#swinblurr

[cabo-se]

I like them but I'm too lazy to draw.

[cakeboppop]

Finished this drawing. I love these two raahhhh.

[ninterbit]

Old swinblurr sketch that I've never posted here <3

[keferon]

I. Uh.

I thought it’d be fun of Swindle’s eyes were glasses ‘,:)

[pinetreevillain]

And then they kiss??

Some People really liked green blurr

[v-locitron]

Come back here vortex!

[cosmique-oddity]

Can you possibly draw either texaid or swinblurr <- blinking at you with big wet eyes

You need a visor to stare directly at their blinding relation ship

Im absolutely convinced their couple would be completely impossible to miss, they light the whole room

Thanks for the request, I would’ve draw TexAid but I figured out I never drew Swinblurr and they deserve everything :))

[0wldn0]

Some Transformers rarepairs that I like 👉👈

[lyredragon]

I need y'all to hear me out on this but swinblurr scratches my brain in a way I can't describe

Idk man I just really like the idea of this dumb ass retired conman just absolutely crumbling under the loving stare of Zoom-Zoom Pretty Man™. The charmer got charmed and he doesn't know how to handle it LMFAO

Like- Swindle collapses over the bar after Blurr leaves asking some random guy if he did a good job hiding his down-badness (spoiler alert: he did a very good job. he's not a conman for nothing after all) but also Blurr is Very Intune to Swindle's charm and sees DIRECTLY through all his facades. He knows...

[cliffjumpersass]

some pages from my old Blurr/Swindle fanbook

I'm so glad my lettering/speech bubbles layouts have gotten better since then haha

[drill-bits]

Next it will be Swindle who is pregnant.

[kell-eramis]

Commission for @combaticon of Jazz and Brawl dancing! I really really enjoyed drawing this!

[writinginkpen]

Thinking is no use.  Feeling is no use.  The narrative is already set.  All Blurr can do is move through it.

death loop au by @keferon

(warnings: discusses death, some depressive thoughts)

(One possible take on exploring the ideas for this au in the context of what's going through Blurr's mind when he revives. In terms of timeline, I picture this sometime soon after IDW but before Armada and Swindle catching up to Blurr)

Blurr stands – light and color filtering through his optics where previously there had only been darkness.

Another new world.

New environments.  New faces.  New events.  New him – on the surface.

Underneath….

Underneath Blurr feels old.  Far older than is justified by the countless lifetimes he’s already lived.  Worn.  Dark and rough like plating that’s broken apart and been welded back together too many times.

He aches.  Not just from the fresh wounds that should never have healed.  No.  Those will have already scarred – joining the myriad of past wounds (past deaths) etched across his protoform.  Colors swirling together like oil slick in water.

Some might call the colors beautiful.

Blurr is not one of them.  The color is too stark in its contrast against the smooth clean shine of his outer plating.  Wrong.  In the same way that the frames he inhabits no longer feel like his.  Always different limbs, different sizes, different colors.

The frames are just a shell.  A shell to make Blurr appear like he belongs when he does not (when he never will; never can).  The frames do not belong to Blurr anymore than the worlds he inhabits – the lives that he lives – are truly his.

Blurr knows this by now.

It has become indistinguishable where one life ends and the next begins.  Where one death ends and the next begins.

Maybe it is better that way, a part of Blurr’s processor thinks.  Better to forget.  To let the memories all blur together.  Until it is all indistinguishable.  The names of the living and the dead.  Old acquaintances.  Friends.  The possibility that at least one could have been more than friends – given the time, given the chance, given the life.

If Blurr had let them.  But he cannot.  He does not have that life.  That chance.  That choice.

But neither can he forget entirely.  The ache runs deeper than his protoform.  To his very core.  His spark.  The ache of loss.

The ones who lived.  Whose lives Blurr saved.  The ones who Blurr could have built a life with.  They are as good as dead to him now.  Forever beyond his reach.

It is better that way, Blurr thinks.  Better than dooming another to share this cursed existence with him.

That Starscream is here (will be here; has always been here) is both a blessing and a curse all its own.  Because Blurr does not want to share this existence.  Does not want to live this existence.  No one should have to live like this, die like this.  Again.  And again.  And again.

The very premise by which he lives and dies – his very existence – is something that should not be.  And yet it is.  And he has no choice.

He has no choice….

Blurr recognizes that his hand is shaking at the thought.  Tremors vibrating along his arm fast enough that the motion would be nearly invisible to the optic.  But Blurr can feel it.  Can feel the fear at the thought of going through another cycle – another act for another loop.  Pretending to care about the events around him.  To get to know others.  Remember names.  Make friends.  Go through the motions of living.

(He can’t.)

(He has no choice.)

Is that all it is (all it has to be)?  Going through the motions?  Some tiny part of his processor counters – rebelling.  All the lives he’s saved.  The time with his friends.  With his bar.  With Swindle….  Was it all just fake?  A pretense?  Not caring?  None of it meaning anything.

Blurr shakes his head.  Dismisses the ping of guilt.

No.

None of it matters.  It can’t matter.

If it did….

(That it does….)

The thoughts alone would be enough to send Blurr crashing if he acknowledged them.

Blurr vents heavily, hand clenching into a fist.

It does nothing to stop the trembling shudders that feel like they are wracking his whole frame.

Not again.  He cannot keep doing this.  He cannot.  He can’t.  Not again.  He can’t.  he can’t. he can’t. he can’t not again he won’t he can’t….

He has no choice.  There’s never a choice.  And what happens (what’s happened before; what could happen again) if he tries to choose – to forge his own path, find a way out….

That scares Blurr more than the thought of going through the motions again.  More than the knowledge that he will have to suffer whatever horrible fate this universe has in store for him.  Better him than anyone else.  He’s already doomed.  He won’t doom others.

Thinking is no use.  Feeling is no use.  The narrative is already set.  All he can do is move through it.  Blurr fixes his gaze on the horizon and runs.

Runs until the colors and bots and places of this new universe blur together like the memories and scars of all the old ones.  So he doesn’t have to see it, doesn’t have to take any of it in.  Just lets it all pass him by.

Faster and faster.  Until the only perception of his passing to the outside world must be a flash of blue light and the breeze left in his wake.

Faster still.  Until he can barely be perceived at all.  Longing to pass through the universe unnoticed, unscathed, unscarred – invisible.  As though he does not exist at all.

Hoping against hope still that if he runs far enough, fast enough there will be a finish line somewhere.  An endpoint where he can finally rest.

Swindle’s face swims hazily in his memory and Blurr feels the speed of the air he is passing through tearing liquid away from his optics to get lost in the wind behind him.

He thought he’d finally found it.  Rest.  Peace.  He had.  He thought he’d made it.  Survived.  Could live.  Had wanted to live.

He had lived there.  Not just existed.  Lived.

Had been building a life.  Had been living, until….

Does he still?  Want to live?  Because he aches – yearns to return to those days.  To the bar.  To the society after the war.  To the glow of warm light reflecting off faces that had become familiar.  To the bots that were his customers – his friends -- laughing and smiling and talking about everything and nothing. To Swindle.

Blurr wants that feeling again – that light, that warmth, that clarity, the sense of identity, the belonging.  Not just for a brief moment that ends as every other moment in his existence has, but for life.

The end, when it had struck had been all the more jarring.  The shock.  The searing flash of heat and light.  Followed by the return of the darkness, the cold, the pain.  The feeling of his own life flickering and slipping away.  Only to be jolted back into a new frame.

He had thought that he had become numb to the feeling. 

He had been wrong.  Letting down his guard.  Letting himself relax.  Letting people in.  Fooling himself into believing, for even a moment, that escape was possible – that he could just live….

Blurr runs faster still.  He cannot escape.  Cannot outrun his fate.  He knows that now (has always known).  But to outrun his thoughts, his memories, his feelings?

He will not outrun those either.  For he carries them with him.  On his protoform.  In his processor.  In his spark.

But, for a brief moment – wind in his face, eyes straight ahead, surroundings disappearing into a blur on either side – he can, perhaps, forget.

Focus on the horizon line.  On keeping moving.  (Because if he stops moving, he is not sure he will be able to start again.)  Nothing else matters.

Nothing matters at all.

[keferon]

🤌them🤌

[transingthoseformers]

Swinblurr where Swindle is Blurr’s agent and its becoming increasingly obvious to a crushing Swindle that Blurr is uh...very into minbots. If the lewd minibots monthly and the one he walked in on him watching a particualrly scandalous video mean anything. Is blurr setting these up? Are these both very embarassing moments for botj of them? Who knows!!!

Ohhhh??? Interesting, interesting

I don't think we've played with swinblurr a lot have we

Interesting dynamic here

Minibots Monthly sounds amazing

[v-locitron]

toxic aliamory...