hambalbeesart

[hambalbeesart]

dear tumb, this is what i got hook/prowl orion/senshock

kisskissykisscribblessketches

[hambalbeesart]

Kiss 😚

[hambalbeesart]

Haunted

(Warnings: Nsfw, explicit, valveplug, horror.)

“One day I will be back, you know...” Scrapper whispered. It wasn’t a wish nor speculation, but a cold truth spoken with nothing but security.

The drag of the rod thrusting in and out of his channel in slow, languid strokes filled him with a mix of fear and desire, forcing the most embarrassingly needy noises out of him. His mind felt hazy with lust and unease, yet he couldn’t stop himself from asking for more, wanting the other to hold him, begging for the other to go harder, to go so deep until he reached the core of his spark and tore his way into his life essence, burying a part of him in himself like he belonged there.

The mech felt so close yet undoubtedly far away, no matter how tightly he wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him closer into a desperate embrace, his processor couldn’t resist the thought, the knowledge that his partner just wasn’t there. That he was holding onto a ghost, a memory. Not something tangent with a pulse.

Instead, he could only feel a freezing cold creeping up on his plating, completely different from the warmth one should feel when in such intimate proximity to another. Yet Prowl could only shiver when Scrapper’s servo carefully grasped his thigh, gripping him so hard it would surely leave dents. 

However, when he glanced down at it, no mark was left behind, even if the pain lingered.

“Please…” He gasped, his optics unfocused as he tried his hardest to get a clear picture of the mech in front of him. Even if he had him so close, whispering assurances and praise to his audio receptors, Prowl just couldn’t make out his face clearly, even if he knew deep in his core who the bot inside of him was. 

It was as if he couldn’t see him, but how could this be? He was so close, so cold, so…

He shut his optics, trying to stave off the inevitable discovery that threatened to pull him from his dream.

“Speak up, doll.” The other said, his raspy voice taking on an oddly distorted tone.

“It’s hard to hear you without a head.”

A sudden deep thrust had him seeing stars, forcing his optics to online suddenly with a silent gasp.

On top of him, Scrapper’s helm was gone. He remembered then: it had been blown clean off by a devastating shot from his own weapon, all those years ago back on earth, when their biggest worry was staying undercover and working with Skywatch, when the thought of betrayal had been a mere unfounded fear.

All around him, he could hear the muffled words of a human voice, yet no matter how hard he strained his audials, he couldn’t make up what was said. 

Soon he felt a piercing pain, his abdomen, legs and arms were pinned by what he could identify as  steel beams, a sudden, agonizing pain burning through his throat and optics.

No matter how hard he tried to scream, not a single sound could come out, only choked gasps and gurgling pleas for help, aid that would never come.

The incessant beeping of his alarm woke him up.

Prowl looked up, no longer coming across that red visor that filled his most pleasant and illicit nightmares, but instead meeting the cold hard ceiling on top of him, Prowl could only pant as he tried to collect himself.

He dragged a hand through his face, groaning at the sudden processor ache that pricked at his circuits. 

The room around him was normal, exactly as it had been before he laid down last night before recharge took him. His spartan quarters lacked any meaningful trinket or decoration to liven up the place, instead datapads were scattered around many surfaces and stacked onto one another in piles and piles of reports and documents he would need to look into later that cycle.

Gone was the raspy voice coaxing him to relax, those rugged hands tenderly running along his frame as if memorizing every crevice and surface of his armor, that terrifyingly sweet pressure of a body on top of him, pinning him down to the bed as he took what he wanted from his frame, carefully working to pull him over the edge as if Prowl’s pleasure and enjoyment was all that mattered to him, like the autobot was someone who deserved the care, like his presence was a sacred gift trusted to him, something to hold and cherish like… 

Like any other member of his team would.

After waiting for a long while to make sure he was no longer dreaming, Prowl let out a shuddering sigh and muttered with a shaky voice:

“Stop haunting me.”

[hambalbeesart]

I have a (very) stupid question: Prowl is usually with 5 of the 6 Constructicons in a gestalt due to Scrapper's death in the comics and Prowl being his "replacement." What's their dynamic like now that Prowl isn't part of Devastator?

(btw, I have the HC that once Prowl gets used to the whole Devastator picking him up thing, he sits quietly in his servo while Devi carries him.)

In my mind, I like to make their dynamic G1-esque as I haven't actually reached the Prowlastator part in the comics, and only know the characters from the cartoon/bios and from things my friends tell me about them. (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Since Prowl isn't part of the gestalt, their relationship would begin in a less forceful manner. I've talked to some mutuals about possible ways they could meet, and I think the relationship works best if set during an AU where the war is over, as I doubt the constructicons would care for cross factional relationships due to how risky they could be, as I hc that they wouldn't be the type to betray their faction for love (or maybe they could, idk I'm not really set on just one way they could work, I'm very indecisive). Ok ok, I love Scrapper, so I like to think that maybe he's the one who develops a crush on Prowl (I even have a fanfic in the works for that, I have some excerpts on my Twitter) and would be the first one to court him. Then he would be followed by the other Constructicons, who each also develop feelings for the aloof tactician. And yes!!! He would get carried around by Devastator, cause he's an extra boyfriend!! Devy would yoink Prowl up like a cat and be like "ok bb let's go" and just steal him for a date hehe. Sorry if I didn't answer your question well, my brain isn't braining today cause I'm sick (๑-﹏-๑) but I've been meaning to catch up on requests, apologies for taking too long to respond!! ( >_< '')

[hambalbeesart]

them again,,,

[hambalbeesart]

Tw: suggestive

Hook going crazy with the goon cable

[hambalbeesart]

been drawing a whole lot of nothing the last few days

[hambalbeesart]

Congrats on the triplets 🎊 they say it takes a village to raise a child, in this case it’s an entire gestalt of homicidal maniacs and one (1) well adjusted autobot

I spent an entire month with this in mind, but finally I sat down to finish it. It’s 4am ❤️ send help

[hambalbeesart]

秀斗様にこちらの線画塗っていただきました！ありがとうございます！(掲載許可済み)

[hambalbeesart]

Two different takes on a Constructicon Prowl design just for fun!! (plus some thoughts under the readmore if anyone is interested dsbjds)

With the first design I wanted to try just taking their colour scheme and copying it over 1:1 (so primarily green, with purple as a secondary colour, black and grey as tertiary, a black helm and red eyes). I got too lazy to draw a full body lmao but his legs would also be green, probably purple on the feet.

The second design is an attempt at one that doesn't match their same distribution of colours but is still complementary to them. I wanted to go with predominantly black here because of A. Devastator's head being mostly black and B. since he's a pursuit vehicle I think a colour scheme with stealth vibes would suit him really well!! I would have made his legs black with purple thighs. Maybe with the caution tape pattern running down the sides of his calves, if I ever draw him again. (It would be along his sides in vehicle mode).

[hambalbeesart]

The only guys ever

[hambalbeesart]

in fact, now i'm curious enough after all these asks that i'm gonna make a tagbait post: transformers fandom, please tell me what you think the rarest rarepair that you earnestly ship is. i'm talking 'this has no fanart no matter how deep into twitter and pixiv you dive' stuff. the ones you made up at 3am when you couldn't sleep and now they are real To You.

[hambalbeesart]

Tw: valveplug , suggestive under the cut

I forgot to post this one xd I forgot what their ship name was

[hambalbeesart]

Tw: suggestive

Hehehehe

[hambalbeesart]

just happy to be there ---Prowl/Hook (ConstructiProwl)

[hambalbeesart]

Pine for Constructicprowl if you wanted?

[ PINE ] sender fervently resists receiver's attempts to comfort / care for them.

Prowl’s door wings lifted incrementally higher as he searched for the miscreant who had hidden himself in the dangerously dilapidated tower. Its base floor, which had been unused by its Vosian owners, was mostly filled with debris and rubble that had fallen from the floors above. The outside light shown through from breaks in the tower’s glass exterior, exposing the rust coating its rebar reinforcements and the scorch marks from battles past that lay where a missile had gone through one of the exterior walls and failed to fully detonate.

His derma thinned into a frown as he finally spotted who he had spent the last four joors searching for.

Sitting directly underneath the Cybertronian sun’s exposed rays on a mound of intentionally stacked rubble was Bonecrusher.

He slowly approached the stack of concrete and whatever else had been used to construct the mound the mech had seated himself atop of; nearly tripping on a hidden iron pipe as he did. His target’s dower mood was confirmed when the mech failed to laugh or make an offer of assistance (an often-used guise for groping).

Reaching its base, he placed his servos on his hips and with monotone vocals called up to the mech, “You’re late for your shift by five joors and have failed to answer comms. If you do not respond with an acceptable justification I will have no choice but to report you derelict of duty.”

There was no response from the Constructicon.

His frown tightened. “While I understand your…dissatisfaction with the demolition bid results, your continued sulking has significantly hindered the…your teammates’ ability to perform their duties and has brought overall construction productivity within Vos down by thirty percent.”

Still nothing—highly unusual.

“Bonecrusher, respond,” he ordered. Again, silence. The lack of response from this specific Constructicon was odd even given his current morose state. As one of the more vocal Constructicons when delivering appreciations for the Praxian, an inordinate amount of it expressed toward the details of his frame, Bonecrusher remaining silent around him meant Prowl should begin treating the situation marginally more serious.  

Petulant as the whole thing was.

Huffing through his olfactorate, Prowl began to climb the artificial mound. It was four times his height and had situated Bonecrusher directly in front of where the tower’s glass had been broken open all those millennia ago. While climbing, and through labored vents, he said, “Your proposal would have increased the project’s budget by sixty-three-point four two percent and would have extended its completion date by at least three orns.”

Again, he was ignored. Prowl grit his denta and continued climbing, his digits scraping against the broken bits of building he was using to pull himself up.

“There will be nothing gained from your continued refusal to work. We have already lost an entire cycle’s worth of progress because you are the job site’s foreman.”

Nothing. Prowl might have thrown something but were he to lean back the acquired amount to launch a rock at Bonecrusher’s oversized helm, he would have unbalanced himself and fallen. Then his tac-net flashed the probability of the tactic’s success and Prowl climbed higher. He was nearly at the top when, entirely intentionally, his hold over a sharp edge of rubble slipped and his pedes scrabbled against the loose debris below. His servos released their grip over the concrete and spun backwards, soon he would fall and—a purple servo shot out and gripped his wrist, effortlessly holding his entire frame up.

“You did that on purpose,” the Constructicon accused.

“And yet you still caught me.”

Bonecrusher’s visor brightened before dimming, then the mech turned his helm back toward the hole in the glass wall. But his hold over Prowl’s wrist never left and he pulled the Praxian the rest of the way up the rubble, depositing him next to where he was sitting. After releasing him, the green mech pulled his knees back up to his chassis, wrapping his arms around them mumbling, “I’ll always catch you.”

Prowl tilted his helm but otherwise gave no acknowledgement of the declaration. He was not moved by the promise and did not believe its validity. Once the Constructicons realized Prowl would not give them what they wished, himself, they would drop such pretenses. Always was an unconditional term and Prowl had spent his entire function sub-coding that all avowed affection was a steganography full of conditions.

“How long will this ridiculous behavior continue?” He inquired.

Bonecrusher snorted and said nothing. Prowl’s optics narrowed. “You are being obstinate. Refusing to work will not change the demolition proposal’s outcome.”

“You don’t get it,” Bonecrusher complained. “You Autobot types have never appreciated our kinds’ work.”

Prowl, not about to be lured into another philosophical debate about the ended war’s beginnings merely clipped, “Explain.”

The Constructicon remained silent, the only sound coming from the mech coming from the tapping of his digits against his arms. Prowl waited, knowing that Bonecrusher required more time to gather his thoughts when speaking at length. Unless that speech involved complimenting Prowl’s bumper or wings, that kind of commentary the mech could whip out racer fast.

He did not have to wait more than a klick.

“Demolition is more than setting up the cheapest explosives and waiting for the fastest boom—it’s art.” Bonecrusher gestured out toward the wreckage of Vos seen through the broken glass, his servos continuing to move as he spoke. “Say the building is the canvas, doesn’t have to be a building, but anyway. The way the building falls is like…like the stroke of a paintbrush, get it? The flash of colors, those reds and oranges, or any other, are chosen to match the finishing vision just right. That’s the paint. And what remains after they’re set off; after every piece falls right where it was planned? A perfect painting.”

While Prowl would not pretend to find beauty in destruction, he did understand the satisfaction that came from a meticulously calculated plan being executed perfectly. Though, during his tenure it had been a rarely experienced feeling. He had also never allowed himself to languish after a plan failed or was not followed correctly. Had he, his entire career as second-in-command of the Autobots would have been spent at his own personal pity party.

The Constructicon sighed in a way that caused Prowl’s frown to deepen. He had not realized the mech’s proposal being rejected had affected him in such an emotionally debilitating capacity. It was unlike Bonecrusher to allow rejection to affect his moods. Prowl’s had never; the mech bounced back after every harsh no like it had been a soft maybe.

Continuing, Bonecrusher lamented, “It’s beautiful and not a one of those bots calling the shots appreciates beauty the way we do.”

No, they did not and nothing he or Bonecrusher could say would convince them, even if Prowl had wanted to try. He did not. Their resources were too few and Prowl would not argue against a better plan on the grounds of beauty.

Those thoughts did nothing to stop him, fully aware he was setting himself up for something dreadful, from intoning, “Oh?”

Bonecrusher nodded, “How else could you explain them working next to a pretty thing like you and not making a move? Course I’d clock their jaw if they ever tried.”

Prowl huffed a small laugh before catching himself.  Then, with less reprimanding and more genuinely curious vocals, he asked, “You can still be the project’s lead; must it be your project?”

“If I can’t do it right I’m not doing it. They can shove those scrap plans right up their tailpipe,” the mech grunted in response.

Bonecrusher’s dedication to perfection was not an admonishable quality, but it was an unproductive one. Prowl gripped his chin and began processing the dialogue that might produce the most favorable result for the demolition project…and its demolitionist. Only in the pursual productivity. Bonecrusher’s passion and despondency had no impact on his next words. None at all.

“You will draft a new proposal and once complete you will send it to me. I will review and return it should the plan go over budget or delay the project’s completion. This pattern will repeat until your…performance art falls within acceptable parameters.”

Bonecrusher’s jaw might have dropped had his facemask not been in the way. “But I thought the demolition bid had already been picked?”

“The current plan is undergoing final review before being implemented.” Prowl paused, pursing his derma before admitting, “I should be able to waylay the final decision until your new proposal is submitted. So you are aware, the time it takes for you to submit your drafts will not affect the demolition’s scheduled date. If you fail to provide a plan that falls within the due date you will not get the bid. Am I clear?”

Bonecrusher just stared at him wordlessly, and if it were capable, Prowl would have thought he saw the mech’s red visor blink. Eventually Bonecrusher broke out of whatever processor glitch had gripped him and asked, “Can I kiss you?”

Prowl’s helm jerked back, and he let out an automatic, “No.”

“Hug?”

One of Prowl’s wings twitched. Bonecrusher would continue until he’d named the minimalist gesture against the Praxian’s smallest kibble. Rather than waste more time by allowing the exchange to unfold the standard route, he tipped his helm and acquiesced, “You may place one of your servos on my shoulder.”

There was no hesitation. A large servo clasped over the shoulder nearest the Constructicon. Bonecrusher then squeezed it gently before a thumb began rubbing back and forth over white plating in an uneven pattern. Prowl did not lean into the other’s touch, but his plating did not tense. Dangerous as it was, he no longer flinched when any of the Constructicons approached him, nor did he show visible revulsion after relenting to their pleads for physical contact.

It was a wasted effort he had found, as any visible reaction to their presence was enjoyed by the construction team.

His side of the bond was as tightly sealed off as ever, but he could still feel Bonecrusher’s spark pulse toward him. There was no begging in the Constructicon’s field, only an affection driven request. Prowl did not accept the request, though his denial was not vocalized. Instead, he loosened his hold on the bond just long enough to send back a quick no. It was the most he had allowed in deca-cycles.

Bonecrusher’s mask snapped back, and Prowl was met with a wide, crooked smile that should not have looked as handsome as it did. Because it didn’t. Prowl did not find Bonecrusher handsome. He had merely grown accustomed to the mech’s faceplate. So the quick flip his spark had done when that mask had pulled away made no rational sense. He would have to schedule a check-up once the demolition issue had been resolved. Spark related issues were a serious matter, after all.

A low engine rumble caused him to look away from Bonecrusher, turning his optics out toward the ruins of Vos. The collapsed towers, the rubble, and the glass that had scattered all over its roadless ground that glittered under the sun. The worst of the Constructicon’s emotions pulsed against him and he steeled his side of the bond against it.

No longer referencing the demolition project, he sighed, “You will tire of not getting what you want eventually.”

Bonecrusher’s grip switched from Prowl’s closest shoulder to his furthest, and he pulled the Praxian closer, their sides pressing against each other; the bulldozer’s engine thrum vibrating right down to the smaller mech’s protoform.

“Got what I want right here,” Bonecrusher responded, the warmth in his vocals seeping into Prowl’s plating and making it uncomfortably hot.

His spark did that strange flip in its casing again and Prowl bit his bottom derma. Perhaps he would schedule that next medical appointment sooner rather than later. The effect of the Constructicons on his spark as of late was…concerning.

[hambalbeesart]

can I offer you some scavprowl in these trying times

extra sketches from when I was trying to figure out how to draw scavenger's muzzle? that only covers the lower third of his face jsdjfs