(TFP x Slime reader) A different kind of transformer

Depressed Deity

Just one body. Just one corpse. Enough to quiet the noise. Enough to breathe.

But they were contained. Trapped. The Autobots knew better now. The glass was reinforced, the seals too strong. They couldn’t trick anyone into letting them out.

Not this time.

So they curled tighter, their voice like a whisper of static.

Y/n:… I can’t take this…

The light in their core shimmered erratically. They were losing control. Not lashing out, fading.

Starving

And a twisted part of them welcomed it.

Y/n:… I never wanted to be Primus’s anything…

They had leaned into the role everyone expected. The flirty menace. The unpredictable trickster. A wild card made of pure energon, slinking through war-torn halls with a grin and an offhanded comment that could fluster a Prime.

It had been a game, the flirting, the chaos, the jokes. It had made them feel untouchable. Like if they were loud enough, bright enough, nobody would look too closely. Nobody would see.

Because underneath it all…

They were starving.

They were frightened.

And they were so very tired.

But now, the mask had cracked. And not in a dramatic shatter. No.

It had peeled away slowly, like skin blistering under pressure. Piece by piece. Until all that remained was rawness.

No sass.

No charm.

No flare.

The silence made it worse. Without an audience, without someone to bounce off of, their tricks didn’t matter. Their mask served no purpose. And once it was gone…

They realized they didn’t know what was underneath.

Y/n:… Who the hell even am I?

They used to like the way others flinched when they teased.

They used to feel powerful when their voice made even a Decepticon hesitate.

But now, all they could hear in their own tone was how hollow it had been. How fake. How desperate.

Desperate not to be seen as the weapon.

Desperate not to be seen as the god.

Desperate not to be seen as a monster.

And yet… they were.

Not because of what they were made of. Not even because of what they had done.

But because that voice in their head, the one that craved more, had never gone silent.

It just got better at wearing a smile.

They shook slightly, limbs twitching in the thick, syrupy stasis of their own contained form. They no longer shimmered like before. Their surface had dulled. Dried.

Their form began to lose its shape, parts of them warping between humanoid and puddle, limbs forming in and out as they spiraled internally.

The voice they once used to purr innuendos and cut with sass now cracked like static. Unused. Unneeded.

Y/n:… They loved the act. But I didn't love it.

The wall didn’t answer.

The cameras blinked silently.