I have completely fallen in love with this fanfic, so I have decided to show my love (and obsession) with money and art, enjoy it because it is worth it (^///^)
Original fanfic in AO3
jaguadorado16
If you want to see more MLYR fanart, go to discreet-insanity
(drift: you're rusting at every joint
gasket: but isn't that doctor chummy with the cops? we're literal thieves??)
started with the headcanon that drift hung around the clinic like a feral wet cat for a while, then halfway through shading these, I started thinking, what if deadlock was an especially reliable assassin because he knew what kind of damage would make sure that even the best of the best couldn't bring you back
Grumpy Drift gets a kiss from his wife… he is now happy (*´▽`*)
Little messy dratchet animation because I’ve barely animated in my life and I really want to :3
(Random thought but I find it interesting when people say Ratchet wouldn’t be affectionate… NO? Like yes he’d probably be shy about it in public but he loves Drift sooooo much. If anything he might even be MORE touchy. He isn’t good with words of affection like Drift is, but he shows it in other ways. Like this :3 NOW KITH!!!)
Did Ratchet leave anything for Drift when he died?
“When Ratchet passed away, he gave Drift his spark casing. Inscribed on the casing he wrote ‘FOREVER YOURS.’”
—Jro’s answer at TFN 2025
This is a commission drawn by artist Abyss! It’s used as variant cover for dratchet question list I asked at TFN 2025. Please check the whole content on X!
Ok it’s been a little while but I PROMISE I’ve been working on part 2 of What We Are and What We Could Be.
(For those of you who haven’t read it, it’s my “let’s throw Deadlock into TF: Prime and see what happens” fic. Here’s the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64073749/chapters/164390872 )
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I really appreciate everyone’s patience and am so excited to finish this and share it with you all! Here’s a lil sneak preview for you guys 😃
Magnus took it wordlessly and set it aside for the moment. “What do you make of this?” he asked, pointing towards one of the monitors.
Deadlock leaned in and squinted at it. “Tire tracks? Starscream and Shockwave couldn’t’ve made ‘em. They’re not ours?”
“Not from any sanctioned activity,” Magnus said, his suspicion clear.
Deadlock shook his head. “Ask Wheeljack, I’ve been assistin’ him with inventory all day. ‘Sides, the tread pattern is wrong.” He jerked a thumb towards one of the tires situated on his back. “‘S not me, sir.”
“Then who is it?”
As if on cue, the door slid open, and Smokescreen ran in. “Optimus! Look who we found!” he yelled excitedly, gesturing towards the two mechs strolling in behind him.
One was a Polyhexian build, if Deadlock’s memory served. White, black, some blue stripes. A blue visor obscured his optics. He moved languidly, casually to an untrained eye. But it takes an assassin to know one, and Deadlock knew one when he saw one.
The other was nearly his opposite, with a stiff gait that said “I know where I’m going, and you’d better not get in my way”. Praxian doorwings stood tall and proud, and marked with Enforcer decals. His blue optics were cold and calculating under a red chevron.
Deadlock knew both of them on sight. Jazz, chief of Special Operations, and Prowl, Head Tactician. Files he’d read over and over. Hits that were assigned but never quite panned out. Jazz was a ghost, and Prowl was never on the field. Both had been reported dead. He knew them, and they likely knew him.
They definitely knew him.
He had his gun drawn and aimed at the same time Jazz did, and the room went silent with aborted greetings and exclamations of surprise.
“Deadlock,” Jazz said.
“Jazz,” Deadlock replied.
“Both of you, stand down!” Ratchet yelled frantically as he ran over. “It’s alright, he’s one of us, now.”
Magnus took a more direct approach and smacked Deadlock’s gun down with his claw hand, fixing him with a glare that could curdle energon. Deadlock sighed, dropped his weapon, and kicked it a couple paces away.
Jazz’s face was mostly obscured by his visor, but he certainly wasn’t happy and he didn’t lower his weapon. “Ratch, you know who that is?”
“Yes, I do,” Ratchet said. He stepped firmly between Jazz and Deadlock. “He defected to the Autobots months ago and helped us end the war.”
Ultra Magnus nodded. “He is not a threat. Currently.”
Jazz smirked, shrugged, and holstered his gun. “Sorry then. Reflex. Now c’mere!” He grabbed Ratchet into a hug that likely bent plating and managed to dissipate the tension.
Ratchet laughed. “I thought you were dead! Both of you. What happened?”
“What, are you disappointed we’re still kickin’?” Jazz quipped. He let go of Ratchet and strode towards Magnus, arms spread wide for another hug. “And the big Mags! How’ve you been, killjoy?”
Magnus stuck out his good hand for a handshake. “Commander Jazz. It is good to see you.”
“Someone better tell your face!” He shook the offered hand vigorously and then turned to Optimus. “And you. C’mere.” He and Optimus shared a warm embrace that spoke of many years without seeing each other.
Magnus turned to Prowl. “I am curious as well. How did the two of you manage to survive? You must have been targeted.”
Deadlock scoffed. “They were. They must’ve faked their own deaths, since our intel says they’ve been offline since the battle for Gaboda system.” That’s why he hadn’t gone after them when he’d split from Turmoil. No active hits on dead mechs. Faking their deaths was the only explanation.
Magnus shot him a look for interrupting, but Prowl seemed unfazed. “We did indeed. It was Jazz’s idea; convince the Decepticons we were dead, and work quietly to disrupt them. Here is my full report.” He handed over a datapad.
For mechs like Prowl and Ultra Magnus, that was probably akin to the hug from which Optimus and Jazz had just disengaged.
“I believe we have much to discuss,” Optimus said, still with a smile in his optics. “Smokescreen, Deadlock, give us the room, please.”
Deadlock didn’t need to be told twice (unlike Smokescreen, who had to be told four times and only left when Deadlock grabbed his arm and hauled him out). Despite the brand on his chest, being around all of Autobot High Command, especially spec ops, made him twitchy.
In the hallway after the doors closed, Smokescreen pouted and pulled away. “Oh come on! Don’t tell me you don’t want to hear all the details.”
“I don’t,” Deadlock said flatly. “‘S none of my business, and a couple stories aren’t worth the trouble.”
Smokescreen grumbled. “Jazz was wrong. You’re the killjoy, around here.”