ngl i’m having thoughts
will byers stan first human second
noise dept.
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
macklin celebrini has autism
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

roma★

oozey mess

No title available
Peter Solarz
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
taylor price

No title available
occasionally subtle

izzy's playlists!
$LAYYYTER
Sade Olutola

tannertan36
d e v o n
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

pixel skylines

seen from Malaysia

seen from Russia
seen from Netherlands

seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Syria
seen from France

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Sri Lanka

seen from Malaysia
@coeurbrule
ngl i’m having thoughts
🏳🌈 Help your Queer Black girl out 🏳️🌈
I beg y’all please help or share. Lost my job June 16 alongside 2 Black employees. I currently need help with an urgent utility hardship. My electricity has been disconnected since June 24, leaving me without refrigeration, cooking access, or laundry.
Electric Bill: $150 / $1,934.80
Cash App: $Queenloki89
Venmo: Queenloki89
megan thee stallion via tik tok
She's STUNNING!! 😍😍
Kiss It Better
Daryl Dixon x Female Reader • Prison Era • Fluff • Hurt Comfort • No smut but sexual innuendo • Established relationship • short fic •
Summary: Daryl gets hurt during gate duty, and is too stubborn to get checked. Reader offers to kiss it better.
Hershel sat on one of the cell block benches, carefully dabbing antiseptic over the scrapes on Carl's knees after the boy had taken a tumble in the yard.
Nearby, Daryl lingered against the railing, favoring his left arm as he watched the scene with growing indecisiveness, unsure if to go get his arm checked or just man it up and let it be.
Hershel was still recovering from the loss of his leg so Daryl believed that he didn't need another patient crowding him while he was tending someone already.
Out of habit, he reached for his cantee with his injured arm and winced, before giving up and grabbing it with his left hand.
That noise of discomfort was enough for her to drop her book and stand from her spot at the bottom of the metal steps to the top cells.
Before Daryl could leave the room, she stepped into his path. "You've been avoiding using that arm all day. I've noticed," she said, matter-of-factly.
He narrowed his eyes. "You spyin' on me, woman?"
She folded her arms. "When am I not?"
He scoffed, weirdly flattered. "It ain't worth botherin' him over it," he muttered, pointing his chin towards the cell where Hershel worked.
"So let me take a look intead."
"Ain't broke."
"No," she agreed, "but if you keep pretending it isn't injured, you might make it worse."
"An' since when're ya a doctor, sweetheart?"
"Since when are you this stubborn, Daryl? Just sit down."
He looked ready to argue, but instead he lowered his gaze, grumbled something under his breath, then took a seat at the nearest empty bench.
She gently turned his arm, careful not to jostle it, but still, he hissed. "Easy, yer handlin' a livin' person not a walker."
"Shh, just want to see how bad it is..."
Daryl huffed, feigning annoyance even as he let her fuss over him. He had to admit, he didn't mind it as much as he thought he would. Having her so close, tending to him with gentle hands, made something warm settle in his chest.
Her brows were knitted together in concentration, as though scowling at the bruising hard enough might shame it into healing faster, and, who knows, maybe it would.
He hissed through his teeth as she gently eased his arm into a folded position against his chest. Once it was settled, she tied the ends of the wrap into a secure knot over his shoulder, keeping his arm comfortably supported.
"There," she murmured. "It's just for a few days so don't take it off, unless you plan on showering, but that's just hope talking."
"Funny."
Daryl then immediately reached for the wrap.
She swatted him. "What did I just say?"
He lifted his free hand in surrender. "Alright, alright."
She inspected the arm sling one last time before tilting her head. "Does it hurt?"
"Nah."
"Oh?" She nodded thoughtfully. "Guess I don't have to kiss it better, then." She hummed to herself as she slowly turned on her heel, as if about to leave.
But then—
"...It does hurt."
She paused mid-step and glanced back over her shoulder, doing her best to keep her expression neutral. "Hmm?"
Daryl rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand, cheeks warming beneath dirt. "Got confused with the heat an' all... Didn't hear ya right the first time."
A grin spread across her face. "So it does hurt? Awww."
His eyes widened at that patronizing sound. "Never mind, dammit!"
"Too damn late," she teased, reaching into her back pocket. She pulled out something that looked like a black bullet. After removing the cap and twisting the bottom, it revealed itself as red lipstick.
"This right here has healing properties," she said, twisting the lipstick up, "but only with multiple applications…so I will have to keep checking on you. Yep, Doctor's orders."
"Ya makin' fun of me?"
She applied her lipstick with practiced ease, a skill all on its own without a mirror, then pressed her lips together. "Never," she whispered. "Now hold still for me."
She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder right below the edge of his leather vest, lingering a moment longer than necessary.
His whole body went rigid, ears burning red as he fixed his gaze on the opposite wall, refusing to look at her. She continued her descent down his arm, unhurried, each kiss warm and soft, leaving behind a trail of lipstick marks that only made him more flustered.
When she reached his bicep, just above the edge of the wrap, she settled there, feeling the strength beneath her lips. She didn't move on right away this time, letting the moment stretch.
Then she looked up at him, and he finally flicked his gaze toward her from the corner of his eye, cautious, almost shy.
She gave his bicep one last kiss before resting her hand gently on the wrap. "Poor baby," she cooed. "You won't be able to use this arm for a while..."
Daryl forgot how to breathe, his face somehow turned even redder. Damn her
"...But I'll lend you a hand whenever you need it."
He groaned at the suggestion—because there was no way in hell she could look at him with those hooded eyes, like she wanted to be dragged back to their cell in the middle of the day, and not mean it any other way.
"Y/N—"
She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "You should let others take care of you more often," she whispered, her voice now gentle intead of teasing. "So don't hide when you're hurt, okay? Not from me."
He turned his head away. "Don' wanna be weak, is all..."
"You're not weak, Daryl." She cupped his cheek so he'd look at her. "But you are made of skin and bones and that has its disadvantages... You take care of me, and you don't think I'm weak, do you?"
He sighed, then kissed her palm. "Nah... Real pain in the ass, though." He muttered, pulling her in by the waist with his good hand until she was settled between his legs.
She giggled leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. Noses brushing, his eyes fluttering shut.
"Come on, let's take a nap."
His grip on her waist tightened. "Yes, ma'am."
Quick fic I wanted to write after I saw this silly picture on my feed:
Perfume moodboard:
Title reminded me of Kiss It Better by Rihanna 💋
lemon is so so so fucking good in sweet food and savory food and spicy food and salty food and drinks. she has it all
Blowing a kiss at Daryl as he’s leaving on a run and he flips you off, then runs face first into the gate bc you made him nervous.
leon’s daughter learns the word no and uses it the whole day. fluff. 0.9k wc.
leon has handled worse in the past. he’s sure of it. he’s been shot at, chased, infected with deadly viruses, and thrown into abysmal situations where the only plan was to survive and improvise. this, however? this shouldn’t be harder than that, right?
he should’ve known today was going to be difficult the second his daughter woke up and discovered the power of the word no. since breakfast, she’d used it for everything. she used it when she was angry. she used it when she was happy. she used it when she agreed with something. sometimes she even used it while actively doing the thing she was supposedly refusing to do.
now, as the evening settled outside the windows and painted the living room gold, the toddler stood by the front door, bouncing excitedly. “outside!”
“yeah, kiddo,” leon said, grabbing her tiny sneakers. “outside. now c’mere.”
the smile on her face immediately vanished. “no.”
“no outside?” he asked, confused.
“outside!” came the enthusiastic reply.
“okay.” leon crouched down in front of her. “then let’s put your shoes on.”
“no!” she declared, jerking her foot away, making leon miss the shoe entirely.
your daughter sat heavily on the floor, arms crossed and bottom lip sticking out in pure stubbornness.
“sweetheart,” he tried again, gentler this time, “can i put your shoes on?”
“no.”
“can mommy put your shoes on?”
“no.”
“can the president of the united states put your shoes on?”
and she actually seemed to consider it for a moment, before the expected reply came, “no.”
X
Summary: Simon finds your G-spot.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Disgustingly loving sex (sorry). Soft dom!Simon Talks You Through It™️ Creampie. Brief mention of Reader’s insecurities w sex
Note: I’m on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi :-)
Word count: 2.1k
It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried before.
Overtourism or over tourism?
If travel is a passion of yours (obviously, why else would you be here?), you’ll have heard the term overtourism. Whether it was Barcelona and Japan restricting the number of Airbnbs, Venice taxing day trippers introducing strict rules around where you can sit, or Croatia having to limit how many people can visit the city of Dubrovnik at one time—we’re pretty sure you’ll have seen a story on the news about travellers overcrowding destinations to the point where locals start to find it unlivable. In some cases, the location or attraction may even be damaged.
The EU welcomes 1.5 billion tourists every year, a staggering figure, and most of them visit the same spots. Newsflash, that’s where the problems begin. But what exactly is overtourism, and how can you make sure you’re doing your best to travel mindfully?
What is overtourism?
Responsible Travel defines overtourism as tourist activity that “diminishes the quality of life for local residents and creates a negative experience for visitors”. It occurs when too many travellers visit a single destination at the same time. When we say ‘too many’, we aren’t referring to a specific number, but how many people visit a town that is in excess to what their local facilities and infrastructure can service before things start to turn bad.
We’ve seen this happen in Barcelona, Japan and to a growing degree, Lisbon, as homes are rented out as holiday rentals to meet the lucrative tourist demand. This can force rental prices to increase so locals (in some cases) can no longer afford to live there. This causes a breakdown in that community and can lead to locals moving away, leaving it as a tourist town, completely void of the authentic culture travellers came there to see in the first place.
It’s not just people, either. Overtourism places a strain on the environment as pollution increases due to extra cars and flights in the area, waterways get polluted from overflowing trash and wildlife becomes affected when crowds of people disturb their homes. There are only so many people who can stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon at one time, for example, before it collapses and then no one can enjoy it. Maybe not, but you get the picture.
What are governments doing to stop overtourism?
In some places, government bodies are already policing tourism and putting restrictions in place to manage travellers. Venice is a famous example, with its many rules around tourist behaviour that may seem ridiculous until you experience the overcrowding first hand. Thailand is another well-known example, with the government choosing to close the idyllic island hot spot of Maya Bay due to tourist numbers destroying the pristine environment.
It’s a wait and see game in some cases, but in others, governments and official tourist bodies have found ways to manage tourism numbers. Dubrovnik for example: instead of turning visitors away, now makes cruise ships abide to a strict, assigned arrival time in the stunning port so there is less overcrowding.
Europe has been forward thinking when it comes to long term solutions and amongst their list of 169 sustainability goals they plan to reach by 2030, many items speak to overtourism, like managing numbers, welfare of citizens and visitors, and protecting the environment. Peru is another good example, where they have capped Inca Trail hiking permits to only 200 per day and close it entirely to visitors for one month every year. This has helped immensely with preserving the trail and manage numbers, while never diminishing its appeal to travellers.
How can you help stop overtourism?
Once you start to understand the impact of overtourism, it’s only logical that you then want to avoid contributing to the problem the next time you travel.
Last year, my partner and I visited Southern Italy and did a seven day cruise in the Mediterranean. My previous travels, and there had been many, had been during autumn and spring or at the end of the tourist seasons. I was shocked at the tourists in Rome, crushing crowds at every major attraction. I was part of it. I was a tourist.
And berthing on a damn big ship in Dubrovnik, there were four others in port spewing out hundreds of travellers.
What to do? Transport can be policed plus numbers to attractions, but we can’t draw a line as to who can visit.
But all is not lost! There are a few things you can do to help turn the tide on overtourism, and the answer definitely isn’t to stop travelling (never!), but rather, to spread the travel love:
How can we as tourists respect the environment we are landing on in big numbers? After all, no one wants an encounter with an angry local or to contribute to the demise of a beautiful destination. We all travel to discover cultures different to our own, and if locals are no longer able to live in these locations because they’ve been forced out, we as travellers are unable to have that authentic experiences while abroad.
Travel to places off the beaten track: visiting the grand European cities like Paris and Venice are total musts, but maybe next time you travel to Europe you can visit lesser known (and less crowded) destinations to discover somewhere new and help those smaller economies and towns outside the already thriving cities. Eastern Europe, for example, is an amazing belt of countries that so many people have never been to and heading there instead of the big ticket destinations will have a lower impact on the environment overall.
Travel outside peak season: if you prefer fewer crowds and want to save some money, this is responsible tourism. Travelling to Europe in winter, Africa and Asia in their shoulder seasons and even visiting Canada in the summertime are all great options for those who want to travel to specific countries, but to experience it without contributing to the crowding.
Travel slower and smaller: instead of flying from destination to destination, if you have the time, why not drive (or catch a train) your way to the next stop so you can discover some lesser known towns along the way? You can also choose companies that offer smaller travel groups.
And since Covid, post travel restrictions have loosened. Towns, villages and cities suffered with the tourist dollar and they are making up for lost time and lost income. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
As a tourist I am the problem, not the solution. I was in shock in Venice trying to cross the tiny canal bridges and fight people trundling their luggage and jostling for a view of a gondolier gliding under the bridge. Because I had visited before I spent time at an expensive restaurant on the square watching the herds shuffle by.
I don’t know what the solution is for package holidays, or large groups. I can only do my thing and think each journey through and be mindful of what I do, how and when I travel.
What’s the general consensus? What’s your individual take on overtourism. All comments considered.
Source: Overtourism or over tourism?
the desire to pretend white women are simply always victims and groomed into fascist movements instead of being willing participants is by design, u have been taught ur entire life that white women are dainty angels that have to be lead and protected and no harm they do is fault of their own, thats why u think literal nazi women are just confused harmless babies, it’s designed that way on purpose
the thing about long distance | rafe cameron
cw. phone sex, masturbation (m), established relationship between rafe and reader, rough sex, unprotected sex, mild degradation, heavy praise, p w/o plot
synopsis. there's a really famous saying about absence making the heart grow fonder. it makes the sex rougher too.
an. unedited and very poorly done.here ya go.
"How much longer till you can come see me?"
You’re on the phone with Rafe while studying in your dorm room one evening. Your phone is propped up against your stack of textbooks while you divide your focus between your work and your boyfriend.
"My answer didn’t change from yesterday, Rafey," You laugh softly, propping one leg up on the chair. You’re not wearing much, since your roommate is out with friends and the room is hot and stuffy as is. You took the opportunity to feel comfortable in your bra and a pair of shorts.
✦good boy✦
✧・゚Bucky moans your name, and it’s the prettiest sound in the world.
✧・゚“Please, baby,” he mutters, fingers digging into your hips. “Just- Fuuuck-“
✧・゚His words fall off into a tiny whimper, and you giggle softly. Whenever you roll your hips, his whole body shudders under your hands. His head pushes back into the pillows, his jaw tight and eyes squeezed tight like he can barely take it. You know he can’t. The heat and softness of you around his cock, fluttering and squeezing deliberately around him.
✧・゚“Come on, Buck,” you tease, scraping your nails slowly down his abdomen. “We’ve barely started, you can’t already be begging for me.”
i would fuck him in that car right there and now. dgaf about those walkers.
Ghost who doesn’t know how to flirt like a normal person, instead asks “How much d’you weigh?”
Shadow falling over you, broad enough to swallow the reflection in the mirror behind the machine you were just using at the gym. You look up and find Ghost standing there in a black compression shirt stretched tight across his chest, mask in place even here, eyes flat and unreadable above the fabric. One gloved hand resting on the frame of your machine.
The question lands blunt, no lead up, no softening. Like he’s asking for the time or the weather. Your mouth goes dry. He’s too close, too big, the sheer width of him making the space between you feel airless.
You could tell him to fuck off. Should. But the words stick somewhere behind your teeth, and what comes out instead is a mumbled number, barely loud enough to carry, your eyes dropping to the seam where the mat meets the floor.
He doesn’t react at first. Just tilts his head a fraction, that slow, assessing cock of it Then, low and rough through the mask: “Lighter than I’m used to.”
Confusion flickers across your face but he’s already moving, already loading the bar next to you with plates that match the number you gave him exactly, no hesitation, no adjustment. The barbell settles across the padded support with a dull clank.
You should look away. You don’t.
He lies back on the bench, plants his feet wide, and rolls the bar into place across the jut of his hips. One smooth motion and he drives up, hips snapping high, the loaded bar rising clean with the power of it, his body locking into a straight line from shoulders to knees. The muscles in his thighs flex hard under the fabric of his shorts. Up, hold, lower. Up again. The bar doesn’t even tremble under the weight.
It takes a beat for the meaning to sink in. Heat crawls up your neck, tightens in your chest, but it doesn’t stop there. It drops lower, coils hot and insistent right behind your navel and settles between your legs with a heavy, liquid pulse, cunt clenching around nothing. The reaction is immediate and traitorous, slick gathering hot and fast, soaking into the seam of your leggings, clit throbbing in time with every snap of his hips.
Oh.
(Ghost who doesn’t know how to flirt but somehow it works every time.)
you love how possessive satoru is.
you’re well aware that your relationship with satoru isn’t exactly normal. people seem to think you have no clue, but you’ve never been ignorant. for all the casual jokes and whining clinginess, you can tell your boyfriend is deeply, possessively in love with you.
it shows in everything he does. satoru likes to hide it behind a veneer of playfulness. you don’t mind. in all reality, you find it pretty cute—the doting, the teasing, the silly jokes that all veil that intense want that lurks in him. he wants you so bad it’s impossible to ignore. no, more than that: he needs you so much it bleeds into everything he does.
he’s teasing when he winds an arm around your waist, joking when he drops his chin on your head and pulls you away from whoever you were talking to. there’s a casual, unspoken jealousy to the action, but he’s so good at pretending it’s just gojo being clingy. it’s just what everyone expects of him. you’re the only one that knows better. you can see the angry glint in his eye, hear the way satoru’s heart picks up in his chest every time you reciprocate. you’re the only one he lets past infinity, the reason he’s been working to make it cover you as well. he just can’t bear to see other people touching you—you don’t blame him, do you?
best of all, you’re the only one that sees him desperate, that gets to watch him unwind. he worships you. you don’t have sex as much as you make love, his hands roving your body and plucking sweet moans from between your lips. satoru will murmur as he takes you, voice unbearably vulnerable and unspeakably intimate. “no one else can make you feel like this, baby,” he says on a moan. on the next, quiet and sure, “even better, i’m the only one that gets to see you like this. they don’t even know what they’re missing out on. i won’t let them ever find out.” he holds you tightly, kisses you ardently, and if you let him, he’ll fuck you until his legs give out. until he has no more love left to give.
so maybe you’re a little too encouraging. so what? who cares if you let your gaze linger on another man just to watch satoru’s eyes sharpen? what does it matter if you’ll play ignorant to another man’s advances, just to revel in the way satoru steps in and stakes his territory?
sex like that is even better. satoru gets mad, possessive—not at you, never at you. but your entire body becomes a canvas for him to stake his claim on, and it makes him rough. he’ll grip you until you bruise, kiss you until your lip splits, fuck you deep and hard so that you wake up the next morning sore, just so he can dote on you all over again.
“he’s so needy,” utahime complains to you one day, after he’d dragged you home from an event. he’d claimed he just wanted you all to himself for a moment, to get away from such boring company. it’s more honest than everyone suspects. he really does hate to see you talking to other people. “he wants to leave, and you leave. he hates when you talk to other guys. i swear, whenever you’re not paying attention to him, it’s like the sun’s frozen over. and then he has to act up until you’re looking at him again. how can you handle a guy that clingy?”
“i think it’s cute,” you reply. “i like how much he likes me. makes me feel like i’m the only girl in the world, you know?”
utahime snorts. “he sure seems to think so. remember last week? it’s like he didn’t even realise that girl was flirting with him.”
he hadn’t. or maybe he had, and satoru simply revels in your jealousy as much as you do his. you’d attached yourself to him like a limpet, fingers curling around his bicep as your head leant against his shoulder. you were polite to a fault until you chased her off, so clingy that satoru couldn’t tear his eyes away. in the end, he’d barely said three words to the girl before you monopolised all of his attention. he’d grinned wide and proud, and been twice as clingy as you were thereafter.
(when you got home, well. you’d been on top, riding him to a slow climax while he stared up at you worshipfully. his thumbs rub circles into your thighs, and with every rock of your hips, he lets loose an unabashed groan. he’s so free in his pleasure, so open about how good you make him feel. satoru never lets you doubt how perfect you are for him.
he comes first, for once. heaves and whines into your mouth even as he tells you to keep going, tells you that i’m sorry i want you so bad, baby. that doesn’t mean you need to stop—take me for all i’ve got, kay? he whispers those promises until you follow him over the edge, curled on top of him and breathing deep against his collarbone.
“you’ll never leave me, will you?” he asks, except he doesn’t say it like a question. he says it like a vow.
“never,” you promise. “you’d be dead before i let you get rid of me.”)
Hi!! I adore your writing, would it be possible to request reader being Maggie's best friend who was at the farm with them, and reader mentioning how she can 'see what she likes' about Glenn and him being a cutie, & Maggie in turn teasing her about liking a certain redneck and maybe Daryl overhears?
Crush - Daryl Dixon
pairing: Daryl Dixon × reader
a/n: first of all stopp thank you for the compliment you made my day, I loved writing this I hope you like it too!
word count: 1.5k
You'd know Hershel and his family since you were born, your own family had a place close to theirs – as close as it could be, and that was with yards of grass in between your homes. You made a routine of your mornings to wake up, shower and walk straight to the Greene's, at a point, you felt like they were more like your family than your own, so when everything went down and you ended up losing them, they Greene's held you like an anchor to your feet, helped to get it together again and welcomed you in as one of their own just like so many times before.
You sat on the porch enjoying the calmness of another night at the farm, things had been shaken since the new group arrived, you all felt a little on edge since they came in for help and made themselves comfortable in no time, the sheriff one posing like he owned the place deeply bothered you. "I don't know how I feel about them." You said "Daddy's scared they might turn against us as some point, and we wouldn't stand a chance." Maggie speaks on low tone.
Daryl wasn't far from you. As always, he was a little stepped away from everyone else, propped on the side wall of the farm house, smoking a cigarette and minding his business when he started to listen to the whispers and giggles, unsure if he should stay or not, he remained still, hidden by the thick darkness of the night, prying on what the pretty farmer's had to say about his group.
"Fears aside, you know damn well how you feel about one of them atleast, huh?" she nudges you with her elbow, smiling.
"Nah, you're the only one who's living an actual romance here. Daryl doesn't even look me in the face, it's just a little crush."
"He doesn't seem like he looks anyone in the face if that helps."
"Yeah." you sigh, glancing down to your lap "I actually think he only spoke straight t'me when I was bringing him food on the room after he stole your horse to look for that lil' girl. I even think he smiled at me, or tried to." you and Maggie laugh.
Daryl froze in place. Why were you talking about him? He felt childish at the way his heart skipped a beat over hearing that, cringing at himself. How couldn't he, thought? He knew you were pretty, he had eyes, for God's sake. And kind. Always kind to him and the others, specially Carl, he'd grown fond of you, in his own way, after seeing how easygoing you were with the kid, and after speaking to you in very rare occasions.
𓂃 ࣪ ࣪⋆✩˚ ༘ [ada wong]: tattoo me, stoked!
— in which! a hot lady suddenly moved in next door and got your life utterly fucked.
OR Ada Wong is your not-so-typical unfriendly neighborhood tattoo artist, and you own a coffee shop beside her.
word count! 2.5k
content! cliché, idiots in love, MDNI HEAVY MAKEOUT SESH, f!reader (wuhluhwuh), eng not my first lang, this was s'pposed to be posted with my anniv special but i got hit w writer's block soooo i couldn't finish some of 'em, this is my sacrifice. HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!! not beta-ed we die like my wips
loosely inspired by: kaba by tootsie guevarra
Your day started with you banging on your newly moved-in neighbor’s door.
Why? Because who the fuck would think that it’s a good idea to blast metal rock at the crack-ass of dawn? Your neighbor, apparently.
See, it would’ve been fine if it were the first time they did it. But nooo. Since the lot became occupied, your mornings have never been quite the same. If KISS’s I Was Made For Lovin’ You wasn’t playing on loop, you’d think the person next door had been kidnapped.
So, yes, while terribly endearing (haha), you really, really want to sleep in. Maybe a peaceful day where you won’t hear any 70’s rock metal, preferably. God forbid a girl just wants her peaceful mornings listening to birds singing while making coffee.
If only Ada was my neighbor 😔