I wrote a thing
Remember my Beast Wars!Mirrorverse? Yeah, here's some more of it. It's completely unbetad and slightly triggery for implied rape and flat out stated abuse. Nothing shown, but this is a Mirrorverse.
Rattrap grumbled as he slunk away from the ship, avoiding the curious questions from Cheetor. That kid never learned, and Rattrap despaired of any of his advice getting through Cheetor’s head before he had it beaten into his head the hard way.
As it was, Rattrap just didn’t say anything and vanished into the undergrowth, still in his root mode. He could have transformed, yes, but as he was holding one of his alt mode’s legs in place, it wasn’t the smartest of ideas. He didn’t head straight out, he twisted and turned like he was following a path to a certain place in the surrounding jungle, right up until he saw the strip of tape around a tree, low enough that no one other than him could see it. Such strips ringed about a dozen trees, each marking one thing, and one thing only. He was out of the ship’s sensor range.
He pivoted to the left, and headed off in a straight line, not taking the time to hide his trail. He would either do it afterwards, or not at all.
Mere minutes after he changed directions, he came into a clearing in the jungle. Letting out a sigh, the scout relaxed slightly, and sunk to the ground, leaning against a tree to keep his alt leg in place while he dug out the medkit he kept in one of the many hollow places on his frame. Rhinox had been more rough than usual lately, and with the CR Chambers locked until Primal decided to let them have access to them again. Asking Rhinox to fix him was, of course, out of question. Maybe he let him before, when this wasn’t as fragged as it is now, but Rattrap couldn’t even stand the thought of Rhinox’s hands in his internals, let alone actually let him.
Rattrap shuddered, then twisted the last bolt, fixing his alt’s leg, moving on to his ports, His auxiliary was fine, but his brachial’s coverplate was almost ripped off, and the less said about rest the better. Nothing could be done for his chest plates. Rhinox has installed the remote access release deca-cycles ago, and it would open and close when Rhinox wanted it to, not that he had used that access for anything other than another way to humiliate Rattrap, to prove how utterly pathetic he was, unable to even keep his Spark covered. It was shut now, but the latch always felt loose.
He was working on the last port latch when he heard the question asked in that lilting voice that could only be one person. “What happened to you?”
Rattrap started and spun in the direction of the voice, pistol raised and ready to fire before Waspinator had even finished speaking. Neither flyer, as they were never alone, looked ruffled at the sight of the weapon, instead just looking infuriatingly amused.
“Oh, put it down,” Terrorsaur looked more concerned than amused, which just make Rattrap even more mad, as if there was anything Rattrap hated worse than being laughed at, was being pitied, as if he was lesser than the Predacons.
“What do you want?” Rattrap spat out the question, his hand steady as he aimed the gun at the flyers, able to work through the pain. His optics brightened in suspicion as they shared a glance, instead of answering. Fragging flyers.
“Well,” Waspinator drew the word out, as if their presence was only to be expected, and his question an idiotic one, “I suppose we were trying to find out who was yelling in pain.”
Terrorsaur dug an elbow in Waspinator’s side, and Rattrap’s glare just intensified and shifted his aim from Terrorsaur to Waspinator, “I think you’d better leave now.”
Terrorsaur let out a short snort, then threw something over, “this is what, the third time this month? You need to leave that place, Rattrap, he’s gonna kill you one of these days.”
Rattrap didn’t even bother looking at what Terrorsaur had thrown. It was the same thing as every time they managed to find him, the carcass of some small furry animal for him to convert. He didn’t even give them an answer to that, just shot the tree they were perched on as a warning.
“Fine, fine. Don’t say we didn’t warn you!” With that, they took off, winging into the air, just like the last time, and the time before that. As soon as they were out of range, Rattrap shifted into his alt mode, then walked over the carcass, eating it ravenously as a way to keep his mind of the fact that, with every injury and every visit it was getting harder and harder to not go with them.
Rattrap grumbled as he slunk away from the ship, avoiding the curious questions from Cheetor. That kid never learned, and Rattrap despaired of any of his advice getting through Cheetor’s head before he had it beaten into his head the hard way.
As it was, Rattrap just didn’t say anything and vanished into the undergrowth, still in his root mode. He could have transformed, yes, but as he was holding one of his alt mode’s legs in place, it wasn’t the smartest of ideas. He didn’t head straight out, he twisted and turned like he was following a path to a certain place in the surrounding jungle, right up until he saw the strip of tape around a tree, low enough that no one other than him could see it. Such strips ringed about a dozen trees, each marking one thing, and one thing only. He was out of the ship’s sensor range.
He pivoted to the left, and headed off in a straight line, not taking the time to hide his trail. He would either do it afterwards, or not at all.
Mere minutes after he changed directions, he came into a clearing in the jungle. Letting out a sigh, the scout relaxed slightly, and sunk to the ground, leaning against a tree to keep his alt leg in place while he dug out the medkit he kept in one of the many hollow places on his frame. Rhinox had been more rough than usual lately, and with the CR Chambers locked until Primal decided to let them have access to them again. Asking Rhinox to fix him was, of course, out of question. Maybe he let him before, when this wasn’t as fragged as it is now, but Rattrap couldn’t even stand the thought of Rhinox’s hands in his internals, let alone actually let him.
Rattrap shuddered, then twisted the last bolt, fixing his alt’s leg, moving on to his ports, His auxiliary was fine, but his brachial’s coverplate was almost ripped off, and the less said about rest the better. Nothing could be done for his chest plates. Rhinox has installed the remote access release deca-cycles ago, and it would open and close when Rhinox wanted it to, not that he had used that access for anything other than another way to humiliate Rattrap, to prove how utterly pathetic he was, unable to even keep his Spark covered. It was shut now, but the latch always felt loose.
He was working on the last port latch when he heard the question asked in that lilting voice that could only be one person. “What happened to you?”
Rattrap started and spun in the direction of the voice, pistol raised and ready to fire before Waspinator had even finished speaking. Neither flyer, as they were never alone, looked ruffled at the sight of the weapon, instead just looking infuriatingly amused.
“Oh, put it down,” Terrorsaur looked more concerned than amused, which just make Rattrap even more mad, as if there was anything Rattrap hated worse than being laughed at, was being pitied, as if he was lesser than the Predacons.
“What do you want?” Rattrap spat out the question, his hand steady as he aimed the gun at the flyers, able to work through the pain. His optics brightened in suspicion as they shared a glance, instead of answering. Fragging flyers.
“Well,” Waspinator drew the word out, as if their presence was only to be expected, and his question an idiotic one, “I suppose we were trying to find out who was yelling in pain.”
Terrorsaur dug an elbow in Waspinator’s side, and Rattrap’s glare just intensified and shifted his aim from Terrorsaur to Waspinator, “I think you’d better leave now.”
Terrorsaur let out a short snort, then threw something over, “this is what, the third time this month? You need to leave that place, Rattrap, he’s gonna kill you one of these days.”
Rattrap didn’t even bother looking at what Terrorsaur had thrown. It was the same thing as every time they managed to find him, the carcass of some small furry animal for him to convert. He didn’t even give them an answer to that, just shot the tree they were perched on as a warning.
“Fine, fine. Don’t say we didn’t warn you!” With that, they took off, winging into the air, just like the last time, and the time before that. As soon as they were out of range, Rattrap shifted into his alt mode, then walked over the carcass, eating it ravenously as a way to keep his mind of the fact that, with every injury and every visit it was getting harder and harder to not go with them.