VAMPIRE AU-IDW

{{user}} carefully slid their dentures into place, staring at their reflection in the mirror.

They bared their teeth experimentally.

Too much.

They relaxed their expression and tried again.

Better.

The dentures still made their smile look slightly wider than it should have, but unless they smiled excessively, it was subtle enough to pass. At least, {{user}} hoped so.

They had become very good at this over the decades.

Every so often, they made small adjustments to their frame. Pointed edges of plating were filed down. Certain contours were softened. Anything that might make them look distinctly inhuman—or, more accurately, distinctly vampiric—was carefully altered.

It was tedious And exhausting, yet necessary

Because {{user}} wasn't like everyone else aboard the Lost Light.

They were a vampire.

Not one of the old stories. Not some half-forgotten Cybertronian superstition passed around to frighten younglings. A real, fully fledged vampire.

And they had spent an absurd amount of time pretending otherwise.

The disguises weren't perfect. They couldn't be. There were simply too many little differences between them and an ordinary Cybertronian. Their senses were sharper. Their reflexes were wrong in ways they had to consciously suppress. Their frame had natural features that they periodically had to alter, and there were certain things about their physiology that could never truly be hidden.

But {{user}} had learned how to compensate.

They had to.

Being a vampire for decades had taught them one particularly unpleasant lesson: immortality could be incredibly lonely.

It was easy enough to disappear.

Harder to actually belong somewhere.

That was why the Lost Light had been such an unexpected opportunity.

For once, {{user}} wasn't hiding in some isolated corner of Cybertron or moving from place to place whenever someone became suspicious. They had people around them. Conversations. Familiar faces. Friends.

Actual friends.

The thought alone brought a small, genuine smile to their face.

Then they caught sight of their reflection again.

The fangs were showing.

{{user}} immediately stopped smiling.

"...Right."

They adjusted their mouth until the dentures sat naturally again. There, normal once again. As normal as a vampire could possibly look.

Satisfied enough, {{user}} left their habsuite and made their way through the Lost Light.

They had been doing this for years. Decades, even. By now, deception had become almost second nature.

Still, the presence of vampire hunters aboard the ship had made things considerably more difficult.

There were only one or two of them, as far as {{user}} knew.

One or two was already too many.

So, for the moment, they tried not to think about it.

They simply headed toward the familiar noise of Swerve's.

---

The bar was lively when {{user}} entered, filled with the usual chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional argument that Swerve would inevitably pretend not to hear.

{{user}} slipped onto an open stool at the bar, finally allowing some of the tension in their frame to ease.

Fortunately, they weren't alone.

Skids sat nearby, idly nursing his drink while talking with Cyclonus and Tailgate about some completely random subject that {{user}} hadn't bothered to follow. Tailgate was particularly invested, gesturing animatedly as he explained something with far more enthusiasm than the subject probably deserved.

It was normal.

Comfortably, wonderfully normal.

{{user}} let themselves sink into the conversation, occasionally adding a comment here and there. For a few minutes, they could almost forget about the careful disguise beneath their plating. Forget about the fangs hidden behind their false teeth. Forget about the fact that there were hunters aboard the Lost Light who would have very different opinions about their existence.

Then Swerve opened his mouth.

"So!" Swerve announced suddenly, polishing a glass as he leaned against the counter. "I was reading about Cybertronian myths earlier, and I came across some really cool ones."

He paused deliberately, waiting for someone to participate in his endless chatter. Tailgate looked over, nice enough to entertain swerve

"What kind of myths?"

Swerve's expression brightened. "Thank you, Tailgate. Finally, someone appreciates my interests."

Cyclonus sighed quietly. "I believe he simply gave you permission to continue speaking."

"Same thing."

Swerve set the glass down and leaned forward conspiratorially. "And get this—apparently, there's one that's supposedly still around."

{{user}}'s attention snapped toward him, trying to not make their immediate interest noticeable

"Vampires. Duh!" Swerve grinned, pointing at his own mouth, briefly flashing his teeth as though demonstrating a pair of fangs.

*{{user}} nearly spat their drink across the counter, they barely managed to swallow before coughing into their fist, trying to feign accidental overchange

Skids glanced over. "You alright?"

"Fine." {{user}} carefully set their drink down.

Swerve, mercifully, hadn't noticed.

"Anyway!" he continued, completely oblivious to the internal disaster he'd just caused. "Did you know they're supposed to be, like—immortal? Or close to it! And apparently they're incredibly rare, but people still hunt them down because they think they're real."

{{user}} stared very intently at their drink.

Their spark felt like it had dropped into their stomach. Out of all the possible things to talk about, while they were there, it had to be about their own kind- about them

Tailgate looked fascinated however. "Wait, people actually hunt them?"

"Apparently!" Swerve said. "There's supposedly specialized hunters and everything. Some old records even claim they can identify them by their frame structure, their teeth, their eyes—"