Gay Vampire Reprise
Some of you may be wondering: is Shawn over the vampire thing? No. No, I am not. This is not a phase.
Last night at The Brick Aux I shared some socialist gay vampire fan fiction inspired by my recent dive into Anne Rice’s iconic books. I am sharing it below. And below that I am sharing more info on a fundraiser for hurricane victims and queer people impacted by Israel’s terror on Lebanon. Please buy tickets and consider donating (instructions below) if you can’t make it.
Here you go:
“Well, yes,” the vampire said, “there does seem to be… another way.” His long shadow floated on the walls of the Brooklyn apartment as he disappeared into the tiny kitchen. The gayguy in the other room glistened with sweat, his heartbeat drowning out the sirens from the street below. The apartment became still. “Limoncello?” The vampire suddenly snarled with disgust, “you expect me to share centuries of wisdom while downing a LaCroix flavored like… limoncello?” The gayguy flinched. The flavor had been on sale, and he now wished he had splurged. A life lost for a bargain, a future wasted for a novelty sparkling beverage. “I’m just kidding, diva,” the voice in the kitchen laughed, “but it does taste like ass.”
The vampire returned clutching a LaCroix between his elegant, serpentine fingers and sat across from the gayguy. “No overhead light,” the vampire whispered, “very good.”
The sounds of the busy city quieted as the gayguy and the vampire stared at each other silently. It felt like hours that the gayguy floated in the gaze of the pale creature. His beauty was matched only by his intensity, the duality of his rawness and refinement evoked a dread only topped by the silence that stifled the room. “So, you want to know… what I know? For the… internet?” The vampire asked with preternatural grace. The gayguy nodded, his profound gayness shaking his body. “Alright then,” the vampire shrugged and sunk into his seat.
“My name is Karlisle Von Markstatt, but you may call me Karl,” he said. “My pronouns are he/him, they/them, and… eat/therich.” The gayguy sat frozen. “Don’t worry. Noting the landlord specials covering this apartment, I might guess you’re not on any Forbes lists.” The gayguy continued to sweat as the vampire continued.
“I am 391 years old. I have seen empires born and die, watched as brothers slaughtered their own kin, and stood by as humanity’s greatest darknesses played out before me. I have witnessed the invention of monsters and the birth of angels, the oafish follies of humankind repeat themselves over and over. I have learned the systems of many lands–I have upended and begun some of my own too. I am five feet, ten inches. Not looking for anything serious, but friends are cool. My sun is in Capricorn and Uranus…is in trouble.” Karl winked preternaturally and laughed. “I really must keep contemporary or it’s impossible to meet guys on these things.” Karl reached for the lamp by him and flicked it on with preternatural speed.
“Do I look like my pictures?” Karl asked, the curiousness in his voice felt sincere. “On Grindr? I’m trying a new filter to dull the shininess.” The gayguy nodded with a gayness so profound his whole ass shook. The vampire did look like his photos, a rarity. Karl patted his face. “Hyaluronic acid actually works for us too, you know? You look like your photos as well–I commend you.” They locked eyes before Karl went on.
“I won’t share who gave me this existence, this dark gift, but she was a woman of the people. She taught me much of what I know, and I have carried on her work in my own ways. For those I have bestowed my darkness upon, there was Karlo Marxinno, the Florentine who helped me take out the Medicis. The provincial Charlotte Marxé, who helped me roll a few heads in the 1700s. And of course the dear, the darling Karl Marx, the writer and thinker of the 1800s, who has instilled fear into the ruling class for centuries. And who learned everything from me. Every. Last. Thing.”
“He and I sat for a long time workshopping Das Kapital. He wanted to call it “Das Serving Kuntpital,” which he thought would eventually catch on. My one mistake in my centuries of life was dissuading him of this. He was brilliant, but so was I. The beard was my idea too. I always used to say: look Karl, we need you to give us a little beard, a little beard to match that little bald head. He finally agreed.”
There was another stillness, but the room was charged, a preternatural heat danced with the crispness of the autumnal air flowing in through the windows. It was tense–the intermittent breathlessness of two strangers becoming familiar. The gayguy paused and spoke for the first time in what felt like hours, which very well could have been hours. “Karl Marx?” he asked with dense, gay eagerness, "The guy with the same birthday as Adele?”
Something shifted in the vampire, and he sharply locked the gayguy’s eyes. The heat broke. “You vapid little Twink! This is what you have to say after all I’ve just shared? After all of it, you can only think of how my dear Karl shares the same early May birthday as acclaimed British singer Adele?” Karl was visibly disturbed, the softness of his features had faded and the sensuality of his words was now a venomous sharpness. “Do you think that Karl Marx gives two fucks about sharing an unremarkable yearly milestone with an emotional chanteuse who puts beans on toast? Well, guess what you fucking Twink?” Karl floated from his seat and flew directly before the gayguy. “He absolutely does!” Karl laughed and sat down next to the gayguy. “Marx loves her. Has seen her a few times in Vegas, adores her actually. And yes, he’s… like me.” Karl flicked his wrist. “He keeps to himself. He makes memes. He bird watches. He’s not a Grindr girly so you’re out of luck there, babes.”
For the first time all night, the gayguy smiled. Karl smiled back, preternaturally. “You know,” he said, “I could show you how to seize the means of production.” Suddenly the gayguy was jerked to his feet and stood before Karl. The vampire ripped his pants off with preternatural speed and suddenly they were both naked before each other. The tension in the room was shattered. “You have to invite me inside,” Karl smiled. The guy guy nodded and consensually floated into a preternatural spread eagle. “Blah,” yelled Karl and the two of them began to have some of the most vile, room stinking, paint curling off the walls, awooga-awooga gay sex that has ever happened. “Now DAS is some kapital, honey!” Karl howled. “Eat the rich and free Palestine, Israel is bad” He yowled. And they kept at it, moaning and moaning, forever, the can of LaCroix crushed on the floor.
The end.
It’s Mutual: A fundraiser for Mutual Aid Disaster Relief and Queer Mutual Aid Lebanon. Oct 19, at C’mon Everybody
Tickets here. If you cannot attend, please consider donating to the pool. You can Venmo me at Shawn-escarciga (use ONLY emojis in the pay field so I don’t get flagged)
About the funds:
Mutual Aid Disaster Relief is a grassroots network whose mission is to provide disaster relief based on the principles of solidarity, mutual aid, and autonomous direct action. Funds support some of the poorest regions of North Carolina, as well as efforts in Gaza.
Queer Mutual Aid Lebanon is a small grassroots group of queer/trans people in Lebanon working to secure material support for other queer/trans individuals facing homelessness through mutual aid and community-building. Funds go towards sustainable housing and emergency cash for displaced queer/trans Lebanese people.