#Drift

Not sure if theres much interest in this but here are my recent “cutesy” themed tf picmixes I’ve made. As you can tell I really like Drift lol.

go drifting

Hello guys here is me drifting with Mazda Miata MX5 enjoy

The Unseen Fox vs The Cubed Vixen Concept 🦊🌵🦋 What happens when Fox Clan mix with other factions? 🦊

I moved them in 🤭 There is still a lot of work to do ) :)

go for it drift!!! (14/06/26)

Zoe&Drift (Fortnite)

Q saudade eu tava dessa música😌

Protected Prisoner Word Count: 2,591 Pairing(s): Drift | Deadlock/Wing, (past) Drift | Deadlock/Gasket Character(s): Drift | Deadlock, Wing, Axe Fandom(s): Transformers (IDW Generation One) Tags: Pre-Relationship, Misunderstandings Summary: Drift felt trapped in New Crystal City. The enclosed sky, the rock that surrounded the City. He felt he could barely take a vent without Wing over him, watching him. He wanted out. That was what Drift used to think. One conversation with Axe would make him question everything he once knew, or at least he thought he’d knew. Find it on ao3 here , and find more of my works here ! Drift couldn’t remember the last time he saw the sky, felt the soft breeze rush across his frame as he raced down paths of grit or sand across an alien planet. He truly didn’t know how much his frame would ache for the heat of a sun until he was no longer able to access it. New Crystal City. A paradise. A dream. A prison. He should be gone by now, if Dai Atlas didn’t insist that he never leave. Drift can feel his looming shadow every time he leaves, the paranoia that Atlas would go through with his promise of execution high on his helm. He knew the only reason he was still living was Wing. Wing, who was the reason for Drift being in this glorified prison. Wing, who could have easily threw him on a ship after he was stable enough, never to be seen again. Wing, who, since Drift had been here, has hardly left his side, insisting he show Drift the sights of the City, that everything they did was done together. Of course, Drift couldn’t help but feel grateful for Wing, despite his overbearing nature. The jet gave him to a medic after he was on the verge of death, helped him when he knew it would endanger his home in some shape or form. Stood up against Dai Atlas to give Drift a chance that he was not worthy of, no matter how much Wing liked to pretend. It’s not like New Crystal City is the worst place he could’ve been trapped either. Although many of the mecha still gave him distrustful stares (even a few slurs at him here and there), some were kind and treated him like he was more than the marking on his chest. He had access to and plentiful of energon, far more than Drift has ever had, whether that be in the gutters or with the ‘Cons. His tank has never been so full, it’s strange when he checks and it is above 90%. It was a welcome strange, anyway. Wing wasn’t the worst company to keep around either, despite Drift’s complaints. He was kind to him, treated him like a mech, he even defended him from a few verbal assaults he’d received when Wing left him alone. Drift could handle himself, but knowing someone else has your back was a feeling Drift hadn’t felt before, not since Gasket. Gasket. He would love this place, the tall shining buildings, the crystal statues, the clean streets with no guttermechs because the City’s population were all equal, or at least they believed they were. It’s everything Gasket promised, he would find more appreciation for it in Drift ever could. He took everything in stride, making the best out of every situation he found himself in, an ability Drift envied at times. Drift could picture it now. Gasket, with a polished frame and new, shiny plating to match with the City, eating an energon cube sat atop the very building Drift resided on, looking out at the street below with awe. He’d lean closer to Drift, their shoulder plating touching as he’d recite stories of the past. Drift would lean towards him, resting him helm on his should as Gasket would give him a soft kiss on one of his finials, feeling safer than he ever has with Gasket by his side, a luxury he had been depraved of for so long. Drift shook away the fantasy. Gasket was dead, and living in the past (no matter how blissful it was) would not help him at all. It would only make him more miserable. The sound of a jet engine interrupted his musing, followed by the sound of a transformation sequence, the soft 'clink’ as soft pedes landed on the metal roof. Wing, Drift supposed his alone time was now over. “There you are!” Wing greeted, moving to sit down beside Drift. Despite the 'cons previous thoughts against the jet, he couldn’t help but appreciate the way the City lights shone against Wing’s polished frame, giving the illusion of it sparkling. “You have a habit of disappearing on me.” It was said with humour, none of the accusation that Drift would have expected from any other mecha. “Needed some alone time,” Drift murmured, and refused to look at Wing’s frame again, lest he say something stupid. “I didn’t realise I needed to be watched all cycle.” “Of course you don’t,” Wing assured, then rested a hand on Drift’s arm. The grounder wanted to pull away, but he stayed still, for his sake or for Wing’s, he wasn’t sure. “I just worry, your repairs aren’t fully integrated, anything could happen.” Drift gave him a look, “I thought the City was supposed to be safe.” “Of course it is,” Wing defended, “but if you insist on sneaking out to isolated places, who would find you if something happened?” Drift turned away again, looking out into the City below. Wing’s servo had since left his arm, instead resting on his lap. He could hear Wing’s soft vents, the smell of polish drifting into his olfactory sense. He didn’t know what the smell was, but it soothed his frame. “It’s not like any of the mecha down there would help me anyway,” Drift said. It was stated as a fact, no anger in his tone. Drift accepted that he wasn’t wanted here long ago, that knowledge never made him hurt. But, it seemed to hurt Wing, with the way he flinched back. “You don’t give them enough credit,” Wing defended, looking down at the bustling street below them. “Sure, many of them still hold a form of resentment against you, but many wouldn’t want to see you hurt.” Drift scoffed, but didn’t say anything more. He was lulled into silence, Wing’s venting beside him unexpectedly calming him, a trust that Drift was unsure where it came from. Wing adjusted his position, then moved to stand. He held out a servo for Drift, waiting for the grounder to reach out and take it. “Come on,” Wing said, “you’re overdue for a training session.” Drift let the servo hang for a while, if not just to make Wing slightly uncomfortable, before he took it and used it as leverage to pull himself up. Wing held onto his servo for a few kliks longer than necessary, before he tugged and let go, guiding Drift down to another humiliation ritual that was sparring. Axe came to greet him a few cycles later. Wing was out with another of his Knight friends, a gathering that Drift was not privy to. It seemed like Axe had taken over sparkling-sitting duty. Axe wasn’t the worst mecha he could have had. The Knight treated him with as much kindness as Wing offered, his tone or posture held no judgement or hate. Drift also appreciated the way that, despite his kind nature, Axe wasn’t against being a little harsh to him, a nature that Wing had slowly grown out of since their first meeting. He was rougher during sparring, making moves when Wing would have gave him slight lenience, not letting Drift recover after beat down after beat down. “You know,” Axe said, as he finally allowed Drift a chance to rest at seeing how his vents rattled in an unnatural way. “We are trying to help you, despite Dai Atlas’s insistence that we let you die, most of all Wing.” Drift scoffed, taking a cube of energon gratefully when Axe offered, the cool feeling of it down his intake welcome. “You shouldn’t,” Drift said, swallowing the blue liquid, “none of you know the lengths of my crimes, I doubt Wing would look at me again if he heard.” “Wing doesn’t care about that,” Axe insisted, sipping on his own cube. “It’d break his spark to hear you talk about yourself that way, he’s got too much of one not too.” “He’s naive, is what he is,” Drift said, moving the empty cube from servo to servo to give him something to do. “Trusting so much would get him killed out there.” “But he’s not out there,” Axe pointed out, “he’s here, safe, in the City, free to trust and care for who he pleases, and the mech he chose to care for the most is you.” Axe looked at Drift’s frame, the way his plating pressed closer together and locked up. “It’s not reciprocated, I gather?” Drift looked conflicted, a tirade of emotions passing over his faceplate. “I don’t know”, he said eventually, grip on his cube becoming so tight that a web of cracks had formed. “You say he cares for me, and yet I’m still here, trapped, unable to leave even just to feel the open air again.” “You may not believe it,” Axe began, plucking Drifts abused cube out of his servos to place it down beside him. “But Wing keeps you here for your own safety.” He took his sword from where it lay in the ground, flipping it around in his grip. Drift watched in fascination. “You’ve got very little chances given by Dai Atlas, and each little rule he gives you is one step closer to you not wasting any of them.” Drift looked down, contemplating that. The more he thinks about it, the more it seemed to be true. Wing seemed to panic whenever Drift did something (or was about to do something) stupid that would break the finicky rules Dai Atlas had made, such as attempting to escape. At first, Drift thought Wing hadn’t wanted him to escape for his own pleasure, but the panic could easily had come from Wing not wanting him to get killed… “Think about it, 'ey lad?” Axe said, standing and pulling Drift up, placing his own discarded sword into his servos. “Now, let’s get back to me beating your aft, would take your processor off all these thoughts.” After that conversation with Axe, all the little things Wing did started to make more sense. He no longer felt that Wing restricting him was a way to control him, instead he saw it as a precaution, a way to keep him safe and out of Dai Atlas’s wrath. He no longer felt caged beneath Wing’s servos, and slowly but surely he started to even feel a speck of safety under those watchful optics. It was a shocking revelation, and it seemed to surprise Wing as well when Drift became more complacent to his commands, more willing to do as he says. Not to say Drift no longer put up a struggle, but he never denied Wing for as long anymore. Drift could sense Wing scrutinising him when they spend time together, more than what was normal anyway. Those golden optics looked at him with doubt and uncertainty whenever Drift didn’t fight commands. Could feel them looking over his frame, mapping out each individual dent and scratch, as though trying to find something amiss. He put up with it at first, Drift was acting strangely after all, at least for him. But, when Wing refused to stop, and the doubt only grew the more Drift calmed, it became unbearable. “I can feel you watching me,” he said, startling Wing out of his reverie, “it’s annoying. Don’t.” They were sat at a small cleaning away from the bustling streets. Wing had treated them both to some rust sticks, though most of them were eaten by Drift. What was once a common snack was now a delicacy in war, and Drift wasn’t going to pass any opportunity to eat anything other than low-grade. Wing vented, the half-eaten rust stick twirled in his digits, passing over and under them in a motion that was mesmerising. His helm lowered, optics downcast. “I know, I’m sorry,” he raised his helm, optics narrowed, “somethings just changed in you, and I’m not sure if it’s a good thing.” “Is this about me listening to you more?” Drift demanded, slightly rhetorical since he already knew the answer anyway, “do you not think I can change? Is that it?” “No, of course not,” Wing placated. He moved his pedes closer to his body, knees high as arms circled around them in a self-hug, a motion of vulnerability Drift hadn’t thought Wing would ever show. “I just worry, one moment you’re defying every order, the next you seem… tamer, and I’m unsure as to why.” Drift looked away, out into the distance, or as much distance he could see. Truly, on the outskirts of the City, the only thing to really look upon were rocks. “I may have had a talk with Axe,” Drift admitted. “Axe?” Wing questioned, his helm tilted sideways in a confused tilt. “What could Axe have possibly said to get you to change so suddenly?” “He put a lot of things into perspective,” Drift turned his helm back to face Wing, locking his newly blue optics onto Wing’s impossible gold. “That I had everything wrong, you didn’t restrict me because you wanted to, for pleasure, you did it to keep me safe. He said that all these little things: keeping me locked up, restricting my access in the City, training me, keeping me useful… they were all for protection.” Wing huffed in disbelief, rust stick dropping to the floor as his grip slackened, “what made you believe now?” He asked, stretching his legs out slightly, servos now to the ground behind him, “I’ve been telling you this since the beginning, so what changed?” If he was any other mecha, Drift would have expected some form of anger, but because it was Wing, it was genuine curiosity, if not a little hurt. “Because you never explained why,” Drift explained, “you always said that everything you did was to keep me safe, what I needed was to hear how, which Axe told me.” He looked down at his pedes stretched out in front of him. “Truthfully, the way you said it always made it seem like a way for you to try and convince me to stay, not the truth.” Wing recoiled, hurt spread across his faceplate. “I would never-! Drift, everything I have ever done since you’ve arrived here has been an attempt to make sure you stay alive,” he insisted, “there are delicate rules, and you seem insistent to break every one of them, I had to do something, even if it looked like I was hurting you.” A servo reached out to grab Drift’s own, squeezing it to further illustrate the truth. “I know,” Drift assured, grip becoming tighter on Wing’s servo, “Axe explained it to me, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised it was true.” “Of course it was true, Drift,” said Wing, optics wide, “I’d do anything for you, truly.” “And if I said I wanted to go back?” Drift asked, “back with the 'Cons? Into war? Would you let me?” Wing hesitated, “if that is what you truly desired, I’d try to make it happen in a sparkbeat.” His optics met Drift’s, the sincerity in his optics almost making Drift want to look away, but he resisted. Drift relaxed, briefly squeezing Wing’s servo then softening his hold. “That means a lot to me, more than you’d probably understand.” Wing gave him a soft smile. He reached for one of the rust sticks still left, then raised it to Drift’s dermas. “We’re all good, then?” “We’re good,” Drift agreed, taking a bite out of the offered treat, understanding what it represented: a truce, and a promise to be better.

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