“Tonight winning this kinda feels full circle like a bit of me has come back to myself, but I can’t possibly accept this award. And I’m very humbled and I’m very grateful and gracious but my artist of my life is Beyoncé and this album for me – the Lemonade album was just so monumental. Beyoncé, it was so monumental and so well thought out. And so beautiful and soul bearing. And we all got to see another side to you that you don’t always let us see and we appreciate that. And all our artists here adore you. You are our light. I love you and I always have and I always will.” – Adele
The neural network trains itself by looking at chunks of text from the training dataset and trying to predict what comes next. Then, when you give it a bit of seed text (maybe even a single letter), it generates text by predicting what comes next. It does best with short, simple phrases because it only looks at a few tens of characters at a time. Also, its grammar isn’t always the best. So, fortune cookie messages would seem like a perfect task for a neural network - but I had the darndest time getting fortunes out of the neural network.
The problem is the dataset. At the moment, there aren’t that many unique fortunes you can find in a cookie, maybe only a few hundred or so in common enough use that you can find them online. Intrepid blog reader Kiwi Carlisle found pretty much all of them, and very kindly gave them to me as neural network food.
But annoyingly, the neural network went straight from nearly complete incomprehensibility:
A pleasant and on your pirents. You will will have life, so the right thing. The man where you wornd with a wind love to be procers. Life is finally gime. Hand is always on happiness. The wind a fail is hondow on your parsone think you want. A pleace khom yourself of ore cose from cowings are sheeping. There is no right, don’t surprise People will come true.
to word-for-word plagiarism of the complete input dataset of fortunes.
Finally, I managed to stymie it by giving it an even shorter-than-usual memory: it can only look at 35 characters at a time, which is shorter than your average cookie fortune. That finally prevented the neural network from memorizing the dataset, forcing it to come up with something unique.
And it was unique, all right.
First thing I learned is that for some reason the neural network likes fortunes with birds:
You cannot become better than a bird in the present. Follow activaty will dramatically impossion bird work. Mife is like a good listener in the mind of a flying birds. Whange you have a lifetine of the flying birds. A short pencil is usually better than a bird on the future.
It also is significantly more pessimistic than your average cookie fortune:
Now is the time to go ahead and not prepare to live. Never understand. Never upset the friends Love will diss your changes. Hell! It’s the onset of a friendship Do not have a peaceful place where you will feel better. There’s no success and friendship. You cannot love life until you live the life you don’t good luck.
And it is full of impressive absolutely ancient wisdom:
A short simples are the suction for you. Don’t love light, you will not always a pat. Whale success is no high-lore will become tree. Someday everything will be happy and proven a poet. People are savituded. Carve your name on your parents. Be on the finest men like the floor. You will make mead. Our deeds determine up, the weather is wonderful. Po Says: Pandan, like eating bamboo, but I prefer on the horizon. Better ask doods when you can do it, you will never be disappointed. Feep is never conquered by hate.
Summary: You, a muggle-born artist, have been hiding your feelings for Draco Malfoy for years now. Though, after an unplanned meeting in the astronomy tower things between the two of you start to change. Even more so after finding each other in the Room or Requirement.
Word Count: 3,573
Disclaimer: not my gif credit to owner
You stare out into the vast horizon from the astronomy tower. This was your favorite hideout during your free period. You much rather enjoyed the view when it was light outside. Sure you love astronomy class and looking up at the stars but this was just different. Better.
You pulled out your old, hard-cover, weather-beaten sketch book and began to draw the landscape before you. You made sure to grasp and add every detail to your drawing. You began shading in the sunset when you heard a voice behind you.
“What are you doing here?” He asked in a rotten tone and you already knew who it was.
“You don’t own the astronomy tower, Draco,” you say blandly while continuing your work.
“You know this is were I go in my spare time,” you hear him huff.
“I know,” you blush, hoping he doesn’t know that besides the view one of your favorite part of this spot is that it’s that it’s his spot too. Then again, how would he even know that, it’s not like you two are exactly close.
You hear him start to walk away and your heart sinks. Just once you’d like him to stay up here when you’re here. Maybe then, you too could become close. You’d had this battle with having a crush on Draco since first year. Now here you are, sixth year and the most interaction between you two is fighting over the astronomy tower.
“You know you can stay right?” You boldly say. You swallow hard when you hear him stop in his tracks.
You hear his footsteps begin again but this time coming back towards you.
He sits a few feet from you, “Just don’t expect me to talk to you.”
You just smile and shake your head continuing to look down at your sketch book. For a few minutes you two stay like this, you drawing, him (probably) thinking. You wonder what could be going on in his head, he seemed to be thinking pretty deeply.
You feel him inching towards you at a snail’s pace, from the corner of your eye you can see him watching you draw everything from here to the horizon. You hate yourself for the blush creeping up on your face, by the time he’s within a foot of you your face is bright red.
“Why are you blushing?” You look up at him and see he’s smiling, a genuine smile.
Because I’ve been hiding my massive crush on you for nearly six years.
“I just get embarrassed at people watching me work,” you shrug.
“Why?” He asks seeming genuinely interested. “You’re really good.”
“Thanks,” you’re blush gets even deeper.
You break eye contact and look back down at your sketchbook. The rest of the period is made up with you finishing your sketch and Draco watching intently. He’s completely mesmerized at how you can just see an image and recreate it perfectly on your page.
It’s Saturday and you aren’t needed nor expected anywhere, which is why Saturdays are your favorite days. You usually spent these days roaming around looking for inspiration for a new art piece. Which is exactly how you plan to start today.
You roam the school grounds aimlessly, constantly moving your head around to grasp every aspect of the school. You step into the one of the many courtyards and feel inspired to sketch it, until you realize you’ve already done that… Ten times…
You sigh and realize that after six years of constantly working in the same space it’s going to be hard to find a completely new area for your art. Just this year and the following before you can finally start travelling and finding more inspiration worldwide.
In your attempts to find a new spot you’re again not looking forward. causing you to slam right into someone.
“Hey, watch where- oh, hey Y/N,” you hear Draco’s voice quickly turn from intimidation to delight.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” you ramble.
“Don’t worry about it,” he laughs at how cute he thinks you are when you ramble.
A blush creeps onto your face, “Well, I best be going.” As you turn to walk away he grabs your wrist and turns you back to face him.
“Hey, are you going to the Quidditch match today?” He inquires.
“Um I wasn’t really planning on it,” you scratch the back of your neck.
“Oh,” his face slightly falls. “Well, I’d like it if you went,” he says his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Even though you’d be rooting for Y/H and not Slytherin,” he looks at the ground.
“I mean I probably should go, it's sixth year and I haven’t gone to a single match,” you shrug and he looks at you dumbfounded.
“Not a single match? Well, you definitely have to go now,” he laughs and so do you.
“Well, I guess you can count on me being there,” you say before turning and walking away. You look over your shoulder, “And I guess I can root for Slytherin just this once,” you wink and quickly face forward as your face turns crimson red. A crazy amount of adrenaline must’ve been rushing through you for having the courage to wink at Draco Malfoy.
You take a seat in Y/H’s section for the Quidditch match, all your housemates do a double take when they see you arrive. Which were followed by ‘finally’, 'it’s about time’, 'I didn’t even know you knew how to get here’ and more sayings around those lines.
You don’t know to much about Quidditch, especially since you’re a muggle-born. Not that you know much about muggle sports either. Your friends have explained the game to you many times, you got the logistics but you just didn’t know why it was such a big deal. Maybe you’ll actually figure it out through watching a match.
Draco rose up into the air on his broomstick to prepare for the start of the game. On his way up he scanned the crowd for you and a smile creeps onto his face when he sees you sitting in Y/H’s section. He can tell you look slightly out of place in the stands and is glad to see you actually showed up. He keeps up the hope that you’re actually here for him.
He has been trying to convince himself since second year that he doesn’t have feelings for you. That he could never have feelings for a muggle-born. Except as he’s grown older through his school years he’s realized that muggle-borns aren’t that bad. He’s realized he was just told to think that way, not that he actually believed it.
He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the blow of the whistle signaling the beginning of the game. Slytherin immediately takes hold of the Quaffle and manages to score within the first minute. A chorus of boos and angered shouts comes from Y/H’s section. Draco looks over to see you remaining silent among your peers. He smiles, hoping you may be rooting for Slytherin…for him…silently. Even if you’re not, at least you aren’t booing.
Draco circles around the field, scanning for the snitch. He’d be lying to say that he wasn’t losing his interest in Quidditch, squinting into the distance searching for a flying ball of gold gets boring after awhile. Of course, he didn’t know if the sport itself was actually starting to bore him or the stress recently rested upon him was making him lose interest in the things he loves. Apparently stress can do that.
He sees a flicker of gold in the distance, shocked at how early on he’s spotted it he doesn’t fully believe he saw it. That is until he sees the seeker for Y/H dive in the direction of the flash of gold. He quickly follows and the two chase after the golden blur, neck and neck. Draco shoves the other seeker, causing him to spin off course and leaving Draco to be the only one in pursuit of the snitch.
He’s extremely close, he takes a hand off his broom and reaches towards the snitch. He feels cold metal on the pads of his fingers, he just needs to get a grip around it. Almost…
He’s nearly knocked off his broom as pain seers through his ribcage. He got hit with a bludger milliseconds before he could grab the snitch. He holds a hand over his ribcage and groans in pain. He rises back into the air to find he’s near Y/H’s section. He looks over at you and you mouth to him, 'Are you okay?’. He nods and manages to give you a faint smile as reassurance.
When he starts to move upward he hears many whispers, “Did Draco Malfoy the Draco Malfoy just smile?”, “Did he smile at you, Y/N?”, “Is there something going on between you two?”, and things of that nature.
He looks back in your direction to see your cheeks turning pink while multiple people start to question you. Though more importantly he sees a smile on your face at the thought of people thinking something is going on between the two of you.
Suddenly, his interest for Quidditch returns. Except rather than loving the sport, wanting to be the best, and move towards winning the House Championships, his goal and motivation to win comes from you. He wants to impress you, and suddenly he finds himself squinting at the field and scanning it as if his life depended on it.
Ten minutes pass with no sign of the snitch. Y/H is currently in the lead, sixty-twenty. Draco continues to scan the field, keeping an eye on the other seeker to see if they look to be in pursuit. He finds himself glancing over at you often as well, trying to make sure you aren’t growing bored. Good thing he’s doing this because it is when he shifts his eyes to you that he spots the snitch once again.
This time determined to get he speeds off in the directions of the flicker of gold. He soon gets close enough that the snitch is hardly a blur anymore. He stretches out his arm when he feels someone bump his side, not strong enough to knock him off his path though. It’s Y/H’s seeker, Draco gives them a menacing stare before turning his eyes back to the snitch. The two race around the field with their arms reaching towards the snitch, they’re neck and neck. Draco, determined to win, jerks his hand out so roughly he fears he might’ve dislocated his shoulder. It would be worth it though, he feels his hand close around the snitch.
He slows down and waves the snitch above his head, wearing a proud smile. The rest of the Slytherin team flies over to congratulate him. He hardly notices their presence as he starts to look for you, to see your reaction. His smile fell, you weren’t in the spot you had previously been in. You weren’t anywhere to be seen.
A look of disappointment washes over Draco’s face as he moves back to the ground. Where did you go? Why did you leave? Did you just not care enough to stay? Did you leave because Slytherin won? Was it foolish of him to think you were here for him? He was disappointed that he ever let that thought into his head.
The rest of the Slytherins were celebrating in their common room, but Draco was in no mood for a party. Though every time he tried to move towards the dorms one of his friends would pull him back to the center of the crowd.
“Dude, what up with you,” Blaise leans onto Draco. “You know you can’t vanish from a party after a win.”
He hadn’t been to the room of requirement in ages. If he was already disappointed with himself he might as well make it even worse by working on that cabinet.
“I actually have to go do something,” Draco mutters before peeling away from the crowd, this time being successful.
He begins the journey from the dungeons all the way to the seventh floor, left corridor. Constantly, he finds himself dodging behind corners at the sight or sound of a teacher. When he makes it to the entrance of the Room of Requirement unscathed he begins to pace and think deeply about what he needs.
I really need to work on this cabinet. If I don’t fix it in time I’ll probably get myself and my family killed. To work on this cabinet though I’m really going to need some privacy. No one else should be able to go in or out. I really just need to be alone, even though I’d rather be talking to Y/N, figuring out why she left the natch early… But I really need to go work on this cabinet in private.
He thinks to himself, allowing him access to the room. He steps inside and begins to make his way to the vanishing cabinet. He examines a feather from the last time when he used that cabinet on a small bird. He begins to realize it’s spending days on end staring at this cabinet that he truly begins to hate what he’s become. He knows he had no choice, it makes him hate all those who did. All who didn’t have people pressuring him to be evil. To kill or be killed. It makes him hate all those who had good people in his life.
He just wanted one good person in his life, he needed one good person in his life.
Where am I going to find a good person who wants to be in my life?
He’s pulled out of his thoughts when he hears a crash from somewhere in the room, faint whispering follows. Someone else is in here.
He draws his wand from his pocket, becoming extremely alert. He swallows hard, the last thing he needs is to be caught in here. He slowly moves towards the sound of the crash, pashing piles and piles of randomized objects. The faint whisper becomes a distinct mutter, a girl’s mutter.
He jumps out from behind the last pile of things before him and the unknown girl and raises his wand. However, he immediately lowers it at the sight before him.
“Y/N?” He questions putting his wand back in his pocket.
You look up at him and gulp. You are kneeling on the ground in front of a puddle of spilt paint to the side of a canvas. Your face turning a bright red to match the paint covering the floor.
“Draco,” you say wide-eyed. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he tuts.
“Well, I needed a canvas and some oils,” you shrug. “So, I went to the room that would supply me with my needs.
"Well, I needed privacy as in no one else being in here,” he says coming off more hostile than he wants to be towards you.
“Maybe you don’t know what you’re actually needs are,” you look down at the ground, saddened at his hostility towards you. Just when you were beginning to think he could actually like you, how silly.
He remembers what he was just thinking about. Where am I going to find a good person who wants to be in my life? “Maybe you’re right,”he admits.
You look up at him and try to suppress any thoughts of him needing you from your head. You look back down at your paint puddle and go back to cleaning.
“You know there’s this thing called magic,” he chuckles before pulling out his wand. After giving it a little flick all the paint moves back into the container.
You tut before letting out a muffled thanks and standing back up. A slight frown forms on your face as you dip your paintbrush into your now unspilt paint and get back to working on your canvas.
“I thought you’d be a little more thankful,” Draco raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t like to mix magic and art,” you huff.
“How come?” he presses on, sounding as though he genuinely cares.
You sigh, not sure if you’re completely comfortable about divulging your childhood to Draco, your muggle childhood. If you even wanted to dream about having a chance with him you figured it wouldn’t be best to remind him you’re muggle-born. However, he’s expecting an answer and you only have the truth.
“It just when I was younger I was told I had a gift when it came to art,” you sigh. “They said my art made my talent seem like magic,” you smile at the memories. “I guess I wanted to keep it all down to talent not literal magic,” you shrug,
“Oh,” is all he has to say. “Well, can I see what you’re painting?”
At that you freeze, brush in midair dripping paint onto the ground. You swallow hard and your face becomes a deeper red than Draco, or anyone has ever seen you as. You slowly turn your near paralyzed head to look at him wide-eyed, You do not even want to imagine Draco’s reaction to your current work, yet alone see or hear it in reality.
He chuckles, “I’ll take that as a no.” You slightly nod and turn back to your work. “If I can’t look at it can you at least tell me what it is?” Your face is burning at this point, it feels so hot you fear you may need to go down to the hospital wing.
He appears next to you and you nearly choke on the lump forming in your throat. You set your brush down and timidly turn your head to look at him. You get a side view of his head, slightly tilted with a flattered expression resting on his face.
“Is that me?” He smiles brightly and you swallow hard.
“Is that weird?” You timidly ask.
He turns his head to look down at you, a smile still plastered on his face. “Not at all.”
He looks back to examine the painting even deeper as you rock on your heels as an anxious tick. The painting is a site you captured in your head at the match. Draco with his hand outstretched towards a golden blur, you seeker right at his heels. You painted the world around them as a fuzzy haze to show they were moving at top speeds. In the background one could distinguish the field, goalposts, stadium full of students, as well as the other players flying about.
“Is this why you left the match early?”
“Yeah, I just got the idea and rushed here to go and paint it,” you shrug. Then, you fully process what he just said. “You noticed I left?” Your eyebrows knit together and you move your gaze to him.
“Of course,” he says looking at you. “I did it for you,” he states. “I woke up this morning and the last thing I wanted to do was go looking for a golden blur. Then, I remembered you said I could count on you being there and I knew I had to play.” You open your mouth to speak but no words come out, so Draco continues. “I was planning on inviting you to the after party as my date but you weren’t there,” he shrugs. He’s trying to play it cool but truly he heart is beating a mile a minute. He was not intended to profess his love for you but before he could stop himself the words were slipping from his mouth.
“Yeah, is it so weird for me to take the girl I’ve liked since second year to be my date?” There’s no going back now. It’s out, the secret is out. Draco Malfoy has feelings for Y/N Y/L/N.
He waits for you to say something, anything. He heart is racing and his cheeks are turning pink. He hopes you’ll say you feel the same but you just stay silent.
Your mouth hangs agape, you can’t believe what you’re hearing. “You’ve liked me since second year?”
“Is that weird?” He timidly asks as you did previously.
“N-not at all,” you smile wider than ever, your face only turning slightly pink. “I mean I’ve liked you since first year.” You see his eyes light up at that, he looks as if this is exactly what he needs to hear.
You two stay silent for a moment, gazing into each others eyes. Both of you wondering what to do next. His eyes slowly move down to your lips, linger for a second, then dart back to your eyes.
“Can I kiss you?” He breathes out so quietly you barely hear.
You nod and try to suppress the butterflies in your stomach. He takes a step closer to you and lightly grips your elbows. He pulls you close and stares deep into your eyes. He starts to lean in as do you, both closing your eyes. His lips gently connect to yours. He softly moves his lips against yours, his hands moving down to your waist as yours get tangled in his hair. Neither of you pull away until you both are gasping for air.
“So did you win?” You giggle once you’ve caught your breath.
There are stars you haven’t seen and loves you haven’t loved. There’s light you haven’t felt and sunrises yet to dawn. There are dreams you haven’t dreamt and days you haven’t lived and nights you won’t forget and flowers yet to grow and there is more to you that you have yet to know.
They’ve come back from a case, Rosie long-asleep in the upstairs bedroom where there’s just enough room for her cot and John’s bed, and Sherlock is ranting.
“Stupid,” he spits out, pacing to and fro in the living room, his hands in his hair. “Why was she so stupid? Why kill them in the first place, when she knows she’s the best suspect?”
“Well, she loved him,” John offers, even though he knows Sherlock doesn’t really want his opinion.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps, not even looking at John. “She didn’t love him.”
“What?” John sits up from where he’s been lazing on his chair. “Of course she did. Listen, I know you like to dismiss ‘sentiment,’ Sherlock, but love makes people do crazy things, so-”
“That,” Sherlock says and his voice is flat and angry at the same time, “was not love. That was possession, that was ownership, it may even have been jealousy, but it was definitely not love.” He infuses the word with such contempt that it makes John flinch, but Sherlock is moving again, glaring at the world as though it had personally offended him. “If she loved him, she’d have let him go. She’d have done everything in her power to make sure that he was happy, even if that meant he was with someone else. She’d have killed - she’d have died herself - if it meant that he would have one millimetre more happiness in his life than otherwise. She would have protected his lover with her life, she’d have done absolutely anything in her power to give him anything he wanted. Instead, she killed them both in a fit of jealous rage, because she never really loved him, she loved owning him. Like a favourite pair of shoes, or a pretty picture.”
John is still trying to absorb that rant when Sherlock crosses the room and slams his bedroom door behind him.
John sits in silence for a few moments before heading to bed.
He wakes up an hour later and John Watson has never actually experienced an epiphany before, never experienced that moment Sherlock is always chasing where all the pieces come together and your brain dissolves into fireworks and you know everything but he’s pretty sure that he just had one.
Before he can even think, he’s downstairs, pushing open Sherlock’s door and standing there like a fool.
Sherlock sits up, sleep-mussed and soft, and says “John, what’s wrong? Is it Watson?”
John licks his lips and tries to speak and…nothing.
“You…you love me,” he manages, and it’s a bare whisper, all he can force past the weight in his chest, of ten years of unsaid words. “Sherlock?”
Sherlock is looking at him with horror in his eyes.
“I-I” Sherlock says, and John interrupts him.
“Please say I’m wrong, Sherlock, please say I’m wrong,” and he’s speaking quickly now, tears running down his face unchecked, and his leg gives out and he finds himself on his knees by Sherlock’s bed, a ragged penitent in old pyjamas, prostrating himself before a saint. “Please say I haven’t been wrong all this time, haven’t wasted all these years, please, Sherlock, please…”
He hides his face in Sherlock’s bed, so that he can’t see Sherlock’s eyes, his beloved face creased in confusion.
“John?” Sherlock asks. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”
But John is sobbing too hard to answer, great heaving sobs, and Sherlock puts a hand on the back of his neck that burns like a brand because of course Sherlock would try to comfort him, even though he doesn’t understand what John is on about, even though John has hurt him so terribly so many times.
“I love you,” John gasps into the bed. Sherlock’s hand stills for a moment and then, cautiously, resumes its smooth comforting stroking.
“John, you’re upset,” he begins, but John cuts him off mid-sentence.
“Years, Sherlock, years,” he gasps. It’s becoming easier to speak, the weight on his chest becoming less with every word. “I’ve loved you for years. Since Angelo’s that first night, I think, since the cabbie, since the first time I saw you sleep-soft in morning light. I loved you in Dartmoor and I loved you at the pool - God, how I loved you in that moment, I would have fallen to my knees and worshipped at your feet for the rest of my life and I would have been content. I loved you on the roof of Bart’s and on the pavement a moment later. I loved you every moment of every day you were gone, and I loved you every time I stood in front of your grave and begged you for one more miracle, and I loved you when I punched your face because it was that or kiss you, and I loved you when you were bleeding out in Magnussen’s office. I loved you on Magnussen’s porch and I loved you on the tarmac, and I loved you in the morgue and in the hospital and in the prison and the well and I’ve loved you every moment since the day I met you, I love you I love you I love you.”
He doesn’t stop so much as run out of breath, chanting those three words - three words he’d never thought he’d be able to say - like prayer, John is a monk and this is his religion now, this is his faith, this only thing he knows for sure.
“John,” Sherlock breathes. “Why didn’t you…”
“I thought,” and John is trying to think of a way to say this right, a way to really explain, “I thought that you didn’t…I didn’t think you didn’t love me, but I thought you wanted me as a friend, just a friend, and so I tried to be the best friend anyone could ever have, but obviously I’m pretty shit at it, but I tried and I hid it, and hid it, and I married Mary because I thought…I thought I’d break apart from missing you and later I thought I’d die from wanting you, and I couldn’t bear to lose you but I was losing you anyway, but the surest way to lose you was to tell you, you didn’t feel the same, you didn’t want the same things, and that’s the best way to kill a friendship, and if friendship was all I could-”
And John shuts up, because Sherlock has slithered out of his bed and fallen to his knees in front of John, and stopped his panicked babbling with his mouth.
When Sherlock finally pulls back, John stares at him, shocked into silence.
“So many years,” Sherlock says, stroking a thumb over John’s lips. “We could have had so many years, John. If only we hadn’t been…”
“Afraid,” John supplies. Sherlock nods, and he’s so close that his nose rubs against John’s when he does, and it’s unbearably intimate. “We could…” And John has to stop for a moment to breathe, to lick his lips and gather his courage in his hands. “We could still have years,” he says. “If I’m not too late. If you still-”
And Sherlock doesn’t say anything with words, but when he kisses John, he writes eloquent poetry in this new language they are building together.
Yes, he says as he licks into John’s mouth
I want, he says, as he sucks a bruise into John’s neck.
I still, he whispers into the curve of John’s ear. I still love you. I will always love you.
Ingredients: sage, pen, paper, white or black candle
Light the candle
Write the loved ones name on the paper and draw a circle around the name
Say" with all my love and all my might, I will protect you this night
Light the sage then circle the smoke of the sage around the person’s name on the paper.
“This sage will always have you saved, and my will shall keep you from getting killed.”
Imagine whatever color you associate with protection surrounding your loved one in real life
“May my love and light protect you this night, from all that calls with the intent of harm. As I say, it shall be done”
After this blow out the candle and let the sage burn out
I came up with this spells and used it a couple times and it worked pretty good. Please tell me how it worked for you. I hope you guys liked this and blessed be 😊
@ masculine boys: I love you
@ feminine boys: I love you
@ cis boys: I love you
@ trans boys: I love you
@ boys with dark skin: I love you
@ boys with light skin: I love you
@ tall boys: I love you
@ short boys: I love you
@ boys: I love you all keep being you
halfway there lolol but yea here’s my week 7 bujo even tho it’s now going to be week 10 HAHAHA also listening to green light & i love it!! && thank you for 0.7k omg i’m so honoured!!! thank you all for the notes 💓💫maybe i’ll post an intro post soon (???) but here’s to hoping that next week will be better & more productive!! ^_^
“Do what you can to be a positive light in someone’s life. I hope that I’ve done that for you. Know that somebody loves you. Somebody is out there praying for you, and hoping the best for you.” - Sandra Bland | Making Black History 7/28