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imlostinsantacarla · 4 years

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anon: Dampyr thing for all of them please. If it's not too much trouble? You can write it however you want. Either preferences/would include or whatever is fine by me. Sorry for late reply. Dampyr is from old balkan folklore. My grandma from Serbia used to tell me the stories. It was long time ago so I'm kinda rusty on the details. Basicly, they are half-vampires. They weren't turned, but born that way from human mom and vamp dad. Unlike other half-vamps they look like human but age extremly slow and heal faster. They can't be hypnotized(sorry David your little noodle trick won't work) and their blood is leathal for vampires. They can drink vampire blood and absorb their knowledge.

(a/n: to the anon that requested this! i’m sorry that it’s taken so long to post this and i’m also so sorry that i lost your original request. i’ve worked so hard on this and it took me even longer to complete only bc when i was editing the draft of this piece tumblr didn’t save it so all of my previous hard work was gone. i hope you enjoy these! thanks so much for requesting! - admin kat 🌙❣)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The Lost Boys Dating a Damphyr!Reader Headcanons:

David:

° David is quite the nonchalant lad of the bunch, however, even he has difficulty in denying the fact that you intrigue him exponentially. So, it’s safe to assume that this Lost Boy is littered with curiosity over your skills and abilities.

° One thing that David prides himself immensely on is his knack for compulsion. It’s always been his forte, even in the early days of being an immortal being of the night.

° He also made you very aware with how displeased he was when he found out that mental tricks did not work on you. He moped about for a solid week and a half because compulsion is one of the few things in his existence that quenches his constant boredom. Taking that away from him throws everything off balance in his books.

° My boii sincerely attempted to play mind tricks on you from the very start and you certainly were having none of it. But then again, David should be ecstatic because this means that mentally you are in little danger to the tricks and trades of mental attacks.

° It also caused him to begin to ponder about what really was going through your mind most of the time. It almost gave you an air of mystery which he honestly preferred. It made you more challenging to read and less likely to submit. David is always up for a challenge after all.

° David will not lie either, he finds it intensely attractive when you drink from him. He get’s drunk off of the euphoria, your lips pressed to his wrist... The sight is enough to turn him on. I also imagine that vampires (particularly mates) drinking each other’s blood is rather intimate, and by allowing you to drink from him, it shows a more vulnerable side to David. It shows that he trusts you with his life. After all, you are more than capable of sucking him dry if you allowed your impulses to cloud your vision.

° In the heat of the moment, David’s logic is thrown behind a mist of lust and desire. He get’s quite carried away and soon you find his teeth nipping at your neck whilst you straddle him, his fangs pinching the delicate skin wondrously. Your heart flutters it’s blood beneath the surface. If he just sinks his teeth into you he’ll-

° This is where you pull back, breaking all contact and denying him everything that he wants. With a huffing sigh he flops back into the dusty old couch that is situated in the cave, blue eyes pulsing electric. How could you deny him this?

° You mumble a soft reminder, eyes not meeting his piercing gaze. He isn’t able to drink your blood because if he does, he would be no more. This is something that almost enrages him. Why did his mate have to have such an immense drawback? You’ve totally thrown the balance out of his desires.

° “Well, sunshine, aren’t you a little bit morbid.” Acrimony darts from his mouth, followed by a whirl of cigarette smoke. He tilts his head back, bleach blonde hair in disarray from your previous fiasco. His large calloused hands grasp your waist, pulling you closer to his being. He was taunting you. Taunting you for refusing him what he wanted.

° “I won’t be morbid when you’re foaming at the mouth.” You tilt your head to the side, eyes finding his oceanic ones. You were now challenging him, reminding him of what could happen if he allowed himself to grow careless with you. You only meant it well, but David never enjoyed being told what to do.

° “Yeah, yeah, point taken, princess.” He simpers up at you, that smoke wedged between his kissable lips. You pluck it from his mouth and stub the damn thing out before capturing his lips with yours with a hungry fire only he created in you. You had no problem with allowing him to get lost in you once more, only for you to playfully deny him his greatest wish. This was always about control... and you were the one in charge.

° Initially David mocks you about this. Why are you denying him? Are you worried for his safety? Please! He can handle himself, darling.

° But nevertheless, he’s not actually dumb enough to risk it... just in case.

° And it isn’t until one particular night that you miraculously managed to get out of both eye and ear shot from David. Another vampire had unwisely entered Santa Carla and attacked you. David had managed to get there just in time to witness the vampire drinking from you, along with the treacherous torture the vampire ensued as a result of it’s own foolish mistake.

° You healed rather quickly and effortlessly from it, yet you remained seated on the floor, panting wildly. Terror fluctuated through your body, your limbs vibrated in anxiety. It took a few moments for you to soothe yourself. What helped you calm down was discussing why that vampire was dead. You see, the rate in which a vampire dies after consuming your blood matters greatly on the amount it has taken in. If it has drank more then it will die quicker and with less in it’s system it will die slowly. Both ways are excruciating.

° And for the first time in his entire immortal existence, David experienced the heebie jeebies. He hadn’t even had time to pull the vampire from you prior to it dying on the spot. The memories were a vivid ordeal that continued to play behind his eyes.

° But was he scared out of his mind? Well, Paul definitely thought so!

° “Well, I guess you weren’t fooling around with the lethal part, princess.” David wedged a smoke between his lips and lit it, the glowing amber in the dark alleyway the only light. The way David had uttered the statement seemed almost mocking. Just like him. You knew he was only covering up the cluster of emotions underneath the surface.

° “Yeah, no kidding.” You muttered bitterly, a roll of your eyes causing your blonde boyfriend to chortle under his breath.

° “And I was also right about something else, y/n. The whole experience is definitely morbid.” He concluded, his gloved palm finding yours in the darkness to hoist you up onto your feet and into his protective embrace. He’d be damned if he allowed anything like this to happen again.

° David is quite known for his protectiveness over the people and things that he holds dearest to him. He also has a possessive streak that is unrivaled by any of the other boys. That vampire attacking you only caused him to hover closer to you when he could, a relaxed arm draped over your shoulders, hands placed firmly on your waist... you name it! There was a primal instinct in him that made him feel slightly perplexed. He wanted you all to himself and he wasn’t going to allow anyone else to take you away from him.

° As stated above, this blonde bad boy is possessive and high-key selfish. He only desires to have your entire attention focused on him. He also feels that it’s his job to keep you safe, but that can be hard when it’s the day time.

° “Well, well, well, how’s my special vampire doing today?” David would smirk in your ear, rough voice husky as he chortled. His teeth scraped tenderly against the shell of your ear, his cool breath fanning against the delicate skin of you neck, eliciting a deep shiver from your being. He was surely satisfied with that.

° “Would you stop calling me that, David? I’m not even a real vampire.” You’d roll your eyes in an exaggerated motion, shaking your head softly whilst you attempted to mask the smile that began to spread across your countenance.

° “Not until hell freezes over, dear.” He’d grin triumphantly in your ear.

° “Urgh!”

° At times David will attempt to still perform compulsion on you which he only does to get under your skin. As a result, all it really does is cause you and the boys to fall into bouts of intense laughter.

° “You sure it doesn’t work, love?”

° “Yeah, I think with hundreds of failed attempts you’d have realized that for yourself, babe.”

° “Alright, if you say so.”

° It’s also a known fact that David has no regard for human life whatsoever, and along with Paul, he really isn’t overwhelmed with joy when you sustain yourself on human food. Since you were brought up to be human, it’s quite difficult for you to let go of your human moral compass. The human part of you tells you not to harm humans. But David also see’s that as a challenge.

° David really wants you to feed from humans because logically vampires are far stronger when they do. So that obviously applies to your kind, right? Well, not so much. See, a full vampire needs to hunt and feed every night to curb the intense thirst that they feel. You do not. You’re able to go with longer periods of time without blood and sustain yourself of human food, even if it makes you less strong. So it takes a little while for David to realize that. It also takes him some time to understand that your ability to blend in as a human makes it particularly difficult for hunters to figure out what you are. Very smart.

° Going on hunts with David are bonding experiences. Before him you hadn’t ever hunted. You had stolen blood bags from the hospitals and blood drives, which had quenched your craving for it. So to begin with you were very awkward when feeding. David needed to show you the ropes, had to teach you to relax and let your instincts kick in.

° Although you are a half vampire, you are very different from Star, Laddie and Michael. You were born one, which actually sets you apart from the other non-born vampires. Like you are capable of walking in the sun without it making you feel weary and exhausted (this is due to you having been exposed to it your entire life, which almost created some form of immunity to it because your mother shunned the other part of you, conditioning you to be more human than vampire).

° To find out that absorb his knowledge when you feed from him makes him very intrigued to say the least. As David is possessive, he won’t allow you to feed from any other vampire. He’s caught off guard when you tell him about memories, etc. that you have absorbed from him.

° As pay back for all the mocking he does to you, you’re kind of an ass about it all. You tend to bust out terribly embarrassing memories from long ago that the boys never let him live down. Now that they’ve resurfaced, David isn’t too keen about it. Cue him then being a grumbling and pouting mess about it for awhile after. I mean, you basically roasted him in front of his boys so of course he’s feeling sensitive afterwards. But that sorta stuff doesn’t go unpunished, my lovely.

° It’s definitely a given that David would halt any and all of the rude things the other boys may say about you. He won’t tolerate any of it. Not even a funny look will be cast upon you.

° You have to understand though that things have been challenging with Star, especially since she rejected their life style. The boys find it hard to trust newcomers because of that but also due to their pasts as humans. But with that said, he’ll still harmlessly tease you. Harmless teasing from the boys is also alright. Though as soon as it begins to upset you, that’s when he’ll shut it down instantaneously.

° David is also certainly watchful over you when hunters are around. Those are the moments in which he will not allow you to leave the cave in the day time. If you’re going out, it’ll be at nighttime with him and the boys. His worst nightmare is you dying or getting hurt. He’s literally the most dramatic of the bunch. You sometimes think he’s just being a control freak, but usually something will happen that’ll make you realize that he’s only trying to keep you safe.

° Yes, you may heal quite swiftly, but he’s really certain that you won’t come bounding back from a stake to the heart.

° In the bedroom department, David is very dominant. He’s in charge and despite what others may think he is a rather passionate lover. The fact that you’re a Damphyr allows him to ease up a bit. Since you’re more durable than a human he can ease up and just enjoy the experience. He totally uses his super strength and speed, you don’t complain either.

° David is low-key a nerd and researches the legends and myths of hybrid vampires, Damphyr’s, etc. in every country. Sometimes he’ll put your skills to the test and you bet your backside that he’s all smug about it (especially when you can’t do something). Your mate is kind of an ass not gonna lie.

Dwayne:

° Dwayne’s interest is undeniably peeked when he figures out that you’re a Damphyr. Now there’s even a sliver of something that you both have in common. You’re both vampires, - well you’re half of one -. Sincerely, he finds you so mesmerizing. He’s only ever heard of vague and patchy legends of your kind that are more like myths.

° But hey! It gives him the courage to peek out of his shell a little more and begin talking with you. You both hit it off instantaneously and it all just blossoms from there.

° Although you may heal quite swiftly and possess more strength than a human, Dwayne cannot resist it when his protective and watchful nature kicks in. So you better be prepared for him to still be a meat wall that always slots itself in between you and any possible threat.

° He’s very aware of the fact that you can fend for yourself, he has no doubt in your abilities, I promise you that. Being vigilant of those that he loves is something that comes quite naturally to Dwayne, - he’s even protective of his fellow Lost Boys -. Consider it to be a good thing that he wants to keep you safe.

° He allows you to drink from him whenever you may feel the urge to, but he’s not like David where he’ll hound you about it. Dwayne is rather relaxed and knows you can’t live off of him because A) You’d kill him. And B) You need something else for sustenance too.

° Hunting with Dwayne has now become the normal thing. Primarily it was peculiar for you as you had never fed with another vampire around. You had always kept that to your lonesome. So during your first ten feedings he would accidentally make too hasty of a movement, which would kick start this primal instinct in you to fight him for your meal and territory. But you’re forgetting that Santa Carla is his territory.

° It’s a blessing that Dwayne is so grounded and relaxing, because he was able to defuse the tension and anxiety you felt in those moments. He’d reassure you that he wasn’t there to steal your meals or to harm you. He was doing this to help you for when you hunted with him and the boys. But if it proved far too overwhelming for you, he would give you your space when you hunted because he totally empathized with you.

° Out of all the Lost Boys he is the most chill and relaxed when it comes to you living out more as a human. Dwayne is very appeasing. His energy helps even Paul stay rooted down in the present moment. But that doesn’t stop him from being a wild one! But nevertheless, he’s very tolerant of your human nature coming into play in everyday life. It doesn’t bug him in the slightest.

° In fact, he encourages it! Dwayne doesn’t see the point in trying to get you to suppress a part of you that is totally natural to your being. In all honesty, he thoroughly enjoys the simplicity of sitting on the counter tops in your kitchen and watching you cook yourself a home cooked meal. He’ll even sample some of it and tell you what he thinks. Although he’s really not a fan of when you use garlic!

° So since you’re a born half vampire, Dwayne really does comprehend that you don’t just require or need blood in order to keep yourself and your hunger fulfilled. There’s honestly no pressure on his part for you to have to feed on human blood. You could even drink animal blood and he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash!

° Though the more human blood you consume the stronger you are. Yet you’ll never be as strong as a full vampire, and Dwayne totally get’s that.

° Dwayne is the biggest softie known to man because he loves listening to your heartbeat! And in my opinion, I think that it would run a tad bit slower than an actual humans heartbeat. Just the sound of it makes him grin so wide that it’s as though the sun is beaming brightly across his face! Urgh i’m dying!

° This raven haired boy is really known for not taking anyone’s bullshit and when it comes to you? He’s not going to stand for anybody disrespecting you. This is regardless of whether it’s the boys or not and in any context. He will not let anybody push you around.

° And again, within regards to the boys, Dwayne will shut their shit down pronto! Rude comments, nasty looks, you name it! None of it is tolerated in his books.

° And you best believe he’s flattened Paul at least once for saying something dumb about you.

° Much like David, Dwayne wishes to know more about your kind and will secretly research it. He get’s pretty abashed when you know that he does. The boys tease him a lot for it, especially in front of you, but you swear it’s adorable.

° Every once in awhile he will tell you facts he’s read up on or heard about in regards to your kind. He likes it when you debunk whether that’s a myth or not, and there’s even a lot that you still don’t know.

° “Hey, I uh- I heard your kind tend to become hunters of vampires, well, your kind mainly hunts your fathers because your fathers are the vampires.” He’d pipe up from beside you softly, his orbs landing on everything else but you. If he wasn’t dead you swore he would be blushing bright red by now.

° “Where did you learn that?” You’d bat your lashes at him, almost stunned he’d heard about that.

° “Nowhere, just heard it around.” Dwayne would smile softly, his deep eyes peeking at your face as he rubbed the rear of his neck sheepishly.

° “If you’re asking me whether I’m a vampire hunter or not, then fortunately for you the answer is no.” You’d grin up at him. That was a relief for him.

° Since he’s a vampire, Dwayne doesn’t tend to regard human life all that highly because to him and the boys, humans primary source to them is being prey, nothing more. However, since you are part human, he’s more tolerable of humans and their nature, even if it can a little confusing for him to figure out.

° Yes, I’m aware that he too was once human round about 80 years ago, but I like to imagines that as the years have stretched on his human nature has dwindled into nothing. Vampire morals are much different from human morals. He’s also dead and hunters consider him to be soulless now.

° Due to Dwayne’s vigilant nature, he is always apprehensive whenever you do get hurt, - even the thought of you being injured or killed sends him into an internal panic! He knows that you can heal quite impressively, yet it never stops him from experiencing worry over you. He cares about you after all.

° For all he knows, there could be some sort of poison out there that could kill you instantly!

° It’s a scarce occurrence for Dwayne to fill you in on his fears and anxieties (big or small). Dwayne is particularly physically strong and at times he feels like he needs to keep up a guard, like he’s holding all the pieces together. So even though he doesn’t directly tell you these worries, he still feels these said cluster-fuck of emotions. This can be quite challenging for him to digest, so some patience is needed on your behalf.

° Consistently this occurs because you have been though and he requires a lot of comforting from you, along with reassurances that you are alright.

° And afterwards, he is at your side as much as physically possible. It may feel a bit smothering but please do remember that Dwayne once had a brother named Jasper whom he lost a long time ago. You are now one of the only people that he has left that he loves and cares about.

° Compulsion isn’t Dwayne’s forte really; he’s never been good at it anyway. That’s more David’s style and the raven haired vampire is okay with it. However, he is intrigued about it not having an affect on you. He’s a huge advocate for your own free will and would never screw around with it.

° He is also incredibly relieved that hypnotization doesn’t work on you because David can get carried away with those sorts of things. You’re mentally protected which means one less thing for Dwayne to fret over.

° You’ve also got a lot more stamina than the average human (as does Dwayne) so there are plenty more rounds when it comes to the bedroom side of things, which he’s really into. ;)

° Dwayne is a very passionate lover whom enjoys taking his time in worshiping your body. Your added stamina means you can go for hours, which is just the way he prefers things.

° At times he does forget that you are only part vampire until something occurs that reminds him of it.

° He contemplates about the little things that you do when he’s not around or just in general. Do you hanging sleep upside down from the ceiling like him and the boys? Does garlic irritate you as much as it does the full vampires? Do you sleep through the day just like them? It’s honestly seriously adorable.

° Despite having a quiet nature, Dwayne will ask you a lot of questions, though he’s got an incredibly amazing knack for spreading them out so as to not cause you to feel bombarded or overwhelmed by his curiosity.

° Also Dwayne is really a phenomenal listener. He just loves the sound of your voice and could listen to it for hours!

° Dwayne has never seen firsthand what happens to vampires when they drink from your kind and he’s not bagged on the idea on finding out or even daring to try it out for himself. He’s ballsy but not that ballsy! As soon as you told him he took your word for it.

° Genuinely though Dwayne does take a lot of what you say as the truth. You’re the one who’s experiencing it. Every Damphyr is different just like every vampire, werewolf, human, etc.

° You’ve also become apart of the boys family, which surprisingly enough, Max allowed. So all in all, Dwayne is intensely ecstatic that he get’s to spend a lot time with you.

° He is aware that you age far slower than a human which is a relief to him. It’s just a little unknown to either of you on whether you will pass away one day as the legends are all conflicting. Even you are unsure about it. You boy try not to dwell on it all that much because then things become depressing.

° And that’s another worry of his. You dying. He genuinely just wants to spend forever with you. Poor baby.

° Dwayne is literally the best boyfriend ever tbh. My heart m e l t s just thinking about it!

Paul:

° Paul has never shut up once in his whole entire life, so it’s safe to say that he won’t be shutting his mouth when it comes to you either. I mean that in the sense of him inquiring a lot about you. This is totally expected at this point, and in all honesty, half of them don’t even make any sense, - particularly if he’s high or drunk -.

° “So you can run really fast right?”

° “Well, faster than a human.”

° “Does that mean you’re like the flash then, doll?”

° Give the poor boy a break though, he really is trying here!

° And funnily enough, Paul is without a doubt convinced that you’ve got some sort of super power that you’re not showing anyone. You think that this is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life. But Paul? Nah, he won’t relent until you show him. Even the boys join in on the teasing.

° “I dunno, dollface. I really think you’re hiding something. C’mon! It’s me and the boys. There’re no humans around.” He’d grin that perfect heart melting smirk at you. “We won’t blow her cover will we boys?”

° “He’s right, y/n! We won’t tell anyone.” Marko would call from across the cave, causing you to roll your eyes.

° “The only thing I’m hiding from you guys right now is my fist from your faces!” You’d shout back, attempting to hide the grin spreading across your face. You did a poor job of it.

° “Now you’re definitely hiding something! I can see you grinning like you’re sneaky, babe, but you’re not. I swear, I’m onto you.”

° “Have you been sniffing news print or something?”

° “Awe, c’mon, babe! Just show me already!”

° Although Paul isn’t very gifted in using compulsion, he was one of the few boys that was a bit bummed out when he found out it didn’t work on you. But really he knows it’s a good thing because it leaves you less vulnerable to mental attacks from anyone. That’s one less thing for him to worry about when it comes to your safety.

° Hunting with Paul is a nightly date. In fact, he encourages you to feed because he wants you to be as strong as you possibly can be. He’s just worried about you getting hurt when he isn’t around. It also takes awhile for him to understand that you don’t need so much blood to stay sustained.

° He is also the chillest out of all the boys when it comes to you feeding from other vampires. Sure, he likes it when you feed from him, but he won’t be mad if you have the urge to feed and get your fill from another vampire. That sort of stuff just doesn’t really ruffle Paul’s feathers.

° And besides, that gift can come in handy for him and the boys. You absorb knowledge from other vampires, which means black mail! Every vampire has some sort of dirty laundry or terrible baggage that they don’t want anyone else to know.

° With that said, he really wants you to feed from Max because he’s an asshole and such a terrible ‘father’. Paul really wants to know all the man’s dirty secrets and to use them against him. Which is when David has to step in and remind him that Max is much older and stronger than them all combined and if you did that to him, Max would kill you instantly. But it doesn’t stop him from wanting you to do it.

° He is second on the scale (next to David) when it comes to his displeasure towards your human self. Human life is very boring to him. Yes, he once was a human a long time ago, but he’s been there and done that already. He’s also lost touch with his humanity and it will never return. So, in conclusion to this point, he’s more adamant that you feed from humans instead of gaining sustenance from human food.

° Hunting with you is such a huge turn on for him. Afterwards you should expect without a doubt that he’ll either bring you back to your place, the cave or tuck you into a dark alleyway and have his way with you. Just seeing you drink from people and letting your inner vampire out is genuinely the sexiest thing this boy has ever seen!

° Poor boy tends to forget that he’s a vampire, so the fact that you’re more durable is better because he’d break an actual human in half by accident just by nonchalantly hitting them playfully on the back. He actually did that once and he panicked for a good two minutes. Marko had to help him bury the body.

° “I swear I didn’t mean it, man!”

° “Paul, you literally kill people on a nightly basis. Stop panicking!”

° “Oh yeah.”

° This boy loves to play fight and it’s on a c o n s t a n t basis with you. He doesn’t go easy on you either, he either wins or won’t play fight at all. There’s no in between with this vampire.

° You best believe that Paul has at least attempted to drink your blood once! You certainly did stop him because it’s an obviously big no, no! It’s lethal for his kind to drink your kinds blood, and you love Paul a lot, so you want him to be alive.

° When you reminded him of this predicament he just laughed in your face and said it’d be worth it.

° “C’mon, babe! I let you drink from me...” He’d pout miserably at you, baby blue eyes swelling in size. You hated it when he pulled those puppy dog eyes on you.

° “Do you want to die in the most painful of ways?” You’d arch your brow comically at him with a soft tilt of your head.

° “No, not really.”

° “Then you’re not drinking from me, Paul.” You’d hum softly against his lips, fingers already tangling in his blonde mane.

° And as if on cue, he’s the biggest pouting baby you have ever encountered for the next week or two. Honestly, this boy is so dramatic when he doesn’t get his way! However, you make it up to him by going hunting with him twice in one night. That helps him forget all about not being able to drink from you.

° And then one night down the line he witnesses firsthand what happens to vampires when they drink from you. Let’s just say the poor blonde is totally traumatized from the whole experience. He needed that good green stuff to forget at least a fraction of the agony that other vampire went through.

° “Thank God I had the brains not to feed from you. Jesus, babe! Who knew you were such a savage.” He’d ramble with a cigarette wedged anxiously between his lips.

° “Brains? I literally had to push you off of me, Paul.” You’d grin widely, shaking your head in disbelief.

° “Yeah, yeah!” He’d wave off your comment, taking a deep drag on his smoke. “But did you see the blood come out of his eyes? What a sorry loser!”

° Whenever he’s mad at the other boys he tells them to go drink from you as an insult lmaoo. I’m not even kidding.

° Even though he’s very goofy, Paul is pretty serious about you though. Everything to do with you he’s fascinated about, even if it seems a little weird. It’s just because you make him so happy. Honest, he’s just a big ball of sweetness when it comes to you.

° He’s not a researcher, so why would he start now? He knows that you’ll just tell him what he’s right and wrong about and all the details in between. Sometimes he listens pretty intently, but other times he doesn’t because he becomes distracted by your boobs or starts thinking about how pretty your lips are and how much he really wants to kiss them. He doesn’t mean it in a bad way though, you’re just the biggest distraction for him.

° This guy is a genuine horndog™ and will be on you 25/7. The boy is the most touch orientated fellow out there, it’s honestly unreal! But you don’t complain because you love it when his hands are all over you.

° Still to this day your family doesn’t understand why you moved into the hotel that fell into the caves in the cliffs. Like seriously? That place doesn’t even have a working bathroom! But you moved in anyway, and pretty much you’ve stayed there out of defiance against your family now. None of the boys bring it up any more because you just go off on a tangent about it.

° “Can you turn people into vampires?”

° “Do you feel anything since you ate that piece of garlic bread 3 hours ago?”

° “Do you sleep upside down hanging from your ceiling?”

° “Can you walk in the sun without bursting into flames?”

° “So like when your parents did it, did-”

° “I’m not talking about my parents doing it, Paul.”

° “But babe! It’s for science!”

° Paul is just as goofy with you as he would be with a full vampire or human mate too be honest. Nothing changes in that department.

° High-key thinks you’re a badass and will not shut up about it to the other boys. David has put a ban on any mention of you or your name from Paul when you’re not around. Honestly, it drives David mad!

° Although Paul doesn’t take much seriously, he still freaks out in a pretty gnarly context whenever you do get hurt. Paul is the most emotionally reactive out of the boys (as seen when Marko was killed and he went directly after the Frog Brothers). You can bet your pretty backside that he’s taking anyone down swinging, violently. Definitely violently!

° “Dwayne told me your kind become vampire hunters. Does that mean you’re one?”

° “No, but if Dwayne doesn’t pipe the fuck down about it I will be.”

° That literally made David laugh so hard he had tears streaming down his face. You’re really bold for saying that. Even David wouldn’t have said that about Dwayne with Dwayne literally sitting opposite of him. But you did. So rip to David but you’re different.

° “I hope you live for forever, babe. I don’t think I could live without you.”

° "Awe, Paul!”

Marko:

° Akin to the other boys, Marko is incredibly curious about you. Besides Paul, he is the most intrigued when it comes to you and your abilities. He hasn’t ever met a Damphy in his entire existence and he never knew they existed... until you came stumbling into his life.

° The pair of you feed together whenever you get the chance to. Hunting with the other boys causes you to draw into yourself. It’s an intimate thing for you to share with someone which Marko completely understands. It’s no biggie!

° So you’re a little feeding shy? Marko isn’t bothered by it. He enjoys hunting with you, because a couple that hunts together stays together, am I right?

° Much like David and Paul, Marko just assumes that you’re pulling his leg when you tell him if he feeds from you he’ll die. You have to go into a deeper depiction on how your kind usually hunts vampires (especially your fathers as they are typically the vampires) so your blood is built to be poisonous to full vampires, it’s aroma as sweet as honey in order to lure them in like the sorry flies that they are.

° This news doesn’t really phase Marko in the slightest. He thinks it’s gnarly that your blood can do that to a full vampire. David thinks he’s insane, but Marko loves anything weird and quirky, especially gruesome. He’s a horror fanatic in my eyes!

° Although he’s the smallest out of the entire group, doesn’t mean that he doesn’t possess an intelligent mind. He believes that if what you’re saying it the truth and only but the truth then he’s not stupid enough to risk it. He quite enjoys sleeping all day and partying all night, thank you very much!

° Marko would be nothing more than a fibber if he said that you feeding from him turns him on. Like David, he uses it as a way to strengthen the bond between you. He’s mindful during the whole experience to not let his desires take hold and bite you. He’s looking to enjoy the passionate ride you two are involved in, not die a premature death.

° Unbeknownst to most, Marko has a rather possessive streak when it comes to you. What’s his is his and he doesn’t really like to share. This causes him to receive a cornucopia of teasing from the boys, but he doesn’t really care. He’s the one with a hot Damphyr mate. In his eyes he’s already won.

° Following his vampiric nature, Marko doesn’t care all too much for human life and it’s fragile nature. I mean, because you’re a born half-ling, he’s got to deal with your human nature that runs just as strongly in you as the vampiric nature. The two often collide with one another, creating a deep rooted sense of conflict within you that is really difficult for Marko to watch. You actually feel guilt for the victims you feed from, which took awhile for him to get used to.

° After all, you need to feed to live. So why do you need to add guilt into the mix? The other boys don’t get it either, they tease you about it, but once they begin to see the actual effect consistently killing does to you, they snag a lot of blood bags because you’re not actually killing anyone any more. Just chill out.

° Marko is a hard nut to crack. I mean that in the sense in which he hardly let’s on what he’s thinking and feeling in any given moment. It takes years of knowing him to understand him. But one thing that is totally apparent is his protectiveness over you. He would without a doubt die for you, no questions asked. If it meant that you lived, he’s willing to sacrifice himself.

° “Listen, babe,” Marko murmured into the darkness of the hotel, his voice quiet as he leaned against one of the crumbling cave walls, “I know you’re capable and all of taking care of yourself. But like, can you stay here tonight? The boys and I got word there were hunters in town. I’d hate to see anything happen to you, you know?”

° Marko will defend you till his last breath! Ya boii will fight for your honor at the drop of a hat. Surf Nazis, the other boys, a random kid looking at you funny, you name it! He’s prepared to fight anyone anywhere!

° “Hey asshole! Mind waiting in line like a normal person instead of cutting in front of my girl like that?”

° “Marko!”

° “What, babe? I asked nicely.”

° Marko is the biggest sweetheart nonetheless and it’s a ritual that he gives you his jacket whenever you get cold. The s o f t vibes that flood off of him makes your knees goes weak. You’re such a sucker for sweet Marko.

° “I swear to God, you touch my girl again and I’ll rip your hands off, buddy!”

° “What’d you say to her you asshole?”

° “You say that again and I’ll rip your tongue right out of your head.”

° The amount of times him and the boys have been kicked off of the Board Walk because Marko got into a brawl over you is well over the hundreds by now. You seriously don’t feel like there’s a need for him being so protective because you’re stronger than most mortal men and women, you can kick ass on your own.

° If you blabber a lot in order to tell him about yourself he just grins his infamous Cheshire grin and kisses your lips softly to shut you up.

° “Was I rambling again?”

° “Just a little.”

° “Sorry!”

° “It’s all cool, babe. I love it.”

° When you educate him on your kind he thinks it’s the most adorable thing in the world because he can tell that you’re very passionate about the subject. You often catch him staring at you, head cocked to the side as he beams at you. The sight causes your heart to splutter as though it’s giving up which he only laughs in return to.

° “What? Do I have something on my face?” You’d hum, fingers darting to your cheek as your brow creases in confusion.

° “Nah, babe.” Marko grins, leaning closer to you, his crystal blue eyes gazing down at your mouth prior to meeting your gaze once more.

° “Then why are you staring at me like that?”

° He tends to ask you questions when it’s just you two, it gives him the space to relax because none of the other boys are listening in. He keeps all of your secrets. He’s a trustworthy vampire!

° “Does garlic work on you then?”

° “No, I literally just ate garlic right in front of you Marko.”

° “Oh yeah!”

° If hunters are rampant in Santa Carla he’s more than down to keep you safe. He’s never opposed to kicking some hunter ass! Even if you’re capable of defending yourself, he’s kind of an idiot and will get involved anyway. Again, that’s only because he feels strongly about you.

° Marko tends to sit back and observe the way you use your gifts. He laughed so hard when David attempted to use compulsion on you. The boys never let David live that down for a solid three months!

° Similar to the other boys, Marko is relieved that mind games aren’t something that can affect you. You’re fully aware of what someone is attempting to do to you, which makes you more honest and Marko enjoys that about you.

° He also thinks it’s incredibly hot when you call out David. Like his babe can’t get any better to him! No one stands up to David. The fact that he’s got a Damphyr mate that’s ballsy like that makes him happy. You fit right in with him and the boys, no doubt.

° Marko never holds back in the bedroom department, and the fact that you can withstand far more than a human, it allows him to worship your body for hours on end. He’s the most notorious tease out of all the boys, and isn’t afraid to make you work for what you want. He gladly suffers the consequences afterwards because in his eyes, you begging for him was all worth the teasing he received from you the next few nights.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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toddlazarski · 3 years

Text

Last Suppers Vol. 4

Shepherd Express

“And I try to wash my hands,

and I try to make amends,

and I try to count my friends...”

— Neil Young

I never realized how much white existed on a kitchen wall calendar until we flipped to last month. May 2020: like an endless sea of milk, spilt, all over ripening spring and coming summer and everything between now and the distant horizons sprawling in every direction. The Target-bought spiral-bound hope of organization and forward-thinking adulting now somehow resembles a hanging talisman of the old joke about how to make God laugh: “make a plan.” There it sits, sometimes taking on the sense of a mirror, the unsmudged kind, too well-lit, the Windex-ed type necessitating looking away, the seeking of distraction. And there it remains, post-dentist visit luminous, crisp, unfettered, yawning, as we’ve quieted the ceaseless streaking of Sharpie, the scribbling and jotting and plotting, the road signs of an appropriately lived, full life, like all of us were looking up at the professor, scrunching brows, nodding knowingly, doodling something in the margins to play at attention and appropriate labor. Something to look forward to is the key to happiness, an old adage of sorts, is a wise thing a smiling, knitting grandma would say from a rocking chair, indicating you should get moving, with the plan-cementing and the aspirations of nights out and days together. For now though it is but a march of indistinguishable blocks of vivid pale, a tiny number in the upper left corner of each that means approximately nothing.

March 11th was a date, in hindsight, that stands out. A memorial-type night where, within the half hour it took to put a toddler to bed, the country froze and sought in vain for the Ctrl+Alt+Del keys on a foreign keyboard. The NBA season was suspended. Rudy Gobert was positive. Tom Hanks had it. An impossibly incongruous confluence: Forrest Gump and a tall French shot-blocker I target in every fantasy basketball draft existing together as the collective harbinger of societal doom. It felt like being in a movie, or the first episode of Leftovers, but the part that would pass as an emotional montage, and then move on. March 13th—Friday the 13th, but not soundtracked or jump-scaring, quiet, and directed by a Fincher or Polanski or Lars Von Trier—was where an unspoken contract was entered by sentient and capable-of-critical thought Americans, a day where laying low, taking it easy, became a gesture of care, an act of society. June 13th is a wedding we’ll attend this year. An idea, an event to schedule a haircut close to, a thing to cause ponder on the state of my black suit, something to look forward to that will have too many long-unseen friends and reunion fueled by an open bar. It was a wedding we would attend this year. It’s been moved to the fall. July 20th was once a road trip start date, years ago, the commitment steer-branded on my mind, I remember, because people would ask: “what are you doing this summer?” “When are you leaving?” “When will you be in New Orleans?” Everything else of the fruitful season seemed mere preamble, fun-enough filler before an apex, day-after-day of appetizer or salad, a mere whetting of appetite. A big day was coming, anticipation followed me like cartoon character stink lines. July 4th was a date I saw Tom Petty at Summerfest; June 28th was a date I saw Tom Petty at Summerfest; June 30th was a date I saw Tom Petty at Summerfest. These were constellations, a solid reading of the charts, the blipping beacon the control tower sends up when it is stormy and time to turn off autopilot. Now our plain is mostly like the map you see where dragons are fire-breathing around the edges. I remember the dates, like jersey numbers of favorite players, of all the Fridays in whichever is the upcoming month: aims of nocturnal revelry to make all the Tuesdays and Wednesdays and nothing days pay. This year, so far, May 26th meant something, for a while, and April 24th before that. The end, the other end, of Safer at Home. Instead the political panoply that is supposed to represent us sat at home and decided we don’t need that guidance, or a plan. Public safety is less important than dollars. Our Supreme Court sided with all those guys outside all the Capitol buildings with guns.

So maybe it’s time to get back to this, with the togetherness, the glasses clinking, hugs and unprotected mouth-open laughs at sunny beer gardens, the days you circle on the calendar and hope will have no rain, all the times where there is no greater mark of the specialness of a day than the meal. Like when my mom took me to Max & Erma’s for my 8th grade graduation. I don’t recall where the rest of the family was, but I definitely remember the tortilla soup. I’m not sure where my parents took me after high school graduation, but I remember knee-bobbing antsiness, the polite nods at congratulatory mentions of the future, because I was distracted by the prospect of going to go get very, very drunk. I remember my college graduation, where mom, somehow, before Google maps or Yelp or my Milwaukee food yammering, procured profound reservations at long-lost white table cloth gourmet Mexican southside spot El Rey Sol. Of course, I also didn’t care that much, because it was mostly a pitstop on a day well-deserving of getting very, very drunk.

The rest of my Milwaukee occasion-eating can likewise be charted like a sprawling pinned Google map of identity-carving. La Merenda is where I told my parents my novel would be published. Palomino is where we told my mother-in-law we were having a kid, over Bloody’s and Maria’s, piping curds goo-ing with expectation. It is also where I’ve told my wife everything, through the years, our spot of sanctuary, gut-growing comfort, fingers always slick with grease and cocktail condensation. I began my food writing ventures with a dinner at Braise. Vanguard was dad-rock-appropriate and rightly meaty for my first Father’s Day as a father. Von Trier was memorable for impossibly hard news scrubbing. A liquid yuletide dinner at Jamo’s is where I told a new friend that Die Hard 2 was my favorite Christmas movie, thus cementing an annual tradition, quick-contracting an adult life together of corner bars and such ridiculous conversational ping-ponging. I think of the spots and memories as a kind of incomplete Pinterest board, accomplished peak experiences that add up to an old man’s personality, the only truly prized collections of a weathered damaged person as he ambles down creaky basement stairs to be with his thoughts and his whiskey and his sad music.

This is where I ponder them all these days, because, of course, we can’t congregate. Not fully. Not at any more than 25% capacity. Not yet. We must continue to backlog the graduation and retirement celebrations; the birthdays, the date nights, are heretofore banished to arrears. Zarletti has long been a favorite for such big deal days: something so classic in it’s brand of old-school, low-lit, cozy, big-ish city downtown class; a spot from the Billy Joel song, the one about the bottle of white and the bottle of red, that turns drastically halfway through, and always reminds, surprises, wow, Billy Joel is really good. The spot to bring parents, when they are in town, and making a night of it, destination-dining for before a Jerry Seinfeld show. Or James Taylor. Or maybe another Paul Cebar night. Something at Riverside or Pabst or Turner or one of the other venues we sometimes forget about downtown because we only go downtown a few times a year that aren’t Giannis-related, the kind deeming it appropriate to bring parental credit cards and parental-type wine knowledge and the from-out-of-town desire for every appetizer. It was a New Year’s Eve, frigid beyond reason, a reservation and a window seat gazing on Milwaukee Street’s exhibit of amateur night: illegal-looking mini-skirts scooting by, vehement disregard for jackets, everyone flying trashily against the indifferent wind, quick to get to wait in line, outside, at a place called Dick’s. It was a night where I realized all I wanted was to eat, eat more, chase and maintain a wine buzz, and go home to cozy pants and couch hibernation. I realized I’d turned nearly full adult. Zarletti is currently offering curbside, another step in this direction during our time of being grounded, suspended. It’s a bit of make-believe, like when I put a pinky up in the air while pretend-sipping from an impossibly small cup at a tea-party, playing at elegance, it can be a reason to take a shower, put on non-elasticized pants, and be in the world.

Of course, it’s not as easy as it once was. In our DIY celebration experience there was an unexpected iIrritability over what to order across the homefront, unease, uncertainty about such a menu existing on my phone—phone menus generally more of the realm of pizza and tlayudas and short rib melts, the unrefined domain within which I thrive. But, it’s also this: I simply love asking a waiter what to have. The guidance, the expertise, a cultivated person who knows how to pronounce aglio e olio, one who has probably been to Italy more than once, who can do the whole wine presentation rigmarole with appropriate authoritative nonchalance while maintaining white shirt. I was reminded of the crisp, professional Zarletti service and all that our curbside culture leaves me wanting for. All of the plan and the know-how and the guidance that our political system leaves us all wanting for, too. I sought out the phone server’s recommendation, not knowing what to expect—-this is a person answering the phone, this is a person freaked out about job security, this is not your guidance counselor. And, still, there it was, a cheery, helpful rundown of appropriate Chianti’s, clear-voiced reassurance on precise pick-up time, an unabashed endorsement of the bolognese, lending conviction and a jarring reminder of days where you could talk to people who knew more than you, when you could be led, by a leader, united, when somebody in a place of esteem and prominence knew to steer with a gentle hand on back. As if you could talk to a favorite grandma again, count on the chief of your country to pretend to care or know how to think or speak in coherent grown-up sentences.

Even the server seemed to take part, ushering our fare outside before my brakes could even squeal, everything in a crisp stapled bag. Donning a medical mask and gloves, he seemed to have my best interest at heart: “I was starting to worry about you,” he said, coyly indicating my tardiness. You and me both, bub, I thought, but didn’t say, because it’s the kind of banter that doesn’t quite translate that well through a mask. Also, I simply felt slow. My interaction-ability, my small talk, seemed to have grown rust, an attempt at rapport seemed foreign, even dangerous. The languor was likewise synonymous with the entirety of downtown around me, dreamily desolate, like an hour of a city where only criminals are out, it all sucking me down, sponging inertia and energy for big weekend night specialness. In the backseat my daughter didn’t care, she was insistent only on seeing the monstrous inflatable lobster or crab or whatever it is atop the Milwaukee Public Market. I obliged, willingingly, thinking, honestly, it was actually probably the hottest thing going in town at the moment.

By the time we cracked the bottle, lightly re-warmed polpette di carne, veal and beef meatballs in bright pomodoro sauce, started guzzling old unpronounceable grapes, began twirling linguine flecked with pecorino and chile flakes, lacquered with olive oil and garlic, began greedily sponging bolognese stew with torn bread pieces because the all-day-seeming simmer of beef and pork had too much heart for rigatoni-conveyance, everything was right, and, somehow nothing seemed quite right. It was not just the takeout containers, needing to be dumped into real bowls. Or the fact we couldn’t find a candle. Or the dimmer switch in our dining room that buzzes subtly when romantic-levels are sought. Or the presence of a baby monitor between us, where a candle should have been. Or that I had to sweep up my own crumbs, and I don’t even have one of those special server crumb-shovels. Or my Nespresso machine, usually seeming quite nice, adequate for after-dinner digestif-ing, was now somehow not noisy enough, not old enough, not machine enough, more of an espresso app, really, compared to any real Italian joint. Or that I still had white paint crusted on my hands, because I’m at that point in quarantine of wandering around the house, simply wondering what else I might give a coat to. Maybe it was that, mostly, being home after all, I didn’t feel particularly rude looking at my phone mid-meal, and thus ruined the moment like the obvious bad date guy in every Nora Ephron piece. The food could not have been better—and yet it underscored that I’ve never missed a restaurant so much.

Of course I can just as much be a liability in a restaurant. My Clark’s always look too scuffed, I don’t know how or when to tuck in a shirt, when we go through the wine tasting, testing bit—so formal, a pretentious thing all our 18-year-old selves would loathe us for—I feel that I’m suddenly sitting in my father’s borrowed and oversized suit, that I’m about to be called out as a fraud, politely asked to leave the place, be told, “this is for the grown-ups.” But if anybody likes the whole charade more—the welcome of the owner, as Frankie Valli seemingly always hits overhead, who kind of puts out his arms like he’s been waiting, the accepting nod from the host when she finds my name, validates my existence in the tablecloth world, the cocktails at the bar stoking expectation, being handed a menu like a fresh Choose Your Own Adventure but after a two-Negroni buzz, the recitation of clandestine specials from the server like a def jam poetry flow where I feel like snapping fingers, the big night conversation so much more potent, charged, so much less small, the feel of spotting your waiter across the room, seeing his hands full, knowing this is it, your time is now—they have a serious problem.

Places like Zarletti don’t exist solely for special occasions. Under now unimaginable normal circumstances, we could go on a random Wednesday. Or for lunch. But, looking back, what did we ever do to deserve that? Did we get good grades? Memorize enough things in school to progress, avoid the margins of society? Did we have all our vaccines as a tyke and eventually quit smoking and go to the doctor once a year-ish and the dentist twice-a-year, more or less? And so now, yes, we should be good, barring car accident or one of those freak early cancer diagnoses that only really happen to other people anyways? Or are we all, the ones here, now, looking forward to going back to a lifetime of memorable meals so numerous we barely notice them, just incomprehensibly lucky?

As of this writing June doesn’t look much better than May, and July—who knows? I notice a chiropractor appointment has sprouted like a weed in an innocuous white cube a few rows from now, making me wonder how the quarantine time warp has trapezed us into our late middle ages. But otherwise there is certainly space to contemplate, reckon, know and grow expectant of how the Sharpie will be ready—so unused, so hard-up—as to come out in those satisfying soaks where you have to write fast to keep from bleeding out, and then keep going, on to the next weekend. For now, out of nostalgia, out of caution, also out of reasonable hopefulness, I’m setting sights again on New Year’s. There will be reservations, and Milwaukee Street a-twinkle with clamorous revelry and mini-skirts like glorified handkerchiefs going by, the biggest fears of everyone just catching a cold, all of us ready to burn 2020 to the ground, dance on the ashes, drunkenly, irresponsibly, appreciatively clinking glasses, and here will come the waiter, expectant of all my wishes, eager to help, ready to hold my hand.

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carpethefanfics · 5 years

Text

The Last Time

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted but this has been wasting away in my drafts so have some Marlene and Dorcus angst.

Enjoy.

There’s a saucer on the counter but no cup to be found

She stares at it with its stained rings from spills and leaks over the months they’ve had it

She can’t bring herself to get rid of it

Can barely bring herself to move near it

Her feet feel glued to the floor

Her limbs are heavy

Have been heavy

So she just stares and lets her mind wander to days better than this

Days where she actually felt awake

And alive

And not wrapped up in the dark veil that had plastered itself to her skin

The last time she touched that saucer I had placed it there, she thinks

It had been weeks since that moment

Since her voice seemed so soft, so casual

‘Your tea is ready’

It had been weeks since she said that

Do I even have a voice anymore?

She wasn’t sure

She hadn’t used it since she lost it

Since her screaming had left her throat raw and hoarse

She felt no need for it now

She couldn’t bear to take up all the air in the last space she had been

There had to be remnants of her left here

In their house

In what was supposed to be their home

And she wanted the pieces of her that drifted through here to stay as long as possible

Because the smell in her pillow had gone

And half of her sweaters were losing the rose of her skin

And the light that seemed to radiate in each room had dimmed

Like the house missed her

Almost as much as Marlene did... almost

She had been trying to run herself ragged

She tried drinking but the taste reminded her of school

Of the first time they had kissed

Of the way her lips peppered the column of her throat

She tried sleeping draughts

But the dreams of her face were more vivid, more colourful, more red

She woke up screaming with nothing but blood and curses and hollow cheeks in her memory

So she stood and stared and thought of things like tea stains and the tears in the couch cushions from when they moved in

But now

Now even those brought her fragile heart to break

That was the last time they had kissed

The last time she had said I love you

Right before a night raid

On a night just like any other

Giddy and foolish and butterflies in her stomach

She tried to wipe her lipstick off Dorcas’ mouth

But Dorcas had gripped her hand and whirled her in close

‘Leave it, it reminds me of you’

One more kiss

Barely anything to remember

Something she had done so many times it was going gray in her head

But now she clung to it

The way her hand had comfortably rested on her waist

The way she could see the reflection of herself in Dorcas’ eyes

Not five hours later she was opening their door, wand blazing, fear in her eyes

Something’s wrong, Lily had barely been able to say

He was there

She had escaped the battle with cuts on her cheeks and bruises on her ribs and pieces of curses oozing from her skin

Nothing more, nothing less

But when the door slammed open and struck the wall beside her

When she entered their home she found Sirius

Tears streaming down his cheeks

On his knees, in her living room

‘I’m so sorry

I’m so sorry

The memory of that moment is vague now

The shock trapping her mind in the world before this moment

In the world of tea cups and lipstick and the sweet smell of honey that are Dorcas

That were Dorcas

Lily tells her she spent the whole night screaming

And she thinks that’s why her throat hasn’t felt the same since

Why her knees are still sore, and her elbows are still sore

She had curled up against the hard wood begging to wake up

‘Just have some tea love’

Dorcas would have said

‘You’ll feel better’

But tea won’t give her amnesia

Won’t pick her heart up from where it shattered all over their floors that day

Tea won’t take the weight off her shoulders, off her mind

Won’t stop Marlene from thinking of the body, her body

Of how it was heavier than she remembered when they brought it home

Shrouded in the white cloths that lined the cupboards of the House of Black

Like a goddess, they had said

More like a ghost

But Marlene held her close

Cold fingers pressed against her cheek

‘Wait for me’

One last kiss on a cold, sharp cheek bone

And then she rescinded herself to a world without colour

Without shine

‘I should never have let you go’

Being in the house makes her ill now

Memories of their life tainted by death and cruelty and hate

The house is no longer the place Marlene thinks of as home

No longer a kitchen where they were meant to cook

Where she would drag her kisses along Dorcas’ neck just to hear her soft laughter

No longer a bathroom where the mirrors should be steamy

Where the bath was filled with flower petals after a long day

A place where Dorcas ranted about the silliness of her day when she was brushing her teeth

So Marlene sits outside

On the small stone bench next to the wilted flowers

The sky is too blue, the grass is too green, the sun is too bright for you not to be here

You would love today, she thinks

You would have loved today

But now its just another day

Just another month

Just another year

And there’s a war to be won

An evil to be overcome

But, for a little while, Marlene thinks, the darkness has taken root inside her

And, for a little while, that’s where it has to stay

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footyplusau · 7 years

Text

From the archives: Emma Quayle’s award-winning report ‘A street named desire’

In November 2008, Emma Quayle wrote a piece on three young draft hopefuls, who grew up playing together in the same street in Perth’s eastern suburbs. Throughout challenging childhoods, football had been their guiding force, and a welcome ally of the strong, single mothers who raised them.

The story won the Grant Hattam Trophy in 2009, which is awarded to the creator of the best piece of football journalism from the players’ perspective. Here is that story.

Back in the day: Michael Walters, Nic Naitanui and Chris Yarran. Photo: Mal Fairclough

Chris Yarran and Michael Walters are in Nic Naitanui’s living room, sitting squeezed into a two-seater couch. They are trying to remember the first time they met, and it’s hard; they can’t remember not knowing each other.

Chris can still see Nic’s big afro hairstyle, and recall the day he jumped onto the PA system at primary school and called a Melbourne Cup. Michael can remember how quiet Chris used to be, how he never used to speak until someone spoke to him, and Nic can’t remember Michael being anything but a chatty, cheeky, energetic kid. “Look at him!” he laughs, pointing at a junior basketball photo in which Walters leans towards the camera with a big, goofy grin. Walters doesn’t even bother objecting, or even just rolling his eyes: there’s another photo, on another wall, where he’s hamming it up even more.

Mothers and sons: Michael Walters with Martha, Chris Yarran with Debbie and Nic Naitanui with Atetha, in 2008. Photo: Mal Fairclough

Walters was the first to move into Bushby Street – a long, wide road in Midvale, in Perth’s outer-eastern suburbs – and nobody ever called him Michael. As a baby, he travelled from Perth to Adelaide with his parents and big brother, to see his father’s family for the first time. As the train rattled along, and the sky turned dark outside, he refused to fall asleep, so his father made up a lullaby, calling him “my son son”. It caught on: his brother, Colin, wouldn’t let anyone call him anything but “Son Son” after he did, finally, drift off to sleep. These days, he’ll settle for Sonny as well.

Walters was four when “Nicko” Naitanui moved in, six houses down the street, his fraternal twin brother Mark in tow. Next door to them was Yarran, who was living with his mother at her parents’ place.

The 17-year-old has lived in many houses and in many streets over the years; at times, he wasn’t entirely sure where he would be sleeping the next night. But Bushby was the street Yarran kept coming back to, and Midvale the suburb that most felt like home. The three boys started primary school together and – except for a few years when Yarran moved an hour away to Northam, still dropping by some weekends – they have lived within a few minutes of each other. The draft will make their long-shared dream come true, but separate them for the first real time in their lives.

Football connected the boys, from the very start. Yarran can remember the three of them clumping down the bitumen road together, to the oval at the end of it, already wearing their footy boots. They would drag a bin out onto the road in front of Nicko’s place, lining it up alongside a mail box, a tree and a concrete pole – cheap, easy goal posts. Between the Naitanuis’ cousins, Yarran’s cousins, Walters’ brother and the other kids in their street, there would be up to 30 boys on the road at once, tackling each other to the asphalt, scampering to the side when a car tore past, scoring bonus points for hitting the bin or the tree, and never craving company. “All you had to do if you were bored,” said Naitanui, “was go and knock next door.”

Nic Naitanui, Chris Yarran and Michael Walters back in Bushby Street in 2008. Photo: Mal Fairclough

Yarran was the kid who always hit the target; the one with the sharp, instinctive skills.

He only ever wanted to be one thing: an AFL footballer. “Son Son” was the little one, who went to bed each night with his footy and would scurry around after the bigger, older kids, all energy. At school, Naitanui could do anything he turned either his mind or body to: he was the class accountant, counting the money when his class went off on excursions, and winning almost everything on athletics day. His mother, Atetha, thought he would end up becoming a basketballer; he started kicking the football only because the other kids did, and it was actually the least of his talents.”

I was just a skinny kid and I couldn’t even kick properly.

I’m still struggling now with it,” he said, smiling. “But most of the kids in Midvale, that’s just how we played. We didn’t really practice or train all our skills like some other kids, we just ran around on the street. We’d have little scratch matches, four on four, and all we did was play.”

Still, he could tell even then that Yarran’s plans were sensible ones. “You just knew,” he said.”

Some kids are just better than the rest. Chris was the best one of us all.”

Life hasn’t exactly been easy, for the boys or those around them. Naitanui’s parents, Atetha and Bola, moved to Sydney almost 19 years ago, from the Fijian village near Suva where Nic’s older brother and sister still live. He has never lived there himself, but when he goes there, each year, he feels at home. His parents moved away because they wanted opportunity, said Atetha, but the twins were just one when Bola found out he had cancer and only a few months to live.

Alone, Atetha moved the boys to Perth, simply because she had a brother there and wasn’t sure where else she should go. She still sometimes wonders how she made it through, how she kept from collapsing, but she knows her boys kept her going, that they gave her no choice. “If I’d given up … ” she said, pausing. “I couldn’t give up.”

Atetha, who married again three years ago, always resisted signing on for a pension – she never wanted to be given anything and she always wanted to work, even if it meant things were a little bit trickier to pay for. For the past 14 years she has worked for Homewest, helping to find housing for homeless people in the eastern suburbs and working with some of the kids who grew up playing kickto- kick with her own boys. Some seem too embarrassed to look her in the eye.”

It’s like the kids here are in hiding, they turn the other way when they see that I am coming,” she said. “I say to Nic and Mark always, when you see these boys, talk to them, don’t even think they have been in jail. It’s sad, it’s very sad. Some of these young indigenous boys that played with my boys, I thought that they were going to make it. They had so much talent, so much skill. But drugs and bashings and assaults … that’s the way of life here. That’s how these kids survive.”

As he was growing up, Walters knew that his mum and dad struggled some months to pay the rent; that even filling the petrol tank to take him to a training session was sometimes a stretch. “It wasn’t something you ever really thought about,” he said. “You just sort of knew, that we had it a bit harder than most people.”

He can only ever remember being a happy child, although this year has been a wrenching one. Walters’ parents separated earlier this year and his father, Mick, moved home to Adelaide.

He came back to Perth mid-year, but left again in September, two days before Walters played for the Swan Districts under-19 team in a grand final. His grandfather flew straight from Adelaide to watch him play, but Walters was emotional, deflated and, said his mother, Martha, forced for the first time to reassess his biggest idol.

“It was devastating. It really hurt ‘Son Son’ and it’s been a real struggle for all of us,” she said. “He looked up to his father, I think ‘Son Son’ really just wanted to make dad proud, and thought what he was doing was the right way to do that. He’s an emotional boy, he’s a fiery boy – the only time he isn’t fiery is when he’s playing on the football field – but he’s worked through it now.

“He knows he has some exciting times coming up and that he has a lot of support and that a lot of people love him. He loves dad, but dad has to be put at the back for a while, and that’s hard.”

It’s something Yarran had to grapple with a lot longer back. He was eight when his father, Malcolm, was jailed; he still sees him, and talks to him on the phone, and his most vivid memories are of walking home with him from footy training, hand-in-hand. He can’t remember feeling ashamed of where his dad was, and will be for a while yet, but when other kids asked him about it, he didn’t want to talk.

“I just took it as life, as the way life goes,” he said. “I never said much about it and it’s still hard now, to think about it. But I just think of the good times with him, and I saw my mum and how she didn’t let it bring her down. She didn’t want it in my head, she wanted me to feel proud. With where I am, I sort of owe it to her. She’s the one who kept me playing football.”

Yarran had a grandfather willing to take him wherever he had to be, any time. He had neighbours willing to chip in with petrol money when they could. He had footy – and there was never a choice to skip training, he said, because Naitanui would be banging on his door, telling him to hurry.

But more than anything, he had his mother, Deb, who didn’t want any of her five children – Chris is the youngest – to carry someone else’s burden. Even if it meant she had to, or felt that she did. “It was hard but I adjusted. I had to,” she said. “If I was to let things slip, I think the whole family would have fallen apart. I just stayed strong and did the best I could. I always said to Chris, never feel ashamed of where dad is, you have to go and live your own life.”

As he grew up, Naitanui began to notice newspaper articles saying Midvale had the highest break-in rate in Perth. Men would return home to Bushby Street after stints in jail and while he was conscious of where they had been, he couldn’t quite reconcile that with with how happy and safe he had always seemed to feel. Later, he had friends go off to jail; like Atetha, he’d grown up thinking they were the ones who had the best chance to go far.

“It’s kind of sad to see and to even think, that you’ve got mates and they’re locked up now. But you see them, some of them get out of jail, and they seem so happy for you. Even as a kid, you knew it was a tough place we lived in, that people were in trouble with the police, but they were always good to you. They were always looking out for you.”

More recently, all three boys have felt keenly that people judge other people according to their post code. Two years ago, Naitanui had no reason to believe he could play in the AFL; when he made the under-16 West Australian squad, he told the coaches he didn’t want to play. His reluctance was internal; he didn’t think he was good enough. But after he was talked into taking his place in the under-16 team and met other, more fortunate kids who also assumed he wouldn’t get there, his mind began to change.

“You’d meet kids who go to private schools, and they sort of looked down on you and asked where you were from and laughed at you,” he said. “Looking back, I know it was a bad place we came from, but we didn’t know any different, we just knew it as home. Some other kids thought they were better and I think that gave me a desire to make it even more, to show it doesn’t matter where you come from, that you can still do as well as any other kid can.”

Yarran agrees. “It’s sort of good for the community,” he said. “I reckon we could help a bit, with where we are now.”

Yesterday, in Perth, three mothers and their teenage sons had lunch together. It was a kind of farewell; their last chance to spend time together before “Son Son”, Nicko and Chris are potentially drafted to three different teams, to three different states. They felt apprehensive, but, more than anything, excited. They wished they had thought to take some photos back in the Bushby Street days, to have somehow known what was going to happen – but then again, why would they have? “They were just three little boys, whoever would have thought that this was where they would be?” said Atetha, proud of what the boys have overcome and achieved, but equally proud of herself, Martha and Deb. “We didn’t do too bad, did we?”

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