wolves in the middle of town | october catch-all

[acidjail]

Who: Mercymorn the First, Paul Atreides, and you
What: October catch-all, open and closed prompts
When: Throughout October
Where: Various locations in Trench

Content Warnings: Depression, suicidal ideation (passive), body horror, memory loss

Comments

[terriblepurpose]

[How the tables turn: Paul snorts wetly, some trace of moisture left within him after all. He's not amused by Falco's concern for him directly, but by the absurdity of it all - the fact that the small, mundane needs of life persist even in these terrible moments.

He recalls following Confetti back to Falco's cave, the little creature's arms piled high with stolen food. Paul is even in a cave full of light too.]

I have food, but...

[I miss you. It's not the same. I get too sick to eat. I want you to have a reason to come back. I want you to have something to do, because I know how awful it is to be helpless in the face of things like this.]

It's not as nice as what you make.

[Falco is right. If they have each other, they'll be all right. Paul believes that.]

[grice]

[ so that’s how it is. being hounded for real food—!

(no, you can easily tell that it butters falco up, even when the breath past his teeth accompany his head shaking side to side) ]

I’d bring you more things, anyway. [ there was no way around that. paul was doomed to a close to infinite amount of lunches made with absolute care— bread rolls shaped like mutated sparrows, steamed roots, and smoke dried fish meat, if he came across a filet for trade. ] What if I bring dinner— and tell you a story?

[ it had been quite funny, or rather amazing, how the night had started one way, his mood on the verge of foul and depressed— to this. the power of self care and loved ones played an important pillar to his support web. he would not be able to do it without them. ]

[terriblepurpose]

[It's not a full break in the clouds, but it's pale, lancing sunlight still to see Falco melt with something besides discoloured slime. He looks more like himself when there's a spark of hope in his eyes, and Paul thinks that's what brothers are for: cupping hands around that light when the sky greys over and the wind whips cold.]

I'd like that.

[There'd be no stopping Falco, but there's a difference between help foisted on someone and help invited in. Falco should always feel like he's welcome. Paul breathes out with a ripple of light threading through his curls, and the air temperature drops by half a degree.]

As long as it has a happy ending. Promise?

[Another inevitability, but if he asks, he gets to pair it with a crooked smile and the new lightness of his voice. If he asks, that's more proof he believes in them.]

and that's a wrap!🧡

[grice]

Promise.

[ falco stands, pushing at the sand to stay upright, taking his arms and wrapping them around himself— just a gentle gesture that this is where he would hug him quite tightly. actually, he would've hugged him so much more, but he wants to make sure to send this one. he leaves with a face always looking back, the book left to paul's taking and study. when he returns, it will be with a little box he's prepared just for him, no matter the time. it wasn't as if he was sleeping well, to begin with.

the story, to some surprise, was not romance. the genre still stung falco in a way that loss has created some advertence to the stories, at least for a while. what he prepares for paul is a classic to some: a summarized version of the whale. ]