Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
a/n: a fake dating/assistant professor!reader/*cough* FWB *cough* series that i outlined in a single night in an absolutely caffeinated frenzy ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
although every song on kyle selig's album gives me frank vibes, this is specifically named after the titular song, careful days
“Hey, Frank.” You clear your throat theatrically as you lean your hip bone against his door, toeing cutely at the rubber stop wedging it open. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you busy?”
His left eye twitches slightly. “I'm clearly in the middle of office hours.”
The two students facing Frank now turn to you, their grins giving away their shared joy. “It's okay, we can come back later.” They close their notebooks, gather their purple pens, chirp “Have a good afternoon, Professor Adler!” and duck outside, giggling.
Frank waits until they’re out of earshot before cracking his neck, annoyed. “I swear, you like doing that.”
You laugh. “What?”
“Convincing half the undergraduate population that we’re secretly sleeping together.” He rakes his hand through his short brown hair, slumping in his seat and groaning.
Your nose scrunches. “It's ‘cause they all have a big fat crush on you, and I like seeing ‘em squirm.”
Frank grinds his teeth as he stares at his white speckled ceiling, identical to the one in your office down the hall. “Big fat crush?” he repeats woefully.
“Do you not read your own course evaluations?” You partially close the door, fake-quoting: “You have to take Truth and Logic with Professor Adler. He’s so sexy and tall, and he grades easy.”
“Well, that has nothing to do with my course.” He spins his chair, grimacing. “And I’m not even that tall.”
“Why do you think those girls were just here, huh?” You narrow your eyes. “To have a rousing academic discussion?”
“You’re just jealous.” His gaze drops to you, tongue in cheek.
Your thumb runs over the printed flyer folded in your palm, which you ripped from a bulletin board by the women’s bathroom.
“I'm trying to look out for you, Adler.” Shrugging, you sink into the stiff wooden chair his overeager student once occupied. “If you end up sleeping with an undergrad, it would devastate your career,” you laugh, “or whatever it is you philosophers do, exactly.”
Frank blinks in disbelief, but you know when he’s stamping down a smile. He rotates his seat and logs into his computer. “What do you want?”
You unfold the paper, inhaling, then nudge aside his philosophy texts to spread it flat in the middle of his desk. “I see your mom’s coming to campus.”
His brow furrows at the academic portrait of the woman centered on the page, the black-and-white wash making her appear austere, distant, and pale. “Uh, yeah.”
You straighten your spine, proud of the accuracy of your guess. With two Professor Adlers in Boston—one at BU and one at MIT—you figured this mysterious third Adler must be related. “I wanna meet her.”
His long eyelashes flutter shut. “Why?”
“To see if the apple fell far from the tree.” You’d bet good money on this woman being as grumpy as her son.
He laughs briefly, then stands, stacking some paper packets and moving them to the other side of the room.
A couple sheets float to the floor, yet you forge on. “Did you ever have a British accent?”
He probably called her Mum. Went to some fancy primary school and wore those tiny schoolboy uniforms. The thought brings you delight.
“I never lived in England.”
You frown. “You could have inherited one from her.”
“Seriously, why?” Frank bends a knee to study the titles lining his bookshelf, removing one of the hardcover references and returning to his desk. Opening it with a faint thud right on top of his mother’s photograph.
“Networking, mostly.”
From what you read online, the great Evelyn Adler studied mathematics at Cambridge, a university older than the United States itself. Ever since they hung the flyers, you’ve daydreamed about charming the pants off the severe-looking blonde and finding yourself lecturing at one of Europe’s finest institutions only a few months later. You even started collecting your best work, imagining yourself at an interview.
“She must know a lot of people,” you add, watching Frank flip lethargically through pages of his book. “This is my chance to get out of Boston.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you wanted to do that.”
“I think it’d be an adventure.”
You liked it here, but the city had been the background of your entire life, a boring and unchanging presence that needed refreshing. Your old classmates and former students had begun writing you emails, attaching pictures of them posing happily, with iconic world landmarks on the horizon.
You weren’t jealous, exactly, but tired of your feet trudging across the old concrete foundation of Boston University’s campus every day. Could you survive another semester of the same commute, the same half-asleep undergrads, the same four walls? You honestly weren’t sure.
Frank’s sister, Diane, had had adventures like these. She has touched almost every corner of the globe, combining her considerable brainpower with any mathematician who's ever been worth a damn. The rumor flying around was that she was constructing a proof for the Navier-Stokes problem. A Millennium Problem.
Frank scratches his beard. He appears to browse randomly, turning another hundred pages or so. “And what does this have to do with me?”
You scoff. “Frank, c’mon. Don’t be stupid.”
He catches your eye as you rise, sitting coyly on the edge of his desk, further displacing his things. He catches his stapler before it topples to the floor and throws you a momentary glare.
You lean into your hand planted behind you. “She’s way more likely to put in a good word for a dear friend of her only son.”
His bitter tone fades slightly. “The key being, we’re not friends.”
Your mouth drops open, releasing a short puff of air. “Of course we are! We have that cute banter thing going on.” You shrug up to your ears, hoping to come across as positively adorable.
When you first got hired, Frank offered to help you move your supplies out of your car and into your office six doors down from his. Nervous for your new job, you probably didn’t talk as much as you normally would have, giving off the illusion of being a chill and pleasant person. He even let you borrow his blue tape to hang your posters, transforming the stale walls into something resembling a home.
“I’m Frank Adler,” he said afterward, sticking out his arm. “Welcome to BU.”
By the look adorning his face now, he’s probably regretted that act of kindness every day since.
With a whoosh, he removes the flyer from beneath the thick book, jerking it toward you. “Just go to the lecture and talk to her after.”
“You’re not going?” You take it, haphazardly pushing it inside your pocket. His seriousness begins to throw you off; he usually reserves this mood for his deep-voiced lectures, a piece of chalk dancing between his fingers.
He’s the kind of professor to still use chalk.
“Why not?”
“First of all,” he says, eyebrows raising, “it’s about women in academia.”
You fight your grin. “Do you not support women in academia?”
His head dips low, his voice even lower. “And I’m already being forced to go to dinner with her that night.”
You inhale slowly, your lips pursed in embarrassment as you watch him shake out of his daze, tapping his keyboard with unnecessary vigor.
Dismounting from his desk, you poke the messy stacks of books, gradually pushing them back to their original positions. You release the air, self-conscious of how shaky it sounds when it drains away. “I shouldn’t have asked.” It’s a question, and a realization.
Admittedly, you didn’t have much insight into your coworkers' families—brief glints here and there, weddings and newborns and proud-making eldest sons, all shared over coffee in the lounge—but maybe you should’ve noticed just how little Frank spoke about his.
His jaw shifts. “You couldn’t have known.”
You mutter a hasty sorry and exit his office, barely hearing Frank’s soft-spoke reassurance that it's all fine.
With a strained, polite smile, you greet the colleagues meandering in the hallways before shutting yourself inside your room, not bothering to flick the lights. You open your current research project, burying your nose in the pixels of your laptop screen and hoping they’ll dispel the guilt inside your belly.
Anyone with half a brain would have approached the topic of family with more sensitivity and grace. And they definitely wouldn’t have neglected to notice someone’s glaring discomfort for the sake of making some stupid jokes.
Especially if that someone was Frank.
Your space illuminates once you’re three references deep, trying to find additional evidence to support your working thesis. Your eyes tear from a particularly dry abstract to find the man himself, arms crossed, leaning on your doorframe.
“You should come to the dinner,” he murmurs, shoulders hunched.
You'll do it. Anything to bring back the lightness and humor that usually colored your conversations with your favorite fellow down the hall.
Though, you'd never admit that he's your favorite.
"Okay." Still, you're confused. "Why?"
Frank smiles. “If you’re there, maybe she’ll criticize you instead of me and my sister.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
just watched shang-chi for the second time and i can't stop thinking about his hands. how there's so much strength and power in them but also how gentle and soft he could be. i want him to run his fingers through my hair okay please
NONNIE you're just gonna come into my inbox like this and attack me with such soft feelings 😭💕
i think. i think when it's a particularly chilly day in SF (his place doesn't have great insulation) you're sitting close together on the couch watching TV. you see shang-chi's hand isn't occupied by the remote, and you're just like, this is mine now. so you pick it up and it's warm and you bring it up to your face and curl into it like a cat
you've seen the bus video but you only know like 5% of what he's capable of, but god it just kills him. it kills him that you see gentleness in his hands when he knows what he was trained to do. that you'll bring his hands to the most delicate parts of you without even hesitating 🥺
just watched shang-chi for the second time and i can't stop thinking about his hands. how there's so much strength and power in them but also how gentle and soft he could be. i want him to run his fingers through my hair okay please
NONNIE you're just gonna come into my inbox like this and attack me with such soft feelings 😭💕
i think. i think when it's a particularly chilly day in SF (his place doesn't have great insulation) you're sitting close together on the couch watching TV. you see shang-chi's hand isn't occupied by the remote, and you're just like, this is mine now. so you pick it up and it's warm and you bring it up to your face and curl into it like a cat
you've seen the bus video but you only know like 5% of what he's capable of, but god it just kills him. it kills him that you see gentleness in his hands when he knows what he was trained to do. that you'll bring his hands to the most delicate parts of you without even hesitating 🥺
25 years ago an unknown Chinese protester stood in front of a tank in defiance of the government. No one knows the identity of the man but he was given the nick name “Tank Man”. This is one of the most iconic photographs of the century.
It’s actually been 27 years now since the incident known as the Tiananmen Square Massacre occurred.
The picture above, famously referred to as “The Tank Man” was actually taken on June 5, the day after the massacre.
(Which honestly makes him the one of the bravest person, to go back and stand up to a regime after such a terrible event transpired)
So what happened?
I’m gonna give the TL;DR version:
April 15, 1989. Hu Yaobang, a former Communist Party Chief dies.
Many people, including workers, laborer, students and some officials come to mourn. You see, those protestors were originally there to mourn, not protest.
Time passed and there were some hunger strikes, and protests, and a call for accountability and reform from the government.
Eventually, things went south, because the communist party doesn’t have time to deal with these sorts of “demands” and grievances.
Keep in mind, the people wanted not the end of the Communist Party, but for the party to stop with the official corruption, rule of law, and the gross monopoly of information and power.
Incidentally, China still suffers from all of these SAME problems to this day…
June 3, 1989. The massacre started at night to disperse the crowd. Many were shot, wounded, and killed.
June 4, 1989. Some of the parents of the protestors who never came home went looking for them. It was still total mayhem.
June 5, 1989. The iconic image of the tank man was taken. To this day, no one knows what became of this person.
Content Warning for video: blood
“Tell the world…”
I cannot stress how important it is that people remember and know about this event.
Do you know how China responded? With lies and censorship.
Even now, in 2016, we do not have an official death toll on the Tiananmen Square Massacre, the Chinese government doesn’t even acknowledge the event as a “massacre”. And they weaves these cover stories of “counter revolutionaries trying to overthrow the government”. Therefore, the violence was necessary to ~protect~ the people. (Or some bullshit like that)
The amount of lying and censorship in China is, quite frankly, scary amazing.
Tumblr, which somehow managed to fly under their radar, found itself being blocked in that country.
After all, tell a lie often enough and it becomes the truth.
And those who remember the incident in China?
…………well, you tell me.
Please at least REMEMBER this tragedy. Untold innocent lives were lost, and a nation has been fed a lie for almost three decades now from their oppressive af regime.
Tiananmen Square happened when I was seven, and let’s just say children have a really interesting way of interpreting information.
I just remember thinking it was a happy event, because all these people were out on the street, and at first the army were interacting with these people. And it almost looked like a festival because people were singing and talking, and hopeful. And then tv coverage for the events got cut off.
The blocking of the live coverage had all the adults anxious, nobody said anything for ages, I just remember my grandmother saying, “Just be glad your father isn’t in China, now.”
And that stuck with me to this day. Because yeah, if dad had been in China then he would have been in Beijing studying, he would have been on those streets with those other students.
It was the first time I knew that something horrible had happened to all those people I saw on the television. I don’t even remember how I knew that the army must have shot at the civilians, I just knew. Because when you grow up in China, especially in the 80s you knew there were things you don’t say, that you can’t express in a public forum, because that can get you and your family in trouble. You just knew, and it didn’t fucking matter if your were a child or an adult.
To this day I don’t remember how I found out what happened in Tiananmen Square, because the news covered it up, but people found out. My grandparents knew, my uncles and aunts knew. Extended family visited my grandparents, I remember people telling my mother not to mention my father’s name because my father was a Chinese Beijing University graduate, who had gone overseas. Because there were people who died in the protests that my dad knew.
And it was all just so frightening because nobody was telling me directly what was happening, but I just knew that all the people on the streets was probably dead.
Looking back on it, Tiananmen Square instilled in a me a life long distrust of governments, but especially the Chinese government. I’m ethnically Chinese but I never want to return to China, not even for a holiday, and this has been my attitude even before Xi Jinping took power. Because Tiananmen Square was a peaceful protest that ended up with the army using heavy artillery against their own people. How can you trust in a system, in a government like that? Because if my dad had delayed further studies overseas by two years he would have been one of those students, one of those fucking kids on the streets that would have died.
And you know, when the Umbrella movement was happening in Hong Kong I was deeply panicked and just anxious because I kept on thinking all those people, all those kids are going to be killed. And when that didn’t happen it was such a relief.
When I found out years later that Chinese people a few years younger than me didn’t know what happened in Tiananmen Square I was so fucking angry. I can’t even articulate the rage and the sheer tiredness of it all.
Dad and I talked about Tiananmen Square a few times through the years, broadly, politically, and at times with sheer rage on dad’s part. I don’t even know what I wanted to say, but just fuck this fucking regime.
I was In Hong Kong when Tiananamen Square Massacre happened. Hong Kong was still a British colony then and had full freedom of press, and its reporters were there recording live footage while trying to stay as long as possible when tanks rolled in and shots were fired, when students lay in blood and their fellow students piled the injured bodies on those wooden plank carts to get them to the hospitals, while asking the Hong Kongers who were there to support the movement to please remember that night and spread the story of the massacre far and wide, because they already knew they would be silenced, if not imprisoned or murdered.
That night, and in the upcoming months, Hong Kong was in perpetual tears, and in literal shock.
Hong Kongers were mostly Chinese, just south of the border with people traveling back and forth. It also shared a language, and so HKers could follow the whole movement and hear news that western media had little access to without the distorting effect of translations. And they followed very closely, because by then, Hong Kong was already scheduled to be returned to China in 8 years time. How the Chinese government dealt with the movement would be a sign of how it’d treat dissent, how it’d treat people who’re used to the idea and practice of freedom.
What they saw was deadly. Ugly. It broke the hearts of millions of Hong Kongers who trusted that The Chinese Government had left its Great Leap Forward, its Cultural Revolution days behind. Those who could leave, left. Everyday the airport was filled with families about to be torn apart, who decided to trade the life they had in one of the richest, most vibrant and freest city at the time with the unknown, just so their own children would have the freedom to speak their minds, to have a higher education and not to be seen as the enemy of the state because higher education always led to independent thinking, to questioning, to asking for a better government as those university students in Beijing in the spring and summer of 1989 did.
The heartbreak and fear was almost palpable in its intensity. Most HKers were refugees from China or 1st generation of them. Unlike the HK youths now protesting who are more generations removed, they felt much more connected to the people in China. They still saw themselves as Chinese, like those students in Beijing. They mourned. They cried and cried and cried. They wore black or white everyday like it was the death of their closest relatives. TV stations played these Tiananmen Square clips all day. I can still play many of them out of my memory, can still recite what the students and government officials said (for example, they didn’t use tear gas because they only had three), the songs played — I know every word of China’s national anthem for that reason; the students were singing it. They were patriotic. They demanded reforms because they wanted their country to do better. 8964 was and still is, etched in my psyche. It is just one of the long list of atrocities this government has done against its people, but this one, I was close enough to feel it.
China censored the June 4th Massacre quickly and thoroughly — if you believe China has censored queer material, for example, I’d say this — the extent of that censorship is not even close to what a true China censorship does. A true Chinese censorship is you can’t find the info, or a hint of that info anywhere. You can’t talk about it in a roundabout away. You can’t change some elements of time/place/person and pretend it’s fictional. It would literally ban the numbers 8,9,6,4 from search results, even though the searcher may really be just be interested in the numbers themselves. Whoever speaks of it may be sent to the police station for a “discussion”; their family would be sent, if the speaker is outside China; the speaker may be arrested, and may never be seen again.
The western worlds pretended to be enraged about the massacre for a while and soon forgot about it, kept its diplomatic relations with China and did business with its government as usual. UK returned Hong Kong to China as scheduled, on July 1st, 1997. The city has been the only place that insisted on the mourning the victims and had done so insistently, consistently for 30 years, holding a yearly candlelight vigil in Victoria Park until this year, when because of the protests, the Chinese government decided to not even pretend to honour the international treaty they signed that promised HK its freedom until 2047 anymore. They shut the vigil down in the name of the pandemic (there were <10 cases/day then). Still, some people risked being arrested to go to Victoria park and lit their candles.
The Chinese government fears HKers for this reason. They are outside their iron curtain / firewall but have always been close enough geographically, culturally and ethnically to know and more so, to care. And there’s nothing more a government like China’s fear than people who insist on remembering the truth. With the National Security Law in place in Hong Kong now, probably the yearly vigils can’t continue. To understand how insane that law is, by writing this reblog, by saying things that make you dislike the Chinese government, I’m already in violation of its Article 38. It doesn’t matter I’m writing it in a foreign country. It doesn’t matter I’m a foreign citizen. That law includes everyone on Earth.
Yes, that includes you. And you. And you. And you. They can arrest you for trying to overthrow the Chinese government if you pass the borders of Hong Kong.
Please help remember 8964 Tiananmen Square Massacre. That summer day, Beijing citizens asked Hong Kongers to please remember this event for them because they knew they wouldn’t be able to afford to remember it themselves. Now that Hong Kongers can’t afford to remember it anymore, I’m hoping that everyone who reads this to please remember it, for the students who perished only because they wanted their government to be better, for the Tank Man who, on his way home with his groceries, decided to stand in front of a tank all by himself because it was the right thing to do.
I really resent the way that the Overton window has shifted for online privacy, so that I sound like a hysteric when I say that I don’t want Facebook and Google to know everything about my life.
‘I don’t mind Facebook showing me pretty dresses.’
Cool! That’s the absolute least of what they do, though! They’ve experimented on inducing depression in their users! They actively interfere with elections! And they spy on everyone – not just their users, but all internet users. And they’re capable of working out who non-users are based on information their users feed them! Pardon me for thinking that’s not okay!
‘Advertisers don’t listen into your phone as much as everyone thinks.’
Cool! But they do fucking do it! And the amount I would like them to listen in on my conversations is none! I would like none spying! Zero tracking of my internet activity! Especially by companies who want to sell me shit!
Remember how in the 80s, ad companies would listen in to your private conversations in your house, and then send different catalogues to your mailbox as a result? No! Because they didn’t, and couldn’t. And people would have – quite rightly – considered that a massive invasion of privacy.
Remember how in the 90s, ad companies opened and read all of your personal mail, making copies to keep on microfiche, before allowing the re-sealed envelopes to reach your house? Because they didn’t, but it’s what Google does with your email! So they can serve you ‘more relevant ads’ in your inbox!
Why am I the outrageous radical for thinking that I should be able to at least partly control my own data? My own likes and dislikes? I’m not even proposing leaving the internet entirely! I didn’t even stop using Facebook because they’re shitlords, but because using it made me miserable. And I’m considering switching from Gmail to something else like Protonmail. I already use Firefox, and have an add-on installed that reduces Facebook’s ability to track me from site to site.
Why am I so strange for wanting to return to an internet where the people who serve me ads can’t name my age, postcode, eye colour, purchasing history, dietary preferences, and half-dozen closest friends without having to try to do it?
love that we live in a time where "hey, maybe a scenario that the tinfoil hat conspiracy theorists of yore imagined, where you were constantly being spied on and that data was used to adjust your environment to influence your political leanings and state of mind is.... not good?" is a weird opinion
“His hands were created to be cold and destructive; to be deadly towards whatever stopped him from accomplishing his mission. And yet, when they rest upon you, they’re warm and sentient”
— Yesterday’s Wake (a Detroit Become Human fanfic)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
give me a plot of a single father who’s raising his kid by himself because the mother skipped town. so his girlfriend stepped up and took on the mother role. but they break up and his kid keeps asking where she is so he texts her and asks if she can stop by for the kid and there’s unresolved feelings !!
discoholicmusic
origamiaround
yousharknotpass
izzy806
baratheonpilled
2087
