#started working at library

[copia]

endless ghifs 11/? ⛧ source — "I don't wanna end like this—"

[sukidude]

my cousin throckmorton?? the one who lives in throckmorton and goes fishing every summer at lake throckmorton?? THAT throckmorton???

[manitapaleta]

the Li-Wilson family is the cutest, change my mind

(you cant)

[ghostyclay]

Here's a lil painting of one of the scenes in wolau! Aka a street inspired by/referencing the hermitcraft shopping districts

There's SO many hermitcraft easter eggs hidden in here, plsplspls ask me about the buildings / object so i can rant about the AU / references!!

Its the shopping district that shows up in chapter two of my fic, "a golden thread" (which will be released soon) I'll post an alt version of this once the second chapter is out, so go sub to my fic if u don't wanna miss it :3

Close up of my fav buildings below!

If anyone can guess why there's a zebra on the library i will tell you a secret about wolau (hint: it's not a hermitcraft reference)

I doubt anyone will be able to guess that correctly bc it's v v silly wkdhkajd

[notebooks-and-laptops]

If u ever feel bad about yourself know that today at work I got so invested in a debate we were having surrounding whether social media was a good or a bad thing, that I loudly exclaimed "there's no library writing group that wants to read about my two favourite fictional guys kissing" and then had to exist while everyone stared at me like I'd grown two heads

[lylahammar]

desperately need more fat video essayists to cover topics about fatness, fatphobia, and diet culture. I'm watchin this skinny girl in this video essay replace the word "fat" with "F" in every quote she reads like it's a slur because she looked up what the least problematic term for fatness was and the article she found put "fat" at the same level as "obese"

[honkshoo-zzz]

i didn’t wanna draw more saxwell,,,.,, but the parasites wanted to draw more saxwell.,…,…….

anyways go read my saxwell fic Don’t Go on AO3 :)

[blues-valentine]

Don’t get me wrong because I genuinely think Taylor Swift is a talented lyricist but she really has not artistic growth… She has written the same exact songs four hundred times but now she just puts a random words generator. Like, some of those lyrics sound AI generated. And she’s 34 years old but her albums still speak on the same things. There’s zero evolution. Some of those lyrics feel targeted to a 19 years old that is in her “indie aesthetically bad boys that get high and I think I can fix phase” which is basically the same as her old material but way more cringey for some reason. And I’m not trying to compare but Beyoncé at that age was making Lemonade. It’s hard to think this is the biggest pop star the world has to offer us. This is white mediocrity. The songs are fun to edit over fictional characters but when you put into perspective her whole work is so lackluster. So utterly boring and predictable. Maybe she needs to take a break (?). And somehow, people and white music critics will pretend this album is comparable to the likes of Cowboy Carter.

[becca-e-barnes]

I've been writing my dissertation like that gif of the cat frantically slamming a keyboard (you know the one) but it's got me thinking about professor Bucky and how he might incentivise you to get your work done for his class 😏

"You're not getting an extension. Don't even think about e-mailing me for one." The hardest part of dating your lecturer isn't actually the sneaking around; it's that he's a hell of a lot tougher on you than the rest of the class.

"But Bucky I-" You begin but he cuts you off and you know by the look on his face that there's no point pressing it.

"No. You're more than capable and you've got plenty of time to get it done. You don't need an extension, you need to apply yourself."

God, he's annoying. You know you can do it, you never said you couldn't. You just don't want to. There's a massive difference.

He pulls his copy of the required reading out of his bag, setting it on the desk beside your laptop and it takes everything in you not to bury your head in your hands.

"There. I've helped you enough." He nods towards the textbook but when you don't move, he flicks through the pages with a sigh, leaving it open at the chapter you know you should start with.

You sit there for another few seconds in a foul mood, mentally preparing yourself to sit here for the next few hours.

"How about I help you? I get the impression you need an incentive." He knows you too well, there's nothing more motivating than a little treat. "You have 12,000 words to write. For every 1,000 you write this week, I'll give you an orgasm."

Maybe you should complain about his assignments more often.

"Deal." Hell, if you'd known this was coming, you'd have started ages ago.

"Good girl." He laughs, amused at the rate at which your fingers begin to dance over the keyboard.

Getting started isn't too hard. You type out a quick plan of your chapters, dropping in the sources you know you'll need before starting your introduction and with your focus on your work, you hardly notice Bucky sinking to his knees under the desk.

You feel his warm, open mouthed kisses trailing up your thighs under your skirt and his soft groans drag your attention away from the laptop.

"Don't stop working." He insists, licking your sex through your cotton underwear, letting you enjoy the delicious friction on your cunt. "You're almost at the first thousand and it reads well so far." You feel his hot breath against the now wet cotton while one of your hands falls to tug his hair.

"If you stop typing, I stop licking." He threatens, pulling your panties to the side, gliding his tongue against your skin and groaning at the taste of your arousal.

You have just over 200 words until you reach your first thousand and it should be so easy but it becomes even harder when he sinks two fingers into you and you're able to hear how wet you are already.

His lips engulf your clit, sucking gently while flicking his tongue in vertical strokes in time with his fingers curling inside you. "Such a smart girl. I'm so proud of you." He hums before giving you a few broad strokes with a flat tongue.

He knows what his praise does to you and with your thighs clamped around his head, you fly your way through a few hundred more words. He chuckles when you proudly announce you reached a thousand but you don't stop typing at the same frantic pace.

"Sweetheart, if you want to get all 12,000 done this evening, I'll sit here as long as it takes." He smiles against your skin before giving you everything he knows you need. His tongue flicks quickly over your clit and his fingertips rub against the soft, spongy spot inside you and in no time you're gushing against his face, gripping his hair and riding your high out on his waiting tongue.

[voluptuarian]

I love trying to do historical research, you want an answer to a simple question like "could Jews serve in the British army in the 1880s" and you get back

Jews in the American Revolution

Jews in the American Civil War

Jews in World War I

Jews who fought for Nazi Germany

Thanks, that absolutely covers the time period and country I specifically asked for, couldn't have done it without you

[thequeerlibrarian]

.

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

This is very petty but also symptomatic of the larger issues in our culture, but I'm still fuming that I can no longer open my Spotify app, click on an artist, click on the music of theirs that I've liked, and shuffle all their songs that I like

[isaut]

𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆— f!reader x captain rex. 1.2k. ao3

rex is back on the fleet ship. he's completely on task, like he always is... previous. masterlist.

The fleet ship hums around Rex. He sits in one of the deck chairs, eyes trained on the datapad in front of him. It's the report from the last mission, he really needs to be focusing on this, this needs to be done tonight… Instead, his mind cannot stay focused. He needs to take a cold shower, with the images that keep flashing through his mind. 

Espresso. Sweet cookies. Sweetness. Warmth. The images aren’t even stale, he can still feel your hand wrapped around him, separated by the thin of a condom. 

“Hey.” 

Rex still hasn’t forgotten the tightness, the squeeze right before the climax. The wetness all over him. Gods, the wetness all over him. The mournful way he’d cleaned himself up in the bathroom.

“Hey.” 

The second interruption is accompanied by a pair of hands landing on his shoulders. Rex startles, which is very unlike him. He looks over his shoulder and is met with General Skywalker’s familiar face. 

Immediately, he snaps to attention. Stands up, still holding the datapad. “General, I didn’t notice you.” 

“I figured.” Anakin waves his hand and Rex relaxes his stance. “I have two things. One, do you have the reports done? Plo is asking for them.” 

“Almost done, sir.” Shit. 

“And two, you’re thinking really loud.” Anakin bites down on the inside of his cheek to hide the smile forming on his face. “Like really loud.” 

Embarrassment courses through Rex’s body. Suddenly, his suit is a thousand degrees. Jedi and their sensitivity. This time he doesn’t have the cover of his brothers and the exhaustion of battle to keep from the prodding. 

“Glad you had fun on Naboo,” Anakin says, his grin escaping from his teeth. “Again.”

Rex clears his throat. “I should really get back to the report.” 

“Sure,” Anakin says. He turns to leave, then stands in front of the doorway. “Hey, better me than Plo, right?” 

“Yessir,” Rex replies, feeling even warmer. 

Anakin places his hand over his heart. “They’re something else. Your secret’s safe with me.” 

Anakin’s words rattle in his brain: women from Naboo are something else. Rex swallows. And “Thank you, sir.” 

Anakin gives him a lazy salute. The doors slide open, and leaves Rex alone in the room. With a long exhale, Rex looks out to the endless darkness of the galaxy. He rubs his hand over his hair, collapsing back into his seat. 

With his exhaustion, Rex treats himself to a warm shower. The fourth shower stall on the second hall of the captain’s area in the barracks is the best one. It has the best shower pressure, has the purple shampoo, and the cucumber body wash. Rex likes his showers in the middle of the night to ensure that there’s no one else using it. Out of over fifty showers, he doesn’t think it gets used often. 

The sound of the water coming from the faucet, combined with the sound of shower shoes on tile, is the only noise in the area. The pitter patter is almost meditative. Rex’s mind wanders, floating about as he stares at the white tiles. You have nice tiles, a creative mosaic in your bathroom. Everything on Naboo seems artisanal, down to the way you live. The way you talk. The way you touch. 

Rex’s hand hovers over the shower knob. He should go to bed. There’s an uncomfortable hardness brewing between his legs. He should blast himself with cold water and go to bed. Cold water is good for his hair. 

But the water is warm. It’s adding a red hue to his skin. He’s comfortable. It’s cold on the ship. It’ll be cold in his room. It’s– 

Rex’s hand slides down his pelvis, until the conjuncture of his thumb and first finger meets the base of his cock. He hesitates for a moment, looking down his chest. Water slips past him, over his head and down the sides of his face. 

He thinks about your shower. He thinks about you in your shower. He pumps himself to the thought of all your exposed skin, warmed by the steady stream of warm water. He imagines that you take hot showers, scalding hot showers, just like him. He imagines that you’d be impressed that he indulges in hot showers. 

A sigh leaves his lips as his fist travels towards his head then back down. He inhales, deep, as he presses his free hand against the wall and leans forward. Another shaky breath as he passes his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading a speck of precome over the growing head. 

Rex swallows. His hand is no way comparable to yours, it’s too broad, too rough. There’s no softness. There’s a gentleness that he simply cannot match. 

He replays a common memory for him now. You, straddling him. Hand between your thighs, reaching for his cock. The feeling of his fingers bumping up against yours. The warmth as you sunk down on him. The look on your face, the pinched brows, the open mouth, the little moan from the back of your throat. 

Rex almost mimics it, but it comes out as a heavy sigh. 

Then there’s all your skin flashing through his mind. The vanilla, the rose, the shea butter. The taste of coffee on your tongue. Your tongue. Soft and moving against his– Rex twists his wrist. Another shaky breath escapes his lips. 

Truly, Rex doesn’t know how he lasted so long. His short timeframe had been a blessing, had been able to hide that he easily could have come just from sinking into you, from the feeling of your walls pulsing around him from the–

Rex’s jaw hinges open. His eyes squeeze shut. He rests his forehead against the hand pressing against the wall. Milky white spills from the head of his cock. Rex’s thigh shakes. 

He pumps himself as he comes, pumps himself after he’s finished, until he’s a hair tender. Only because he imagines you would do the same thing, with a breathy smile on your lips and a glimmer in your eye. 

Rex stands under the scalding spray, watching the water wash away his release. He takes gulps of steamy air. Unhooks his washcloth and pumps body wash onto the cloth. 

He washes his legs again, and while the cloth rubs over his thighs, he tries not to think of your lips there, of your tongue there, doing what his cloth is doing currently. He tries not to think of you doing exactly what he’s doing, cleaning himself off. He thinks, instead, of cleaning you up. Of the cloth against your thighs, of the essence he had to swipe away. 

He should have used his tongue. 

Rex shuts the water off. 

It’s silent, in the shower hall. He towels himself off in the stall, and changes in the open. With his towel slung over his shoulder, he walks back to his room. 

It’s small. Just a bed on metal and a little counter, a little mirror. Rex hangs up his towel and comes over to his neatly made bed. He reaches a hand under the mattress and pulls out the little sticky note with your frequency on it. 

(17) 21-54-9875-6720

Rex has stared at it for a long time. Has dragged his thumb over the penned in numbers. The 9875-6720 stares out at him. Calls out to him. 75-67. 

Rex tucks the paper back under his mattress. He turns out the light. Flops onto his back. Stares up at the ceiling, at the blinking, red light there. It could go off any second, calling him into action. 

The Force works in mysterious ways. Rex rolls over to his stomach. Wraps an arm around his pillow. Closes his eyes. Sleep finds him, and dreams cradle him against her warm chest.

[binah-beloved]

this is really specific so I’m sorry but… do you think you could write something about an assistant librarian from another floor visiting the Floor of Philosophy to sorta hide away from the work they’re supposed to be doing? (Cuz they have a bad migraine and are too shy/anxious to explain why they can’t get themselves to do their job…?)

headaches are my specialty

the Floor of Philosophy is one of the quietest floors, and it's also the dimmest. it smells faintly like tea and crisp water, black trees rustling in the distance. Binah finds you tucked away in the far corner of a deserted row, hands over your ears and eyes closed, and she lets out a quiet hum. there's a soft rustle of fabric as the Patron Librarian of Philosophy sits beside you without a word. her hands carefully clasp over yours and suddenly everything goes silent. even the soft sounds of the Floor of Philosophy are muted, the barest hint of a smile on Binah's face

she excuses you from work. she's not your Patron Librarian, and knows it, but you need the break. Binah sets up a small table and armchair for you, not a single book in sight. there's only a cup of hot tea and a few snacks and painkillers for you, whatever you like and whatever you want. Binah's eyes twinkle briefly when you inevitably drift off, curled up in the chair, and she picks a blanket placed surreptitiously nearby and drapes it over your shoulders

she likes having you here. hopefully you'll return when another migraine strikes- besides, Binah delights in pretending she doesn't know where you are when your superior comes knocking

[cheerfullycatholic]

please ask God to give me strength!

I’m an early childhood education major on a gap year because all of my professors argued FOR reading books to children (ages newborn - 4) about homosexuality, children medically transitioning, non-binary, drag queens, and other completely inappropriate things in the classroom. When I asked one of my professors on this, she yelled in front of the entire class that “we should not let Christian values influence our teaching”, and said I was homophobic. That’s not true at all, one of my students (4y.o.) is a literal angel and he has two moms!

Queer indoctrination in early childhood education is 100% real, at least in liberal states, and it looks mandatory at this point. I’m scared for my future daughter because I don’t want to send her to a school where she learns about puberty blockers before her ABCs. I can’t homeschool her either, I don’t have the financial luxury :(

I hope other teachers find courage and speak out about this mandated indoctrination, because it breaks my heart

Of course 🖤 and yeah, all of this is scary. And it's so dumb for them to say that they "can't let Christian values" influence education when I've seen so many nonchristian and LGBT people say they don't want this either. Not teaching toddlers about sexuality is not a Christian value, it's common sense

[sigchimera]