with nothing, but is alone, itself by itself."* Shockwave paused in mid-lecture, golden optic glancing to his student, watching listlessly as the young mech wrote diligently on his stylus.
"For if it were not by itself, but were mixed with anything else, it would partake in all things if it were mixed with any; for in everything there is a portion of everything, as has been said… in what goes before, and the things mixed with it would hinder it, so that it would have power over nothing in the same way that it has now being alone by itself. For it is the thinnest of all things and the purest, and it has all knowledge about everything and the greatest strength; and nous has power over all things, both greater and smaller, that have soul."*
"I disagree." The voice was soft, timid in its deliverance but Shockwave heard it none-the-less.
"To what do you disagree with?"
Soft optics rose to meet Shockwave's as the small, delicate hands ceased in their tedious task. A moment of silence stifled the air before the smaller mech broke the silence; his voice steady and firm, optics calm and collected.
"I disagree. I do not believe that nous has the ability to be so controlling, so dominate in anything that may have a soul. Nothing could possibly have such power, at least, not enough to seemingly govern one's own soul. Perhaps their mind, their body even, but the soul is something of its own, an entity that exists within the body, but is, in its own right, separate from both mind and body. I believe that the soul contains within it, its own mind, something that allows it to feel things beyond basic logic, like love and grief. I think that it is the soul that has power over all things because with the soul, mechs are able to experience the things that they do, and these experiences draw upon the emotions of the mech in question. Emotions can lead to highly illogical and irrational displays of behavior: murder, suicide, things of this matter. Logic may be emperor of the mind, but never a soul; if anything, the soul is supreme even to logic."
"That, youngling, is idealism."
Objectivism (doctrine that all reality is objective) [6]
"The attack on [mech's] consciousness and particularly on his conceptual faculty has rested on the unchallenged premise that any knowledge acquired by a process of consciousness is necessarily subjective and cannot correspond to the facts of reality, since it is "processed knowledge... [But] All knowledge is processed knowledge — whether on the sensory, perceptual or conceptual level. An "unprocessed" knowledge would be a knowledge acquired without means of cognition."*
He remembered each word spoken as if he were there, the heavily accented voice of his mentor drifting wanly to his audio receptors as he sat so perfectly still, the idealistic vision of a proper student bent on learning. It had been his very first lecture on the existence of reality, what was perceived by it, what mechs saw it for; what it was. He had asked his mentor to stay late, had asked him, so eagerly, to explain more of the idea. He absorbed every structured sentence, every fabricated word that had left the elder mech's lips, sorted through each thought and belief and filed them away for future indulgences, more specific studies.
Before he comprehended it, that simplistic notion of logic, of reality, became his own reality, his existence. In all sense, the notion became him: all knowledge is processed knowledge, therefore, everything he could comprehend, could tear apart and scrutinize, could think up can conduct… it all became knowledge of what was possible, what was, of reality. He became invincible in his capacity of knowledge, a master of sound logic, a creator of a reality unlike so many others.
It is a simplistically, logical reality, but it is his reality, his processed knowledge, and his alone. That, in and of itself, was why he gave himself wholly to that one notion. The only reason; the logical reason.
Parous (bearing or having borne offspring)
Shockwave sat poised, back-strut stiff with apprehensive uncertainty as he gazed upon the minuscule life nestled carefully in his massive arms, optic barely alive with vibrancy. Hesitantly, the guardian's servo lifted, pausing momentarily before he gently ran the tip of his finger down the sparkling's features, watching in a curious wonderment as the small being mewled and nestled further into his gunner arm, tiny vents huffing as it settled comfortably once more. A sparkling, his sparkling and more importantly, it was, is, their sparkling.
When he had learned of their small accident, it had been the first time he had ever felt true, suffocating fear. He had collapsed against the terminal in their berthing cambers, spark fluctuating hastily, and entire frame shaking in his processor-numbing panic. It took him nearly four cycles to regain a feign collective-ness, nearly relapsing into another fit when his processor reminded him that he had to tell his mate. That alone had taken him nearly seven deca-cycles, but his fears were, for the moment, vanquished when his mate, albeit a bit wearily, reassured him that they were going to keep this sparkling, their sparkling.
Shockwave looked down to the small life, and, with swelling bitterness and resentment, nearly wished that Megatron had ordered him to terminate the thing. The guardian's optic narrowed as his unrestricted anger reign over him, servo twitching with the urge to lash out at something, at someone, anyone. Swallowing back the howl of suppressed grief, Shockwave vented deeply, forcefully willing his large frame to relax, though his servo remained clenched in his lap.
There wasn't much time left, only a few breems remained of the cycle given to him to, as they had said, 'say good-bye to his sparkling'. He knew this was to happen, had known since the Decepticons fell and the commanding officers were arrested for "war crimes". They had been tried, unfairly so, and sentenced. Death awaited him, all of them, when he was deemed fit enough. Illogical, but that was the Autobot way. The council had pushed back his execution, solely because of this sparkling…. It had saved him, had saved Megatron, for only a little while, until he had birthed it, and now… Now time ticked away, and so did his remaining life.
A butterfly touch to his shoulder brought him out of his abject horror trance, dulled optic lifting to gaze into empathetic oceans. Shockwave gazed at the prized medic for a moment before looking back down and the new life, life he had given. For a brief moment, he had the faintest of feeling he was going to breakdown, collapse into a terrible fit of misery, not for his impending fate, nor that of his mate's, but for his sparkling, for not having the chance to see it grow, to hold it, caress it, love it.
The briefest touch over his bond from Megatron quelled his raging anguish. The medic held his arms out solemnly, as if he were pained to steal his sparkling, whisk it away to some filthy Autobot home.
"Shockwave, your time is up."
The guardian nodded, yet made no move to hand over the small being nestled safely in his arms. The medic sighed, whether in irritation or some sympathetic understanding, he didn't know. He knew that if he continued to refuse to give up his sparkling, the medic would be forced to call in someone that would forcefully remove it from his arms. He couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't want to give it up, not yet. This feeling of elation, of pride and unquestionable love was still too fresh.
"Shockwave…" the medic's tone tainted with the barest hint of impatience. The violet mech hesitated for a kilk longer before, reluctantly, holding out the new life for the other mech to take.
"He will be well taken care of." The medic reassured before the red and white mech turned and the left the med-bay, the massive door clicking as it closed, locking.
Shockwave sat stiffly, servo clenched tightly in his lap, optic darkened with raging emotions, waiting. A cycle later, a guard had entered and escorted him back to his cell, back to Megatron. When they were securely tucked away in their suffocating prison, Megatron took him in his arms and held him for the remainder of the orn, nothing exchanged but the brief conversation over their bond.
'The sparkling…'
'… Was perfect.'
Quietus (silencing)
The roar of the crowd was deafening in the vast space of the arena once used for gladiatorial fighting. The ring in which Megatron had begun his movement, begun his reign of terror, would be the resting grounds for his demise. Had Starscream still functioned, he would have laughed at the ironic symbolism of this moment.
They lead us out in chains and tethered us to our mechanism of defeat. The assembled crowd had sang loudly in rupture as we were locked in placed, servos tethered outwards, secured in place by thick straps, pedes bolted to the floor. The deafening roar became unbearable when they began to plug the various jacks into crucial ports along our chassis'.
Briefly, I glanced over at Megatron, watching as he gazed past the mechs securing us to our deaths to the raised balcony where the Prime sat, where his brother sat. I followed his line of vision, watched as the flamed mech refused to meet our optics, refused to even look upon the spectacle before him. His greatest enemy, his own brother, executed and the soft-sparked fool could not find it in him to take part in the crowd's joy, their sickened entertainment.
The Prime had been the only mech to oppose the council's rule of public execution. It wasn't what he had wanted, wasn't in his nature for such a thing. It was what Cybertron wanted, demanded. Appease the masses. Appease the wronged population. So they council did. Despite the ruling, Prime had tried on numerous occasions to argue that the death of the officers of the once Decepticon force would not solve anything, that it would only anger the remaining opposing faction further. The council rebuked that it would put our troops in their place, would detour them from another upraising. They were removing the threat. Or so the council thought.
The mechs backed away as they finished the preparation, one looking to the balcony and raising a hand, some form of a signal, an open invitation that they could proceed. The head of the council stood, lifting a hand for silence. He spoke, voice loud and booming, words dripping with malicious intent as he gazed upon us. The crowd roared once more, spectators cheering with impatient justice. Prime's form slouched further, optics dimming in bitter acceptance of the future. He had no voice here, the council was supreme; he was just a figure-head.
The massive council mech accepted a device from one of his subordinates, lifting it above him as if it were a Primus blessed idol. Silence reigned for a moment as he looked down at Megatron and I, optics flashing with smug victory, then he settled directly on me. I was to die first. It was only logical. It would cause Megatron much pain and grief to see his mate murdered before his optics. His own execution would be a blessing. If they wanted him to suffer, they would end me and allow him to live. The pain of a broken bond, of missing half of you, would be justice enough. That would punishment. This, here and now, was nothing.
Then came the raw agony. It pushed through my wires and circuits, corroding my processor in its vehement journey, bypassing encrypted coding and firewalls before encompassing my spark greedily; a poisonous parasite bent on gluttony. In haste, I had tried to close the bond, tried to prevent this suffocating agony from befalling Megatron for as long as I could; he shouldn't have to suffer twice. He refused to allow it close off; fought back with everything he had and pushed the connection wide open. Through a cloudy haze, I looked over to him, watched as his face twisted with pure affliction, his crimson optics burning brightly, flaring in time with the pulsating agony tearing over the bond, breaking it, shredding everything that it was.
The agony strengthened, became too much and I vaguely heard a deafening scream, one that I knew belonged to me, but at the time, had sounded disembodied, further away. Vaguely, I was aware of my engine sputtering, smoking from over-taxation, and the seams in my armor crackling with excessive energy, the bright blue loops embracing my frame as the voltage increased. My frame went taunt, servo struts tearing, metal buckling as I began to curl off my post, every part of myself ridged with pain.
He began to fade as my optic shorted out, his helm faced away from me, flaring optics boring into the form of the defeated Prime. It was not my name he growled out as the bond snapped under the tension, but that of his brother's. The slouched form tensed and looked up, dulled optics gazing into that of Megatron's, the crystal blue depths drowning with suppressed sorrow and a fleeting glare of pain.
For a moment, I felt nothing and then the blackness claimed me. I fell away to silence.
Recadency (relapsing)
Shockwave's vents hissed in irritable frustration as he navigated the desolate halls, disguised frame moving diligently and silently in fear of bringing unwanted attention to himself. False blue optics narrowed as his inner reprimand continued within his torn processor. Part of him demanded he turn another path, citing that this could result in a breach of his infiltration that his Lord would be severely disappointed were he to fail in his mission simply because he could not control this unacceptable urge. The other half, the one he found himself listening to, told him this is what he needed, what he craved; that this unspeakable treason he was committing was far too delicious, far too intoxicating to simply let slip away.
Perhaps that had been the reason that he had constantly found himself in this situation. Perhaps the sole reason he found himself outside the commander's doorway cycle after cycle was not for the need to take council in offered companionship, but to satisfy a much darker need, the need of stepping over the line, of doing something against his ingrained programming. Shockwave found that he rather much enjoyed walking the knife's edge between outright treason and experimentation. He enjoyed the thrill, the anticipation, apprehension of being found out, of being compromised. It was like a drug to him, intoxicating and highly addictive. He wanted this.
Shockwave glanced at the door he had come upon in his silent musings, false optics staring at the large steel frame, a moment of hesitation, of cursing inner voices, before he reached his disguised servo to press the door chime. Several kilks passed before a gentle command answered his call.
"Enter."
The door opened with his movement forward, large steel parting to reveal his hidden desire, his filthy secrete. A smile of tired elation greeted his disguised frame, exhausted optics alight with something he chose to feign ignorance of.
"I'm glad you came."
A smile from false lips was Shockwave's reply, frame trembling as the strong arms enveloped him.
He craved this.
Salacious (indecently erotic) [7]
A soft, strangled mew of raw pleasure escaped his vocalizer as he felt the thick spike slowly, agonizingly, slip into his port, his frame wantonly pushing back into the delicious sensation in desperation to be filled far quicker. A gentle laugh met his audios at his futile efforts, the spike creeping inside of him, inch by delicious inch, causing him to whine in euphoric rapture as he felt his port walls stretch over the impressive girth.
"Hush." The voice was rough with lust, static playing heavily over the soft command. Shockwave's frame tingled pleasantly at the sound, a shiver of vibration climbing up his back-strut from the deep-bass.
"Please." His own voice wasn't much better, thick with craving. He hadn't really known what he was begging for. He had just felt to the need to express his wantonness, his consuming lust.
"Shhh. Just enjoy."
Shockwave nearly sobbed in bliss as the spike finally seated fully within his greedy port. His lover groaned in satisfaction as he felt the hot wetness that encased him in soft, tight walls pulsate with the need to be satisfied. The large, bulky frame behind him pressed into his own, one servo taking hold of his narrow waist, the other pressing firmly against his lower abdominal plating, holding his own trembling frame to the other's.
"Need it." He whined frustrated at the lack of movement, of that intoxicating friction he desired, craved at the moment.
"I know."
The spike seated deeply within him shifted deeper as its owner pressed him more firmly into him, causing a gasp in response from the pleasure shot mech. The thickness withdrew, the tip of the pulsating spike the only part left breaching the dripping port before the mech behind him, slowly, firmly, pressed him downward, allowing both gravity and his strength to ease the penetration. It continued in this manner, his frame being eased up until the spike barely remained within him, then the wonderful feeling of a slow and hard penetration as his form was eased back onto the impressive thickness.
A sob left him as the spike seated into him once more, but, instead of withdrawing, it remained deep within his aching port; his frame forced to move in slow circular motions on the hot, spike as the mech behind him gyrated his hips.
"Is that good?" the question accompanied by the overwhelming sensation of the slow circular motions, as well as the new feeling of the mech, though still seated firmly in the wet port, pushed deeper into Shockwave's frame, the head of the spike jabbing softly into the malleable port walls.
"So good…" he trembled in his wanton state, frame arching as rocked his hips over the other's hastily, desperate for further simulation, "More… please."
The other paused for a moment, before leaning back to brace a servo on the berth beneath them, the other wrapping more firmly around Shockwave's slim hips, all the while urging Shockwave to place his pedes on the mech's spread knees. A hiss escaped the smaller mech as the spike was forced deeper into the well-lubricated port, the soft walls slightly protesting the position as a soft burn tingled along the relay sensors.
Using his pedes as leverage, along with help from his lover's arm wrapped around him, Shockwave lifted his frame off the spike slowly, teasingly. He gyrated long the tip for a moment before allowing gravity to slam him back down. A sharp cry escaped his vocalizer, echoing inside the spacious chambers.
"Primus… Yes!" the smaller mech cried out as he slammed himself back down once more, taking a moment to relish the feeling of something stretching his port so fully, before lifting off of it, "Oh!"
"I love the sounds you make." His lover groaned as Shockwave mewled as he increased the pace, continuously raising and falling over the spike, the wet sounds of the penetration echoing deeply in their audios. Servos gripped the thermal sheets tightly, pulling and twisting as the smaller mech continue to ride his lover's spike, frame trembling with the building lust.
A groan of irritation suddenly filled the chamber as the mech's spike slipped out from Shockwave's port. Before Shockwave could, with sheer desperation, reseat himself, he was being moved, the mech behind himself sliding up the length of the berth to rest himself against the headrest. The new angle forced Shockwave to lean against the frame behind him, planting his pedes firmly on the berth for leverage. Two arms looped themselves around his legs, gently easing his stance wider, opening him up more and also supporting his weary frame.
Shockwave, with freed-up servos, reached down and grasped the other's spike, rubbing the thick head against the rim of his weeping port, before dropping back down, causing both mechs to moan at the suddenness of the penetration.
"Slag you're tight… and nice and wet." A moan of agreement left the former Decepticon, his frame bouncing shamelessly over the spike, desperately trying to satisfy the burning, aching need that throbbed within his port.
"Please… Please, please, please… Primus!" Shockwave sobbed, the distinct tingling of the building charge becoming too much.
"What do you want, sweetspark?"
"Pl… ah! –ease!" Shockwave chanted as the spike mercilessly teased his port, the relay sensors thrumming with building ecstasy.
The arms looped around his legs removed themselves, now-free servos gripping tightly to the narrow waist. With wanning strength, servos helped slam the smaller mech down unto the spike as wide hips lifted to complete the thrust. Shockwave's helm snapped back, optic brightening in sheer pleasure as the tip of the spike stabbed his most recessed, yet most sensitive, relay sensor.
"Wait… oh! Primus, yes! There! There… right there."
The pace quickened, thrusts beginning to shallow as overload crept closer and closer. The wet sounds of the spike pounding repeatedly into the dripping port was accompanied by the loud whine of cooling vents humming wildly as they tried to cool inner temperatures, as well as the sweet melody of Shockwave's mewled pleasure and the carnal growls from his lover.
"Mmm… You're close," the deep rumble left Shockwave on the brink, the voice an unspoken turn on to the clouded processor. Shockwave hissed as his tired frame was brutally pounded into, the need to relief becoming suffocating.
"Primus… Oh! Oh! Oh… I'm coming… I'm coming!"
"That's it," his lover whispered into his audio, his movements just as frantic as his too-far gone lover, spike japing into the quivering port in short, sharp thrusts. "Overload for me, Shockwave."
"Magnus…" Shockwave whined as his overload swept over him, frame arching away from his lover's, optic blackening out from the intense pleasure as his port convulsed, lubricant dripping hotly down the length to pool on the berth below.
Ultra Magnus emitted a feral growl, optics brightening, as his own overload swept through him, spike still japing into the rippling port as hot transfluid spurted from the tip to intermingle with the lubricant.
As the pleasurable sensation wore off, Shockwave sagged heavily into his lover's frame, vents shakily sucking in air to cool his inner core. Ultra Magnus hummed in sated satisfaction as he wrapped his large, bulky arms around Shockwave, pulling the exhausted frame closer to his own. He bent down to place a gentle, fleeting kiss to the former 'Con's helm before carefully lifting the over-taxed frame off his spike, enticing a whimper as over-sensitive sensors were stimulated within Shockwave's port, before Magnus retracted his spike back into its housing.
"S'good." Came the tired mumble as Magnus cleaned up his exhausted lover as well as the birth.
"It's always good with you, sweetspark." Magnus answered softly, placing another butterfly kiss to Shockwave's helm, the mech mumbling something incoherent before dropping offline into recharge. Throwing the cloth he used to clean up to ground near the berth, Magus laid down, taking the frame of his lover into his arms, before he too fell into a much need recharge.
Torpid (numb/lethargic)
This had become his life, this momentary living of plastic smiles and paper flowers. He knew this wasn't real, knew it was all false pleasantries, but he found that the strength to fight back had left him. He could no longer care. He had thought, for a moment, dared to hope that this was it, this was the end to his loathsome yearnings, his desperate need of desire. For longest while, he delusional himself into believing that he had found his ever-after, had allowed himself to slip away into the illogical notion that there was such a place.
He had been a fool.
Now he was felt feeling nothing, not the gripping pain engulfing his spark as he watched his mate stray to the arms of another, not the drowning misery that plagued his processors daily as he audios caught wind of whispered declarations of secrete love. He felt nothing anymore, could only feel nothing.
He had been a delusion fool.
Utinam (earnest wish or desire)
Shockwave strolled leisurely through Nemesis' halls, frame erect with poise. Other mechs passed him by, some trying vaguely to ignore his imposing presence while others gave miniscule indications of greetings to him, which, in turn, he chose to ignore. Silently, he continued on, pushing towards the command deck to speak with Lord Megatron on a matter of an experiment he wished to carry one, one in which he needed specimens for testing.
Upon entering the command deck, his optic met the sight of Lord Megatron pinning his disobedient Second in Command against one of the unused consoles using only the former gladiator's superior weight of his frame as leverage. The smaller seeker's facial expression was twisted in pained irritation, blue servos lifting to push against Megatron's bulkier frame in an effort to remove him.
"You will learn to behave, Starscream, even if I have to beat you into submission!"
Starscream huffed, his sleek frame twisting every which way, still attempting to move the angered Supreme Commander away from him.
"You say that every time, oh mighty Megatron. I have yet to see your methods work!" The smaller mech paused, before leaning closer to the grey mech, a smirk in place as he gratingly whispered, "Perhaps you're losing your touch."
The former gladiator growled in warning, his larger frame forcing the treacherous seeker back onto the console as he pressed further into the mech beneath him.
"Perhaps I'm not using the correct method on you." Megatron snarled, murderous eyes narrowing in contempt as his SIC continued to struggle, spewing curses and treats when he would not bulge.
A moment later, Starscream fell placid under the larger frame, face twisting into a cocky smirk of victory as he sensually leaned in closer to Megatron, his grating vocalizer purring out his next sentence.
"Perhaps your right, mighty Megatron. Perhaps I need a new punishment to keep me in line." With that, Starscream twisted a little more before lifting his helm and forcefully kissing Megatron. The said mech went ridge, his processor tripping over itself in order to sense of the situation.
Shockwave, too, went ridge with momentary shock and for a moment, he felt like his logical center would crash. Coming back to himself, he turned tail and left the command deck, logic centers throbbing as he still try to make sense of Starscream's new ploy to escape punishment. In a lapse of his usual self, Shockwave messaged his helm, desperately wishing that the image of his Supreme Commander and the Second in Command kissing from his processor. The sounds that he left behind as he briskly strolled away from the command center weren't helping his wish come true any faster.
Vagitus (baby's cry or wail) [8]
Shockwave onlined abruptly, systems jerking out of recharge as his audios relayed the disturbance, causing his protective carrier programming to activate as the noise was processed and classified. Shifting restlessly, Shockwave rose, frame slumped uncharacteristically in exhaustion. He nearly collapsed in a heap of metal as his leg struts threatened to give way, systems, though forcefully online, were weary and still groggy with the remaining codes off recharge.
With carefully placed steps, Shockwave was able to reach the small, enclosed berth that contained the reason for his being online at such an unprompted hour. Lifting the minuscule being into his massive servos, Shockwave turned back to the berth, resting his deprived frame on the warm, malleable metal. Gently, Shockwave rocked the sparkling in his servos, vocalizer cooing out soft sounds in an attempt to settle the fussing sparkling.
After several kilks had gone by, and the sparkling refused to cease its wailing, Shockwave opened his com-link to his bondmate, urging to the other to their quarters as his patience with the small being wore thin from his lack of adequate recharge. Moments later, his mate appeared, his large frame erected with authority, despite the own mechs clear exhaustion.
"He will not cease his wailing," Shockwave murmured softly, servos still gently rocking the sparking in the vain attempt to calm him. "Will you go to Soundwave and retrieve another batch of formula energon? I used the last of it earlier this breem."
Shockwave watched as his mate hurried from the room, leaving him alone with their creation once more. With a tired sigh, the guardian placed his creation onto the berth, watching as he twisted and thrashed, tiny tanks urging his cries louder as they demanded satisfaction. Shockwave reached out, rubbing the tip of one of his claws done the small features carefully in a desperate attempt to sooth away the discomfort of empty tanks.
"Hush, Vavasour, your creator has left to retrieve your energon." He whispered, tone absent of his usual detached professionalism. He watched as his sparkling grabbed hold of his claw, bringing the appendage to its tiny mouth and began to suckle, tiny servo remained wrapped around the offending claw, refusing to allow him to pull away. Shockwave's sparked flared, optic softening to a dim hue as he continued to watch the small mech suckle in a desperate attempt to silence his gurgling tanks.
Shockwave pulled his claw away as Vavasour released it, face twisted in frustration as he was continually denied the substance he required. A piercing wail escaped the tiny vocalizer of his creation, the small sparkling's body thrashing once more. Shockwave ached for his sparkling, but could do nothing more but sit and wait for his mate to return.
'Where are you? Vavasour is becoming highly impatient.'
'I'm returning to our quarters as we speak.'
Shockwave pulled away from the bond, satisfied that Vavasour's created was on his way back. As they both waited, he set out to gently wipe away the ever going fluid from the sparkling's optics, though the golden lenses drowned in the fluid as more tears formed. He carried on in his silent mission for several kilks before the door opened to reveal Megatron with a large cube full of formula-grade energon.
He sat patiently as his mate went over to prepare a small, bottle (something Shockwave had made to make feeding their sparkling easier) before walking over and resting next to the guardian. Black servos handed over the bottle, exhausted crimson optics watching as Shockwave took the sparkling into his arms once more as he tipped the bottle towards the sparkling that greedily suckled away on the crafted nipple.
"Thank you." It was softly spoken but the mech next to him heard it none-the-less and hummed in acknowledgement. A strong arm wrapped itself around Shockwave's upper torso before pulling him firmly into the chassis behind him, Megatron settling his helm onto his shoulder as crimson optics watched their creation feed.
"You should head back to the command deck, there is still work to be done. I will be fine." Shockwave muttered, helming tilting to side, allowing his mate more room to rest him own helm.
"I'd rather be here than going over proposals for the slagging treaty. My processor aches enough from all the file-work." Megatron groaned as he allowed his frame to rest more comfortably against that of his mate's. Shockwave chuckled softly in response, settling himself into a more comfortable position as he, too, watched Vavasour suckle away at his energon.
A breem had gone by before the sparkling had fallen back into recharge. Megatron rested into the berth below his aching frame, servos pulling Shockwave down with him. Settling Vavasour between them, the two, eagerly, followed their creation's example and fell away into a much needed recharge.
Wanze (to waste away)
I dared not speak aloud and thusly lost my voice of reason, and in doing so, I have become a faded memory. I dared not look upon the shallow truth for in the sight of what I wished to never see, I saw only misery and myself falling further into madness. I could not hear past such bitter lies of so sweetly-spoken masterpieces of foul deceiving, could not hear the blatant misspoken fiction woven through precious praises I so sought and yearned; I drowned in my blessed bittersweet delusions. I wished not to feel the painful pulses of wishful thinking, the same wishful thinking that stained my spark and left no more than decayed nothingness of absent honesty and cautious cherishment of which I never understood. I dared not to feel the malicious kisses than sang of loathing attachment and callous caresses from duty-bound fingertips as they licked my body, allowed it to twist so pleasantly in the withering falseness of deluded sentiment. I could not write in words so hollow of what plagued my clouded processor, lost in the translation of whispered licks of dear nothings I had all but grasped.
Alas, thou tryst as I might, I spoke of reasoned love and so forth swam in the salted tides of an empty truth so bidden to lay upon my tempted spark, a burden of tenfold madden-misery in which blinded me to where I never gazed upon the forewarning signs of broken pictures of lies wrung forth in a plague of befallen loathing that ingrained upon my hollowed spark like fine-painted graphics of disturbing rotting corpses. In my darkest moment I yearned for more than the decayed falseness of my delusion mind which so deafened the cries of pitied attachment and vacant cherishment. Along my drowning dip into the ocean of consuming anguish, my spark beheld a rare mistake in that I fell away into the lost translation of distorted moments of bitter nothings that so softly grazed my audios in somber honesty. Ah but pity me for now I see all hidden truth between tender lines that spell out a forlorn song of malicious love!
Thus, here and now, in this blanked night so lost without the burning light of twinkling embers, I lie on my bed of hand-woven sorrow, processor lead astray by one once called, in my ignorant manner, 'My one true Beloved', who but all left me alone in my alienated sufferance, for that of another's affection, to waste away in my own personal damnation.
Xerocopy (photocopy)
If I were to produce a photocopy of myself, the exact replica of what all else see. Could I see the blatant reasons of why others perceive me so, of my troubled spark beating so yearningly behind this façade of distant feelings? Would I not see the obvious testimony of why I spend my life behind the paned-window blurred with imperfections which, in thus, keep me from all the rest? Will I see the malfunctions that plague my form like parasitic acid that erodes all beauty and leaves only a monstrosity in its wake? Am I so mistaken that I shall spot all of my flaws, ones that only succeed in strengthening this burden barricade in which I cannot break? Or is it the hideousness to which I am that will gaze vacantly back at me?
Or will it be the ugly truth?
Yonderly (mentally or emotionally distant)
I see their dark optics staring back at me, vacant hollow truth to the silence of the dead yet I find myself absence of all the horror—hence, I feel nothing.
I feel his servos holding me down, strength so crippling that I cannot break free yet I am not panicked with terror—hence, I feel nothing.
I hear the whispered convictions of my distant crimes to which I seem to not recollect yet I do not exert a moment of rage—hence, I feel nothing.
My mouth fills with that of my own fluids, malicious wounds graze my chassis in an embrace of cold death and yet, I am absent of meaningful care—hence, I feel nothing.
In the silence of my bare chamber, tears of somber drip from my anguished ducts, yet I cannot feel the sorrow I suffer—hence, I feel nothing.
Upon my helm the fleeting sensation of a lover's kiss did linger, yet I could not reveal in the sensual affair—hence, I feel nothing.
He gazed with gentle eyes upon my wanton frame, a vibrant smile so bright I blinded myself to my own begotten sin and thusly divulged in the tender act of a simple love and a passing moment of simple bliss—I feel, I feel everything.
Zoocytium (a hollow vessel)
Calculated reason dare spill forth from my stilled vocalizer, voice so gentle with soundness and assurance. Situations answered with momentarily bliss of conflicts slain in masterpieces of coherence. Alas, knowledge extended beyond the comprehension of thus less fortunate, fleeting envisions of brilliant philosophy captured on stylus in written words of tender judgment.
In this you find me, a simple vessel of sound logic. I compute and see nothing more.

LeavesofMyself: I hope you enjoyed. :)
The notes for this chapter are provided below:
[5] Quote by Anaxagoras.
[6] Quote by Ayn Rand.
[7] Indecently as in lewdly… I guess. ;) Oh! 'former Decepticon' is my crappy way of saying that this is a sort-of AU were the war is over.
[8] I named the sparkling Vavasour, which means feudal noble who is both a liege and a vassal. I found the name appropriate because Megatron is a Supreme Commander while Shockwave is his guardian. If you don't like it (which I'm sure some of you do), I apologize but I really didn't want to give the sparkling a typical name, such as Shadow (which I have seen used numerous time, not that I mind, picking names for sparklings is SO fragging hard!)…. Now that I think about it… Vavasour sounds like a Pokémon name.
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No Particular Reference	By : LeavesofMyself Category: Transformers > G1 Views: 2509 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: See full disclaimer in Chapter 1

No Particular Reference