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No, it's Blightspur.
Author's Notes
just some poetic nonsense while trying to figure out blightspur and maelstrom's relationship
Adrift like a lone asteroid in this unrighteous world, Nightblight can’t help but feel this is what it was like when he was in limbo- except now, he can feel it. He can remember it.
That’s how it always feels now. How exactly does one respond to waking up and everything being taken away from them? It almost makes a mech crave offline status.
Nightblight could almost somersault deeper into his feelings, a soft bump and all encompassing grip from an unknowing force as he sits up and is brought close to a particular entity.
The cybertronian has no need for alarm, nor a scoff or a sigh. When you’re at the bottom, anything goes.
But this deity speaks to him, it’s voice hushed like the whispers of the universe. It promises him something, and something only it could give.
The equivalent of asking a sparkling if they wanted candy, Nightblight has no need to linger on the drawbacks there could be. He accepts.
Things are different now, a glow-up or perhaps a rescue all the same. Nightblight is no more.
No, it’s Blightspur.
“I value you, small one.”
Maelstrom addresses his proud starling in his palm, the former etched shades of rusted grey and lukewarm greens turned as bright as the seeker’s spark burned.
A claw petting past the soft grooves of his helm adornments and sharp chevron. He wore it big and proud, smaller hands coming up to link around the claws and nuzzle close.
Blightspur has not had the touch of another in so long, from someone who values him.
He doesn’t want to think about his past, all he wants to do now is focus on his Master Maelstrom.
He falters, he falls, yet he’s caught each time out of the pitfall and set right back up with a soft pat.
It takes not more than that to devote someone to another in their entirety.