Cure For Melancholy


When seized by a fit of the sads, the best route for dealing with the listlessness of melancholy is, in this order: crouching under your umbrella on the balcony, trying not get wet while you smoke, watching Jackie Aina put on makeup through your tears; remember there are zero carbs in residence and determine to go and buy some despite the fucking deluge outside and the wind you can hear whistling past the windows; put on a full trench coat over your hoodie, trying to reconcile yourself to the fact that it is summer; wipe stray tears as you lock up the house and get into the lift; come back up to unlock the house five minutes later because you forgot your umbrella, because it wasn’t in its usual place, be-fucking-cause you were smoking under it on the balcony earlier entirely due to the fact that it hasn’t stopped raining since you woke up; return to your path out into the world, less tearfully this time; feel shook at how windy and cold and rainy and just miserable it is outside.

At this point, you pause to make a video for your friend while you walk down the street and you feel a bit better by the time it is done.

Melancholy, though.

The way the streets have flooded is depressing and ruining your shoes but the cure for a sads fit continues: get absolutely drenched on your way to Sainsbury’s; overwhelmed by the sads in the shop, recklessly buy a tin of Pringles and a packet of five little cream-filled chocolate cake rolls things and determine to eat them all when you return home; misstep into a puddle on the way home and try not to cry when your socks squish faintly in your shoes; realise that by the time you get home you can’t feel anything anymore, just cold and wet; shed your damp clothing and spend the next twenty minutes waterlogging in a hot shower; emerge out of the shower feeling something, but it isn’t the melancholy anymore, you’re just hungry; make an egg, put it on a bagel with Branston fucking Pickle.

Buy a yoga mat.


Mood No. 01


Reconciling myself to the fact that I am the Ravenclawiest of all Ravenclaws.

Happy 20th anniversary beloveds <3

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Prompt Analects

Run To Me


Gabriel doesn’t speak to him for weeks.

The truth is, Michael doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong. Except, the silent treatment begins after Uriel’s birthday party and there’s a lot of the night that Michael cannot remember. And he’s anxious because Uriel texted him the next day with vague allusions to the Lord’s chosen doing unspeakable, drunken things.

Gabriel keeps saying nothing, ducks sideways when he sees Michael coming down the corridor and ignores the many texts and missed calls. Acts like they haven’t worked together for years, gone on many a-mission, fucking saved people side by side. Gabriel doesn’t even glance his way, ever.